Best Nimbly Poems


Word Squirrel

Rodents can be loquacious
That includes your average gerbil
They love to prattle, chat and blather
They really are quite verbal

Hamsters are talkative too
Just as garrulous as can be
With running mouth and wheel to match
They are a sight to see

But I am loath to squander words
Sparing usage is my way
I gather them like so many acorns
Against a rainy day

Yes, word collecting is the passion
Of this precocious squirrel
I garner adjectives, verbs and nouns
Be they singular or plural

The park is fecund land
There a plethora may be found
Vociferous, vehement and vex
I lately scooped up off the ground

The verb tree is prolific
Its discovery quite a boon
The other day it bestowed upon me
Flaunt, foster and festoon

All along the sidewalks
Concrete nouns lie strewn about
How blithely I did snatch up
A lummox, a laggard and a lout

To command a better view
I nimbly scampered up a pole
From this lofty perch I spotted
Wheedle, coax and cajole

Away in the distance
I spied a tempting pile
Heaped up for the taking were
Enticing, alluring and beguile

What do I with so much verbiage?
You would be fair to ask
Squirreling away so vast a lexicon
Must prove a mammoth task

The answer lies in my arboreal abode
Where these many words I stash
In alphabetical order they are arrayed
From zealous to abash

In a capricious mood one day
I grouped them by part of speech
Such a cacophony arose from clustering
Banter, badger and beseech

No matter how I sort them
The wasting of words I spurn
Reserved for rarest use I keep
Reticent, laconic and taciturn!

_________________________________

by Brian McClain - Feb 17, 2016


Originally posted Feb 17, 2016
Accidentally deleted Feb 22, 2016
Reposted Feb 22, 2016
Categories: nimbly, animal, children, education, kid,
Form: Rhyme

The Gift of Words

It’s said that God bestows on us, each and every soul,
A special gift just meant for us, to make our lifetime whole.
How often I have thought about what gift was to be mine.
I waited for His one bequest to make my earth years shine.
 
I've envied some their striking looks, their figures lean and spare.
(This gift from God not always used in unison with prayer.)
I watched the athlete nimbly scale to heights till now unclimbed.
While others scour the ocean floor: new life there, still to find.
 
I've closed my eyes and listened to the maestro's ebb and flow.
Was lifted up; my heart was stirred; my spirit touched my soul.
Then too there is the gift of song; a greater gift than gold.
Was I to have this blessed prize, what other need I hold?
 
But none of these He chose for me; not one did He bestow.
Instead perhaps the gift of words, shall serve me where I go.
For without words I could not write of wonders I have seen:
Could not return to times gone by, or capture fleeting dreams.
 
How, lacking words could I describe the sun upon of the sea:
A mountain pass, a lake of glass, the joy of being free?
Words serve to tell of all that’s good, as well as all that’s bad.
They make the beauty come alive and hurt us with what’s sad.
 
And when the years have passed on by and dust is what was me:
The gift of words, put down in verse, remain for all to see.
Thoughts penned in ink and left behind, let what ‘was me’ live on.
The gift of words will still be here when other gifts are gone.


© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Categories: nimbly, god, poetry, words, writing,
Form: Dramatic Verse

Premium Member Wings

As born again blossoms bloom,
who am I to wilt upon the dawn of spring,
as I can see morning robins gather
to bless me with the melodies they sing.

Their once melancholic lullaby,
disappears with every drop of rain,
in cloudless, bright blues skies,
they have sang away winter's pain.

I watch them collect fallen twigs,
nimbly, creating their new nests,
rebuilding something that was once broken,
fighting valiantly against nature's tests.

They're aware that predators lurk,
so when sunset sinks at silent twilight,
I wonder where do they seek shelter,
so they don't become prey of the night.

With philosopher eyes the mind ponders
what if birds were born without both wings.
How would they fly to freedom when trapped?
Would we still hear the melodies a robin sings?

When bewildered in the wilderness,
some slither softly, lost in melancholic motions,
submerging slowly in shallow streams,
unable to control their erratic emotions.

