Best Nodded Poems
Oh if I were a true poet
one that could write a good rhyme
I would compose a few ones
and earn myself a dime.
Why, I'd write about man's folly,
as the robin said to the sparrow:
"Why are men so stupid
their minds so clouded and narrow?"
The sparrow cocking his head replied:
"They accumulate facts and lies,
Little caring about their true intent,
Alas, they are not really very wise."
The robin looked at his red breast,
remembering a Man on a cross,
how He bled, and sighed and suffered
all because of man's grace loss.
The sparrow nodded and smiled.
"Wisdom is not acquired by knowledge, my friend.
It comes when in our lives we've failed
and when we truly try to comprehend."
Categories:
nodded, bird, red,
Form:
Light Verse
A crazy old man once told me,
“Heaven is made of the things you give away.”
It appeared he was next in line for heaven
as he had next to nothing left to give.
We shared a cup of coffee, conversation,
well not so much conversation
as a gentle walk through a magical forest.
His voice had not grown old or weary
of his quest to share his experience.
He stooped to pick up a napkin
discarded in haste, tucked it
in his pocket as we walked.
He shared his muffin,
spoke with a woman
pushing a shopping cart
through the Common.
She walked away smiling.
The muffin crumbs he left for the birds.
He nodded to the homeless,
waved to strangers, petted stray dogs,
offering all the brightness of his being,
warmth of his eyes,
quizzical wrinkle of his grin.
His rambling soliloquy
poked sticks at the universe,
offered hope to the ducklings…
yeah … the ducklings followed him
as if they knew that he knew.
As we approached the starting point
of both walk and oration he spoke
of the completed circle – not the
circumference - but the center,
said that the achievement was not
in amassing things to give away
but to offer freely those things
that you always have. Time, he said,
is huge, as is a smile, a word,
a shared muffin, a moment
in the passing of an eon.
He left me sitting on a park bench
sharing muffin crumbs
and smiling.
1/25/2017
submitted to – Random Acts of Kindness – Poetry Contest
Categories:
nodded, allegory,
Form:
Free verse
The walls of the doctor's office
Are blue.
Blue is a color that's supposed to
Calm, to soothe.
The doctor and the nurse both have
Blue eyes.
They are telling me
About the magic pill
That will make
All of my problems
Go away...
The nurse asks,
"Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?"
I don't answer...
Not immediately.
I ask if I can answer
Next time I come back.
I'm still thinking
Of those words...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I hear-
If I hear lines in my head
Chasing eachother around
Like hallucinations,
Hear voices speaking poetry,
Is this what it means
To be schitzophrenic?
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I start speaking with a ryhthm then
To speak in iambic pantameter-
Is this like OCD behavior?-
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I stay up all night-
Have you ever stayed up all night?
Have you ever gone outside
And sat in your backyard
At 3am and felt how... peaceful...
The darkness was- listened as
The wind whispered love songs
And watched the sky
Until the first light of dawn
Brushed the sky's cheek
With her fingers?
Did you look for words
To describe the first kiss
Of sunshine?
I've always loved
To write about
The sunrise...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I haven't written poetry
In a month but
I still can't sleep-
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I haven't written poetry
In two months, and
I don't know why-
I don't think I can,
I think-
Maybe my heart broke...
I don't care if I see
The sunrise...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I slept for 15 hours straight
But I'm not quite sure,
It doesn't feel like I ever
Really woke up-
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I just want... to write.
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I wrote a poem today...
I wrote about the sunrise.
I've always loved to write
About the sunrise.
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I know I probably seem
Tired at the moment;
People have been
Telling me that-
I haven't slept much
For a few days or so,
I've been writing too much
Poetry...
People keep telling me
I look so happy.
The doctor asked me
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
...No. I don't.
But I didn't say this.
I nodded like
They wanted,
And then wrote
It in a poem-
The one place
I never have to
Lie.
Categories:
nodded, depression, poetry,
Form:
Narrative
after The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
(Is this microphone turned on? Testing one two, Poe was a dip, Poe was a dip, testing.)
Once upon a daydream, faintly
whilst I watched the boob tube, quaintly
Jerry Springer 'bout half over when I nodded off to sleep.
Show was boring, soon was snoring
when suddenly I heard my bell ring.
Outside it was really pouring,
pouring there outside my door,
perhaps a preacher to ignore,
I'd be a beanbag chair and nothing more.
(By the way, this is the reader's digest version folks)
Beanbag pretense wasn't working,
freak outside just kept on twerking
(Wait! I forgot what that means)
then through my window climbs this guy who looks a bit unstable.
He stops and stares as though a zombie,
asked him could he be from Bombay,
I think his jeans were Abercrombie.
I showed him kindly to the door,
pointed clearly to the exit,
pushed him onward 'cross the floor,
he stood there shaking, nothing more.
