Best Footer Poems
Technology is changing day by day,
the benefits? enormous, one might say,
is miniaturization a price too high to pay?
not necessarily the smart and prudent way.
Gemstones aren't what they're purported to be,
take that cuff link, a microprocessor,
what used to take acres and acres of space
now resides on the top of his dresser.
Tie clips and navel rings, earrings with studs
contain microchips too small to see,
snapshots are routed to secret computers,
surveillance directed at you and at me.
As fate would have it, I have diminished,
a 6 footer, now 2ft 4inches,
soon I'll be able to date a REAL bird
and cavort with the crows and the finches.
It must be my penance, I spoke out of turn
and maligned the creator, the hedonist,
who pleasures the masses with tablets and iPods,
and removed me from his Merry Christmas list.
Small is as small does so I gravitate,
and follow these micro-bit players,
I am so tiny, can't hardly be seen,
as black widows become midget-slayers.
Consigned to my basement I look for a way
to escape my arachnoid aggressors,
I squeeze through a slit in the mesh at my window
and plead, as with all good confessors.
Out in my garden I stare at the stars,
just a speck in the depths of the universe,
I fall to my knees to be nothing at all,
prey to microchip madness, a terrible curse
or our endless salvation?
Categories:
footer, science fiction, universe,
Form:
Verse
Continuation from previous poem
We reached the footer of a castle steep,
Seven times by walls encircled very tall,
Defended by a river hard to leap.
We overpassed it as hard ground at all;
Through seven doors I entered with these wise:
We reached a fresh green lawn nice to enthrall.
There were people with old and severe eyes
Whose appearance exuded mighty guide:
They seldom spoke, had voices with sweet rise.
We were turned out then walking far outside,
In open terrain, tall and full of light,
Such as the view of all was just implied.
There straight on, staying over the green bright,
The wonderful souls I was clearly shown
That seeing them in me I feel delight.
I saw Elettra with mates not alone,
Hector and Aeneas were there,
Caesar armed, with eyes of rapacious tone.
I saw Camilla and Pantasilea in pair;
On other side I saw the Latin king
With child Lavinia sat on a chair.
Bruto who Tarquinio pushed out bring,
Lucrets, July, Marsia and Cornelia;
And saw Saladin to solitude cling.
After I elevated a bit more my cilia
I saw sat the master and those who know
Philosophers’ memorabilia.
All him admire, just all is honor grow:
I then saw Socratis and Plato here,
Who well closer to him than others stow;
Democritus, whose world is random mere,
Diogenes, Anaxogoras and Thales then
Empedocles, Heraclitus , Zenon were;
And the good collector I saw when
Dioscoris was; and Orpheus I saw,
Tulio, Lino , Seneca moral been;
Euclid geometric, Ptolemy raw,
Hippocrat, Avicen, Galien too,
Averois, who the great comment foresaw.
I cannot fully tell of all just through,
But the full theme is pushing me so long,
That many times my word becomes not true.
The group of six is now of two less strong:
Another way is choosing my guide bright
Out of the quiet air, to trembling wrong.
And I am going where there is no light.
Categories:
footer, fantasy,
Form:
Terza Rima
Another night spent
alone and pondering this
abstract thought and woe
she sits in her small
living museum - every
thing with a meaning
a purpose for just
existing in its space. Thick
tights and a jumper
dress keep her warm. A
messy hair-do and painted
nails. Halfway ready
for anything. She
ponders if she is in fact
ready for her life
to really begin.
Categories:
footer, introspection
Form:
Haiku
JUST MEN
The court is long,
Kind of wide.
Bounce the ball,
Dribble with pride.
Give and go,
Watch the zone.
No paint for you.
Set the tone.
Men pass,
Men run.
No differences.
Just fun.
Some jump higher,
Most are tall.
Just men.
Some will fall.
Color doesn’t play here.
Equality and dunk.
Set the pick,
Thirty footer -- sunk!
