Best Movable Poems
George Bernard Shaw,
A critic with a vein of comedy and language, quite raw;
He wrote in a movable shack, he liked photography now and then,
Ladies man, died at 94, cremated and planted in his garden.
________________________________
May 27, 2015
Poetry/Clerihew/George Bernard Shaw
Copyright Protected, ID 05-677-690-27
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Cleri-who?,
sponsor, Kim Merryman, Judged 2015
8th Place
Categories:
movable, dedication,
Form:
Clerihew
George Bernard Shaw,
A critic with a vein of comedy and language, quite raw;
He wrote in a movable shack, he liked photography now and then,
Ladies man, died at 94, cremated and planted in his garden.
Categories:
movable, tribute,
Form:
Clerihew
You talked about me when I passed by,
You said I’m so girly when I standby,
I shake it, fake it but still you see it,
You said I am sassy when I am making it.
You talked about me when I just said it,
You said I’m so softy when I talked it.
I make, twist it but still you see it,
You said I am touchy when I am holding it.
You talked about me when I dance it,
You said I’m so comfy when I move it.
I look it, jump it but still you see it,
You said I’m so gay when I stared it.
You talked about me when I’m denying it,
You said I’m a movable cad when I’m forging it.
I say it, tell it but still you it.
You said I’m different when I rued it.
All I can say is I’m so sure with myself,
I’m happy enough as long as I don’t hurt myself.
What they see is what they all get.
Identifying me is something that they can’t get.
Categories:
movable, anti bullying, gender, identity,
Form:
Rhyme
Let the brief time be cast away,
Let the movable thread be loosely handled,
Let the shadow be cast on you,
Let the water flow over the distant edges.
But when you know you’ll never get the wanderer back,
Even as you cast him off,
When you tally the drifters,
They’re all misplaced and undone.
The Moirai will let him go,
Because, you know,
You only need him when the lights are burning low,
And sympathy wears veils no daylight wants to show.
His shadow is turning into a gyre,
Spin after spin;
Wearing lonesome attire,
Only his body is the circling machine.
His dreams come slow,
But they go so fast.
Perhaps they were never his,
Just echoes in the gyre’s turning shadow.
Categories:
movable, destiny, extended metaphor, light,
Form:
Free verse
Dream Keys
by Odin Roark
A NY mantra
Rent the rentable
Move the movable
Key the keyable
Apartments
Four-wall-guardian of yesterday’s youth
Vacuous cellmates of old age loneliness
All part of a cyclic maze
All having a key
Urban life’s Rubik’s Cube turnover
Today’s the day
“Two rooms”
“New paint”
“Clean window”
“No-squeaky floorboards”
Superintendent loves to present
Move in
Keys
Entrance door
Mailbox
Apartment
Laundry room
All yours
A windowsill vase of plastic roses
Your welcome of faded memories
The window to the people below
Your traveled city as roommate
Through another glass darkly
Gotta love it
Pea green layering
Over cracked and peeling bygones
Your very own chipped-paint scrapbook
A giant shoebox of ghostly images
Once possessing your castle-keys
Settle in
Struggle
Dream
Survive
Stand at your window
Watch canyon updrafts
Swirl your make-believe snowflakes
Carrying them skyward
Mixing with sparkling darkness
Where every star is yours
Count the days
Where light to see
Will be owned by neighboring towers
Where former tenants came young
Left old
Where thrown cups and china
Christened walls
And confinement’s anger and tears
Found solace in an ever inviting empty bathtub
Where pounding fists
Rattled bathroom door hinges
While a child hid beneath a bed
Smiling tearful thanks
A wanderlust roach
His ever-faithful friend
All yours
Here
Where a Sammy Glick got started
And an undergrad
An engineer
A Radical leftist
A piano teacher
All touched
All turned
All once secured your keys
So
Add your imprint
Become tomorrow’s remembered page
The scrapbook knows no end
This is Manhattan
Scenes will erupt
Hysterics will rebirth
Life will live
Maybe live some more
Then
Your turn to pass the keys
Your turn to pile worn memories at the curb
Mattresses always appreciated
Stand across the street
Watch the ever-smiling Super
Hand the keys to the next habitant
And then…
Go
Never to forget your contribution
Leaving behind another preparatory memory
Allowing the coming year
Your next season of imaginings
To dream of another home
Somewhere
Waiting…
Gifted with keyless entry?
Loneliness gone?
Categories:
movable, dream,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Each Catholic Church may be unique
But you will find familiar elements in any Catholic church
That you also find in our own parish home.
