Best Fluctuate Poems
We can go for dinner and have a discussion,
a bit of mass debating when we're done masticating.
If you come and eject fluid situations,
give it hard with the exact impact you lay shown,
stand perfectly straight and strong when projecting,
you'll feel you can handle the hard times alone,
and spray the floor in awe and arouse.
Fire at will, keep comments coming,
come with them from different angles,
keep it coming together, back and forth,
give each other a hand to fluctuate a juicy content with flow,
always announce, "I'm gona command"
to one another before you fire away.
Start slow,
upping the beat and beating out the debate at a faster rate.
Go through the motions to get to fun fast pacing blast debating.
You will feel a great relief at the end of this intense group activity,
with powerful ejections, one or two oral pleasurers no doubt,
but mostly it's hands on,
so make sure your pen is in your hand,
your pen is out, and the pen is in the hands at all times.
If your pen is leaking in vain thus messy, we'll stop,
tissues are on tables, bins are behind you, clean up, put it in,
and when a new pen is handled in both hands,
showing you're ready, we'll whack on.
Keep your eye on the ball, good luck in this test to all,
give those judging the winner, a tough test to call,
because the headmasters mass debaters
go fast as a team mass debating.
Commit to the debate and show class of a master,
have a massive class debate.
Remember the pen is in your hand from start to finish,
don't lose grip, be on the ball,
enjoy your mass debating.
Work hard and mass debate as you play,
have fun.
Good luck.
Mass debate away.
Categories:
fluctuate, hilarious, humor, humorous, silly,
Form:
Rhyme
She lies, tan gentle lines and curves so sharp
she pairs her heart horizontal to zero
Her body falling from great cusps above
Then deriving great pleasure from the angle
Skirting the limits, fleecing the boundaries
She breaks the surface of space
Then her shell is unfolding, unraveling
Wildly spinning out of control on her axis
The ground giving us no differential treatment
Then her inflections begin to fluctuate
Now she can’t ignore the signs anymore
For a symptom hopes a cure will appear
Strum soft sweet chords on wire lyre strings
A convergence we’ll hold, integrate, we’ll come
Together to throw arc shadows on walls
------------------
Expanded on my older poem "Tan Gentle Lines"
Categories:
fluctuate, love, lust,
Form:
Free verse
Written July 05, 2025
*************
I am anchored when I am a garnet,
The mineral topaz when I shine.
A midnight fantasy of moonstone,
This precious gem's spirit is mine.
Emerald ideas are proliferating,
Within the gardens of my brain.
As opalescent moods still fluctuate,
With indeterminate strain.
I illuminate, akin to a glass prism,
When elation continues to rise.
A Sapphire flame symbolizes justice,
Increasingly irritates my eyes.
When shadows start to thicken,
I don the obsidian stones' grace.
And allow the illumination of jasper,
Restore equilibrium in my living space.
Each diamond carries a whisper,
A truth that I have been able to flow—
This even caused fractures in the facets.
Still catching the dawn glow.
I evolved from stardust,
With spiral galaxies to approve.
Should you perceive that sparkle—
You are stardust, companion, and groove.
Categories:
fluctuate, beauty, creation,
Form:
Rhyme
I saw him coming, my old friend Death
His eyes were not wrathful but also not Kind
He simply looked up at the sky so Blue
Asked me if I was doing quite Well
I told him I wasn’t ready to be Dead
He said to be calm and step onto the Ship
I stepped onto the dock of a large white Ship
Behind following closely was the figure of Death
I asked if this was a ship for the Dead
He told me this vessel was a different Kind
One humanity knew all too Well
And I should watch the great expanse of Blue
We sailed out further enveloped in Blue
Was it ocean or sky? I couldn’t tell from the Ship
The size seemed to fluctuate from sea to Well
I tried to get some clarity from Death
But he simply said watch, his eyes now Kind
It was time for the flashback given to the Dead
Funny, he told me I wasn’t Dead
Made this seem like a joyride in the Blue
I guess he was trying to be Kind
Luring me with lies onto this Ship
But I guess I saw through Death
I know him all too Well
I know he only means Well
I knew deep down I was headed for Dead
I focused my attention back to the face of Death
He told me once more to look into the Blue
I watched my life pass from the dock of the Ship
I took solace in knowing at least I was Kind
I watched my memories, of every Kind
I think in life I had done Well
I was ready to leave the Ship
I was ready to join the Dead
I was ready to dive into the Blue
I was ready to embrace Death
Death sent me off with a smile quite kind
With a well-executed jump, I abandoned Ship
And joined the dead in the peaceful Blue
Categories:
fluctuate, death, heaven, ocean,
Form:
Sestina
... you really think so?
