Best For Example Poems
You know me as a poet, and writer of poems sad,
I take poetic license, violating rules and conventions;
telling a story using figurative language, I share,
my life's journey and sorrows in beautiful words.
Few beyond this safe harbor have read my poetry,
I write with raw emotion and I lay my soul bare;
my poems are my treasures and I keep them hidden,
oh, fathomless is the pain.
My view on life is somewhat sadly fatalism,
my destiny foretold, it is already written;
there are many facets to me that I share with few,
oh, classical music moves me to write my poetry and words;
I love Chopin, poet of the piano, Mozart, oh that lyrical charmer.
And I am a lover of art, going to the art gallery weekly,
I love Van Gogh, Degas, Pissario, Bernini and Botticello;
Leonardo and of course, Michelangio, I could go on and on.
I am also fascinated in the architecture in my city.
Often, I just walk the streets looking for beauty,
admiring Gothic revival with its arches and vaults;
and I love the Victorian building where I reside,
with my cat.
I have a small garden, created with a love for nature,
a tribute to my mother's great fondness of flowers.
the things you may not imagine about me are many, for example
I adore vintage jewelry and clothes, and antique anything;
and I am a collector of books, reference, dictionaries, all in a clutter.
And one last thing that I find so very odd and strange,
is that although since childhood I have walked with death;
and death haunts me- I am quite happy, although quite internal,
and I do love and absolutely need my silence.
_________________________________
July 30, 2015
Poetry/Verse/All That I Am
Copyright Protected, ID 30-695-897-30
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to Standard Contest # 260,
sponsor, Brian Strand
Fifth Place
_____________________________
Submitted to Standard contest, 100 In A Row #1,
sponsor, Poet Destroyer
Fifth Place
_______________________________
Submitted Premier to the contest, All That I Am
sponsor, C. Puddifoot,
Seventh Place
The Duck That Lost His Quack
A Duck woke up late one day last week,
And all he could do was to squeak.
He looked everywhere and listened to different things,
Even heard sounds all around, from pings to zings.
For example, he tried many gates, stairs, and barn doors,
Then went and stepped on cracks in nearby creaky floors.
He visited several witches, doctors and some were both,
They prescribed everything from lemons to ginger troth.
In his travels, he came across a quaint woodshop,
Being so tired, he sat down with a solid plop.
A carpenter saw that the Duck was so very sad,
From behind the counter, he came to help the lad.
After hearing of the tale of a missing sound,
The carpenter leapt up with a double bound.
He said, “From within is where it comes,
Not outside, as most would sum.”
“I have made many instruments for music,
And what you need is something acoustic.”
He brought out a short board with a nail,
Then attached several metal strings to a pail.
The carpenter said, “Play away and listen to the sounds in your head.”
The Duck strummed everything from Enya to the Grateful Dead.
After a fashion, the Duck was soon lost in the tunes,
And started to dance and sing like a midnight Lune.
Who knew that this Duck had a knack,
And in the middle of it all started to quack.
So you see, it’s not external to what you seek,
In many cases, its internal and who you meet.
Written by Michael Eastman, 8-25-2015,
This, after listening to Bubbles the Mouse speak,
And hearing a long story composed of squeaks.
The other day, I was visiting the home page at Poetry Soup
and noticed a picture of a guy named Willie Shakespeare
His poems are okay but I found his plays a bit hard to follow
For example: “To be or not to not to be: That is the question”
Really Billy? I mean you either IS or you AIN’T right?
SO, I commented on some of his poems just to encourage him
and guess what? Not ONE-SINGLE-COMMENT in return!
I even tried Soup Mail offering kind, polite advice and critique
No dice! Zilch! Zero! Perhaps it was the style tips I suggested?
That collar's gotta go...Can you IMAGINE in the midst of summer?
