Best Full Range Poems
It waits on the wedge of a field
no longer lonely, another
floats in for a landing above
a sea of yellow flowers
Who will forget that wonderful fuss,
the mock scolding of an absence
now being celebrated
The preaching by a full range of
vocals - wing tips folding and unfolding
against a new, and thinking sky
For Andrea's SF Contest
I've had many pets in my life.
Right now two cats and I abide
In my small house the size for us,
But I can't let this pair outside.
They're feral cats that I rescued
When wild coyotes invaded nests.
Wild coyotes on our rich farm land
Have become real cat-nab pests.
A neutered tom and spayed kitty
Have the full range of my loved home.
Their antics keep me entertained
And none of us now care to roam.
They run and play amicably
And gladly share their lives me.
11/16/2014
Earth Day
A mighty soul squeezes into a body.
For the first time or the 10,000st – no matter –
It’s humbling, so h u m a n.
Learning to use this magnificent vessel, we know nothing.
What is this thing: “Language”?
We crap our pants.
We forgot almost everything and keep forgetting the rest.
Everything NEW seems REAL.
It will take much work or the Grace of God to perceive the truth again,
Amidst all this fascinating stuff.
Feelings – a packaged deal with the body.
(Much like the Monsanto protection clause in the bill to save the country from bankruptcy)
We are addicted to them (the feelings and Monsanto)
Yet too scared to allow the full range of what is labeled “good” to “bad”.
We spend most of our lives frantically avoiding anything that feels uncomfortable.
Don’t you see: it gives that particular feeling more reality than it deserves!
On the way home listening to the drum and a deeply melodic, sensuous voice,
The old woman in a willowy, wrinkly, white body (www.com) rocks out.
The music is intoxicating.
The older she gets, the more human she becomes.
Youth’s nature is to be perfect.
But after almost 60 years of living, she begins to own and honor the imperfection.
Everything is there. Love, compassion and kindness,
As well as judgment, self-centeredness and even cruelty.
The Earth is completing another turn around itself,
Whirling around a star as they are being hurled farther “into” or “out of” the Universe?
The color is fading out of the landscape.
Sucked into the sky as blues, purples, reds and gold.
Only to be reborn tomorrow in the luminescent light of the dawn.
I am a drunken pen, or at least thats what they call me in the betting shop at 4.55pm on a Saturday afternoon. Kept deep inside the cavity of a old polyester jacket to converse with a packet of wrigley's extra strong mints in the dark. I often find myself just listening intently to my master as he begins the day in articulated fashion, and slowly slivers his way towards a gibbering wreck of despair & destruction. He is struggling desperately to make ends meet, as i frequently share space with 1p & 2p. Yesterday i heard him chatting to himself in the kitchen whilst trying to open a tin of spaghetti hoops. Bills haven't been paid in weeks, and the odour that fills the atmosphere can only be matched by that in the backstreets of Calcutta...not that i've been there to experience the aroma.
My use is simple, i write bets! nothing more, nothing less. Starting the day in a elegant manner and posture my nib floats around the paper like a ice skater at the Montreal Olympics, and quite often i will polish the ego by scoring myself 6.0,6.0,6.0 for artistic impression. But as the hours roll by, and my master takes in the full range of liquid refreshment i find that my posture and style have deserted my being within three turns of a clock face. My master is slowly sinking into the abyss of life, and he sits in the towering inferno of middle aged obsurity with no exits. Everytime i appear from the deep well of his pocket i continually keep praying that this journey shall be my last. Maybe i will break, maybe i will have a blockage. Or even better than that, my master may be fortunate to win a cascading amount of money that prompts him to fling me to the gates of pen eternity allowing the master to purchase the Rolls Royce of pens....The Parker!
Until that moment arrives i will continue to be everything my master wishes me to be. Because at the apex of this life's voyage, i am only as good as my master's intensions.
With her skin all over the castle breath,
growing so fine and fiery,
waiting for men through the spring,
countless as a dozen,
I wait for my turns to give her my passion
in red roses.
Are they in full range, a moment for me,
which I need only a minute to comply,
the faith of a man in love?