"Now look" I cawed with all my muster,
"Get this through your thick head buster,
Spongebob's coming on soon and I've still to take my nap."
He looked at me with subtle smile,
those crazy eyes had me beguiled,
[karma's spanked me with this trial]
on my knees (Ack! I don't have knees)
on my knees I now implored
would he please just take a hike.
I then got up from off the floor,
he stared and said...
"uh, I gotta tinkle."
EPILOG
That's right folks. You now have the edited, abridged version of what really happened back in 1845. Now I know what you're thinking - 'Gotta tinkle'? But it doesn't rhyme! Well, I can't help it folks that's what he said. And it may explain why he decided to turn things around to make me look like the nitwit in his classic poem, The Raven.
This is Barrymore T Raven III, signing off
*did they have TV in 1845? Hmmm...
Categories:
nodded, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Gene stood. Skyscraper demanding. Cold steel.
Thirty-five hard years. Over now. Just like that.
Corrugated box. Family photo. Timex watch.
Bitter coffee.
Stale sweat.
He walked out. Sun blaze. Fireball. Air thick.
Sidewalk. Familiar corner. Man there.
Black skin. Weathered face. Cardboard sign.
Gene stopped. Eyes met. Silent understanding.
"Seen you," the man said.
Gene nodded. "Fifteen and a half years."
"Never spoke."
"No. Never did."
Gene sat. Concrete cracked. Chill. Hands trembling.
"Lost everything," he said, eyes downcast.
Shame heavy. Guilt girded.
The man waited. Silent. Eyes knowing.
"Wife. Cancer. Kids ghosted. Job now too."
Gene's voice cracked. "Wasted. Empty. Life."
The man reached down. Pulled out a bottle.
"Drink?" he asked.
Gene nodded. Took it. Swigged deep.
Bourbon burned. Good burn. Real.
"First honest thing. In years."
They sat. Shadows lengthened. City hummed.
Bottle passed. Back. Forth. No words.
Gene breathed. First time in years.
Bygone dreams. Flickered. Misty.
Husband. Father. Provider. Lost Purpose.
Night fell. Stars peeked. Traffic thinned.
Gene stood. Legs unsteady. Mind unclear
"Thanks," he said,
The man nodded. "Tomorrow comes" –
Gene stared out. Horizon blurred. “That was yesterday.”
Street light flickered. Old worn dress shoes.
A sound.
Empty bottle.
Spinning.
Parting gift. Timex.
Ticking...
Categories:
nodded, grief, jobs, loss, psychological,
Form:
Narrative
She much preferred the days. In rays of sun
She’d wrap herself as if they were a shawl.
But quiet horror crept when day was done,
for Night closed in - a grim and awful pall.
That memory more easily suppressed
when sunlight drenched her soul came flooding in
as shadows loomed, and then a blackness pressed
into her consciousness the guilt of sin.
Though it was not a sin deliberate,
the Pain of Night arrived as if to scoff
at her for thinking that she might forget
the time she drove her car, then nodded off. . .
How horrible that sight she can’t erase -
her victim’s young and bloodied stricken face.
Categories:
nodded, pain,
Form:
Sonnet
Accosted many years ago
By the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe
I'm now obliged to come forthright
About that dark eye-opening night.
It's only fair to let you know
I've held a torch for Mr. Poe
It's all because of the ink of his pen
That my love for poetry did begin.
(His sad, sad tale arrested me;
the saddest tale I've ever known.
Small wonder then when he chose me,
an easy prey, home all alone)
Toiling to write like him for years
Happy was I when his ghost appeared.
A tragic figure past, present and now
He entered my room with a humble bow.
And fixed me with a haunting stare
And whispered softly 'life's not fair.'
I nodded my head just to agree
When a strange sensation took hold of me.
Possession felt more than 9/10's of the law
I felt frozen and badly in need of a thaw.
My body, not mine now was his to command;
Just a shell, a mere puppet, at the will of this man.
His voice so melodic, belied malice or vice.
He drew near to the fireplace, the warm hearth felt nice.
There was music, a waltz, seemed familiar {mere chance?)
Embracing the moment we started to dance.
His thoughts were with mine now
And mine were with his
And I swear by my bank book
As long as I live
The unbearable pain of his loss gripped my heart
And the moment I fainted we were ripped apart.
He was anguished at how he had handled his grief,
How his life was cut short by his own inner thief.
He'd wanted to write more
His mind was an ark
Just those few moments with him
Woke the poet in my heart.
And so it happened in just one night
He taught me verse; he taught me rhyme
And stretched my mind to higher heights
That's quite developed over time.
He's never visited my bedroom since
Or with my body had his way.
He left me with this gift or sixth sense
Of a fire for poetry that burns in my veins.
Unfinished business is quite finished now.
Passing on I imparted to him 'quid pro quo.'
