Best Metrical Tale Poems | Poetry

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Nutritious Group Health Theories by Dillenbeck, Gerald
sayonara mother thirteen years ago back in time tear drop uno by harris, matthew
sayonara mother thirteen years ago back in time tear drop deux by harris, matthew
As For Me I Believe by Krutsinger, Caren
Mariah by tekai, taai
A Grisly Tale by Thomas, Richard
LONG WAY by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Das Capital Tarnished Valentine by harris, matthew
CHRISTIAN BELT by Walkingshoes , Anderson
Kitty Katy by Salmonson, Jessica Amanda

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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As For Me I Believe

It is the winter of 1980.
I’m twenty-eight years young, 
Driving a red Mustang with glass T-tops,
Feeling all of my awesome sassiness, from toe
To Afro, when I notice the cards driving ahead of me
Are all slowing way down. A wreck? Can’t be because nobody stops.
I’m a young mother of three, in a business suit, on my way to work.
This is irritating; why do these old people drive on the Interstate anyway?
Don’t we have side streets and side cars for them?

Thoroughly annoyed, I flip my car into the fast lane, and show them how to drive.
Five minutes later, my Mustang and I are airborne, flying in the air away from the freeway.
We are at a 90 degree angle to the road, at least twenty feet from it now.
We flip upside down, which means I will most assuredly be killed 
when I land upside down on these glass t-tops.
I’ll be leaving my husband to raise 3 children.


The primal urge to save myself kicks in and I instantly yell, “God, help me!”
God smiled, opened up His arms, put a giant palm under my car, and
Flipped us the complete opposite direction in mid-air.  
That red Mustang and I landed with a puff sound, in a huge drift of snow which met her
Half way up her windows, and a whirl of smoke like flakes.


I watched an older gentleman in a business suit, classic hat, and fancy black wool coat park his
Car on the emergency lane. This was before cell phones. He began to inch his way down the embankment, toward my car.
I watched the snow creep up to his knees, reaching his waist before he finally reached me.
I lowered my window a bit and he asked, “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.”
“Can you walk?”
I laugh, “I’m not sure I can get out of this drift,” I tell him.
He asks for my long-handled snow scraper, and gets me out in about six minutes.
I grabbed my purse, and we both retraced his steps back to his car. 
He cranked up the heat, and asked me where I wanted to go.  
To work, of course.

I feel humiliated, embarrassed, ashamed of what I had been thinking about him earlier, and humble.
I cannot even look at this wet man, this good Samaritan who has treated me with such kindness.
 “What happened out there?” He asks me.
I look at him, but he is concentrating heavily on the road, so I lie and say “I don’t know.”
He takes a deep breath and says, “I used to work in a pit crew at the Indy 500, I did that for seven years. Your car was flipping. You were supposed to flip! I thought you were a goner. I’ve never seen a car do what yours just did. How did you DO that? A car just doesn’t right itself like that. It can’t happen.”
I yelled, ‘God help me!’ I told him.  We drove the rest of the way in silence, until I got out and thanked him, at work.
That night my Mustang was featured on the news. My husband and I watch a tow truck break its chain as it tried to pull my car out of a ninety-two foot ditch.  The news anchor said it took two tow truck drivers and two tow trucks to get “this car” out of the ditch. The news anchor adds that when they pulled out the car, they noticed it had landed on a large metal drainage ditch, so wasn’t it lucky that the car had not flipped because it had glass T-tops.



Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018


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A Grisly Tale

About the lives of bears for years
A Czech and Pole were keen.
But neither had in their careers
A grizzly ever seen.

They therefore flew to Yellowstone
With data they'd compiled
To find and study on their own
Some grizzlies in the wild.

"It's mating season, so beware,"
They heard a ranger say.
"We need to know you're safe out there,
So call us every day."

The calls arrived for five days straight,
But then no more were heard.
Officials said investigate
To find what had occurred.

The rangers searched both day and night
And hope was growing dim.
A pair then found the camping site,
But what they saw was grim.

Some bears had torn the camp to shreds.
The men were not around.
But luckily the female's treads
Observant rangers found.

They followed, killed, and sliced the bear
To stomach contents scan.
The Pole's remains were clearly there,
But not the other man.

One ranger said, "It does appear
We've searched to no avail."
The other nodded, "Yes, I fear
The Czech is in the male."


Copyright © Richard Thomas | Year Posted 2018


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LONG WAY

We belong freedom fight goes on to get where we are today we came a LONG LONG. WAYS


Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2018


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Mariah

To envision the unknown is to grasp the strange
struggle with hallucinogenic disbelief of the deranged:
To arrange and rearrange the disarray of a mind,
nonplussed by a puzzlement of imagery that binds
one in loops of madness, bound by the optic nerve’s
impulses pulsating upon the high seas where red curved
like the waves that swerved my dehydrated inebriation,
distorting my auricular balance into drunk vermilion.

She’s appeared only at sea, always in striking shades of scarlet,
as if to break the monotony of endless boring-blue ~ a starlet
eclipsing my dilated pupils when she bled the moon,
slicing off a smooth round piece, as I, in my cabin-cocoon
gaped thru the port-light at the bleeding sickle left
suspended, animated, tween midnight and dawn, swept
into the black hole that fell down into the dark’s abyss:
an oceanic psychedelic trip of a brain reeling remiss ~

The glitter in the velvet dissolved into the ebon nothing;
the wind no more, as the numb of jet swallowed frothing,
and there, not 10 yards away, floated the cerise ball.
I rubbed my peering orbs, unrelieved: I was in lunar’s thrall!

