Best Mix Up Poems
Rip down the statues
Rename the streets
Police the language
Label it hate speech
Burn down the cities
In peaceful protest
Justice is racist
Thus, civil unrest
No longer about
Seats on the bus
A bus itself
Is labeled unjust
Envy a sin
Yet the very basis
Of a pernicious movement
Mislabeled social justice
True justice is blind
Social justice sees
Skin tone blamed
For all disparity
Media propogandist
Mix up the facts
Left is right
Right is wrong
Gaslighting Americans
With their fake news
Giving demonic takes
Editing out truth
Hate your enemy
Get up in their face
Resist reality
Let ideology replace
Tragedy in the schools
Fools blame it on tools
Deceived bunch of souls
Who forget man reaps what he sows
How it all ends
Is known in advance
Simply have faith
Knowing it doesn’t happen by chance
Getting your attention I am sure
Right now we are having Intercourse
Some fear this word in conversation
Hidden for lack of education
Man has perverted this word
Placing sex above conversation
If I were to walk up to any women and say
I think you are very pretty may we have intercourse
What would her first thought’s be
This simple example may open your eyes
To how man has complicated communication
We take our evil thought’s and pervert our words
We over use our words this waters them down
Love has lost love and hate has gained
Gay no longer means happy
We change our meanings to our words
So how can we understand or have
Intercourse when we mix up our words
This may sound silly and not to important
look around we all have been separated
From lack of Intercourse
Mix up all the love felt for my family, God, and Home.
Sprinkle in the gratitude for material blessings from above.
Blend well, holiday cheer.
Whip the the blues and set aside.
Let the Joy rise to overflowing.
let all the friends partake of the blessings, Warm the hearts of others in my path, sautee the
ingredients and Share the Love with all the neighborhood. Set a spell and enjoy.
My Recipe for Thanksgiving Pudding
Iamb, Trochee, Spondee, Pyrrhic. Do those words have meaning for you? If not, you may find it handy as a poet to learn how to employ at least a few of them. They are names for the most common of the two-syllable feet used in classic poetry forms and many rhymed forms of today (there are other metrical feet used for 3 syllables). Poets can practice to become skilled at any one of them, but often poets are drawn to just a few when they write naturally. Iamb is the one that I prefer. When your words rise and fall in an unstressed to stressed rhythmic pattern, you are using iambic meter. Five feet of these unstressed-stressed syllables is called pentameter. That is why a sonnet is written in Iambic Pentameter. The traditonal sonnet writer uses ten syllables which are divided into five feet of unstressed/stressed syllables.
Here is the way Iamb looks if I show just two-syllable examples: de/TEST, un/LOVED, a/ WORD, go/ HOME. It would sound unnatural to say DEtest, UNloved, A word or GO home. The poet chooses his metrical foot and simply goes with the flow! If I choose to write a triolet, I would use Iambic Tetrameter (8 syllables with 4 feet of Iamb). When you consider all the different combinations of feet and meter, there is much to be learned! You can even mix up types of meter or use them unrhymed! To some poets it comes naturally -no textbook required. I have known free verse poets to say, "I just don't 'hear' it." But a few of those poets practiced and practiced; with time I saw them grow!
For those who want to practice poetry
in such a way to make their poems sing,
Iambic meter is one way to go.
Unstressed, then stressed creates a pleasant flow.
So give your words some musicality.
Keep practicing, and then your skills will grow.
Aug. 5, 2018
My daughter had been sickly for a time
The flu, they said, her health will shortly climb
A few days later came the call we dread
I'll ne’er forget the words the doctor said:
"We got your daughter's blood work back today.
I'm not sure there is any easy way
To tell you she has cancer of the blood.
I'm sorry, but the outlook isn't good."
I dropped the phone and couldn't hide the tears
My daughter hadn't yet to reach six years
This had to be a mix up or mistake
But her frailness confirmed this wasn't fake.