'Rest in peace, the whole world
Knows your name Mr. Poe.'
-Reta Pruitt
July 22.2018
Categories:
nodded, emotions, imagery, inspiration, life,
Form:
Rhyme
She liked picking flowers, I liked growing them
She liked picking flowers,
I liked growing them
Her basket filled with pretty blooms,
freshly on the stem
She walked into my garden,
scented sweet and true
I tended to my marigolds
with tiny buds so new
She saw my Gerber daisies,
just smiling in the sun
Then glanced in my direction,
she only wanted one
I nodded my approval,
for what else could I say
To the loveliest of flowers
in my garden on this day
She thanked me with a kiss,
upon my cheek so soft
I felt my old heart skip a beat,
my mind it went aloft
Then as she was leaving
neath springtime skies so blue
I could only stand and stare,
for on this day I knew
Of every perfect flower,
so wondrous and pristine
She was now the prettiest
that I have ever seen
She still likes picking flowers,
I still like growing them
But now I tend my plants and wait
till she comes back again
Categories:
nodded, flower, fun, garden, spring,
Form:
Rhyme
My soul understood Lynyrd Skynyrd
Like Ronnie I had monkeys to
Just simple boys chasing life’s joys
With our needles playing our blues
My soul understood Pink Floyd
For I have lived inside the wall
Comfortably numb and ignorantly dumb
Living my life forever tasting the call
My soul understood Nirvana
The White Horse has lived in my stall
I’ve tasted death at the edge of my breath
As my soul just nodded through it all
Like Creed I am my own Prison
No appeal on the docket today
What I learned from John Lennon
We all need to learn how to pray
Morrison took me to the roadhouse
Like Merle they locked me away
And I guess just like Creedence
I’ve seen rain on the sunny day
You know I do love Hank Jr.
Especially when he sings the blues
It seems so many of us just hop on the bus
Forever lost in the Addictions we choose
Sometimes I feel just like Kid Rock
I’m just sitting here in search of myself
I have great respect for Garth Brooks
For his family he put his career on the shelf
Johnny Cash sang of San Quentin
I heard the song in one of its cells
Locked up inside of that medieval prison
You feel like you have made it to hell
Like Jerry Garcia I fried in Berkley
Like Hendrix I dropped acid in my eyes
To this day when I hear Janice Joplin
I just want to break down and cry
The Eagles played the Hotel California
I have led the dance on that Prison yard
Guns & Roses sang of the Jungle
Prison is a world very cold and hard
These are a few of the songs and the makers
Ones that have shared my story and plight
When I die just play dust in the wind
As I ride the stairway to heaven that night
If my song is granted one purpose
And the music I’m allowed to choose
Let it be said that the song in my head
Was country rock with a touch of the blues
And let that song forever tell a story
A horrible story that ended so bright
For when Jesus Christ grants his mercy
Even the most blind can be led to the light
So Lord let my life be your lighthouse
Lord please guide my story as it’s told
And whatever you do Lord I beg of you
Help me stay worthy of the heart that I hold
Categories:
nodded, dedication, inspirational, life, music,
Form:
Rhyme
My three-year-old son stood next to me
as I watered our garden of flowers
The zinnias nodded their blossoms
As if grateful for garden hose showers
A firework array, was that garden display
Of pinks, yellows, orange,
Purple, red
When my son asked the cutest of
Questions to me
In the darlingest way ever said
As he eyed that large bumbling bee
That he found alarmingly too close to me
Not quite in fear, as its buzzing drew near
And it sampled of pollens so dear
But at his first sight of that yellow bright fuzz
And the loud droning volume of that giant bee's buzz
He just needed to know all was right
He asked
"Mommy? Do humming bee's bite?"
Categories:
nodded, child, garden,
Form:
Rhyme
disintegrating all language barriers
she smiled
and pulled me in with the charm
of a profoundly serene magnetism
the epitome of peace and harmony
nodding offered me a card
I took it and she smiled
nodded and showed me
a rainbow of bracelets
from the many colors I chose one
exchanged it for a handful of bills
she smiled some more
I walked away
each bead
around my wrist
a reminder of her smile
AP: 2nd place 2025, 3rd place 2020
Submitted on February 5, 2019 to contest FEBRUARY WK 1 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Categories:
nodded, inspirational, memory, peace, silence,
Form:
Free verse
I went to the dentist today.
The lady who cleaned my teeth had hair fit for a Weasley with large piercing eyes to compliment. Her name is Sierra, and she is 22 years old.
She asked me if anything had medically changed since the last time I had came.
I told her about my chronic pain and alopecia.
"Is that all?", she innocently questioned. I told her about my anxiety and insomnia.
"What's that sore on your chest?", she probed. I told her about my dermatillomania.
She nodded and got out her tools.
Here, is where I thought the conversation would end.
I'm so thankful I was wrong.