We are blessed with spiritual wings,
but some prefer to remain within their cocoon.
Unable to learn from the homecoming of birds,
their authentic-self, struggles to hum in tune.

In the migration of misunderstood minds,
we can become lost among unknown silhouettes,
like dead petals ignored by butterflies,
our inflictions turn us into marionettes. 

Darkness will always consume our horizons,
so as I arrive upon illuminations ledge,
I revel in the belief my spirit will fly
if my foundations crumble at the edge.
© Silent One  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: nimbly, analogy, mental illness, philosophy,
Form: Rhyme

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


'pardon Me, Could You Pass the Grey Poupon'

Winds caressing fringes of
   her deep chocolate tresses
as tree nymphs nimbly hid
  midst fallen maple leaves 
    happily prancing round toes,
whilst a crescendo of chimes
   played off in near distances,
warm apple pie aroma wafting
 upon a zephyr tickling her nose,
unfastened her reddish cloak 
  for her e'er plunging neckline
exposed an ample décolletage
 voluptuously heaving in broad
 daylight waiting to seduce a crafty
wolf in sheep's clothing she had afore
  encountered on the way to grannies, 
called ahead to make reservations
for her & handsome knighted chef
hiding amidst the dark forest with
his trusty sharpened butcher knife,
had acquired Wolfgang Puck's
   wickedly-satisfying secret recipe
        for savory pack-of-wolves stew 


Li'l Reddish Revenge is a dish best served cold-blooded with liberal
scads of punitive napkins and a bottle of vindictively chilled Chianti
© Paloma P   Create an image from this poem.
Categories: nimbly, allegory, fantasy, hero, humorous,
Form: Epic

Premium Member A Bush Fire

A BUSH FIRE  
               
One scorching afternoon,
A sudden splintering sound was heard,
The nearest was the buffalo herd,
They smelt the smoke and felt the heat,
And began to charge, they had to beat,
The, scorching red hot fire.
The monkeys who swing and never tire,
Screeched loudly in tongues,
Whilst smoke, stole oxygen out of their lungs.
A mighty midget the porcupine,
Warned chancers that his quills so fine,
Would incur great pain
Not only a red blood stain,
For he dreaded to be turned belly up,
And had no intention, of being anyone’s sup!
The birds began to fly very high,
Away from the smoke, in the sky.
The unfortunate tortoise lost his way,
And sadly, with his life, had to pay.
The giraffe with tall spindly legs
Ran wildly destroying nests and eggs,
His wildness came from his wrath,
And, the chaos along his path.
The animals ran faster away from the fire,
Whilst the flames leapt higher and higher.
A mamba slithered forward next,
Whilst a frightened cub looked on perplexed,
A Zebra, tripped and broke his back,
Causing more confusion in this race track.
The springbok and hyena together ran,
They were now close to the water pan,
The pan was next to a river,
Would they make it, 
Each animal began to quiver,
Could the springbok be tomorrow’s lunch,
A tree falls with a thud and crunch,
Distracting the hyena from his would be munch!
The fox cunningly glances from side to side,
Nimbly a burning log jumps wide.
The lions mouth their cubs gently but tight,
As they run from this horrendous plight.
But water is in sight!
Everyone is close to the finish line,
This race has become competitively fine,
The crocodiles are savagely waiting to dine!
They have spotted their first meal,
The frightened perplexed cub hurriedly steal.
Only a quarter,
Can get into the water.
A stampede starts, animals clamber over each other,
The young ones protected by their mother.
Unfortunately only the strongest will survive,
To tell future generations of their strive,
Of what it’s like, living a bush veld life.
Categories: nimbly, animal, fire,
Form: Rhyme

When Life Was Really Child's Play

Oh, the stress-free, carefree world of children
O' take me back to the lil kids' playpen

When we tried on mom's cosmetics and lipsticks
and built playhouses with plastic blocks and bricks
And had fun with cooking set picnics

Anything could be a toy
and our racket could annoy

We turned everything into play things
We played pretend queens and kings

We then played 'mom and dad'
Oh the squealing fun we had!