I am now convinced that ego and resentment were involved
So I decided to try Eddie Poe and honestly? His stuff is WEIRD
and Ed, I hate to break this to you but: Ravens don't talk
Did the same with Bobby Frost, Benny Johnson and some others
Same old song and waltz, not a peep out of a single ONE of them
To top it off, I Souped Emmy Dickinson (I wanted to ask her out)
I suggested that she might want to edit the first line of her poem from:
“I dreaded that first robin so" to:
“I dreaded that first robin like you wouldn’t BELIEVE”
Her silence was deafening.
Just who do these people think the ARE?
Light bulb! Now I know why PS crams them all together on the right hand end.
They feel sorry for these poet wanna-be’s, but not ME. I will continue to mentor
English is not a language
one can ever get ahead of--
there are just too many words!
Like 'ludic; for example: meaning
playful, in the sense of spontaneous,
without real purpose....Soooooo,
how come I never came across
Little Ludic in over sixty years
of reading hundreds of books
in my beloved mother tongue,
the language I love,
the language I married.
Even spellcheck never saw it,
or else why underline little Ludic
in red, like a criminal of some sort
who needs a good sorting out,
a spell in word prison perhaps?
If one but takes the time to look,
one can find sweet Ludic laying low,
hiding quietly in the BIG FAT ONE,
the Oxford Dictionary!
Lord and Regent of all word books.
Ludic lives there with his cousins:
Ludibrious and that stuffed shirt,
Ludibry, and the handsome,
macho Ludrico ( who is no doubt
from the Italian side of the family)
and of course, the far more famous
Ludicrous, a celebrity who seems to
want all the spotlight for himself.
Words can be so very selfish too....
You know me as a poet, and writer of poems sad,
I take poetic license, violating rules and conventions;
telling a story using figurative language, I share,
my life's journey and sorrows in beautiful words.
Few beyond this safe harbor have read my poetry,
I write with raw emotion and I lay my soul bare;
my poems are my treasures and I keep them hidden,
oh, fathomless is the pain.
My view on life is somewhat sad fatalism,
my destiny foretold, it is already written;
there are many facets to me that I share with few,
oh, classical music moves me to write my poetry and words;
I love Chopin, poet of the piano, Mozart, oh that lyrical charmer.
And I am a lover of art, going to the art gallery weekly,
I love Van Gogh, Degas, Pissario, Bernini and Botticello;
Leonardo and of course, Michelangio, I could go on and on.
I am also fascinated in the architecture in my city.
Often, I just walk the streets looking for beauty,
admiring Gothic revival with its arches and vaults;
and I love the Victorian building where I reside,
with my cat.
I have a small garden, created with a love for nature,
a tribute to my mother's great fondness of flowers.
the things you may not imagine about me are many, for example
I adore vintage jewelry and clothes, and antique anything;
and I am a collector of books, reference, dictionaries, all in a clutter.
And one last thing that I find so very odd and strange,
is that although since childhood I have walked with death;
and death haunts me- I am quite happy, although quite internal,
and I do love and absolutely need my silence.
_________________________________
July 30, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/''All That I Am''
Copyright Protected, ID 07-1140-660-30
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
**** Would like to preface my return, and many apologies to fellow poets who may have missed my absence. Though I did not have much luck in love this past year, this poem was written years ago; I think it is a fine poem though sad, which some may know my attempts at sweet-sorrow have well pleased many. The poem not only reflects tragic romance, but spiritual matters; the instructive distinction that its the soul or heart who remembers things of love, rather than the mind; I think of my passed loved ones in my view with my heart felt memories rather than a mental memory, for example. I find the 'idea' or notion poetically at least interesting and pertinent to romanticism, which is the poem's theme.***
How honeyed her perfume pastille
imbued many a god from their tower
Shook all the gloom which lonely men feel
she some mistress of darling power;
teems she the night with sweet mist
desires she all the allure of nymphs
She has strolled my garden many a time
forgotten I, the devil's music playing in the hills
and the sad forsaken tresses ---
weeping as a child;
or the dying swan and all her lamenting trills;
how many faces of God to touches of love
how many more gods,
though there need be but One?
