Best Memorised Poems


Slamming the Super-Duper-Soupers

you want to know a secret
when I write a poem and it's perfect
i dont share it
i bury it 
deep inside of me 
where no one else can see
i mean its perfect
not like this shift 
it's elegant, poignant, 
simplistic, bueatful 
trucking perfect
its not erotic 
but i read it
mentally masterbate to it 
a euphoric chorus 
straight form thesaurus
its just that great
im not being egotistical 
if read, it would become universal 
a meter tethered in clasical measure 
a rythmic flow
with many metaphoric undertows
an iconic harmonic tonic 
to make you feel like an embryonic hedonic youth 
im not being napoleonic
its an actual truth 
factually accurate
high in heaven
it produced a tear in the eye of god
who proclaimed 
not a single flaw
not a single flaw 
and he only saw what i wrote
well, because hes god 
me being me i like to tease 
allow me to be inclined to share a few lines 
blow your mind 
redefine your collective defective perspective
realign your ineffective respective connective tisue

"all my cows milk is homogenized 
all my crows are well organized
all my sheep like to stare and creep 
like to stare and creep"

but you'll never see 
the rest of my secret poetry 
that only exsist inside of me 
cows will always moo
crows will always ka kah 
sheep will always go baah baah baah 
and the perfect elagance 
of my literary inteligence 
will die with me 
never being seen 
qouted, memorised or plagerized 
as i will say with my last gasp 
the next line being twice my last
all you super-duper-soupers can kiss my ***


ok all you super-duper-soupers have been slammed. if you want to slam me back just a few things. make it funny. make it a little nonsensical and definitly make it over the top
and if you do slam me back send me a soup mail or leave a comment so i can go read your slam.
© Nathan D.  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rubaiyat

Premium Member Aura of Her Magnificence

When my heart could no longer illuminate,
I gazed towards horizons shrouded in blurry blackness,
revealing the agony of my sorrows to the moon.

Wondering if it would gift me a beloved
that reflects within my heart like an effervescent lamp.  
One that would recognise my voice,
leading me to my dream world. 
Suddenly a jewel from the sky descended like sunset.
I followed its path of sparkling stardust upon malachite meadows,
so I could have a glimpse of this unseen artistry. 

I will never forget the first time she called my name,
nor the tingling sensations of an abundance of internal butterflies.
There she was, an untouched treasure.

Was she the one to endow me with pleasure?

Her precious persona enticed my sullen demeanour,
as it beamed like a billion streetlights,
reminding me of an unfinished song,
where the silence in between heartbeats was her name -
the last lyric to an omitted chorus.
 
Sapphire skies reappeared
bringing back absent sunshine,
Its radiant rays glowing upon her shadow.
Her eyes dazzled like bronze gems.
Her ruby red lips revealed a smile
brighter than a million pearls.

Her golden locks of hair glistened,
gently blowing in the aura of her magnificence. 

I'll never forget the first time she cried,
her diamond tears trickled upon my chest,
like little stars glittering in her gloom,
concluding our unwritten poem,
memorised within the backstreets of our minds. 
I can still savour the taste in my mouth -
She said her mascara was waterproof,
yet it's engraved within my soul 
like an eternal tattoo.

The Silent One
21 February 2022
© Silent One  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Will She Be There

Can I take your ear and tell you what I’m doing here
And will you stay to hear me through… as I relate my tale to you
All the people sleeping here are free forever of all fear
For one, I’ve left a red rose which I water with a tear

So look around at all the plots at all those final resting spots
And nettles of which there are lots, and dead plants stood in pots
But here you’ll see a cross of wood in memory of someone good
Who’d run to me, with wide spread arms and kiss me where I stood

I wonder, does she see me now and does she walk beside me now
And when I come to take my bow, will she be there somehow

I’d hoped and planned like any man, I bought for her a baby grand
And though I bought it second hand, I knew she’d understand
And she had practiced night and day, and, boy, that girl could surely play
She’d play Carnegie Hall some day… and then she went away

