Best Infer Poems
If no longer could I inscribe, upon tapestries of rosy skies,
Dreams tinted violet, blossomed in themes amethystine,
And no longer could I weave-in the dreamscapes of life,
Failing to decode the missives of your clandestine smile;
If bluebells, red buds, white magnolias~ blooming spring,
And the tall oaks swaying with the slow dance of willows,
And the zephyrs that undulate ripples, burbling with currents,
Could no longer wow you on the banks of our giggling river;
If rustling trees, whirling leaves, dazzling chromatic glee,
Majestic aspens, sugar maple, fall’s stellar symphony,
And blushed twilight ceding to moonlit night’s euphony,
Could no longer mesmerize you in autumn’s blazing glory;
If frosty season sprinkling snowflakes on enchanted evening,
Bedecking face of prairies, enlivening decaying meadows,
And sun’s aureate mellowed rays glinting elongated shadows,
Could no longer lure you to the splendor of falling snow;
If I can’t infer love from passions amethyst of rising dawn,
If I can’t decipher meaning of your covert, unfolding smile,
If I can’t invoke spring in budding birth of yellow daffodils,
If I can’t show you autumn in a single golden falling leaf,
If I can’t make you feel, winter’s angst in shuttering trees;
Then I am afraid, it must be true, a poet I have ceased to be;
And yet, I hear you say my dear, forever you will love me.
My mother’s hair hung thick and to her waist.
But seldom did she wear it in that way,
for always in a bun she had it placed
til it was loosed and on her pillow lay.
She sometimes tells me how I'd kidded her.
When I was small, I said, “Your hair is pink!”
From how she tells this story, I infer
I must have caused her tender heart to sink.
She aged, yet grey was sparse upon her head.
We said, “An older woman cuts her hair.”
Mom acquiesced and lost those locks rare red
she’d humbly worn for years when young and fair.
She’s nearly eighty now, bobbed hair turned brown,
And how I miss her once “pink” glory crown.
By Andrea Dietrich
I imagine when you first see it…all you see an old cast-iron pan…you don’t see where it’s been…you only notice the outside…not the history within.
But every time we use it…we handle it affectionately…because when we pick up this old cast-iron pan…that…is exactly what we see.
Some of this pan’s history we know…the rest we must infer…it was Debrah’s grandmother’s…passed down to her mother…then passed on down to her.
Now take another look at it…imagine, if you can, three generations of meals…cooked inside this pan.
Think of all the breakfasts, lunches and dinners served up lovingly…think of what this old cast-iron pan has meant to our family.
I wonder if that’s what makes anything cooked in this pan taste so good…as we think about how long ago it was cast…as the flavors we are tasting today blend with all those flavors from the past.
I suppose that’s why we get a little sentimental…why we use this pan so reverentially…knowing its age and history is what makes it special…knowing it’s a lot like Deborah and me.
And hoping how the three of us…Deborah, me and this old cast-iron pan…with a little bit of care and a lot of love…will keep cooking as long as we can.
We only hope there is at least one item in your house filled with memories…filled with its own history…an item like our old cast-iron pan…that’s part of your family.
The notions felt within our minds,
the thoughts beyond our words,
that flutter ‘cross the April skies
like butterflies and birds,
and settle ‘pon a distant soul,
will cause their hearts to stir;
the notion of our deepest love,
beyond what words infer.
May 18, 2025
For the lady who resides at 7th floor
I meditate as I close my eyes, so much of her glamorous face,
The loveliest aesthetic art that brings me joy and grace –
The definite hue of her skin, her small black eyes, her ethereally crafted lips;
If she were a waitress I’m confident her pocket would be flooding with tips.
O, beautiful is she, if I that may say; she is like a flower that never fades,
She’s transparent, like a lake – her teeth pure white, shiny as new knife blades.
I infer, she is adorable when she sleeps and at dawn when she does awake,
Her kindness and her pulchritude, they mesmerize me –yup it’s true, I don’t fake.
Yesterday I awed with every smile she had thrown at me every time that I’d talked,
But I grew even most in need and in love with her the minute she turned and walked –
And by my lips, I swear, if she offers me a chance to kiss,
If that happenstance ever presents itself I’d definitely not miss.
The truth is simple, she appeases me and I so ample wish she would be mine;
But she frightens me –nevertheless, soon I’d dare her out on a date to dine.
One day she left her house, feeling out of sorts
as if some premonition spoke to her.
It said to just stay home; to not go out.
No logic in this, though, could she infer.
She ran her errands, then bought groceries.
To her car she went, exiting the store.
Discombobulation hit! Something wasn’t right.
That feeling now she just could not ignore.
A handsome man approached her as she neared her car.