I'm flattered to say the least,
but I honestly know not
where these words originate.
Do you think inside my squishy brain
is where they congregate?
I like to think of it like an office building
where the files always fluctuate.
Sure would suck if aliens landed,
skipping the "we come in peace" spiel
and just went straight to "ANNIHILATE!".
Knew I should have martian-proofed it
when I had the chance -
why must I always procrastinate?
But perhaps I'm taking in too many
possibilities here
(like eyes when they dilate).
Are you getting tired of this rhyme yet?
Do you wish to take time to stipulate?
Consider I did you a favor
not using big friggin' words
like amalgamate.
Never say never, right?
Hope by reading this nonsense
you're not running late.
I should know better
to realize you might well have
"A very important date".
But don't mind me I'll just by typing away
with ridiculous musings.
It is my fate!
Pity not where I am
at the present state.
I'm having oodles of fun
in this land I helped create.
My deepest apologies
if it looks to you like I hibernate.
Feel free to come by anytime,
for you see, beyond this point,
there is no gate.
But for now I really must be going!
For this is about the time...
... where my imagination starts to deflate.
NOTE: Inspired by Richard Lamoureux's comment on my poem, A Kick in the Stones.
Categories:
fluctuate, humorous, imagination, writing,
Form:
Monorhyme
The world that a normal person, finds him or herself living from day to day, and that of a writer, who allows their creative side to pull them into the shadowed spaces of his or her mind¬. The side that is filled with mysteries, and drama that unfolds in millisecond bursts.
Artist capture visions in these inner journeys and put them to canvas.
Writers enter this illusionary world searching for a tale. He withdraws from the chamber only to scribe to paper his understanding of these sporadic visions.
In deep thought, he ponders, and molds words, and picks adjectives that best describes what this illusive world has flung at him. Sentence by sentence he works, and reworks the tale _then he re-enters this chamber again to do battle with his mind's eye, beating it to death day after day, night after night, until the his imagination has run dry.
Exhausted, he now realizes it is done, it is over, he can do no more.
But he questions himself, did he interpret it right ? Does it make sense? Is it the best it can be? He re-reads it time and time again.
Will the reader understand what he tried to say?
Will the readers clinch their fist in anger at the right moment?
Will they laugh or cry? Can their mind’s eye visualize what unfolded in his head?
So, what is left when his work is done? Dose he stack it in a closet on top of so many others, or does he deal with the other world; the one he hates? He is not a salesman. He is not comfortable with this part, and would rather return to the chamber where he finds comfort, and let others sell his works, but the more he returns, the more it seems these encounters are taking over his soul.
He’s now hearing voices, and whispers, barely audible, but they are there. He begins to fluctuate between sleep, fever, delirium and reality. Till one day the chamber closes the escape hatch behind him and he is trapped there forever.
No one will hear him, for his cries bounce off the walls of this dark chamber echoing on top of his previous cries.
He has found true hell. The hell that awaits a few writers who will allow themselves to find too much comfort listening to the whispers within.
Categories:
fluctuate, write, writing,
Form:
Free verse
Break.
My nail hanging on the splintered door frame,
The rusty friction of my poisoned blood
Seeping through the contaminated cracks
Of the tormented nightmare I am in.
Rip.
My flesh from my hands,
Clawing at the jagged walls,
Cutting into my delicate veins,
To slash my surroundings crimson.
Cackle.
