Best Graded Poems
Pull out the easel
set the canvas
positioned long and slender clean slate.
Sketch the figures huddled and dark-bound hostage
to charcoal-cooled coals
etching in shadow images;
Faceless entities
slipping in and out the background
earth-toned sojourners accepting, alone, quiet, dying;
Still the images in silence
hard and disfigured
grotesque horrors in place;
Somber soul-drained eyes
skeletal socket holes
buried in the heart and mind;
Let tears fall down their cheeks
in wonder, awe, and
fear of what happens next.
Acrylic primers dilute the wash in the storyline
flaking and cracking
tearing each soul and truth away;
Polyptych blended burnish bleeds
quiet, soft exuding
whimpered cries, asking why;
Chiaroscuro collages of death from life
fading to diluent breaths
the heartbeat of an unholy silence;
Graded gouache monochrome scraper boards
releasing sfumatos of singularities
communal lives sacrificed
Varnish the final rendition
camouflage the realities,
the actuality of what it represents,
Time immemorial in genocidal atrocities
of Native Americans, Cambodians, Hawaiians,
Jews, Rwandans, Bosnia, Darfur,.
When does it stop?
The never-ending list
life is more precious than this
until change comes
Paint the Picture Black and Gray
pray
then act.
The Dream, The Judgement And The Final Plea
If my beating heart were to be graded,
Through clear prism of hidden things not oft seen;
Let it be judged by memories faded,
Tho' once pretty as verdant grass is green.
There with blindness removed, pray thee not err
For muddied waters defy truest intent;
As all my life and love, was given her,
Such was not wrong, thus no need I repent.
From her soft heart's beating, she gave her all
Nights in loving splendor, we did embrace;
With her sweet smile greeting my every call,
Her great gift was found to be Heaven's grace.
Thou parted, death can not our love destroy,
Destiny once charted, tho' now no more;
Judge not harsh, follies of young girl and boy,
Should my path, be to a different shore.
Forgive mistakes made, youthful confusion.
We both being too young and filled with pride.
I pray thee jump to no wrong conclusion;
All my great sins I dare not try to hide!
Know this, I loved and wanted to keep her,
And in both pounding hearts, love was sublime;
True now, I am truly lost without her,
Perhaps best judge me as bad, end my time.
Ask I thee, please grant this one more favor,
Allow this wretch to give her one last kiss;
See her smile, touch her lips, taste her flavor,
Die remembering all that I will miss.
Robert J. Lindley, 5-21-2018
Rhyme, ( Plea and Judgement )
The horizon cuts straight, long, hard
silently declining less than a degree
like toys across a cartoon’s one frame stillness
a small yacht rocks like a child’s boat
a helicopter putters, a small jet silently
bellies over the sea thundering suddenly
against a graded blue sky
children flying a kite
a plummeting twisting tied bird in its death throes
falling from the warm seemingly red-speckled blue
broken only by a smudge of grey cloud
curling white-tipped waves swirl against rocks
a lonely Zen-meditative crab in their shade
the sand, ridged, striated, pockmarked
small holes left as bubbling miniature blowholes
fine lines webbed around
sand rippled like the sea, waved and cleansed
a poetic transgression? – Neptune’s impost?
the soap-sud foam his in-coming joyful jouissance
the thin receding water a pin-spot bridal veil
and a bridal train, its white scalloped lace edge
pleating, folding, hiding under the next wave
in rippling curving line-patterns
No one lives in a democracy opening word lie
Let's be frank for a moment we are all slaves
unto a taxpaying system none the less true
Graded by our salary in class distinction fact
poor lawless order is the ruling bodies ignorance
that takes under the table deals which turn tricks
Hidden from view by corruption shady characters
our role models to carry into the future light
Power generates a hungry source unyielding
That lusts with the endless need for more
constantly envying others happiness
chaos will follow unmoral government bodies
They who should be prosecuted where justice dwells
under high treason against the state and her children
I believe in truth and honestly not falsehoods
I feel the familiar burn of abandonment
A feeling that anyone sane would resent
And yet I bask in it—the disconcerted lament
Angrily I tear at the seas and weeds of lies
Saying nothing but curses—bidding goodbyes
Painstakingly waiting for the cruel waters to rise
But you never rose, you fool!
You graded me into your gruel
An inadequate tool—yes, a screwed up tool!
Here I am again and no one has won
Feeding on the nothingness you willingly spawn
Nothing but GONE—who the hell won!?
I thought you were a journey’s rest!
But you are nothing but a wrong-turned address
Spilling me over in a bloody, dead mess
I want to turn away tonight
And never look your direction
Because no matter how hard, I cannot fight
The seas of succulent depression!
You were fixed
At the expense of my misery
At the expense of an inadequate tool
The teacher stood in front of the class,
“Today, she said, “I’m giving you the same assignment I give every year!”
“Please write what you want to be when you grow up...
and remember:
There’s no wrong answer here.”