Categories:
footer, basketball, celebration, friendship, humanity,
Form:
ABC
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
When I was just a lad, and the New Year came around
We’d sing and dance and party, till midnight bells did sound
my hair was dark in those days, so First Footer was my chore
and just before the midnight peal, Mam shoved me out the back door
With coin in my pocket, coal and bread in hand
I’d run round to the front door, and in the cold I’d stand
waiting till the voices singing Auld Lang Syne I’d hear
then I’d know the time was right for First Footer to appear
All standing in a circle, arms crossed and holding hands
move toward the centre, something done in many lands
gie’ us your hand my trusted friend, and here’s a hand o’ mine
we’ll drink a cup of kindness yet, for the sake of Auld Langs Syne
I’d give my dad the silver, to prosper through the year
I’d give the bread to Mam, so food was always here
the coal went in the fireplace, to keep away the cold
and bless our home with happiness, and love worth more than gold
We’d make our resolutions, but none of them we’d keep
I’d be nicer to my sisters, and would not make them weep
but that did not happen, and they knew it never would
but just the same, our life and times were good
Categories:
footer, celebration, child, me, memory,
Form:
Ballad
Technology is changing day by day,
the benefits? enormous, one might say,
is miniaturization a price too high to pay?
not necessarily the smart and prudent way.
Gemstones aren't what they're purported to be,
take that cuff link, a microprocessor,
what used to take acres and acres of space
now resides on the top of his dresser.
Tie clips and navel rings, earrings with studs
contain microchips too small to see,
snapshots are routed to secret computers,
surveillance directed at you and at me.
As fate would have it, I have diminished,
a 6 footer, now 2ft 4inches,
soon I'll be able to date a REAL 'bird'
and cavort with the crows and the finches!
It must be my penance, I spoke out of turn
and maligned the creator, the hedonist,
who pleasures the masses with tablets and iPods,
and removed me from his Merry Christmas list.
Small is as small does so I gravitate,
and follow these micro-bit players,
I am so tiny, can hardly be seen,
as black widows become midget-slayers.
Confined to my basement I look for a way
to escape my arachnoid aggressors,
I squeeze through a slit in the mesh at my window
and plead, as with all good confessors.
Out in my garden I stare at the stars,
just a minuscule speck in the firmament,
and wonder how I might reverse my misfortune,
not suffer the lot of the helpless and spent.
It's much too late now to redress my transgressions,
so I must make do with my life as it stands,
and hope when I shrink 'til no vestige is left of me
He will be present to welcome me home.
Categories:
footer, writing,
Form:
Verse
Technology is changing day by day,
the benefits? enormous, one might say,
is miniaturization a price too high to pay?
not necessarily the smart and prudent way.
Gemstones aren't what they're purported to be,
take that cuff link, a microprocessor,
what used to take acres and acres of space
now resides on the top of his dresser.
Tie clips and navel rings, earrings with studs
contain microchips too small to see,
snapshots are routed to secret computers,
surveillance directed at you and at me.
As fate would have it, I have diminished,
a 6 footer, now 2ft 4inches,
soon I'll be able to date a REAL bird
and cavort with the crows and the finches.
It must be my penance, I spoke out of turn
and maligned the creator, the hedonist,
who pleasures the masses with tablets and iPods,
and removed me from his Merry Christmas list.
Small is as small does so I gravitate,
and follow these micro-bit players,
I am so tiny, I'm so hard to see
as black widows become midget-slayers.
Consigned to my basement I look for a way
to escape my arachnoid aggressors,
I squeeze through a slit in the mesh at my window
and plead, as with all good confessors.
Out in my garden I stare at the stars,
just a speck in the breadth of the universe,
I fall on my knees and I pray to the Lord,
could my destiny alter, and spin in reverse.
Categories:
footer, fantasy, science, universe,
Form:
Verse
In a misty morn
as I trottle to work
Some mean teens
have nicknamed me:
YOU STUPID JERK
They hate four-eyed people
Respecting Mother Nature
communing with God
In the sacristy of his steeple
Throwing eggs on his face
to pinch a hidden nerve
Myron,the 6 footer
threw me upon the curve
Above me,this country's flag
yet they call me a ***
YOU'RE TOO WIMPY FOR THE CALL
as they placed me against the wall
Numbers outweigh the mild and the meek
Reasoning can't help as I continue to speak
All the world belongs to macho guys
give him a wack and a couple of broken thighs
Categories:
footer, allegory, faith, people, social,
Form:
Limerick
Walking through the woods early in the day...