Baptismal font—a pool or large bowl of water usually stands
Near the doors of the church and reminds us
That baptism is our “door”
To the Catholic faith.
Nave—the large open room usually filed with pews or seats is
The main assembly area.
Sanctuary—the part of the church reserved for liturgical
Action that contains an altar where the priest celebrates the sacrifice of
The Mass
A chair for the priest
The lectern for reading Scripture
Tabernacle—usually located in a place of honor in the
Sanctuary, this receptacle holds consecrated hosts. A candle nearby
Signifies when it is full
In our Parish Church of St. Andrew
It was built after Vatican II
The option to put the tabernacle
In the chapel was done since the main church is ‘multi-purpose.’
Crucifix—a prominent cross with an image of Father Christ crucified
is usually located near the altar. Here in St. Andrew we don’t have this
Though we have the processional cross.
Statues—Statues and other forms of art of Father Christ Jesus, Mother Mary, or the Saints remind us of those who inspire us by their holy lives
Here in St. Andrew we have the movable statues located at the vestibule of
the Church and in the chapel that are placed in the altar on feasts
Solemnities
Categories:
movable, christian, devotion, faith, god,
Form:
Light Verse
George Bernard Shaw,
A critic with a vein for comedy and language quite raw;
He wrote in a movable shack and liked photography now and then,
A ladies man who died at 94, cremated and planted in his garden.
________________________________
September 28, 2019 (edit)
Poetry/Clerihew/George Bernard Shaw
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1184-501-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the FFI Blog Series 12, Clerihew
Brian Strand
Honorable Mention
Categories:
movable, funny,
Form:
Clerihew
they would dice many a chive
by management me from da dive
apartments in hatfield in close proximity
to the bloody sorry fate
oof a von nee gutt
thar slaughter house five.
mine eyes saw gore
and remained fixated
orbital fixture
of poor creatures in a daze
sans reaction averting gaze
away from disgusting entrails
visible picture amidst the maze
of chutes and ladders
stepping on select
foursquare did raise
or lower (similar to an elevator)
but movable blocks
also went cross ways
oh, anyway, this reply
written by me - scott math u
passable poet tree - at most true
this email far ye to rue
these twisted sister strands
of pearl jammed zz topped
chromosomal strands being did hew
who only to five feet and ten inches grew
crafts, finesses,
indulges love of language
to prose from fingers flew
and writes poems
cawing all r e'en juiced
one angry emu
leaving her/his presents
custom made doo doo
per comprising a motley crue
of a family - pearl jammed color ague.
please rsvp asap via text
to me scott matthews my chosen ac/dc label
i.e. pleasure like rubbing against sable
create r hard woo n intimate scorpion fable
unless ja noah under me ma jib rush
like inxs o ruck kiss in tower o babe bull
by texting if willing, ready, eager and able
froom - - scotts matthew
who lives way off the mainline -
juiced about a few dirty dozen dancing deeds
done dirt cheap miles west of philadelphia,
and some ten miles east of king o prussia
pennsylvania who imagines your sultry skin
silkily soft as a lynx, pussy cat
rubbing against ma leg under da table.
Sent from my iPhone 456789
Categories:
movable, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
Soon we'll be all settled in our new abode
In the meantime we have big problems by the load
Nothing unusual
Just an average movable
Feel restless, anxious and jumpy like a toad
Categories:
movable, anxiety,
Form:
Limerick
I had not the mind to tarry long here,
Like the Deep Ones it is an endless existence.
Where within the bowels of debauchery and broken dreams.
It swells like Arkham’s crowded streets - a foul and smelling thing.
I tell of terrors so horrendous that I would be likened to the Mad Arab!
Before me shapes of unimaginable size and complexities
The grinding gears of shiny movable objects so absurd as to twist the very
Cool of mind to do some drug, alas yes perhaps you think me doing so.
No mushrooms or DMT, but visions in a loathsome cry inside of me.
So real in waking life in isolation, quite possibly a manifestation
So somber is my spirit here their faces, many eyes I fear.
The horror is inside my skin like Yiths I feel those thoughts begin.
I felt as if they spoke of me, the voice of my anxiety.
No mortal yet has described it so perfected as I, my tormented mind.
The Dankness that surrounds my soul is ever present
Accursed for all recorded time, is mine, this Antediluvian rhyme.
I long for sweet release from this; abomination that is this:
My Xenophobic tendency~
So back in Boston’s where I’ll be.