How femme she-so-fatale and not enduring
with soft, she pecks my cheek
and all the universe her eyes ---
so sweet her kiss as worlds fade in yearning
to cinnamon lips, she of eyes wandering and wild;
twas her soul I wished to hold
with curves, lingering delicate
and never cold
Death shall take her to the lonely-wood....
from me shall fade the petal most crimson
about the night no more a-roving I could
nor velvet embraces with she my love;
the temporal love shall fall to heather
the winds blow, and the tempest's trumpet
roars about her whisper;
but in the deepest dark I roved the delve;
twas my soul which remembered
(Scarlet)
To never see your face again
To lose the map of your body
To misplace memory itself
For example
Today I lost your nose
I couldn't remember which nostril
Was bigger
Last month it was your facial hair
How it felt against my flesh
I still hold on to your aftershave smile
But the hair on your forearm
is still vivid
Brown red and black
An earthly pallet
Like ivy climbing up you arms
You hated your bodily hair
You shaved it every month
I begged you to save it and love yourself
I recall diving my face
Unto your chest hair
It got warmer
The deeper I dove
those lazy afternoons
How the fog transcended us both
I took naps on your stomach
As the cats watched us
Remember when you punched that guy
And he tried to strangle you
I clawed his face
His wife pulled my hair
That was our honey moon
You called the police
I called my mom
And cried
You visited me in the hospital
With guilt dripping from your eyes
Words flew like poisoned darts
Others wanted us apart
But we stuck
Each carrying their cross
Were we ever Heroes?
Doubtful
We were the fools
Laughed at by the children
we never birthed
I wanted to say goodbye
But I was too angry to realize
That goodbyes are a formality
When your soul suddenly dies
We will never have Paris
We hated it
Instead, We will each cry
In a separate house
Until one day
Not far
My face becomes elusive
Your face turn muddled
What is left
This emotional leftovers
Is the essence of what once was
-----
Manar Ammar
Cairo, 2015
Valuable values
A child receives a beautiful toy,
it came in a cardboard box
with shiny wrapping paper.
A short time later
the child was seen
playing with the box
and the toy was abandoned in the corner.
Was it because the child was ungrateful?
Did the child not appreciate the value
of the gift?
Did the child not understand
what the gift was?
Did the child not comprehend
that the box
although it was beautiful,
it was empty, and had no value?
It's hard to comprehend all the why's,
but sometimes even we as adults
do the same things.
We value empty things
with shiny wrappers,
more than things of real value.
For example:
What's worth more, has more value,
your values, or money?
Would you compromise morals
your values, for riches and success?
Many do, thinking they will be happier
with more things.
Take Hollywood as an example:
Many have achieved fame and fortune
yet have not attained true happiness.
They chased the shiny boxes of success
because of the shiny wrapping paper
but in the end they are left feeling
empty.
Don't believe me?
why then do the rich and famous
also commit suicide?
Let's not make the same mistakes...
we can learn that our values
are what's valuable,
and when they are compromised,
or sacrificed,
we lose,
more than what we may gain.
When we lose our values
we lose ourselves....
because we are the gift...
we have the gift of life...
we prove by how we use it,
or abuse it,
whether we are grateful,
or not,
for the gift,
to the giver,
or whether we prefer
shiny empty boxes.