We sat down on her bed and held her close
So tiny and so perfect in repose
But before either one of us could speak
She smiled and spoke in a voice small and weak.
"I know you want to tell me that this flu
Will not be getting better, but I knew
See Jesus sent an angel to my bed
Who said I needn't fear what lies ahead."
"I asked about the c-word sometimes used
By mom and daddy talking while I snoozed.
He told me about cancer inside me
And said that heaven very soon I'd see."
And seeing tears, my daughter grabbed our hands
“There's one more thing you need to understand
The angel had a note for both of you:
Said, 'Courage is a mighty C-word too.'"
Where she was laid to rest a stone highlighted by the dew
Reminds me she said, "Courage is a mighty C-Word too."
December 12, 2016
Old crone, please tell me your secret.
Give a taste of your magical brew.
Whisper the herbs I must gather.
To mix up your potency stew.
A mere mortal born, I am helpless,
Unless you will lend me some power.
What ever it is I will drink it,
No matter how sweet or how sour.
“Close the book , ring the bell, light the candle”.
If that’s what we’re needing to do.
You can trust that I won’t tell your secret,
And I need just but one hour or two.
Long enough just to make up a potion
That will cure a loved one I hold dear.
For I have been told he is dying
And perhaps will not out live the year.
We’ve tried all the doctor’s prescriptions.
They are useless against his disease.
“Close the book, ring the bell, light the candle”
And with pity, take heed to my pleas.
By: Joyce Johnson For Linda Marie’s “Bell, Book and Candle.”Won a 3rd place
Walked six years, that way,
And watched this new suburb’s trend.
Near Mysore Highway,
Close to Bengaluru’s end.
Three storeys tall, stood,
This awesome tree-spread, so pretty.
Blue blossoms, good wood,
Half acre’s canopy.
‘Neath with sun-warmings,
Faded blue a carpet rose.
Of fallen, dried awnings,
Nature’s cycle, as it goes.
Hanging Traffic Lights,
Often, brushed by its branches.
Red light, hid from sights,
Officials, took no chances.
The machinery,
Was then set into motion.
People versus tree,
Few friends, one odd emotion.
The huge saws came in,
Chopping through, the whole, big tree,
Adding noise and din,
Workmen yelled, ‘Timber!’ in glee.
The earthmovers filled,
The gaping hole with rubble.
The tree was thus killed,
At great cost and much trouble.
The decorators,
Carted leaves to weddings halls.
Such deft creators,
Blooms to florists’ stalls.
The carpet-pile, twigs and chips,
All collected, swept,
Offals for funeral trips,
Departed unwept.
Their nests and hives gone,
The birds and the bees hovered,
Twittered , buzzed, flew on,
Their losses unrecovered.
The tree’s life on earth,
Cut short, for sale by auction.
Fetched a pittance’s worth,
The wood went for a fraction.
Traffic lights are safe now,
No mix-up of colour red.
Strange.. Green light, some how,
Blinks. Reminder of the dead.
Jacaranda tree,
God dressed your kind soul in wood.
You would have lived free,
You would have, lived, If you could.
Note: Offals: (OE for small twigs, straws etc used for lighting fire) Please Note:this poem (my original) is already entered in with Voices.net.com earlier...and i hope there is no objections to entering it here.
This is my story…
A headless lighter, a writer
Mix up with silver long metallic
Make the agitations clear cold then warm
Neurons from above became so clear
I can hear my heartbeats like a doldrums
Because I’m just a woman with a perfect body
But now, it turned flat because of my past histories
My body was an image of different sceneries and echoes
That’s why I burned this five handed plant to disturb mosquitos
That anytime can suck my blood from within,
but their proboscis injected the smoke from the air
it became toxin for my veins, a bad effect to alter my inner beauty
and then the sensation…
Where am I?
