Best Metrical Tale Poems | Poetry

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Das Capital Tarnished Valentine by harris, matthew
CHRISTIAN BELT by Walkingshoes , Anderson
Kitty Katy by Salmonson, Jessica Amanda
Ms Finally by tekai, taai
Foster The Good Night by McLain, James
DUMB by Robertson, Milton
COOL by Robertson, Milton
BRAVE by Robertson, Milton
AFRAID by Robertson, Milton
puzzling puzzle by thomas, shari
Don't I Belong by Hall, Jelani
'Willow Weep' by Black, Buddy
Big John by Wood, Dean
Jessica Casey - Part 2 - Seven years later by Williams, Maria

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The Best Metrical Tale Poems

 
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'Willow Weep'

'Willow Weep'

The willow
Tree
Is standing
There
Without a
Thought,
Without a 
Care.

Anchored deep
It hugs
The earth,
No hint
Of laughter
None of
Mirth.

It softly
Sways
In gentle
Breeze
That barely
Touches
Other trees.


With slender
Leaves
And branches
Long,
Its cooing
Now
A mournful
Song.

But why
So sad,
This stately
Tree
That stands
So tall,
And seems
So free.

What event
In ancient
Time
Now leads
Us to
Much metric
Rhyme,
Of weeping
Willows 
Crying softly,
Bearing sadness
Standing loftly.

A contradiction
This weeping
Tree,
That brings
Such joy
To you
And
Me.


Copyright © Buddy Black | Year Posted 2017

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Ms Finally

Is she still the stuff of fairy fluff and princess brides?
Mom was a Cinderella, torn from soot of ashes burning with seared hopes,
battling men in charge with a scarcity of examples to cling to, but ego’s pride,
and Florence Nightingale's story, spurring her up the barricaded estrogen-slope.  

When 'your place' isn’t your place, but their 'dictated' place, can conflicts flee?
She cut their hair, causing a scare, as they declared: ‘They'll end up tomboys!’
This wasn't for girls: “Keep their tresses long and braided in silken ribbon glee!’
She told them to volunteer their hairdressing services, or silence their noise.

But when they were teens, she lost her verve, and did an about-turn.
Societal pressures they’d have to bear, so best if they went, with the flow…
Their future safety was guaranteed, if the conventions, they did not churn!
So to boarding school they were ushered, to learn as ladies ought; you know...

And what of their dreams? They belonged to the realms of the domineering.
And what of their souls? They belonged to the realms of a male-god heaven.
What of their bodies? Delicate damsel-morsels to be impressed by charming -
princes, groomed carefully, to be. Raven:
 
-	when they teased scurrilously, she blushed in style
-	when they pinched and groped, she winced in smiles
-	when they punched and raped, they blamed her wiles…

Then the devil appeared one night, demanding she do his laundry! 
Dumbfounded, she stared into his confident eyes, with an enmity
she felt arising as anger brewed, stewing, till she was glaring!
He was no stranger; he gazed back with his usual darling daring…

Her nerves prickled as the last ogling-stroke broke.
With the restrained passions of years, her voice spoke.
It sounded too polite and teeny; she wanted to break his calm!
Instead, she walked away on wobbly knees, hiding sweaty palms…

Later, she started to float with a light-headed gladness, 
over what she’d done. For in her heart, she had spoken thus:

“Your kind has been dismissed!"

"By this Miss!" 

"Finally!"

(11/30/17)



Copyright © taai tekai | Year Posted 2017




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Big John

Let me tell you a story from the old wild-west;
Of a terrible lawman with a star on his vest.
His title was “Ranger”; not bound to a town
He studied the outlaws then hunted them down.

One long hot summer; played like a pawn
He’d failed to take down the man called “Big John”.
He was tired and thirsty, his mood like black jet
As he rode into Dodge his sights were still set
On Big John!

He stabled his horse, and checked out the saloon
‘cause he’d heard the big man liked to drink there at noon.
Through the wide swinging doors, he strolled to the back
With a face as long as a wagon-wheel track.

The scowl on his face told me this man was risky,
But I was the bar keep, and he needed whiskey.
So I poured him a double in a clean mason jar
And slid it down deftly to the end of the bar.

He quaffed it and gave me a tip of his hat.
I thought it was over, except for the fact
That his mood was still dark, like rain in a flood,
I knew in my gut there was bound to be blood.

There in the corner; his back to the wall,
He waited with patience; said nothing at all.
Just stared at the space ‘bove the wide swingin’ doors,
His hands at his sides, drooping down toward the floor.

It was quarter past noon when the room darkened some
Big John in the doorway; blocking the sun.
Two shots rang out from the man in the vest.
Two blood stains emerged on the big fella’s chest.