Oh, my creole woman!
Crowned de bloom,
as the birds that was born
in which the world exposition is now mine
in full.
Good morning,
Gibbers And Watts how may I help you today?
Yes Sir I can help you with that.
Have you had any thoughts on how you would like to be killed?
Ok yes so like an accident?
We do have a couple of offers on at the moment.
We can do an industrial accident with a mention on the six o'clock news, or for slightly more money we can murder you with a full reconstruction on prime time television and a feature on the news.
Yes Sir, we have a full range of ways we can kill you and all at competitive prices.
Certainly, I can send you a brochure and then you can talk to one of our advisors.
Can I take your name and address and I will send a brochure out to you…
Thank you for calling, enjoy the rest of your day.
Good Morning,
Gibbers And Watts how may I help you today?
She is elusive, shy, anticipated
by a waiting world - perhaps too much,
in that she hides herself reluctant to
appear - delicate as the first leaves
her gowns of petals now unfold, nascent,
her dormancy no longer secret bursts
forth greenness like a miracle untold
into each imagination.
Maybe the world’s coaxing makes your appearance
worthwhile - for under grassy banks are
daffodils to adorn your hair, sweet, pastel
beauty - you decorate every where,
spring, spring, spring.
Suzanne Delaney
I changed this from a free Verse poem to a Blankverse.
Tell me which version worked best, Thanks
First version Here:
S P R I N G M U S E
She is elusive, shy
anticipated by a waiting world
Perhaps too much,
in that she hides herself
reluctant to appear.
Delicate as the first leaves
her gowns of petals unfold
nascent, her dormancy no longer secret
greenness bursts forth like a miracle untold
into each imagination
Maybe the world’s coaxing
makes your appearance worthwhile
Under grassy banks daffodils adorn your hair
Sweet, full range of pastel beauty you decorate
Every where, spring, spring, spring.
Seven Morning Stars
In the western Carpathian piedmont
Which my grandfathers left long before,
The peregrine falcon flees likewise
From a tableau of fresco tradition,
Superstition, and tempera myth.
The me of then bested the alpine pass
Where Hannibal lost his eye.
The I of now has met equal regard,
Evoking the grim determination
With which Henry took Harfleur.
Astronomical winter commences
With numbing indifference.
Indifferent as I am to distraction,
Focused on habits of antiquity
And methods of calm consistency.
A Zen ritual neatly informed
By the flowing advent of water.
Frictionless as lighthouse mercury.
Liquid in form and function.
A fluid collaboration of body and mind.
A calligraphy of sinewy limbs
In an illuminated manuscript
Documenting Sanskrit whispers
Keeping the humors in balance
Aligned with the pace of breathing.
A disciplined manual of arms and legs.
A pacifist drill exhibiting military precision,
Casting well-aimed volleys and salvos.
Performing atheist miracles.
Conjuring Merlin-like spells.
Mastering all the rumored labors
And sundry assorted tasks,
I claim my rightful inheritance
In this temple of redemption
Where one cannot tell Zion from Babylon.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
FULL RANGE OF MOTION, BALANCE, AND CORE STRENGTH TRAINING
There’s an aged Eastern cedar tree
not far from the steps of my back door.
Enormous and quite old it harbors
a full range of flora and fauna
that have sought refuge amid its arms.
I reckon it soars 60 feet high
with an amazing 30-foot girth.
In winter, frosty mist on needles–
faux snow covers its verdant branches–
although it remains green winter-long
Welcoming woody fragrance in Spring
attracts curious creatures of trees–
working tirelessly to build their homes
in the evergreen’s burgeoning boughs–
a comfortable coniferous cool residence.
The cardinals staking my feeders,
fluffed and braced against the chilling cold–
medallions, red on silvery green–
Christmas’ reverberant Friendship Tree
reminds me of friends and family.
My enduring evergreen shares its
sheltering arms and embraces all
who come, as a nurturing mother
providing food, comfort, and kindness
to any seeking safety within her.
Truth beyond bias in belief and perception
Counter Intuitive
To be me Or not to be
Practice makes perfect Boredom fosters sloppiness
Try to be happy all the time Full range of emotions fulfills.