October 11, 2016
John Derek Hamilton
Hello to all four-legged and two-legged friends in the big world
The people who take care of us, do not know as much as they think
We are probably smarter than they are
Take for example, that little cell phone that our people
always have with them wherever they go
What we do.....lift the foot and "send a message" to a friend
When I am out and walking with my people I get many interesting "messages"
Some "messages" are very interesting and take a little longer time to "read"
Then my people impatient, pulling and struggling the leash
What they can not understand that I must "answer" to all "messages"
Our "conversations" and "messages" are equally important
Think about it....they are also free....there is no expense
When their cell phone call or pling they take time to respond
Hello all two-legged humans our messages are just as important as yours
16.June.2012
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
My favorite actor I can easily say would have to be Johnny Depp,
When he has a new movie coming out, it puts a spring in my step;
My husband thinks that he’s insane, but that adds to his allure,
Has there ever been another actor that can play in rolls so obscure;
Take Edward Scissorhands for example, who else could pull that off,
There’s not another actor that could, but still my husband scoffs;
So versatile in playing roles from Cry-Baby to Sleepy Hollow,
And I’ll admit while watching scenes in Chocolat, I found it hard to swallow;
I have yet to see another actor who could match Depp in his whit,
Although Alice in Wonderland kind of freaked me out a bit;
The Pirates of the Caribbean movies all had me on my toes,
But Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was a little weird, I suppose;
That having been said, he’s brilliant, No other can compare,
And when I see his picture posted, I can’t help but stop and stare!
~For Amy Green's Choose One, Have Fun Contest~
-My Subject is Johnny Depp-
Some inventors and scientists, they have both said
That science fiction books put ideas in their head
A novel that was written by Arthur C Clarke
Gave Tim Berners Lee the necessary spark.
The communicator in Star Trek that was fantasy
Martin Cooper of Motorola made it reality.
Beam me up Scotty, well that’s not here yet
Research is being done and they’ll crack it, you bet.
The news pads from the movie 2001
Now everyone has a tablet for online fun
Remember talking HAL, I’m sure you all do
Computer giants researched it and made it come true.
The movie Dick Tracy where they talk on their wrist
Now the smart watch is another to add to that list
Men dressed as robots in old movies you see
Now robots build cars, no longer fantasy.
Artificial intelligence now it can change your life
Any shape any colour, you can have one as your wife
But research and tech gadgets, are we moving too fast?
Mankind might become just a thing of the past.
Take for example a factory with two hundred men
Now all you need is a robot and a workforce of ten
But it’s not something new, just look at history
Job loss came with the intro of the Spinning Jenny.
Ray guns and flying saucers at area 51
They try to tell you that nothing is going on
No need to panic it’s a research facility
Whilst making space age weapons for the military.
And films have inspired the creation of drones
Controlled very easily from an app on your phones
X-Ray drones are the ones that bother me
Wear a swimsuit in the shower because they will see.
Robots that can think will outwit us one day
We’ll just be a nuisance and be put out of the way
Science fiction for many is just fantasy
But it inspires the great minds in creativity.
March 7th 2018
For Science Fiction Contest sponsored by Deborah Guenther Beachboard
Man-made drugs
Induce an altered state
A psychedelic paradise
Of euphoria
A burst of colors
Impaired reality of dreams
A fix of blissful forgetfulness
Married to ecstasy
What need have I of these?
When I have you
My drug of choice
I will not touch any of the others
But you, I long to touch…
To feel you under my fingertips
To caress before I ingest
And let you posses...
Every way I can have you is good…
I inject
Inhale
Take you in orally
Taste you laced with everything
Under my tongue...
There…ah….there….it begins
I start getting high….
Climbing and climbing
My roller coaster rocketing high
On your words
On the scent of your emotions
On the presence of you in my mind
Who could ever find
A more wholesome or better stimulant...
Yes, you stimulate every part of me
You excite me
Make me delirious
Bring fire to my veins
Drive me insane
Make me oblivious to the pain
Leave me wanting more than the time before
Wanting a larger dose of you
More dangerous
More hallucinogenic
Unaware of my surroundings
I climax on this induced trip
You….my drug of choice
The drug from which
There is not even an iota
Of hope for rehabilitation….EVER...
Every cell to my very core is under your control
I want you coursing in my blood
Flooding my brain
FIX AFTER FIX AFTER FIX
More often…more intense…longer…stronger…
What drug can compare to you?