This game was made by the influence of black society,
Their intentions were white but the grey matter strikes
Then now it became black…
My past that filled with conqueror, with their influence
They kidnapped my siblings, my children
My past that burdened with rapist
They took it all for me… everything…
And now… recollections…
The only way to forget these
Is by getting in again with their systems
Again use their solid potions
To forget everything, my life, my history, my spirit
Out of hue,
Every time.. again… I see myself in black, I knew
…
But all have their end point of time…
I want to find myself again… Where is Mary Jane?…
The real, new… Mary Jane of Barangay Tibay
I deduce, and then seduce it to bring back my old persona
To write another chapter...
but its too late..
I heard some footstep like a machinegun
In this dark room where I have surrendered
Since yesterday…
Is this because, now I realize the real meaning of life?
But he arbitrate that my half still in pain
And still…
Can a beast… can destroy the equity
from the green inferno?
In my instance, the beast coincide
Like a cannibal longing for a fresh meat
in the middle of extinction…
…
“Who are you?” “What are those?”
Mary Jane Said.
The looks were so unfamiliar
He grabbed me… he undressed me
He gave me what he think I deserve…
All became so clear….
Finally I met Him…
And there’s a red blanket everywhere
My heart starts to stop
My spirit try to comeback
But then…
I found myself at the ground,
And then he found a home inside my body
A grief for my grave
There’s no chance to paint back myself
I look at the world through rosy glasses
It helps me tolerate the asses
And as each new day passes
I am happy to be here
The glass I see is half-way full
I think diversity is kind’a cool
Mix up genes in the human pool
And let prejudices disappear
I like staying optimistic
Even if it’s not always so realistic
Being otherwise just makes me sick
I hope my meaning is quite clear
So, if you must wear a frown
And see the glass as half-way down
I don’t want you come’n round
Unless you’re wanting to be cheered
The pessimists are down the hall
The realists don’t exist at all
The fatalists wait for the call
They all think I’m kind’a *****
But, I am happy to be me
You get exactly what you see
This, I hope, I’ll always be
For another 50 years
A Mix-Up on Payday
By Elton Camp
Get acquainted with Senator Rich
To control spending he does itch
Changing Social Security is his way
“It’s far too expensive,” he does say
Especially the cost of living increase
The senator would like to have cease
The elderly folks he’s willing to frighten
“Your belts you’re going to have to tighten.”
He doesn’t hesitate at all them to tell
They make enough to live right well
One day he was found at his desk dead
Before him lay the thing he had just read
A social security check replaced his pay
Though an error, he died of shock that day
For his heart stopped & he hit the deck
Seeing what he thought was his paycheck
It's not because of flood or fire,
nothing more than a desire
that's prompting us to tear apart
all that we've established here.
Tired of treadmill tedium
breakfast always at eight am,
walk the dog by nine o'clock,
skim the pool tick tock, tick tock.
Time to find new closets, in which
to re- arrange familiar things,
possessions, we can find in our sleep
Convenience, imprinted on memory
Decisions now on what we must cull
things we thought we'd always keep.
Oops, there goes the baby grand,
the price of shipping way too steep.
We know of roads we've yet to take,
new friendships that we've yet to make.
Unseen rainbows and unformed dreams,
leaving behind established routines.
Beyond - a new horizon rises
Freedom comes from letting go
Detachment happens from cutting strings
Mix up the pieces - start again
One-hundred percent Italian descent:
four grandparents crossed the ocean, went
through Ellis Island, from Italy sent;
my Italian roots, one-hundred percent.
But D N A samples now tested, ruled-
genetic ancestry can have you fooled!
With full Italian descent overruled-
gene structure in me- completely retooled.
Dumbstruck that percentages showed so clear
my pie chart was sliced- not a full sphere,
my mind was lost in this new-found frontier,
and wiped out ideas that I held so dear.
Through tests, my genetic past now revealed,
sixty-four percent Italian did yield!
Thirty-six percent now unconcealed
some ancestors came from lands far afield!
Mid-Eastern, Caucasus, Iberian too,
Some Jewish, Scandinavian, plus a few
chance Irish genes to mix up the brew.
