Best Genre Poems
Seems like I'm stuck in this silliness genre
A goofy kind of genre to be in, oh momma
Can't break the spell
Stuck good, oh well
Maybe I should just start smoking marijuana
© Jack Ellison 2015
Aware,
I may not
Appeal to others.
But, I know the truth
The world is an illusion,
Not the safe harbor for conformists;
Yet, I can't be fragile just because I was,
Outcasted from the heedless reign of the traitors
Arrogant and stubborn they can't see the verity, but an illusion
Perversion Is their abode, far from their own conceived ethical norms...
Poetry is not meaningless.
It helps the writer,
To get his or her point across,
In rhyme,
And sometimes
None.
Poetry is a unique expression.
It is the writer’s way,
To pass on God’s blessings,
And life’s lessons.
It is my way to combat hate,
From the past and present dates.
Poetry drives punches and puns,
In such view words.
It gives haters or readers
In short what they need or deserve.
It is here to help us all
Pass life’s promising tests.
Poetry is the literary genre,
That I love the best.
wrote 2-5-10
it is
what it is
without narrative
isolated
moments
of figuration
sunlight
on a wall
frozen
in time
conversations
of unheard voices
stillness +
paradox
commune within
the
interplay of
imagination
in
studies
of loneliness
emblematic
silences
soundless symbolism
saturated
with suggestion
soft realism
of the inner life
gestates
cries
on canvas
forever before
our eyes
juxtaposed
drip
by
drip
into
melancholy
an empty chair
a sad stare
it is
what it is
Where they speak
Where they compose
Where they brainstorm
Where they act out
To create
To make right
To edge perfection
Then it septed through
The murky waters of
Knowledge
Those who's and
and what's
Straighten out
the unfralls
Making way
For
Intreies
On who's mark
Starts the
Composment
Sounding out
What words meant
Ready
Ready
The intro's
Starting
Books are the cheapest way to go on vacation;
You meet a new friend every chapter.
On some pages you feel elation,
And at the same time you’re filled with laughter.
Some tales are filled with mystery,
Some are full of adventure,
Lots dive deep into history,
Some only the brave can venture.
Mystery books involve a crime
In which the hero must find some clues,
He must solve the riddle in time,
So that the criminal gets accused.
Adventure books start with a quest;
They can take you to a land far away.
I tend to like those books best
Where the knight always saves the day.
History books can be varied.
They can be about Medieval Times,
Or people who have been buried,
Maybe even kings in their primes.
Some books try to scare you,
They make you afraid to sleep,
They have sorcerers in robes of blue,
Who send out monsters to creep.
When you are sad and depressed,
You can quickly distract your mind.
Just find the book you like the best,
And your journey’s not far behind.
Without further interruption a game, riddle.
Abyssal void manifests a skeleton and a cloak,
he has a sickle but is no reaper,
plays cards instead.
Dealt in a kraken with all sevens,
four on the board but the dice are rolling,
snap you from your reverie.
If this is the grim reality of a toad,
aimed at hue manatee then whose diamonds bled,
all I see are droplets of rubies.
Dave’s Jones is knocking his ship is sinking,
he shows the X but there is no spot,
so where is your treasure?
Extra clue,
sevens are wild.
That elusive answer
which ricocheted to land
in a bush, throws you in tizzy.
Are you sure, you want
to hurl more questions ?
This was a qualified Higg’s
boson, which bowed out
from the race of God’s creation
to become invisible.
A gecko climbs on the wall
shutting the soul. The huge crowd
was pushing the chariot, addressing
the shadows behind the glass. The
featureless becomes untouchable.
A moon beam glides on the carpet.
Priest will go to sleep.
Satish Verma
Adagio Crescendo the trumpets
Need your tenor tone
Alto Crescendo her crisp sounding
Tone
What nights might concerto
Intros of love
Itros toiduce interest
Keeping ah tenor interested
Is what Alto wants to do
A more a more
Sumthang special bout you
I believe that the Sasquatch is valid.
He is huge though he eats only salad.
He’s so large, I admit,
that a limerick won’t fit
this big fella — I owe him a ballad.
In every generation
In every genre
People look to the
Absolute greatness
Of course those
In the circle of concern
Time to time
Tested to see
Who's best
Tested and essayed
To recognize prestige
and greatness
Sifting through the ages
In the now
Of
Tommorrow!
They sought fortune and fame
They danced in celebration
And cried in defeat
Hour after hour they labored
To be best in there feild of
excellence.
They toiled in sickness
and we're champions in
Health
they sought gold in
recognition of there
greatness
and we're right in there
they time and in all
times because they
we're best!
Its style is a journey for my mind
providing a world onto itself
with miles to meander
and crevasses to explore
with paths to follow
allowing my soul to wander
AP: 1st place 2026, Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on April 25, 2025 for contest YOUR CHOICE V sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 8TH
We are at the world's edge
Playing non-stop on reed
Along the lyrics of natural nerds
Singing solemnly aloud to no end
With courage, strength and gut, we fledge
Upon all it throws cum concurrent need
We put the flag of fitness on substantial words
Giving all to the moment per chance cum luck to contend
In the hopeful grace that endangers mind's den
Either our says are blue or our minds, red
Our DOS will glee come what may to adhere
To our souls' operating systems regarding gene
Shout out to men on pen
Boys are not stone yet not dread
But are readily fit to contend without fear
Be it in Apomu, London, or even Eugene
It is either we win or battles rend
But no surrender not even for greed
Of pasture which mortal wants green
Of which everyone has become an aorta
That accompany the mysteries pens trend
In this peaceful tease is my awesome breed
A figure of troubled bliss pecking fate's serene
Gracefully, I belong to this wonderful "M" genre.
The staff intro'd
Members of the
Genre One ( team/
Faction)
At the press conference.
They appeared cladded
With some glad to be me
Clothes and expensive shoes.
They traded expensive watches
Of camera, and each time
They were asked a question
They referred it to
Mastro Adagio, the
Genre One centralist and
Conductor of Management.
While in mid conversation
Mastro C. Adagio stopped
Looking at the glamorous woman
And told her sip it slow and enjoy
We don't know if you interesting enough
For men of this caliber!
Adagio Crescendo the trumpets
Need your tenor tone
Alto Crescendo her crisp sounding
Tone
What nights might concerto
Intros of love
Itros toiduce interest
Keeping ah tenor interested
Is what Alto wants to do
A more a more
Sumthang special bout you