Guttural and scratchy in my throat,
Smearing broken flesh across my face,
Shrieking with maddening dread
From the torture I am receiving.
Burn.
Smouldering my suffering shins,
Scolding my soft skin,
Blistering my blood,
Singeing my soul.
Red.
The sign of suffering,
The mark of murder,
The trait of torture,
The colour of the cruel.
But the pain is irrelevant
There is much worse to come
What kills me
Is the wait...
I scream out in agony
The itching infected insanity
Building in my nebulous mind
I scream and my body convulses.
Searing temperatures fluctuate within,
Animalistic howls echo amongst
And through my lunacy
I’m able to hear
Through blood soaked ears
The slow, deliberate, mechanical steps
Accompanied by the screech of rusty razor knives,
The shudder of cold breath through gritted teeth,
The booming bellow of a beast
My broken body sprawled and I twist
My upper half in grinding pain
My stinging eyes searching
My gasps growing...
I squint at the pierced demon
The seductive cenobite
In patient, deliberate calm he growls:
Welcome, To Hell.
Screaming, shrieking,
Shattering, soul scolding
Wails will
Shudder and spin throughout the labyrinth
For eternity.
Categories:
fluctuate, body,
Form:
Free verse
Fallen out of favour
Dovecotes
Of arms
Flapping
The featherweight fight
A symbol's weight
May fluctuate
But the pigeon
Has always
Been a dove
6.27.2020
N/A Strand Completely New Poetry (1)
Categories:
fluctuate, appreciation, bird, change, symbolism,
Form:
Free verse
He lives between two worlds.
One that an average, or sane person, finds him or herself living day to day,
and that of a fictional writer, who allows his creative side to pull him into the dark spaces of his mind filled with fantasies and mysteries.
Artist capture these visions in these inner journeys and put them to canvas,
Writers enter this illusionary world searching for a tale their creative side bangs out in millisecond bursts. He withdraws from the creative chamber only to scribe to paper his understanding of these flashing insane hallucinations.
In deep thought, he ponders, and molds words, and picks adjectives that best describes what this illusive world has flung at him. Sentence by sentence he works, and reworks and once satisfied he re-enters this dark chamber again to do battle with his mind's eye, beating it to death day after day, night after night, until the his imagination has run dry.
Exhausted, he now knows it is done, it is over, he can do no more.
But, he now wonders, did he interpret it right ? Does it make sense? Is it the best it can be?
He re-reads it time and time again. Will the reader understand what he tried to say?
Will they clinch their fist in anger at the right moment? Will they laugh or cry? Can their mind’s eye visualize what unfolded in his head?
So, what is left for this creative writer who has finished his work. Dose he stack it in a closet on top of so many others, or does he deal with the other world; the one he hates. The world of the common public that accepts their monochromatic existence.
He is not a salesman. He is not comfortable with this part, and would rather return to the chamber, and let others sell his works, but the more he returns, the more it seems these encounters are taking over his life. He’s now hearing voices, whispers, barely audible, but they are there. He begins to fluctuate between sleep, fever, delirium and reality. Till one day the chamber closes its escape hatch behind him and he is trapped there forever.
No one will hear him, for his cries bounce off the walls of this dark chamber echoing on top of his previous cries. He has found true hell. The hell that awaits all mystery writers who will allow themselves to find too much comfort with the voices within.