Categories:
movable, culture, dark, horror, writing,
Form:
Free verse
I think of my ancestors building you,
Tying and placing tree-trunks, like girders, in queue;
They constructed you, then, with stones,
Twisted, turned, criss-crossed, hung, dangled in zones;
Road bridge, railway bridge, gate bridge, bay bridge,
You resembled longest and tallest mountain ridge;
Clapper, beam, truss, arch… you became suspension,
Cantilever, cable-stay, movable, floating, and high-tension;
How fond designs you are in, today, like miracles,
Magic of marvelous magicians waiting for oracles...
Travelling from place to place, and meeting people,
You build up relationships from valleys to hill steeple;
Though, through you, communication is continually created,
Has communion betwixt hearts clemently elated?
Connecting, interacting, do you construct relations?
Beyond hills and cliffs and national foundation…
Socialization, cultural extension, and environs easy,
You’re sometimes breezy and other sleazy and queasy...
Cognition, senses, sensation, and sensitivity,
Once broken impulsively, aren’t you in vainly pity...???
15 March 202
Categories:
movable, relationship,
Form:
Free verse
eyes the bi-camera
nose the bi-air detector
tongue the reporting journalist
legs the walk man’s prop roots
hands the defense acrobat
ears the spying radar instrument
hair the cushion cover
stomach the chemical industrial plant
heart the pumping station
skin the warmth generator
liver the sewerage filter
kidney the water collection dam
breast calabash of white juice
arteries and veins the drainage channels
rids the spring board cabins
vocal cord the musical instrument
mouth the palace gate keeper
teeth the kitchen cutlery
womb the tray of eggs
uterus the incubator
arm the movable crane
brain the systems decoder
back the inclined plane
human body the scientific tool box
Categories:
movable, body, metaphor,
Form:
Imagism
My desk was constructed of
genuine wood, with seat attached.
No, not movable as they are today.
Highly polished with an ink
well, as we used fountain pens!
Books? You lifted the top
and in they went.
We had leather schoolbags
that went below.
Later, when I was a teacher,
they were light as you see today.
Since I taught in the wildest schools,
misbehaving pupils used them in
fights,not for play!
At these times, chairs became objects
of flight.
To the students' joyous delight.
I'd dream of the days of yore!
When children were well-behaved and had
morals that counted ever so much more.
And desks were nailed firmly to the floor!
4/19/2021
Categories:
movable, memory, school,
Form:
Free verse
A movable or immovable barrier,
That functions as an entrance-exit carrier;
If, thus, easily the door concept is defined,
We may be, to peripheral spaces, confined...
Do we reflect that the door in its sphere includes,
Dramas of the woods with many plots and preludes;
That contain cradles for the newborns to roll on,
And coffins of the dead their remains to hold on...
Can't you write volumes on the words: open the door?
Of a child, youth, old, well, ill, or any other?
Don't doors show the moods of humans who open them?
Happy door, sad door, calm door, angry-door-mayhem...
Like - I am the door; He is near right at the door,
The doors will be shut; God will open up... a door,
Close your doors and pray; Jesus at the door with a smile,
Doors opened, closed! How many doors in the Bible!
Doors can be made with twenty-four-carat gold gird,
What difference does it make to a frail caged bird?
Few words of hope I convey to the prisoners,
Amidst iron-doors wipe the stigma of sinners...
Don't the homeless in the streets sleep so peacefully?
Even with hundred locks don't some fear fatefully?
There were societies never used doors and locks,
With many hardest locks, our lives are full of mocks.
Above all, doors within, are made to heed voices,
Of the oppressed and the depressed and the voiceless;
Do we shut our inner selves forever indoors,
Or do we feel, free, to open for them our doors?
24 July 2021
DOORS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco
Categories:
movable, life, symbolism,
Form:
Rhyme
MY WORDS TO YOU
Tend the farm for the adaptable
Of the smiling priceless Vegetable
Teeth your heart in understandable
For my emotional feeling is uncountable
Here in my dying heart would I table
The price which is not affordable
My spirit man's work is unimaginable
But I loose to make it available
Move it to the spirit and be lightable
Body which is not Re-writable.
The gift can not be awardable
Yet, it could be seen in a movable
Road where the gospel is not preachable.
I will make thee Queen-able
Whom mote will be unable
To be heavenly dictable.
Make it an honest unquestionable
Act which is eviable not eatable
For my words to you are hear- able
Categories:
movable, art,
Form:
Couplet