My former beliefs are now so untrue.
But, soon I accepted this new-found me,
like others amazed, as shown on TV,
surprised, but excited as I can be-
with a varied, colorful, mixed ancestry!
April 19, 2017
Contest: Dumbstruck
Sponsor: Charles Messina
True facts: I received my Ancestry DNA
test results on April 1, 2017
brown eyes that sparkle in the sun
inspires me to take turns i thought
i would never take
i thought surely that there must have
been some kind of mix-up in God's Master
Plan
however i never questioned or challenged
his logic, meaning, or purpose
instead i just go with it and let the unsung
art of presented discovery overtake the
homebody philosophy which was my norm
when i just let go my eyes became saucers
of surefire delight
there were times when i had to pinch myself
and wear green for personal reassurance
now i live life happily with my head in clearer
clouds
instead of searching for a temporary escape, i
now search for the second, third, fourth, fifth
take and beyond.....
My dream was such that I just didn’t want to be awake
When an unexpected change in tone caused my good mood to break
As my Buena Vista faded ‘neath a penetrating sound
And forced my sleepy high to plummet swiftly to the ground
Jolted violently awake from necessary beauty sleep
The most annoying, intermittent, ear-piercing beep
It was not the smoke detector that had opened my eyes wide
But the other one – that warned of leaking carbon monoxide
Still somewhat groggy, my self-preservation mode kicked in
And I woke my wife, who’d managed to sleep right through the whole din
In haste, we grabbed two dressing gowns – I donned hers, she took mine
And stumbling down the stairs, convinced her everything was fine
Now reeling from the shrill, we made our way to the front door
Still trying to explain why we were up at half past four
The dog was barking wildly, running rings around our feet
As we sat in our odd nightwear in the middle of the street
The pre-dawn chill was biting at my unprotected ears
But as clarity returned I knew that I must face my fears
And pulling my pink dressing gown tightly around my waist
I threw my shoulders back and bravely climbed the stairs in haste
I pulled the shrieking beast from its position on the wall
Trying hard to see the readout, but the numbers were so small
What does ‘97’ mean – and is this reading far too high?
Is it well within the limits or are we about to die?
My concentration shattered, headache pounding and cross-dressed
I held my breath and pulled the batteries from its beating breast
No time to find the handbook, but I needed now to know
Just what the reading meant and could we stay or should we go?
So I turned instead to Google, but the image that I found
Resembled mine; though in this picture it was wrong way round
As dawn arose, daylight revealed the cause of my ‘mix up’
That ‘Lb’ means ‘low battery’ when read the right way up ...
Santa lost his “NAUGHTY or NICE” list this year,
What happened to the helpful elves he hired?
Which SPOILED children will exuberate in cheer,
which one of his elves will ultimately be fired?
What kind of devised SCHEME has transpired?
So many questions with unknown facts,
Who is responsible for this eradication?
Maybe Santa should go and trace his tracks,
This could cause SEVERE annihilation!
This could be Christmas’s expiration!
What if lil’ Sally DESERVED that pottery bowl,
or needed a new pair of school shoes?
But then poor Sally ended up getting coal,
and was left stuck in the sad blues.
Why does she get to be the one to lose?
Then there’s Johnny so selfish with pride,
on the NAUGHTY list every year since birth-
Do you really think he’d feel guilty inside
if he received what was Sally’s worth?
Oh, I bet he’d be full of joy and mirth!
What’s with the mix up, this whole fiasco!?!
What will happen to all the kids so nice?
Nick’s dad DOESN'T deserve that escrow,
man Santa, you’re treading on thin ice!
The good girls and boys shouldn’t sacrifice!
What’s that you say, speak once more?
Rudolph ATE the list out of fear?
Oh, he was on the naughty list before,
and wanted more carrots in his stocking this year.
Santa, he’s nothin’ but a...
BROWN-NOSED REINDEER!
CHRISTMAS RHYMES
Kim Rodrigues
December 4, 2017