She found most answers to be the same as every other year she taught:
doctor, fireman, super hero, movie star…
one student wants to own a yacht.
The teacher read with interest…as their grammar she corrected
until she came across one paper…with an answer unexpected.
It was written by the shyest girl in class…who did not want a super power.
WHEN I GROW UP, she wrote in capital letters,…I WANT TO BE A WILDFLOWER.
Because bringing beauty to the world…is a flower’s livelihood
and I want to grow in places …no one ever thought I ever could.
The teacher held the essay in her hands…unwilling to let it go…and suddenly, out of nowhere, her tears began to flow.
She gently set the essay down…and as it glowed in her lamp’s light…She thought for a moment, picked up her pencil…then she began to write.
‘You already bring beauty to my world’, she wrote
‘And I know you’ll find a way...
to add beauty wherever you go.”
and she graded it an A.
I just tried out Soup’s grammar checker
It graded my work at just three
I smashed my IPad into pieces
You might say it kind of irked me
So I loaded up sonnet eighteen
(Compare thee to a summer’s day)
I copied and pasted that poem
Precisely as Shakespeare did say
Seems it’s a long way from perfect
For ‘owest’ he shouldn’t have said
And he’s gonna need to change ‘growest’
Alas, I believe Shakespeare’s dead
And then checker graded his writing
And set it at one point nine three
So what’s the big deal with this Shakespeare?
It seems he writes worser than me!
[Postscript: This epic ode achieved a 1.93: Cest la vie.]
As I look back
failure was never
an option…
destined
to repeat until the lesson
learned –
As I look back,
I have been schooled
and graded for life
by death --
------------------------------
The soul skips and bumps
a corduroy road – these often
alter pass vehicles we call the
Human Body And Currier --
I transport no angel messages
nor devils to lament --
no convictions other than
my time profitably spent --
Profitably Spent, not meaning an
accumulation of victories...but a
process of divining, sinking – drawing
out of the earth more than I ever put in….
When school kids sit those maths tests,
A couple of times each year,
They get that pale stressed look from
No sleep and that “failure” fear.
Wearily streaming through the tired doors
Students trudge into the hall.
Pens and rubbers all align,
The creaking clock up on the wall.
Arranging the hall for the test
Seats and tables stand aligned.
No cheating is ever possible,
Students sit alone, sort of blind.
And the exam is sterile, black on white,
Answers are right or wrong.
And the questions are all graded to be about an hour long.
Then it starts, hair gets tossed,
Eyes glance, “sniff”- a tissue.
Clumsy sketches, sitting sideways
On plastic chairs becomes an issue.
Pictures, fidgets, graffiti and tapping,
Hats off, fingers tell the truth.
Hands up, “Can I go to the toilet?”
“Yes, be quick, don’t dawdle Ruth.”
Well, maths tests aren’t meant to be fun,
You won’t laugh, smile, or sing.
And quadratic algebra doesn’t really
Get used for anything.
And the square root of the unknown function
Forms perfect curvy surds.
Should we expect a teenage kid
To care about these words?
And finally, the air hostess,
Straight hair, microphone and smile,
Gives exit instructions in rehearsed monotone,
“Please leave via the isle”.
To kids, another maths test,
Another day at school.
At home they’ll play their Halo
Or just chill out in their pool.
Entered into "YOUR BEST OLD POEM UPDATED" contest by Judy Konos, ranked First place
The Feeling of Fishing while Floating
Is Graded on Goading, and Gloating
Bystanders oft blindly believe
In salmon the size of my sleeve
Tall Tales at the Time Told True
In Grandeur they Gained and they Grew
But my Rod and Reel won't Remember
Come the Dread and the Din of December
And by the Time I again Tell my Tale
I Will have Wrangled Ahab's White Whale
2/13/11
By Edmund Siejka
A high school English teacher
Issues a challenge
Her class
Is to write a poem.
Reading a student’s poem
Her experienced eye
Searches for
Imagery
Metaphor
Tone
Point of view
Ultimately the student’s poem
Is graded a gentleman’s C.
Somewhat surprised
The student admits his shortcomings
Indicating that poetry is a lot like writing
Disappointed
The teacher
Doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Coming home that night on a crowded train
The teacher passes up a seat
Letting an exhausted looking woman
Sit down
Thankful
For this simple courtesy
Brief smiles are exchanged
Strangers from two different worlds.
The teacher notices the smell of disinfectant
Hovering over the woman
Thick fingers holding tightly to her purse
The woman
Begins an animated conversation
With two other women
Broken English
Graceful hand movements
Words interrupted with laughter.
From what the teacher hears
She believes the women
Are cleaning ladies
The little people who clean the bathrooms
Vacuum carpeted hallways
Empty the trash
From windowed offices
High above the New York skyline.
The words ‘poetry is a lot like writing’
Linger in the teacher’s memory
One thing she is sure of
The ladies know of life
After years of
Hard work for little pay
Hungry children
Angry husbands
Absentee landlords.