She looked at me with her large eyes and told me that she too has anxiety.
She said she has PTSD from some family issues a couple years back.
She knows what it's like, how it feels.
She sat behind me and asked me how I was coping.
I thought she meant with my mental disorders and informed her I was ok.
The only answer I can semi truthfully give these days.
She asked me if I was sure.
Told me I have sad eyes.
Asked if all of it together was overwhelming.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Yes, it is. It always is.
The only word that managed to escape was yes.
She said that only people who have it can see it in other people.
I have it, I know what she meant.
She recommended certain Melaluca oils to help.
Recommended melatonin for the insomnia.
Said I should text her, call her, Facebook her.
Heck, even make an appointment just for the sake of talking.
She'd go on break and we'd go outside just so I could vent.
Shared with me an inspiring image she loved.
It is a picture of Jesus, smiling, holding his hand out to Peter after he's fallen beneath the waves.
How even though we fall beneath the waves, Jesus isn't disappointed or mad with us.
She said he'll always be there for us.
She said that she knows it's overwhelming, and hard.
But keep your head up above the waves.
She recommended I read a novel titled, "Redeeming Love".
She said it helped her immensely.
Somewhere in here she mentioned I have striking features, and pull off bald better than most.
So much love and compassion radiated from her very words.
I've forgotten what that kind of love feels like.
People who spread compassion and understanding like flower petals give me hope.
Thank you, Sierra.
Categories:
nodded, anxiety, hope, hurt, sad,
Form:
Free verse
My three-year-old put his hand on his chin
like he was mulling over something troubling
I said, "Son, look at this place; what a mess!"
“But, Papa,” he moaned, “I pway wifh these!”
His room was cluttered from wall to wall--
books and crayons, even an old football,
an old sippy cup, its contents long dried up,
cars, trucks strewn about from a huge pileup,
game pieces and his Christmas roller skates,
and things I’d long forgotten he even owned.
“Straighten it up, now!” I commanded.
He began to pout. “It’s myyyy wooom, Papa.”
Stifling a tear of my own, I nodded, agreeing,
“But YOUR room is in MY house,” I explained.
When I stepped out and closed the door,
I heard stuff being tossed hither and yon,
So, I stood there for a good long while, and,
this is what I heard: “Otay, I queen up my woom,
but next year for Quissmas....” then, loudly,
“I WANT A HOUSE OF MY OWN, OTAY!”
Loud enough for him to hear, I replied,
“SO, WHEN NEXT CHRISTMAS COMES, SON,
I’LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO!”
Submitted to "2022 Marathon Mile No. 12" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney
August 12, 2022
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Submitted to "'Funny Memories'" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
January 16, 2022
Written 3/24/2021 (edited slightly 3/27/2021)
Submitted to: "Look At This Place!" Contest
Sponsored by Matt Caliri
BRONZE WINNER
"Anything Children" Contest - All Poetry
September 3, 2021
Categories:
nodded, child, humorous, kid,
Form:
Narrative
Little Red Riding Hood went into the woods
Little Red Riding Hood
left for nearby Pine Wood
to meet her Dear Grand mom
whom she loves from her bosom.
Little angel, little fairy wore red dress.
Pet Micky Mouse put red hat to impress.
Quack duck put on red shoes on webbed feet.
Three were out for Grandmother to meet.
On her way she met a wolf in white dress
wearing woolly shoes with white lace.
Wonderful wolf named Wow-Wow
nodded its head and made bow.
Wolf was driving an old vintage car
shown in a movie that won prize Oscar.
Wow-Wow said ‘Wait just a minute.
I can give all of you a quick lift.’
So she boarded the car with each pet.
Wow-Wow drove car to the gate
of the wood house of Grandmother
waiting eagerly for her Granddaughter.
Grandma wore white blouse with red border
on red skirt with prints of white flower.
She sat on soft red sofa cum bed.
Her socks were white and shoes red.
Micky played guitar, Quack nicely sang.
White balloons, red ribbons Wow-Wow hang.
Wow-Wow became friend so helpful.
Wild wolf can also be wonderful.
Little fairy, little angel is my Granddaughter
She plays with toy pets and is busy to chatter.
I meet her on Skype every Sunday
My little Red Riding Hood jubilant and gay.
02/05/16
Once Upon a Time Poetry Contest Third Place
Sponsor Laura Loo
Third Place
'Into The Woods
' Contest by Silent One.
Categories:
nodded, granddaughter, red,
Form:
Rhyme
I heard a bird, A sweet red bird,
So I stepped out back to see.
Mrs. Mockingbird, told all she heard.
What a gossip she turned out to be.
I knew it was wrong, but I let her go on,
Singing that redbird melody.
At the end of the song, she nodded so long,
Flew away to a mulberry tree.
Categories:
nodded, bird, children,
Form:
Rhyme