Categories:
fluctuate, conflict, dark, horror, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
I love laughing with you,
The mirrors in your gentle eyes reflecting a foreign smile
A smile only you can conjure with your awkward charm
I can see playfulness, desire, and hesitance fluctuate in your pupils
And the silent moments when we do touch,
I bask in the feelings of magic trepidation
I search your thoughts, and you wander mine
Sometimes we beam, when we discover a mutual thought
You try to cover your face when the laughter escapes,
But you cannot escape my gaze,
My observational craze
Always craving the next anticipating haze
When laughter dies,
The trialing and testing begin
And I try to remain sane where saneness cannot thrive
That is when you hold on to me
Your hand slowly clasps mine
In this moment, you chase my thoughts,
Searching for the need in my eyes
I know you find it, for I have found yours
Categories:
fluctuate, beautiful, crazy, cute love,
Form:
Free verse
Don’t define me by what you think I am
I refuse to label myself
Exclude me from your pre-program
I don’t follow your parallel
How I express things is me being me
Sometimes I’ll be one thing, and later another
No need for the labels to quantify what you see
I’ll just do my thing and leave you to wonder
Minute to minute I may fluctuate
I am what I am based on how I feel
Under your epithets I would just stagnate
It may be confusing but my changes are real
I have decided that I’ll be a fluid
I’ll no longer let myself be diluted
I am just me, and that image is lucid
Categories:
fluctuate, change, gender, identity, image,
Form:
Sonnet
God speaks as conscience;
childlike innocence.
When we disobey,
soul’s blue skies turn grey.
The ever changing moods of a soul that longs to be free
can be varied and vast like an ocean's fluctuate artistry
So often we lose the hearing of the young
replacing it with stubborn ears of old that refuse to believe
Having stared at grey skies for a lifetime we no longer
sheen the Faith of our forefathers ;
We never turn the finger nor blame the culprit
for the turning of events
we turn a blind eye to our past actions
the ones that have led us astray;
God speaks as conscience but sometimes
we interpret His voice any which way we please
when soul's blue skies turn grey,
whos fault is it anyway !
Betrayed by our hand,
life’s barren and bland,
until we awake;
dark desires forsake.
Engulfed in the carnage desires of flesh and wanton beat
we lose sight of the glorious pregnant gardens of our youth
Slighting beauty we abuse of the God given gift of choice
we opt for a barren and bland life of repetitive fractal sins;
Betrayed by our own hand we have no recourse
until we awaken to the calling of an Arching blessing;
Then we move into a colored world full of bright nuances,
where everyone can see that we have finally understood
the true meaning of being fully awakened by the Spirit.
Amen !
Categories:
fluctuate, analogy,
Form:
Free verse
Parachute love once was my aberration
and shift into abrogation/ fell for a talebearer which only told lies annoyed my every thought
“Abrogation Aberration Destination”
still spinning like a Fishing Rod. Fell to deep to soon in this exploration
” Fluctuate in Separate Directions”
My EX-Parachute lover once was my Best Friend and now became my inconstant friend/
Categories:
fluctuate, lost, lost love, love,
Form:
Ballad
Lately, the weather has dropped drastically,
and Fall holds up serenely and beautifully;
green trees so stately gently fluctuate
against a sky of transparent blue as hummingbirds make plans to migrate,
but the downy woodpeckers interrupt their chat
with their unbearable drumming that disturbs their peace with intent.
Summer in New York State has been humid and stormy,
temperatures rose above a hundred degrees as pavements smoked,
sprinklers in streets made children happy as they were being soaked...
so very thankful to live in a rich country offering such a commodity;
adversely, a water shortage caused drought in the South allowing tragedy
as gasoline and food prices soared and spouses couldn't pay alimony.
Hot summers predict cold winters, and we await a harsh winter...
stock up on shovels and salt, keep your driveway and sidewalk snow-and-ice-free;
will you get help from your kids when snow falls...having you think of electric bills?
No, let them play and have fun...their blood is hot and they feel no chills!
And should you think of joining them, drop your shovel as if stung by a bee!
Which other way is there to endure the wintry weather living as an Alaska bear?
Categories:
fluctuate, fear, food, funny, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Lightning striking a wooden gate
Iridescent rainbow colors that seem to fluctuate
Cheetahs chasing after their prey
King Cobras lunging bite's that can slay
Eyes sending messages to the brain
Twin tornados and torrential falling rain
Your heart beats circulating blood throughout your veins
Speed of light is tops and cannot be beat
Perspiration developing in the heat
Legs making haste in a race
Intelligent computers answering our questions quickly everyday
Tectonic plates shifting causing tsunami's and earthquakes
4-8-18
Categories:
fluctuate, animal, nature, technology,
Form:
Acrostic