Improving your weaknesses Focus on what you are best at
Always just be yourself Adapt, change in response to others
Pick me, I'm such a beauty All that glitters is not gold
Work less to achieve more Taking a break, wastes your time
Failure is a setback drudge Trial and error a win out need
Giving is better than receiving Rewarding oneself is fulfilling
Less is more, easier to choose Less to choose from you miss the best one
First impressions are reliable Snap judgments are biased by your failings
When investments fail cut your losses Keep investing until you turn the corner
Trying too hard voids success Success comes through perseverance
Least competent overstate their ability Highly skilled understate competence
All medicines have a placebo effect Distrust medicines until they work
Being less obsessed, detached wins out Success comes by focusing on your goals
Spend more to save more, buy quality Buy cheap, good things, nothing lasts forever.
No luck in success, just hard work The more you try the luckier you become.
Feeling such despair..
We were a pair..
My heart is heavy with a tear..
You left me..
Why can't you see
I shall never let this be..
You never said goodbye..
May it be that our love was a lie?
Often at times I feel as if..
I want to die..
You never said goodbye my love..
For you my love..
I would have gone above and beyond..
The sun ..
The stars..
And the moon..
You have given up so soon..
You never said goodbye my darling..
Perhaps I awaited your return for so long..
For as long as the seasons change..
At full range
As music plays a soulful song..
Which is a reminder of only you..
The love of my life you were my love..
I know you cannot hear my cries..
You had wrapped yourself in a bed of lies..
Although..
For now ..
Sweet Darling..
It is I ..
And..
With a sigh
I shall say goodbye..
If infinity has no end, then where did it all begin?
Opinions were given by...
Theories pondered and the proof has been under Investigation by...
The private eye that was named:
“Able Answer.”
This guy is a half empty glass from the full range of open thinking.
Pessimistically closed for business;
Able Answer is relieved by his polar opposite:
“Question Able.”
Ha-ha, I found you.
You dirty-
Rat-
You killed my—
D
R
E
A
M
S ... .
A prisoner she’s not - breaks out of cage.
In absence of spotlight, still darkness fades.
We’re thunderstruck, she’s breathtaking on stage.
Audience favorite, her star pervades.
Her proverbial voice does shatter glass.
In absence of spotlight, still darkness fades.
A full-range tone, full of comedic sass,
as she sings, “Good Morning, Baltimore,” gold.
Her proverbial voice does shatter glass.
A bow and bounce of curl, her “Hairspray,” bold.
My soul is moved, my eyes are proud with tears,
As she sings, “Good Morning, Baltimore,” gold.
Her lilting song: “I Can Hear The Bells,” cheers
With heart and soul, with angel’s wings, their lift.
My soul is moved, my eyes are proud with tears.
A bashful child no longer hides her gift.
A prisoner she’s not - breaks out of cage,
With heart and soul, with angel’s wings, their lift.
We’re thunderstruck, she’s breathtaking on stage.
5/6/2022
Harsh
Smiles' death draws down on His faces
He allowed us a full range of muscles to
function at our precious free will
He gave us our ability to express our
pleasure, but also our pain
He never meant for us to pretend, to hold it
all in.
He knows
His children
Loves us
And as He created our earthly parents in
His image wishes us only joy but
He knows
We grow
He created us so.
Since we feel, we react and Our Lord's
foresight in allowing us to show our
unhappiness does not detract from His
powerful love
He knows
So
As always
He provided
Curtains open in Bastion's Castle...
Fortification of great entertainment
designed for a full range of distraction.
It's still in good fashion....
Curtains designed at the hempline,
short and cute they flank their faces,
avoiding voids in centered spaces.
Flat and low to the ground encloses
host of a Court in the round.exposes...
Cut that station it's just too a.cute!
Bastian plays in a structured flute.
Flanked gorgeous this Demi-Goddess
of irregular poly.songs wall.us.
~Don't scare us~
The Curtains just opened. And fair it is!
Oppositely nefarious and rather glorious
is a Shakespeare.Ein version of the Obvious.
~A Stage Called Hilarious~