Teasing, chasing hens and kittens
climbing the grumpy neighbour's fence.

There was paper airplanes
and frisking in the rains

Paper boats too were made
and hide'n'seek was played

And when that wasn't enough
we played blind man's bluff.

We nimbly climbed the trees
hair flailing in the breeze

But our child's play naturally mimicked the grownups
Lil plastic ones instead of real porcelain cups.

Life was all play and games
in our growing mental frames.

Sand castles and kites
childish fights and frights!

And kind parents just let them frisk and play
for all work and no play makes one a dull boy
Categories: nimbly, childhood, children,
Form: Couplet


Premium Member Oh, To Be Again - Bedeviled

The night is frosted glass.
Daylight’s clouds - restless like my love -
and scattered wildly heretofore -
somehow made a pact
to nimbly rearrange themselves.
Congealing in this chilling autumn eve -
translucent -
the clouds have blended in with dusk,
obliterating stars. . . and even shadows.
Luna, sad like me, 
cannot transmit her moonlight
to cheer me.

Oh, to be again - bedeviled!
To see your unique come-hither smile;
to hear the sound of honey in your voice;
to feel that splendid tingle within me
as you shine your gorgeous eyes -
radiant upon me!
Where are you now, my love -
my sweet, alluring boy?
And where are the stars 
that blazed for me within your eyes?
Where is the crystal nightfall 
of my fondest dream?

Oh, to feel again. . . enraptured!
But not even the smallest gleam 
of you remains.
And not even Goddess Moon
can penetrate
this deep abiding gloom.
Categories: nimbly, love,
Form: Free verse

The Lady Down the Lane

in the first crevice of light
as dawn flushed its skies
her frail fingers struggled
to pluck weeds from spring buds
that laid like a colorful quilt
on her once rolling green lawn

you could hear the creaks on wood
as she rocked on the weathered porch
watching for the children to walk by
as the school days finally ended

she'd speak to anyone that listened
her story was hapless but known by all
her loneliness was seen in the depth of her hazel eyes
no one ever turned down the jaunty invite
inside her antiquated home
where her fingers danced nimbly
across the piano as she sang them songs

she hid her loneliness and darkness of life
reserved her tears behind closed blinds at night
when the blinds remained unopened the children knew
and they flooded the funeral homes to say their goodbyes

march 20, 2020
Categories: nimbly, children, death, goodbye,
Form: Free verse

Battle of the Seasons

From the north he came nimbly in the night
	Softly silently bombing blanketing buds

Saturating each single stem
	Snowy sneak attack barraging bombarding bark

Wracking white war-like wonder
	With relentless wrath and rage

Cardinal calling watching in wonder
	Bright crimson claret buried between alabaster boughs

Chipmunk and squirrel shell-shocked
	By snowy shrapnel scamper to shelter

Relentless yet irrelevant retreating rush
	Futile effort from frosty frothy forces

Spring stands inescapable
	Flowers and flakes conflicted

Spring snowflake and spirea stand strong
	Bravely bearing banners high

As if to say, try as you may
	Your day has passed ‘tis spring at last

Ol’ man winter wanes wails and warns 
	I shall seize the season someday soon …




Inspired by the 5”- 6” snowfall we have on March 26, 2011
after we had 80 degree weather last week.
Categories: nimbly, seasons
Form: Alliteration

Captivating Chapters

"Every day is a page to write a new story"

Each minuscule grain of sand
   running rampant through
     hourglass' prismatic time
  at hand, awaiting life's resolve 
   to seize a brand new adventure,
like the dickens' nimbly flair
  enthusiastically captivating chapters
      of a poetically inspired existence 
   amidst everyday's triumphantly 
             conquered reawakening 




Quote response contest - Nayda Ivette Negron
© Paloma P   Create an image from this poem.
Categories: nimbly, allegory, inspiration, life, passion,
Form: Carpe Diem

Premium Member Farewell to Summer - 2024

Falling Autumn leaves brashly wave goodbye to Summer
And strew the pathways with emeralds, rubies, and gold.
Radiant beauty engages the land in mummer
Encouraging Summer to relent and let loose its hold.
Watching with glum expression and immodest dress,
Eventually losing the tug-of-war with the chill cold. 
Life and death become the drum to which She will bend
Leaving the breathless Wind time to nimbly mend. 
 