She was my day, she was my night, she was my dark, she was my light
She was the reason I would fight, in situations tight
That old road leads to nowhere; only drunks and lovers go there
And she pushed me clear before a drunk took her without a care

I wonder, does she see me now and does she walk beside me now
And when I come to take my bow, will she be there somehow

So now I tread my path alone, not many numbers in my phone
And all my music is a drone, my world is monotone
And all my loves and all my hates are memorised like awful dates
Aside from she I speak of who now dwells beyond his gates

My hourglass has emptied slow but now I feel it’s time to go
Please witness this, my final throw; I want the world to know
That as I walked this unlit road until approaching headlights glowed
I wore my darkest clothing out of fear they might have slowed

I wonder, does she see me now and does she walk beside me now
And when I come to take my bow, will she be there somehow
Form: Lyric


Robert Louis Curl

I quickly joined the Navy on June the 4th, 1943,  
As soon as I graduated at 17, life was definitely to be;
I received boot training in the state of Maryland, 
At Bainbridge, became a navigator noble and grand. 

I was sent to Amphibious Training wet, phew wee,  
At Little Creek in Virginia, where I got my crew,
Of different ranks including machinists as gunners,
The craft was 56-foot, our rations made us stunners.

But I was separated from my crew, went to Plymouth, 
In England, placed on a Liberty ship used to house, 
Replacement cargo for artillery that got destroyed, 
Which was so much longer than the crafts deployed. 

In Fahnouth England, I memorised Normandy maps, 
Prepared and used a Reflectoscope to turn on the taps;
We were scared of poison gas when we hit Omaha, 
I was quarantined on June 1st of ’44, needed mama.

We saved many from the crafts using cargo nets sublime, 
But they were difficult to climb in the rough seas, crime,  
A craft almost mounted the ship ‘cos of a high wave, 
And always we had to be steely and very, very brave.

The bombs from the Nazi’s were the size of footballs, 
And we painstakingly recovered many bodies, stalls, 
From the water which had just beaten them cruelly, 
And that first D-Day morning we were losing brutally. 

The Germans hedgehogs, or bombs for the landing crafts, 
Fired on us from a pillbox, but in my case American staff, 
Took my attacking pillbox out, and I was just so grateful, 
‘Cos it was causing me havoc ‘cos I almost felt too awful. 

Luckily that night two German planes simply just avoided us, 
After a few days we did hydrographic 3D printing work, suss,
For which I was commended, I contributed to today’s 3D printing
Then I lead the invasion of southern France, which was amazing. 

The Panama Canal saw me on a rocket ship headed for Japan, 
But the A-Bomb ended the war, and we went state-side to tan, 
My Honourable Discharge was in March of ’46, and I was quick,
To get back to my peacetime activities, but never forgot the sick.

Egyptian Dream

IT WAS AN  EGYPTIAN DREAM 

BUT AFTER 25TH, WE CAN REACH TO IT
THEY ALL ADMIT

EGYPTIAN HEROS WENT TO TAHRIR AND PROTESTED
THEIR THOUGTHS AND FEELING NEVER RESTED
THEY WERE OBDURATE
AND BELIEVED IN THEIR FATE

DEMOCRACY WAS A WORD
AND WAS WANTED ALL OVER THE WORLD
IN THE DARKNESS IT WAS THE LIGHT
ALTHOUGH ITS RAY WAS MEAGER
THEY WERE EXTREMILY EAGER

FOR THEIR RIGHT 
THEY FIGHT 
BABIES CRIED
PROTESTORS DIED
TO FAIL THE DECTATOR
FOR THE LOVE OF THEIR CREATOR
FOR THE LOVE OF THEIR COUNTRY

IN THE GRAVE , THE PROTESTOR  LAYS
"THE HERO" THE WORLD SAYS

MY WORDS ARE THE FUTURE
THEY ARE THE HISTORY
 
ALL OVER THE COUNTRY
MEMORISED AS HISTORY

IT WAS AN  EGYPTIAN DREAM 
BUT AFTER 25TH, WE CAN REACH TO IT
THEY ALL ADMIT

You Know Who You Are

It is
probably better
after all
for us 
to be 
on frigid terms
for illogical reasons
do not contact me 
got your number
memorised mesmerized
I will
perhaps
ring back
© Nigel Fox  Create an image from this poem.