Haven’t seen a single soul passing my way...
All set to hunt as, I bought the latest gear....
On this the first hunting day of the year.....
It isn’t too cold but there’s a bit of snow...
So footprints will tell me where to go...
I can track by smell....
And I’ve been told pray tell....
That Man is getting smarter every single year..
Which means a lot... to my friends in here...
But now here’s the twist of this little ditty...
I’ve never lived or been to the city....
But trust me.. cause when I’m done..
And this is all in fun...by the end of Fall....
I’ll have a gorgeous blonde six footer ... a hanging on MY wall....
*** Just a thought...NRA = Natural Roaming Animal....
or Nasty Reindeer Association.......hmmmm
Categories:
footer, animal, autumn, fantasy, humorous,
Form:
Prose Poetry
A swift running athlete, on two fleet-feet,
Runs twenty miles an hour.
A galloping horse runs a faster course;
His hoofs a pounding power.
Still faster is the deer traveling in fear.
At fifty he looks around,
To see a cheetah display seventy to catch its prey.
He’s the fastest four-footer found.
For greater speeds, the sky favors fowls that fly,
With vultures venturing ninety.
Alas, the golden eagle, sleek and regal,
zooms to one-twenty, looming mighty.
But the falcon hawk, ballistic trim, lets gravity work for him
In a vertical dive.
His feathers fairly whistle, for he’s a flying missile—
at one-sixty, the fastest thing alive!
Categories:
footer, animals, nature
Form:
Narrative
At His Feet shall we meet
Where we shall part no more
So they sang at his wake
His corpse now at stake
In a box he was placed
Floral displays, music in aura
Lay he like a dead wood
Where goes his six-footer bed
Sunk face, dried lips; like a peg
Lays there dried, no wine keg
Connoisseur of best wine gone
They sang, ate, drank, aside you
Will they come your gate, this dawn
To pick from your morning dews
Or to sink in our morning mews
But goodbye, dad, we bade you
At His Feet shall we meet
Where we shall part no more
So they sang at his wake
This song, they sang in tune
Categories:
footer, death,
Form:
Epitaph
Technology is changing day by day,
the benefits? enormous, one might say,
is miniaturization a price too high to pay?
not necessarily the smart and prudent way.
Gemstones aren't what they're purported to be,
take that cuff link, a microprocessor,
what used to take acres and acres of space
now resides on the top of his dresser.
Tie clips and navel rings, earrings with studs
contain microchips too small to see,
snapshots are routed to secret computers,
surveillance directed at you and at me.
As fate would have it, I have diminished,
a 6 footer, now 2ft 4inches,
soon I'll be able to date a REAL 'bird'
and cavort with the crows and the finches!
It must be my penance, I spoke out of turn
and maligned the creator, the hedonist,
who pleasures the masses with tablets and iPods,
and removed me from his Merry Christmas list.
Small is as small does so I gravitate,
and follow these micro-bit players,
I am so tiny, can hardly be seen,
as black widows become midget-slayers.
Confined to my basement I look for a way
to escape my arachnoid aggressors,
I squeeze through a slit in the mesh at my window
and plead, as with all good confessors.
Out in my garden I stare at the stars,
just a minuscule speck in the firmament,
and wonder how I might reverse my misfortune,
not suffer the lot of the helpless and spent.
It's much too late now to redress my transgressions,
so I must make do with my life as it stands,
and hope when I shrink 'til no vestige is left of me
He will be present to welcome me home.
