Best Formal Poems
Haibun trying to read your mind from afar,
sitting acrostic from you at the bar.
Iamb itching to sit on the stool beside you,
but somebody's sonnet - and I don't think she'll move.
Are we just a couplet of friends having drinks?
Maybe you quintella me what you think.
I feel giddy and dizain without any warning,
and I know I'm going to feel verse in the morning.
But we've been playing footles and it feels so right,
so why not just tanka me home tonight?
The rule book
Of Society rules
We either live by the rules
Or be ruled unfit:
Toe the line
Walk that fine line
Keep in line
But never cross the line;
Speak up
Speak when spoken to
Speak politely
But never speak out of turn;
Mind your manners
Mind where you look now
Mind your Mama
Oh just never mind;
Look out
Watch out
Just let it play itself out
But never let it out;
Come when called
Come along now
Come here
Just never come alone.
But sometimes
The line between formal
And informal
Ambition
Blurs
And I come
Unspoken
Alone
In my mind
Without you
Playing it out
With both feet
Planted firmly
Over the line.
They all heard him say in Calcutta,
addressing the ball, with his putter,
"Before we begin,
I'd quite like to win,
so please, pop it in," he would mutter.
~
For Craig's 'Golf Limerick' Competition.
MRS. SOCIETY WEARS IT TO ALL FORMAL EVENTS
So they trekked up the mountain covered with snow
surrounded by white with only one place to go
they were headed for a place where money could be made
but the job they do leaves so many squealing and afraid
spurs on their shoes and the dollar sign in their eyes
each step brings them closer to the clear blue skies
ice picks, shovels and the all important implement
and none of these men deserve any form of compliment
footsteps bring them nigh to their prey
because this is a job with mighty good pay
it just requires heartlessness and a dark heart
with selfishness playing it's specious part
suddenly they come into vision at rest
just living snowballs about to face their final test
mallets and hammers paint the white with red
so Mrs. Society can wear the fur of a baby seal beaten until they were dead
© 2012.....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
.
There’s an urgent
Need To collar
A Device. Humans
In politics In boardrooms
A Wearable Necktie
With Microchip
To sense lies
and beep
Is easy
doable.
Dress code
New Formal
A lie detector
It shall Sense
Nerve signals
& temperature
Breath pattern
Physiology etc.
Any aberration
Slightest twitch
Instrument will
Flash and Beep
No Deception In
The New Formal
This we just need
Serious not funny
Make it mandatory
For Accountability
At the highest level
Politics- Commerce
A fool- proof device
Is a billion collar plan
Shall Save The World
From Men in Authority
From Corrupt Humans’
Lies and Deception
A Mandatory
Wear
In New Normal
Formal poetry I ignore, my Lord, thus I sing to Thee the way Thou grace has taught my heart!
(c) Demetrios Trifiatis
08 July 2016
I burn in a light of ecstasy,
scorching the neighbours right next to me.
Show me the gates of prophesy
and torch our temple of memories.
Molten dreams flow out the seams,
denying the laws of gravity
as they capture every tower seen.
I am not the 'me' you know as 'me',
and I am not, was not, never will be
the hero that I so long to be.
I'm sorry.
We did not worship at the shrine of tears;
we knew not to believe, not to confess.
And so, ahemming victors, to false cheers,
we wrote off love, we gave a stern address
to things that we disapproved of, things of yore.
And the people loved what they had loved before.
We did not build stone monuments to stand
six hundred years and grow more strong and arch
like bridges from the people to the Land
beyond their reach. Instead, we played a march,
pale Neros, sparking flames from door to door.
And the people loved what they had loved before.
We could not pipe of cheer, or even woe.
We played a minor air of Ire (in E).
The sheep chose to ignore us, even though,
long destitute, we plied our songs for free.
We wrote, rewrote and warbled one same score.
And the people loved what they had loved before.
At last outlandish wailing, we confess,
ensued, because no listeners were left.
We built a shrine to tears: our goddess less
divine than man, and, like us, long bereft.
We stooped to love too late, too Learned to whore.
And the people loved what they had loved before.
imagine that your love is infinite
assume that someone else's love is too
if you can count the days you've loved someone
and they can count the days that they love you
if you add a day and then they add one too
since their love fits inside them as well as you
not only can you count the days you love
since you are them and they are you the same
then both are infinite your loves and this is true
In other words,
the bombing of China
and the bombing of Hiroshima
were
done in form
The chains must be broken
so
peace
can
enter into the fray
Winds must open
up the minds of the readers
so mental flowers can grow
and guns melt like
butter in a frying pan
The taste of what
we have previously loved
ushers us into new realms
I qualify that by encouraging
your mind and spirit to
dance the dance of peace
If - and only if - they are
ready to
A cheerful "Shalom"
to all of you out there in the darkness
they all wanna know
how to write a haiku poem
educate yourself
in park like beauty
tidy hedges and prim blooms ~
elegant wildness
The Forge
by Michael R. Burch
To at last be indestructible, a poem
must first glow, almost flammable, upon
a thing inert, as gray, as dull as stone,
then bend this way and that, and slowly cool
at arms-length, something irreducible
drawn out with caution, toughened in a pool
of water so contrary just a hiss
escapes it—water instantly a mist.
It writhes, a thing of senseless shapelessness ...
And then the driven hammer falls and falls.
The horses prick their ears in nearby stalls.
A soldier on his cot leans back and smiles.
A sound of ancient import, with the ring
of honest labor, sings of fashioning.
Originally published by The Chariton Review
MRS. SOCIETY WEARS IT TO ALL FORMAL EVENTS
So they trekked up the mountain covered with snow
surrounded by white with only one place to go
they were headed for a place where money could be made
but the job they do leaves so many squealing and afraid
spurs on their shoes and the dollar sign in their eyes
each step brings them closer to the clear blue skies
ice picks, shovels and the all important implement
and none of these men deserve any form of compliment
footsteps bring them nigh to their prey
because this is a job with mighty good pay
it just requires heartlessness and a dark heart
with selfishness playing it's specious part
suddenly they come into vision at rest
just living snowballs about to face their final test
mallets and hammers paint the white with red
so Mrs. Society can wear the fur of a baby seal beaten until they were dead
© 2012.....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
The sweetest love I've ever known
is when she spoke to me
And she was able to
And I was free
When my heart said
you can live
and death left me
to give
When the world became one with me
and I was not deserving
And the love I felt for her
was chaised but less nerving
As I felt the pain go away
and the life in me return to normal
And I was wondering - would it happen again?
And I'm not sure - what's formal