It seemed as if that guy came out of nowhere.
She saw his knife, then felt its menace at her back.
She looked around; the parking lot was bare.
Discomfort and confusion turned into grave fear.
Like acid in her throat, great dread was rising.
Bound and gagged, how she wished she’d listened
to her instinct! Sadly, her fate was not surprising.
Eternal granite, crystalline scree, agates, boulders, rise
to hills, towering tors,* mutinous mountains, endlessly growing
rising, lifted, then toppled by the fiery rebirth of draconic lava**
Like the cracked shell of an avian egg***/ **** both molten yolk
and watery albumen mark the passage of time, the swings
of the multiverse, they pacify Charon’s passage on the Styx
Seen and unseen the arched openings spiral, poled in ten
dimensions by exigent mathematical quandaries, branching
boles boldly rooting in islands of primordial I, chained
screeching***** shadows infer larger beings who manhandle
the infinite construct of finite man
*Alliteration Repetition of consonant sounds [
** Hyperbole A figure of speech involving exaggeration.
*** Assonance The repetition of similar vowel sounds [A vian, A gg]
**** Simile A figure of speech involving a comparison between unlike
things using like, as, or as though.
*****Onomatopoeia a word that imitates the sound it represents
Great untouched woods of the north
Where pines still grow a hundred foot
Small valleys, no vast mountains
Where every few miles runs a natural fountain
We have an upper and a lower half
Summers so perfect- always sigh 'n' laugh
Wolves still howl in places far and deep
Moose and deer frolick, play and leap.
Surrounded all sides by the Great Lakes
The state one and only- make no mistake
Cities, huge, cramped, cacophonic clamor
Deep woods, so silent, rare a flashy glamour
Mute forests, harmony with nature some prefer
Shrill of streets, dogs, and cars some infer
Full of culture and fellowship- we citizens
This magical place of peace is my state- Michigan.
A. Green
Written for the "MY LAND IS MY HOME" Poetry Contest
by Skat
She was not blessed with comely grace,
spurned and shunned by cupids arrows
because of her displeasing face
and breasts like kneecaps on a sparrow.
Her scrawny frame one could infer
if dressed in red and eyed sideways
she’d mimic a thermometer;
no outward grace to be displayed.
Her real beauty was deep inside
hidden behind two large, brown eyes
where a beautiful soul resides
eternally and undisguised.
Beauty is a skin-deep grace
it’s just a temporary thing:
a short-term asset on a face
that fades away like this years spring.
In the center of our galaxy
from 1992 through 2003
astronomers were able to observe
a star, orbiting compact radio source
Sagittarius A.
The star had an orbit with average radius
1.4x1014 m
and period 15 years.
From this information astronomers estimated
the mass of Sagittarius A.
v = 2π(1.4x1014)/(15x365x24x60x60) = 1.86x106 m/s
a = (1.86x106)2/(1.4x1014) = 0.0247 m/s2
0.0247 = (6.673x10-11)M/(1.4x1014)2
M = 7.24x1036 kg
7.24x1036/(1.989x1030) = 3.6 million suns!
Astronomers infer that Sag. A is a
supermassive black hole
(it cannot be seen)!
OH LITTLE STAR
remember it's not the "actual" data
it's only the metadata, but we
never met a data we didn't love
there's treasure in detritus debris
with intense Holmesian determination
we'll be able to infer and deduce
some linked reference, some correlation
between pointed data bits obtuse
government or company or corporation
don't matter the size of digital scrap
data microscope will reveal motivation
wanted are all of the small bits of crap
listing phone logs, search queries and such
myriad IP addresses and email recipients
to squirrel away with the lightest of touch
GPS Lat-Long located and databased insidious
to imply we spy on domestics is irrational
since we're "multi-national" by determiner
we're only looking at the "foreign nationals"
'course from "over there" you're the foreigner
you see there's nowhere to run away
no thought too trivial or secret to reveal
what networked digital crumbs can convey
is what gives metadata its big data appeal
© Goode Guy 2013-08-22
What I think I know is not
What I know
I assume I know much more than
What I know.
I do not know
What I do not know
As what I know reveals
What I need to know.
The trouble is to know
What I do know
And to know what I do not know.
This makes me humiliated
For I have been quarreling with authenticity
That I know
And what I know is correct.
"To know what we know
And to know what we do not know
Is real knowledge."
Said the philosopher.
I know he did not know
What one needs to know.
Knowing one thing becomes
A known thing the moment
One thinks of knowing
And some thing of that thing
Is not known,
So I do not know
Of that something.
This means
One can infer
'I do not know' is the truth.
Then arises the billion dollar question
"What one has to know?"
As the known thing expands every moment you know
Just to know is not even knowledge,
Leave alone wisdom.