A Better Book, I'Ll Not Discover

The book I could read every day;
you seduced me in such a way.
A romantic one, I must say.
Midst your covers, I yearned to play,
on adventures I wished to stay.

When my tortured soul was bleeding
and for comfort I was pleading,
all my hungers, you were feeding;
when your pages I was reading.

I memorised chapter and verse.
Today, it seems almost a curse,
as I follow the long black hearse.

Your place, having turned the last page;
marked with tear stains, lilacs and sage.

I loved you cover to cover.

I look, where you used to lay
and long, from you to be reading.
From memory, then I emerse;
absorbing page after page.
A better book, I'll not discover.


02/19/2018
Contest: minuanetta
Sponsor: Gregory R. Barden
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member My School Bag and the Blue Sky

A sweet memory of our school days
We walked to school everyday
With a light school bag 
Under a blue sky
With rain or sunshine abound
Only a few books in the school bag
But many flowers pluck 
Or junk food bought along the way
We only had to finished our homework 
Before we're free to play
We memorised lessons for our tests
Which were simple and straight forward questions
Never got tuition 
We're left to learn and recite ourselves
Till we remembered
A simple style of school life
But with confidence,independence and wisdom
A nature lover
A love for freedom
A love for a simple life

Premium Member The Empty Space

Childhood learning, knowing, knowledge gaining
Parents voices and actions all passed on
The learning process, each day memorised
The family group gathers at the end of the day
The kitchen table, set for five
Three sons growing, watching, learning
Mother and Father doing their best
Passing on all told to them in their past
Doing their best, sometimes not enough
Hugs and kisses shared with love
Sons grow as the years pass
School memories will sit in their past
Girlfriends introduced to the fold
Some become permanent, others not so
Talk of engagements discussed openly
Mother and Father sit there, listening intently
The eldest Son, heart worn on his sleeve
Talks of leaving the Family fold
Goodbyes given, tears are shed
One less at the table, an empty chair
This evening the talk is quiet
Mother and Father give each other the look
All goes quiet as tears flow
The empty place, causing memories of old
The process repeats as the years roll on by
Tonight, we look at Mother and Father on their own
The meal prepared, sits there waiting
That look is once again given
Hands grasp hands, squeezing tightly
They have done their duty, passed on knowledge
Hopefully, visits will soften into good memories
Parents suddenly thrust into a World not known
Hold onto each other, the story goes on.

Last Night

In the cradle of our candle light last night...
We settled and sizzled in the moonlight.
We danced through the dense of the darkest night.
Like a cutest couple we cuddled in the bubble of bonded bouquets.
Dined with wine to shine out our night last night.
How dare can we forget last night.

We were shrined and shrinked into one sheet we shared
Shampooed with shampagne and shushed like sheeps
We craved in the caves of each other's shaved arms.
Swallowed and hallowed between the wallowed pillowed night.
Sweat so sweet on the suede of our whispered swear.
We were swamped and swept in the mid night of our night
I'd die to witness last night.

Like ducks we dived in a divine division of last night.
Sang so soft to sooth and smoothen our song.
Wowed and wooed each other so well
We chanted and changed every word for our night.
Wordless and wierdless we became to each other
So swollen into a stolen moment of our solemn night
Chandeliers chased all the chances of loneliness away.
And far away we were taken and got waken the next morning.
Moaning in sweetest till morning I mourned to face.
Last night is the night I won't forget.

I won't forget being undressed by the address of the night
Tortured, traumatized and trembled by your touch.
Both cascaded back to the decades of our dedicated love.
We memorised back the memories of best moments last night.
Slumbered and murmured in each other's ears all night long
The stars twinkled out our wrikled love to new life again.
We got new voucher to renew our vows last night.
Aroused by roses that formed rope-like shape.
The rope of love we got robbed to be strangled in love last night.
A night I am living to cherish forever...