The train stops
Momentarily the ladies collect
In a small group
On the empty train platform
Suddenly there is no more talking
In the awkward silence
Each of the ladies turn
Toward the direction
Of a place they call home.
My speech ain’t elegantly refined,
my words don’t dress up none too properly
Simply cloth words with no aristocratic design,
just plain, unassuming ghetto vocalese
Though I’m very familiar with
the Queen’s English tutorial
I don’t engage much in heavy conversation
that’s Harvard professorial
My talk is Oxford bent,
I got a deep Detroit-Harlem accent
Me be the son of a slave,
my nappy sentences ain’t straight
Neither is my speech, I’m afraid
My English is bent, I know ...
don’t always put my vowels where dey need to go
Teach sez me grammar skills is graded low,
I speak phonetically pure Ebonics with an Afro glow
But when it comes to surviving the Establishment game,
I’m da best you better know
Sometimes I speak me English right,
and sometimes I don’t
Still, I know how to ghetto walk at night,
us black owls don’t easily fright
We say, who say dat when I say dat
We say, who is dat talking like a rat,
creeping like a cat
We don’t like front runners
who don’t got our back
You understand what I’m saying,
though my English be bent
I don’t have fancy letters like some of y’all,
but me message always get sent
Now you received this truth water
straight from the Beth-el well,
so drink it all down,
it’s crystal clear speaking as a ringing church bell
And if my speech sound liberty cracked,
that’s when ya know something’s out of whack
Bent ain’t always bad,
‘specially when ya ducking from a bullet attack
Verbal or otherwise ...
my ghetto Bentley got a high market price
Me keep da conversation clean on da inside,
ebony gleaming outward on the black hand side ...
Leaning bent in da back diamond life
is a beautiful soul scenic ride
The crude beast of my future
I know I will never be super
I cant make honors
so my life will by shattered like the trail left by bombers
I try too hard
to make my life good
to make my sure I wont live in a junkyard
from the second I was born I would be told I could
I could do anything I want
I could say anything I want
I could believe whatever I want
And it is as if life is making my life miserable by all of its taunts
The truth hurts they say
That luck will eventually come my way
School is a pit of destruction that crushed dreams more than it creates them
cause there is now way I can get my GPA, SAT, MCAS, or RPMs hight enough.
I love learning but hate being graded on the right answer.
There is more than one right answer and if if it doesn't fit in your ideal world
I will just have to become an exotic dancer
Cause I want to change education not become enrolled.
By, Brennan Gunster
It is all that's about
speechless moments full of
thoughtful comments
and endless monitoring hours...
Absence of my sound,
does not mean I am not around,
does not prove I am not watching and judging
does not mean I do not exist
does not mean I will not, for I what I want, insist
does not mean I can not persist
yet! it could mean that some people
can be down graded,
some action will be filtered,
some manners will be reflected,
and some doubts will be corrected
for those who will be missed!
Sometimes it is easy to handle
yet with all of the stress bundle
you can not see the sunlight after
the rain and the thunder!
It is my self containing stage,
Judgemental case on action base,
and it could be a turning phase
to solve my endless maze
about all of the doubts that
in a night and a day do rise!
Life knocks you down,
some people are around,
and other could be the reason why
you remained on the ground...
Detach yourself from all of the lower respect,
Aim high and work towards,
this is how you are different than them...
No matter how many time it could sound like
"END OF LIFE"...
It never was and never will!
Because you are still alive ever since any of them!
Stand up! Face the world,
Be who you are even to those who show no reward
Yet be proud of the one person
You turn to be with every drop down you feel,
with every disappointment you pass through,
with ever word-full non actional act you see...
And that is to me...
A true remedy...
Backing off for sometime,
watching what is happening around,
acting on all of that surrounds,
in line with my manners
is all what it to me, now matters!
A habitation hanging on a pole of love
circled by an orbit
of calm and tenderness.
Unto its walls;
purity and goodwill stick.
Floats on water and edged by the mountains
architectured by exotic plants.
Colour and beauty
mixed with the interplay of nature
as both the living and the inanimate
interact in ordered pattern and harmony
A place where time
has no definition
as so many todays
make up centuries
with nothing like yesterday or tomorrow.
It rains water in the morning
and in the evening, milk
with satisfaction and strength
the content of every marrow.
Everlasting joy;
you need not seek.
Bountiful kindness,
enjoyed even by a shadow.
Beautiful gardens and animals in diversity
forming a clique
as even the Lion's breast
becomes a succulent pillow.
Every being that breath becomes meek.
Unending peace
clinging unto you
like a lonely widow.
All in one simple existence
hardly to believe.
Is it the socialite and the geek?
Or the Eagle in dialogue
with the sparrow?
Are all rare happenings never to let go.
A land void of unpleasant states
where you can neither
find the weak nor the sick.
Equality and happiness is its constitution
with no one down graded to a minnow.
A site full of exactness and perfection,
a serenity edifying and accurate,
an atmosphere so complete and hundred percent.
Where in the world would this place be?
If not in my dream.