My ever present addiction…
Opiate of my obsession
Drug of my choice….
YOU!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Was struck by a bolt of inspiration on this one! :)
Belt it out with Amy Winehouse…..”They wanted to take me to rehab, but I said ‘NO, NO, NO’.” ;) When I teach my students a rule or so in grammar, I say, for example, "Can you use a comma to join two independent clauses? Is it enough punctuation?" Then, in answer, I belt out with Amy..."NO, NO, NO!" They laugh!
Grace, God’s pleasure,
is His treasure,
in bold measure
beautiful grace.
Christ bore the dross
of worldly loss
upon His cross.
He took our place.
Accused of sham
the great I Am
our paschal Lamb
in love’s embrace.
When people grope
He is our hope,
the means to cope,
His body raised.
a rhupunt written 5 Dec 2014
A rhupunt (RHEE– PINT) is a Welch form consisting of three, four or more lines of four syllables with a rhyming scheme. It will be seen that the last lines of each stanza rhyme and the other lines rhyme with each other within the stanza. For example, in a three-line stanza the pattern would be a, a, B. / c, c, B. / d, d, B. Four-line stanzas would rhyme a, a, a, B. / c, c, c, B. / d, d, d, B. and so on. . .
Do you know what grinds my gears?
Its been building in me for a few years.
People driving and texting, just letting their mind linger.
They almost hit me, then cut me off, then give me the finger.
Then the teacher tells everyone not to text during class.
She starts lecturing and all heads go down like a ceremony at mass.
They all just sit there and talk and text away,
or just sit there and get frustrated at the games they play.
Another thing that gets under my skin and must go,
is when people talk to me, using phrases and words I don't know.
For Example, my friend spent some bones on a whip and got a bucket.
What? Is everyone all right? What happened? He explained it.
What that means is he spent money (bones) on a car (whip),
and its a piece of crap (bucket), and it won't last on a long trip.
Another is: I got a trick that we can flip and make some mad.
I'm not sure what he said, but I could end up in the most wanted ad.
Then he explains, he saw a nice car (trick), that we can buy and sell (flip),
and make a lot of money (mad). So a bucket is a trick and trick is whip?
Why can't you just say car? Because it sounds cool and you know it.
You sound like an idiot and I can't even understand you and I'm a poet.
I don't get why this world has to be so frustrating and get in my head.
He's gonna skeet and drop it til then, so I have to figure out what he just said.
**For Natalie Fllikkema's contest “What annoys you”?
Miz Liberty welcomed Luigi to America's shores to begin a brand new life.
He arrived at Ellis Isle with piles of baggage, three kids and his addled wife.
He knew not a word of English but there's one thing he understood;
He must soon learn the baffling lingo so as not to be misunderstood!
Luigi enrolled in an English class and was bewildered from the start,
Trying to absorb the meaning of various words the teacher did impart!
There were so many words that sounded alike that he could not construe,
And how to fit them in a sentence or a conversation, he had not a clue!
"For example" he asked, "How and when do I use-a you, yew and ewe?
Please-a told me once-a more when it's-a proper to use-a do, dew and due!
When I visit da zoo, is da beast in da cage called a new, knew or gnu?
Can you tell-a me if da tree colors in fall are called hue, hew or Hugh?"
"How can I know if I use-a these-a words correctly, too, to and two,
Or if I get-a sick which of these-a words do I use-a, flew, flu or flue?
I'm-a having all kinds of troubles with these-a words, heir, hair and hare!
In da market I can't figure if I should ask da man for a pare, pair or pear!"
He strove to comprehend the perplexing language and all its doublespeak.
His kids could speak like natives but for him things were looking bleak!
But over time he learned to parse and spell and the jargon he did subdue!
Last I heard of Luigi he was a tenured English professor at Columbia Yew!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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