Premium Member The World of the Broken Poet

My world, as rosy as the daisy
Revolving around my moods, sweetly
Some days are high on creativity
Some days lag behind with adversity

My battles, the basis of my portrait
To win some I put forward my best trait
To lose some, I let go of my bait
In the end, my world opens to my own gate!

Never ephemeral, filled to its depth
With sensitivy and pain to its very length
Never totally grey, as angels fill my only heath
With the comfort I shall seek at the time of death!

My world, with its hidden secrets
Not to be memorised like the alphabets
Yet those remain my valuable assets
To be recounted through merry ballets!

My world, that of a broken poet
Seeking the vision of her love pet
Sweet it is at times, through the sunny clime
Though misunderstanding remains its prime!

Placed 6th in the contest Paint the World
Sponsored by : Tracie the Indigo Dreamweaver
Form: Quatern

Water

life without water
could not ever be sustained
thank the spring showers

water cascades... rain
distilled... early morning dew
winter confetti

no water... no frogs
deathly silence... then it rained
the sound of splashes

all life dependent
some dance for water... it rains
sustaining splashes

the shape of water
drips in profusion... shapes rain
land submerged... flooding

the shape of water
precipitation... shapes rain
land submerged... flooding

water... anhydrous
nature now fickle... confused
life... it has no choice

clean water... yes clean
stop polluting... life's dying
each spring... disasters

LIFE
oceans...earth's mirrors
past images... memorised
of life... fossilised ...
Form: Haiku

Will My Dream Come True

IT'S A BRIGHT MONDAY MORNING

I PEEPED THROUGH THE WINDOW

THE CUCKOO COMMENCED IT'S SINGING

WHERE THE SUN GLEAMED AS HERO



WITH THE NEEDED BOOKS I PACKED MY BAG

I FILLED MY TUMMY WITH MY FAVOURITE DISHES

STANDING IN ATTENTION I SALUTED THE FLAG

I MEMORISED THE POEMS ENCLOSING CLICHES



THE LOVE FOR STUDIES IS IN MY HEART

SO NO PAIN COULD I FEEL IN MY SHOULDER

ONE DAY I'M THE HEAD OF A CORPORATE

ON MY WAY COMING ACROSS MANY BOULDERS



THEN I WOKE UP BY MY MOM'S SCREAM THESIS

I RECEIVE EVERY SUNRISE BEFORE WORK

ALL I COULD ASK THE ALMIGHTY IS

WILL MY DREAM COME TRUE????
                                                                     -a child labour
Form: Ballad

Quad

I looked out the window 
the light, streaming down 
amongst the trees 
reflecting on me 

To walk amongst the trees, 
a simple pleasure 
Fresh scent of pine 
mind , at ease 

I heard birds, 
shadows flying from tree to tree 
My hand to touch 
This roughness of bark 
Such thoughts , absurd 

How the deepening light, 
changes the colour of the trees 
I have seen this view 
Three thousand and six hundred and fifty times 
Memorised it too 
Always a delight 

The physical bonds that hold me, 
are permanent... 
Ten years ago, 
the broken back, 
shackled me so 

I am amongst the trees 
I never went away 
For ,the mind is always free 
Living another forest day 

I cannot move, 
the way I used to 
The mind is never chained, 
yet in this chair, 
my body remained 

To walk amongst the trees, 
a simple pleasure 
Thoughts to treasure 
One day... 
Please.... 

I feel, 
yet I cannot touch 
the trees 
I feel the wind 
Blowing through 
I wish i could too 

Slow silent tears fall, 
the light streaming down 
amongst the trees 
I never went away... 
I visited you... 
every day...
Form: Ballad

Cuckoo Clock Speech

Wild genesis on the spot,
not revised, not memorised,
a stop gap in a script,
verbatim, improvised.
Yet told so much of human nature,
addiction to atrocity,
the logic of the terrorist psyche,
gain from pain and atrocity.
On a ferris wheel, each steely word
a rhetorical, keen, serrated knife,
a perfect coalition of madness and sanity
that crystallised his life.
© Tony Bush  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Verse

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