The question now arises
How can I know
What I do not know
And what I can not know?
Sometimes I do not know that
Because I can not know.
If I do know
What I can not know
Then I know
What I do not know
Then how can I say I know
About the thing I do not know.
Can I say
I know something about
Everything of what I know
And What I do not know.
Now,
Do you know
What I know?
And
What I do not know?
I know
You do not know
What I know
And I do not know
Because you do not know
What you know
And what you do not know.
Bags all packed and ready to go?
I wish that were the case.
Tossed some clean clothes in the trunk,
With some things I can’t replace.
Won’t take time to be ready to go.
I don’t wanna see her face.
Leaving behind lots of junk;
Getting out of her space.
There’s some good stuff that you should find
At Saturday’s yard sale.
Cowboy boots, mechanics’ tools--
Nothing fancy or upscale.
You can have the gal I left behind.
You’ll get her better than wholesale.
Watch out, she plays dirty pool,
And puts her men through Hell.
Things with my gal were getting cold.
It’s time for some upgrades.
Nothing there was working right--
Need a new gal ready-made.
I want a gal that’s better than gold,
Without charades or masquerades.
Saint by day, sinner by night,
That’s easy to persuade.
(chorus)
I’ll miss my worn-in cowboy hat
And slightly worn-out clothes.
I’ll miss my rig and lariat
With the yellow Texas rose.
Counting all the things that I gave up,
You could naturally infer—
Though I’ll miss a lot of my old stuff,
I definitely won’t miss her.
Yes, I’ll miss a lot of my old stuff,
But certainly not her.
If you think the English language is easy to speak,
Perhaps you have a thing, or two, to learn.
You might say “axed” when you mean “asked”
When is it appropriate to say “dang,” “darn,” or “durn?”
“Advice” or “advise,” ”accept” or “except,” --a curse
Tempted to use “illicit” when you mean “elicit?”
Misusing “averse” when you mean “adverse?”
If you are not careful, you will completely botch it.
“Farther” and “further” are especially difficult:
One describes distance, the other quantity, or degree,
“Hanged” or “hung” present similar predicaments,
In both cases one word should do, but don’t “axe” me.
Who knew “ingenious” and “ingenuous” aren’t the same,
And few folks get “nauseous” and “nauseated” right.
Do you have “relatives” or “relations” or “relationships?”
If you want to quote an authority, do you use “site” or “cite”?
What is the difference between “already” and “all ready?”
Which one is correct “could care less” or “couldn’t care less?
Not to mention when you use “altogether” or “all together,”
Is it “there’s” “theirs,” “they’re”, its or it’s --what a mess!
“Continual” or “continuous,” and “fewer” or “less,”
“Conscience” and “conscious” lead some folks astray.
Are you “enthused” or “enthusiastic,” “infer” or “imply?
I hesitate to bring up the inevitable “can” or “may!”
So, “them” or “those” foreigners should learn "our tongue;"
It’ll make life simpler, “to,” “two” or “too,” for everyone.
“Who” or “whom?” -- please, let’s give these folks a break
Because English is not so easy, when all is said and done!
The mass production of coal is dead,
Buried infer lamps carried on the head,
Halogen miners sang the unforgiving dirge,
With fragments of flaky particles emerge,
Drilling hammers that smote the ground,
Never again to hear its rumbling sound.
Voices roar like dragons in damp vapour,
Highlighted the dangerous drudgery caper.
Its miners turn to face the cold idle breeze
Lusty diggers of cave brought to their knees.
Dust off running tears in nocturnal eyes
Sparkled pay in dissonant redundancies.
Tipping poison pouring out of their coat,
Coals brightly burn diamonds in the heat.
Hem and skirt tossed away in good wave,
The blockade collapsing stairs of the brave.
Sad hearts dramatically ending the way of life,
Kiss the face pioneers abandon with cheek.
Dirty power of bygone industrial revolution,
The demise ends centuries of veiled tradition.
Looks that is lost on the cloudy grey glare,
Tunnels bearing signature of the slender tear.
Tattoo rippled down on jagged wall mirrors,
Romantic fires to stare at the mantle towers.
Underground roads in loops of fuel suspended,
Prison row of tombs lay silently on the cold bed.
Rock fractals calling from cold depth of earth,
Snuffed out the foggy union in oblivious wrath.
Dripping tar brooms lay on the dormant floor,
Once supplied daily ration meals for the poor.
Now the pit is shut leaving the empty trucks,
Pulling the souvenirs bearing burden buckets.
Into the nostril part of murky breath exhale,
Indifference steps crystallised among the stubble.
Can we face climate change of clean living?
In the beautiful candescent global warming.