Big John just stood there; there in the door,
Then the glasses all rattled as John hit the floor.
Dry-gultched, like a fox at a watering hole
Big John was finished; so, likely his soul! 

The old wanted poster said “Dead or Alive”.
They just didn’t care how Big John arrived!
The Ranger just smiled and sighed, “One more round!”
Then he gathered his pony and rode out of town.


May 9, 2017



Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017

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Jessica Casey - Part 2 - Seven years later

Jessica Casey the punters dream- Sequel to Shy Julie They came from near - they came from far Bus ferry and train and some by car THE GOLDEN EGG GRAND FINAL One greyhound in mind Jessica Casey -The Select One She was ONE of a kind Full of guts grit and dash She was out for the cash Strong handsome and pacey This Jessica Casey Her credentials were strong she could win by a mile She yearned for the glory she'd receive in a while Now remember those two punters those students of form Those 'Gurus of Racing' who'd sworn to reform From punting and systems on all greyhound tracks They decided it was time to make their comeback After seven long years the closet was cold It was time to dust cobwebs and peel off the mold Out with the old and in with the new Compared to Shy Julie she literally FLEW 'This Jessie' said John with tremor of hand 'Is sure to get me my dream house and land' 'After all these years I've some cash to spare One greyhound in mind a race to snare She'll do it for us this pacey young bitch She'll stand out from the field - She'll sure make us rich I've followed her career and all through the heats She's clever and wily and just can't be beat' Said Ron with a stutter his voice fairly low 'Yes this Jessica Casey seems the safe way to go She's treated her opponents with contempt and scorn Winning in manners that's left them utterly forlorn With courage like this the conditions seemed right Only bad luck can stop her she'll give them a sight' The BIG BET was laid the race drew near Anticipation excitement anxiety and fear Emotions were mixed in the crowd that were there They'd come to see Jessie and how she would fare 'GREEN LIGHT'S ON - BUNNY'S ON IT'S WAY' Said the race caller as the gates snapped open 'THEY'RE AWAY' 'Crickey she's missed the jump' groaned John 'This champ can overcome obstacles' said Ron Most punters were predicting a much easier trip For their hometown heroine in her usual style clip But this race from start was touch and go The crowd screamed wildly in one Mighty Roar Shouts of encouragement of 'GO GIRL GO' While some winced inwardly at losing their dough It was unbelievable - something had to give An give it did with South Road Sid The Ace Victorian who all but fell The crowd in a frenzy as they started to yell November Sunset got the break she desperately sought Grabbed the lead - sped away the pursuit running hot 'This doesn't look good' thought Jess with a frown My fans are out there - just can't let them down Change of tactics is what I need' - she decided Through the catching pen she went and heavily collided With Call Me Casey her trusty kennel mate 'COME ON JESSIE' yelled Ron 'Tis never too late' Then like the true champ she was in the style that they knew She streaked from the pack and literally FLEW The tear away leader was some six lengths ahead But she heard Jessie coming and her feet turned to lead Well you guessed the rest she won yet again Her fans were ecstatic the bookmakers insane But the happiest of all were those two punters of old Who'd returned to the track in their quest to Strike Gold
Footnote: Written and composed by Maria, Sister of John and STILL the wife of Ron True story, the names of the greyhounds are original and have not been changed. Published in an Australian National Racing magazine for whom I worte for 6 months.


Copyright © Maria Williams | Year Posted 2017

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Me and The Zimmer Man

•to zimmer (v.t.) – to flash brilliantly with apparent blinding insightfulness, suggestive almost of a certain numinosity.**
•** numinous (adj) – of or pertaining to a numen***; arousing elevated or religious feelings.
•*** numen (n) – a deity; a divine**** power or spirit.
•**** divine (adj) – of superhuman ***** or surpassing excellence.
•*****superhuman (adj) – exceeding ordinary****** human achievement.
•******ordinary (adj) – you, perhaps, and I, most definitely.



TO BEGIN WITH, THIS IS NOWHERE NEAR THE BEGINNING…

Me and Bob Dylan ( that is, the person sitting next to me
 who I had every reason to believe was he 
who possessed THAT reluctant voice of a generation,
 and the person I had no reason to believe wasn’t me)
 were cruising in a beaten-up FE Holden down Dictionary Highway, a nexus of beaten 
tracks, without a number,  but known by all numbers between zero and infinity,
 simultaneously stretching in all directions at once past everywhere and nowhere,
 taking in along the way such memorable places as The Black Stump, Billyo,
 Woop Woop, Buggery and **** Creek, and, in a kind of lexical alchemy,
 bringing you right back to where you thought you were 
thus producing near-stichometrical tales such as this.
 