(3/15/18: For hallucination contest)  


Copyright © taai tekai | 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


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Nutritious Group Health Theories

I once read of a psychologist
her 1997 Yvonne Agazarian name
I can't quite LeftBrain recall
as our cooperative matriarchal
GroupTheory Ego/EcoGaming System,
sacredly ecotherapeutic--
restoring justice
as ego-theo-ecological peace.

Sacred, yet secularly securely proficient,
among deep learning WinStudents with WinTeachers
mutually secular-sacred Green
EcoTherapeutic Restoration Teacher Preachers
of HealthLeft-WealthRight flowing bilateral care
for WinWin dipolar WiseElder parents
sharing a reforesting ecoschool EarthTribe lesson ride
flying bicamerally through double-bound historic dipolar relational images
and cause-effect enculturations,
yet also swimming transgeneratively matriarchal amphibian 
WinWin back toward pre-millennial re-acclimation tales of tails
and stories of winged restorations.

ZeroZone wombed
Virgin Mother Mary
shabbat paradise
reforesting ocean-boundaried Heavens
of flickering flight starlight
health-wealth nutritional Ego-EcoWisdom,
inside with outside sacred classrooms 
with secularizing pathological LoseLose climates.

Left yang-deductive--SacredRight yin-inductive
EgoGod with or against DivineEco Gaian ZeroZone
resilience
polypathic nutritional resonance
theory of health-groups Left with RightWing
EgoPolitical
DNA inside
with Elder RNA outside classroom PositivEnergy flow
of nutritional polyphonic voices
singing EarthTribe's resilient healthy wealth--
in WinWin C-squared major matriarchal keys.

Here GroupTheory
and WinWin Green Cooperative RealTime Gaming Systems
co-invest ecopolitical language
polyculturally seen
and polynomially thought
and polyphonically sung
health resiliently and wealth resonantly meet
to deep learn fractally robust
ZeroZone 
ecotherapeutic four-season planning
for polycultural outcome optimization

Including empowerment of Group Game Theories
to predict RealTime nutritional WinWin ZeroZone Design
for healthy-wealth 
bicamerally evolving Ego/EcoSystemic 
Bilateral Gaian Hypotheses.

All sacred things
work out
for the integrity
of EarthTribe's potential 
health care--within 
and yingiving--without 
hoarding wealth.



Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2018


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sayonara mother thirteen years ago back in time tear drop uno

the bittersweet silent story of my life age
fifty and nine automatically rebroadcast 
     in indelible (yet never washed out) beige
indistinguishably linkedin, when counting 
     the last three of seventy somber orbitz, 
     signify torturous custom made cage

whose darkening shades of gray 
housed a weakened Harriet Harris, 
     an ashen corpse lay 
no doubt a grown changeling dust play

a cruel trick, and soul of me mum didst slay, 
so...tis with great difficulty aye write this poem today
cathartic to brush off self denunciation, 
     an albatross that dust way
 
heavily incriminating, ostracizing this mind of mine, 
recurring every year comb May fourth a line 
codifying, delineating, earmarking,  
     and doth likened 
     to elementary school Boyer 

     as in  Henry Kline 
no less painful reflection plus unavoidable, 
     hence this middle aged man lets feelings incline
toward self expression this anniversary 
     revisiting re: deign
 
upon memorializing general up beat
defiance at death of thine late mother, 
     where disease rabidly did eat 
ting her til she expired, 
     this singular married heir 
     set himself a writing fete

wordlessly mouths never expressed greet
unbeknownst reeders gleaning my sentiments heat
ting recollected adieu bid prior, 
     whence she angrily wanted to meet 
that accursed nemesis 
     against healthiness and repeat
  
cherished apothegm, 
     that existence offers no second act 
as she relinquished slipping tenuous weak bract
leave ving ever fainter grip upon cracked
pommel of mortality, an immutable fact
thence black knight denounced, pounced, hijacked
trounced unannounced, vanquished, lacked

motive to rival nixed, extinguished sputtering pact
fast fading joie de vivre unspoken, 
     where death rattle racked 
personal def tone accentuation tracked 
subsequent self castigation, 
     excoriation nearly whacked 

me to Timbuktu rebuking extolling bless
sing experienced from 
     this sole son for thirteen years, aye confess
when the inimitable Harriet Harris 


Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018


Details | Metrical Tale Poem | Create an image from this poem.

sayonara mother thirteen years ago back in time tear drop deux

     devastatingly, grievously, inconsolably, 
     got hexed, issued jilted livingsocial, a less
son learned to late, how maddeningly mess
say yon nick lee infuriated, not accepting press

sing ill fate, nor countenancing fatal injustice, 
refusing to curtsy fiendish inxs did piss 
her off (poisoned scorpion sting) remiss
cheekily peppering psyche as if Swiss
 
cheese, a once spunky Arthur Murray shored 
dance instructor, who scored 
door prize in the guise of thee less torte sured 
near nonagenarian papa, where meanness poured

from grim mortal outlook parlayed moored
deadly reaper, quashed, ruined as lord
stole, sacred maternal tribal nurse, unfairly did hoard
final precious seconds unexpectedly meant un explored
positive rapport forever undergirded "door"

closed to resolve ambivalence with venerable bead 
did association between 
     kith and kin, unfairly 
     dead poet society lettered deed
wrested a vibrant life despite zest that freed
a vibrant gal to coast along dialed up esprit

     de corps spirit to live, yet greed
of metastatic cancer upended lead, 
where mind over matter, sans power 
     in positive thinking rubric and plead
ding didst kill last ditch homeopathic screed

ambitions trumped, thus giving up the ghost 
wracking sadness, sinking sorrow spilling most 
lee tears of loss, among family, fellow Unitarians 
of the Thomas Paine Fellowship 
     included with your obituary post.



Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2018