Categories:
footer, philosophy, spiritual,
Form:
Verse
The implosion of a thought is neither a shred or a shard. In fact it is surely a pulsation of a wisdom whirlpool? Really? How rather radical. And amusing to the laughs of the rhombuses who gather with rhinos to celebrate the correct correspondence from a diagram which has been deleted by a diaphragm. No condolences required in a tepee but echoes of deaths can mean the picking of fruit would become timely,important,and long overdue. Oh dear. How unfortunate that a printed skirt can collapse on a beam like a fly on a wall. It is imperative to note that doctrines are not fables nor are they of importance for they merely feel that they are. And now it is the gatherings of the mutton mutations who are ingesting but losing wool due to the wisdom of wind capsules. Wow . The flotation of heifers timed is an undignified duty to an orbit of an orb and an orb can cast aspersions so never argue with an ambidextrous shrew in a multi coloured cape. And a four gee sim can always placate and be more interesting than placing order in a misty mansion. But misty mansions were supposed to be respected. Yet folk trample and tread and feats by fairies are often unnoticed by small footed monkeys. Balance not a tome whilst on a step ladder. And always bathe in a light fragrance for air is importance to balance,stabilise and renew. Such a groundsheet sewn. And even a sultry hairdryer gets weary when catering for a cantering follicle. So go dust that tree. And iron the gardens. Rest assured that a four footer will grow. Good. Godly given gratefully greeted greatness. And a tree sap to sip. Not to spill. Line up the priests are out. Linking lineage. Then? And a cosmopolitan cosmic cosmetic clap. Bang. Oh. Oblivious to none is agreed by some so throw the leper in the bin. Radical ridicule rather ravenous raping ruling rods reeking. And a little fly to the sands of time. Great isn't it? No. For that is an Orpheus snail that is barking and a cacti jumps up and down. Downloads are a programmable prison then. Fornicate not with an thistle. And carry a weapon to a gig. Guiding giving grabbing going gone. Gits. And a 190,000,987,567 tall pansy. Great. Greater the greater the greater greets. Garnished. Under siege. Vehemently z
Categories:
footer, arabic, art, beach, betrayal,
Form:
i sat on the sandy shelf looking out to sea
intensity in the sunshine
set my head spinning
i could smell the sweet scent of the sea
could hear the breaking waves upon the dusty sands
and could feel in my bones the grains of time as they passed
a thousand years sailing ships plying the
beautiful breeze of the golden shore
a thousand lifetimes of men knowing the depth of love for the sea
and in my heart i too heard her calling me
to wrest a life from the living sea
like the ages old conquest of wind and tide
so with a madman i set off in a twenty footer
and as the gulls wheeled overhead we set our lines
with a sea of stars above
a sea of brackish water below
we harvested a bounty overflowing in my grasp
to make market we had to put every inch of sail to the wind
but by the time we reached shore
the madman had cast all our fish back into the sea
saying that they had begged to be set free
a thousand years of sailing ships plying the golden sea
had worn his mind
worry rubbing the bone of his skull
the wild sea had grasped his soul
the wild sea had stolen his soul
now i chase him cross the flemish cap
every sail straining
no life lived so well
as the life of sea and sand
Categories:
footer, beautiful, ocean,
Form:
Free verse
Technology is changing day by day,
the benefits? enormous, one might say,
is miniaturization a price too high to pay?
not necessarily the smart and prudent way.
Gemstones aren't what they're purported to be,
take that cuff link, a microprocessor,
what used to take acres and acres of space
now resides on the top of his dresser.
Tie clips and navel rings, earrings with studs
contain microchips too small to see,
snapshots are routed to secret computers,
surveillance directed at you and at me.
As fate would have it, I have diminished,
a 6 footer, now 2ft 4inches,
soon I'll be able to date a REAL 'bird'
and cavort with the crows and the finches!
It must be my penance, I spoke out of turn
and maligned the creator, the hedonist,
who pleasures the masses with tablets and iPods,
and removed me from his Merry Christmas list.
Small is as small does so I gravitate,
and follow these micro-bit players,
I am so tiny, can hardly be seen,
as black widows become midget-slayers.
Confined to my basement I look for a way
to escape my arachnoid aggressors,
I squeeze through a slit in the mesh at my window
and plead, as with all good confessors.
Out in my garden I stare at the stars,
just a minuscule speck in the firmament,
and wonder how I might reverse my misfortune,
not suffer the lot of the helpless and spent.
It's much too late now to redress my transgressions,
so I must make do with my life as it stands,
and hope when I shrink 'til no vestige is left of me
He will be present to welcome me home.
Categories:
footer, fantasy,
Form:
Verse