We were on a rhyme-spree.
“Bob, ” I asked, “to what now do you aspire?”
To which he replied, in a drawl slow as a  wet week,
 ”A spire? A place no man can dwell”.
This was going to be a long ride, I could tell.

…to be continued, or, TO END WITH, THIS IS NOWHERE  NEAR THE ENDING...




-  

















Copyright © Arturus Australis | Year Posted 2013

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Don't I Belong

Hidden though unsought
Ran from myself
Still got caught.
Mind, Body, Soul wrought.
Vengeance no longer mine
And yet I insist to ungently reside
Within the "desperate to love or to be" walls of my own heart.

Most continue to disrespect my house
Yes, I live in my heart
I refuse stubbornly  to give in or give up
Forcing my belligerent mouth to remain shut.
Gritting my teeth praying to abstain running away.
The displeasing words that knock on the back of the smile; forced
With an impatient desire to allow angry words to spill out, onto the floor, into their eyes until they can't see out.

I will still love them all-despite my incessant desire for it to cease
If only "just barely" were enough. 
It feels like that's all they're willing to gift me.
Tolerated!?
I've given what I felt I was given to hold, multiplied by more. 
Alone is so cold even with 10 winter coats on.
Fortuna Audaces Iuvat
Trying to remain strong-strong.

My whirling mind assaults the clock that won't stop
Possibly because I feel as I'm perceived. Intuitively.
Not just due to self-definition
Expected only to lie, a true story's falsity
Never believed causing my heart's soul to exude profusely.

It's how it's always been-their denial tastes like reprieve
They just tolerate me, my song on repeat? 
"Why can't I feel like I belong?"
I want their truest heart minus their pity.



Copyright © Jelani Hall | Year Posted 2017

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Foster The Good Night

Foster the night and kiss her lip's
The moon is high in my hands.
After having lived by day, upon her
Breast's rests my head.

For only in her ear at night, can I speak
Of day,
Day and what like I have done, I may not
Speak at all.

Father time is catching up the grape's are ripe,
The fruit has all been picked.
That moral voice that is no more that speaks,
To what is done, but fooled it's not for us.

The hay is sweet and green the tree's are tall,
Wrapped in vines the once full bush now aged
Can't speak at all.
Naked amongst the rocks the sea it calls,
And sand once white is turning red and foam once white
Is brown.

The day's are long and most are tired to tired
To know what's right.
And rare and far between we try to foster the
Good night.



Copyright © James McLain | Year Posted 2017

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BRAVE

Trere stands a man who's brave. Had many close shaves, wasn't at all afraid, not even of the grave.

He was a total knave, would always misbehave because he was downright depraved.

He would rant and he would rave like he belonged in a cave. He thought he had it made, not knowing to sin, he was a slave.

Til one day, he had a crave but someone else needed a fav, he couldn't understand why? From his heart he gave

Then he was hit with a shockwave, from that moment he was saved.

Now he's no longer depraved cause he was laved and now his way is paved.

No more to sin, a slave for he know The Lord forgave.

How long to sin will you be a Slave.


Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2017

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DUMB

I remember a girl from the slums who's life was really humdrum.

To peer pressure she would succumb so her so called friends started calling her dumb, until she became numb.

They told her, she would always live in the slum, the only men that would date her were scum and to her, only a house full of babies would come.

Saying those nasty things to keep her under their thumds, only she didn't dance to the beat of their drums, for she knew she had complete control of her outcome.

Well, years passed and she did overcome, no longer under their thumbs nor do she live in the slums because she has a very hefty income, now they want to call her chum.

Beware of who you call Dumd, you have no idea of the outcome.




Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2017

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puzzling puzzle

trying to
solve the
puzzling puzzle 
of swings 
in mood 
was not 
an easy task to 
undertake 
that is 
why in the 
end the 
puzzle was 
left half solved 


Copyright © shari thomas | Year Posted 2017

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Kitty Katy

Kitty Katy, bigger than holsteins
Killed a St. Bernard
Pretty Kitty scratched up my blue jeans
Left my legs all scarred.

My big kitty scares the bejabbers
Out of my sorry hide
Such loud thuds of her pitter-patters
The blood-prints of her stride.

What did she kill tonight?
Who did she rend and bite?
What did she eat?
What kind of meat?
When must I stand and fight?

Kitty wrestled an anaconda
Then ate just the head
I took off on my cherry Honda
Scared I'd next be dead.


Copyright © Jessica Amanda Salmonson | Year Posted 2018

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AFRAID

There once was a man who was afraid he wouldn't make the grade, in the past he'd been betrayed so he spent most of his time in the shade, playing charades.