Tomorrow She moves forward 
Onward from time borrowed. 
 
Sulking away with dried diamonds
Until Autumn’s auric sky explodes
Mindfully exposing Her horizons.
Memory of Summer implodes.
Efficacious efforts of Her victory,
Reign of Autumn’s golden glory.
Categories: nimbly, autumn, environment, nature, science,
Form: Acrostic

Premium Member Moving Write Along

At any rate ... or any time,
       I so prefer a metered rhyme ...
              If from a fool or from a sage,
                     It bounces briskly off the page.

Quick to grasp a mind or heart,
       And tickle fancies, a la carte ...
              Dancing fast, and hard to catch,
                     Nimbly footed sounds to match.

Off the tongue to tumble, swift,
       Rolling phrases dart and drift ...
              Furtive words, so fun and fleet,
                     Filled with cleverness, replete.

Locution molded, start-to-goal,
       To paint an image in your soul ...
              Terms entwining wishes, bright,
                     To dim the day or burn a night.

Letters, turned to eyes that cry,
       Lungs to breathe, wings to fly ...
              Lines with tempo, sweet or sour,
                     Blooming runes as phrases, flower.

Words otherwise, just in-a-row,
       But set to rhyme, compel us so ...
              Thus taking phrases, commonplace,
                     And giving them a charm and grace.

Turning parlance into song,
       Helping verbiage move along ...
              Telling tales with tempo, quick,
                     No matter what the bailiwick.

Speeding up the things we say,
       To send them sweetly on their way,
              Words in rhythm just won't wait ...
                     That's rhyme to me ... at any rate.




~ 5th Place ~  in the "At Any Rate It Will Be Fast Moving" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Sponsor.
Categories: nimbly, metaphor, poems, poetry, words,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Radioactive Stars

As Balmy 
Comets Dazzle, Exhaling 
Fragranced Gold; Haloed In Jasmine Kisses~
Lyrical Moon Nimbly Orchestrates
Peace, Quenching Radioactive Stars, To 
Unwed Vain Woes; Xylophones Yield
Zephyrs.
Categories: nimbly, moon, nature, stars,
Form: ABC

Mr. Enigma

Fingers nimbly tapping his
heart onto the page
a rich tapestry of heartache
gentleness and rage

perceptions that astound me
engaging my soul
first one way, then another
a fall down the rabbit hole

who is this gifted writer
who speaks in shortened lines
tap tap tapping out his magic
til my heart he entwines
Categories: nimbly, confusion, mystery, on writing
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Flowering In the Mind

magnifica
      noblis
       so insigne&variegated
a mosaic 
           simplified
pleasing&lovely
compacta with everlasting
sweetness
     of heart shaped love

glowing flugens red umbels
of agape
before
   withering away
    in a forgotten
              wreath
in a sky
     out of reach
barren&unfertile
yet
  unfading
           a tricoleur
to brighten the eyes

ornamental foliage
drifts
    upon the breeze
a briza of beauty
a catalyst
       for pleasure
so pungent
 so delicious
  so exquisite
      flowering in the mind
a collage

      insights of electricity
                       lively
                         novel
imaginations
in radical rhythms
           embracing
           the minimalist
to illuminate
to highlight
     the golden threads
of the whole
               cosmos
in a celebration
of darkness&light
glistening
  with sensitivity
bringing
             clarity

a sense of purpose
nimbly
        dancing
through
the intricacies
 of creativity
Categories: nimbly, imagery,
Form: Imagism
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