Then along came a real babe, who's name was Jade who he paid and did get laid but he was also played. Now mind and body are starting to degrade, he might have come out better drinking raid.

Now life he tries to evade, feeling like sitting on a granade as the tears cascade, his life's portrayed a masquerade.

So he went to himself and prayed, from out of the blue came aid, the things in life he weighted, then arrayed, he's now on a crusade.

Whenever you become afraid because you have strayed and run into a blockade while the consequences are coming in spades,  remember most of. Your problems, You Made.

But you can always upgrade like the man who went to himself and prayed. Now his life is arrayed and he's on a wonderful crusade.

So beware of escapades, you can very easily get played.



Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2017

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COOL

He was super cool, would break all the rules, said the heck with school, stubborn as a mule, was labeled a fool.

Life became cruel he tried to use some tool's but his learning was minuscule, found his self in a cesspool.

But he didn't let it overrule, he went back to school learned the golden rule, came out of that cesspool and found, he's a true Jewel.

Life is like a giant pool, sometimes you'll run into. A whirlpool which is why you'll need the right fuel.

But what you definitely can't do is drool while sitting on a stool, being scared of the pool.

                                    Stay In School


Copyright © Milton Robertson | Year Posted 2017

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CHRISTIAN BELT

Seeing their hustle is dorsal and prismatic,
Smoking and drinking acclimated with optimistic, 
Trading on drugs for survival...Baron my title,
Yield to my subjects,
Robbed billonaires of their earthly mantle,
High at sects,
Placing daily bread on candle,
Caring for windows,orphans and homeless,
Lives don't need to be in grant of being wretched and contrite,
Draw close to that fight,
Prospective responsibility to nurture and raise them from the scratch,
Satisfied with words alone not gonna render delight, 
Sharing bread with the starving kalibres is our badge,
Rough and uncomfortable will their pillow be to the rich,
In their weep.....it's a deal,
In their shoes,....will see what is behind the snitch, 
Seasons in the sun,...our time and their meal,
Suicide may be a remedy at the long run,
Answer you are buh don't know,
Alienating heroes and heroines of tomorrow's new world in ages,
Their future filmed in a burning snow,
Aristocrats to be!
Not watched clearly though,
Author their today as history and inspire we,
Not the end of their life,no matter how much they sow,
Appearance not accountable,wish to deprive win,
Hard work to even cover their dreams,....but will yours be uncovered?
Little is a saving substance,...why stay as dead,
Alive in them as Love,and in God with faith paired.




Copyright © Anderson Walkingshoes | Year Posted 2018

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Das Capital Tarnished Valentine

(alternately known as the Doubting Thomas Crown 
Taj Mahal Cupid Affair)
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -   -  -  -
Fortunate (for me) thee bona fide "FAKE" Cupid
(aka Decoy Donald Duck
and side kickstarter Jay Rad,
colluded donning one alias,
which (former and latter)

amounted tube bing disguised incognito
as the cingular "Ivan Ha Bea Robber Baron),"
while same above placed
their System Of A Down on high alert
whereby, they unwittingly, fortunately, 
and accidentally discerned disquieting "noise"

i.e. static electronic crackling
purportedly from nemesis, asper sans above
whereby broadcasters colluded
confusingly, congruously, and convincingly
as thee infamous digital (duplicity)
faux "Big Mac" Trump.

The chalkboard scratching, hair sprayed bouffant,
and knuckle crackling
appeared tubby the handiwork cleverly disguised
(as tinpot dictator antics of Moscow's version,

sans Putin on the ritz),
which decrypted garble (a fluke) as iterated above
strongly emanating via polygamous,
prestigious, and pseudonymous
pull no punches ploy

innocently convincing feigned
duo code named "Ashley Madison and Bert"
disclosing (when uncovered),
a heartless conspiracy in concert

with Sesame Street studded lesser known Muppets
pretending tubby oil tycoon Bedouins
intent to fleece "sensitive"
top secret military defense contracts,

which Russian motley crue ace double agents
intended this act of espionage thence sabotage
feted as a Black Sabbath Lupercalia feint
not for the faint hearted clubby fete

where Cupid given free rule of the roost
allowing, enabling and proffering
Cyrillic chattering Cherubim

hook cooked United States "figurative goose"
lock, stock and barrel, which stratagem
captured president unawares
and did significantly boost

Eastern Bloc reconnaissance (on par
with the Philadelphia Eagles
winning 2018 Super Bowl LII
which surprise clenching championship
wrought frenzied hoopla, gala, and bacchanalia
where barenaked ladies 

cavorted nsync with beastie boys,
whence City of Brotherly love hoopla found
nearly every man, woman and child soused
(analogous to each person garnering
an early Sainted Patrick's pot of gold.





Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018