Best Noting Poems
Now, when the day is cool and new
While fragile light is still allowed
My paper captures views of you
Your eyes, the shape of shifting clouds
While fragile light is still allowed
I sketch your hair as blooming trees
Your eyes, the shape of shifting clouds
As rain replenishes the seas
I sketch your hair as blooming trees
Noting beauty by star's contrast
As rain replenishes the seas
Like amulets from journeys past
Noting beauty by star's contrast
Where mirrors stand, fractured and bent
Like amulets from journeys past
With all the futures you present
Where mirrors stand, fractured and bent
My paper captures views of you
With all the futures you present
Now, when the day is cool and new.
Categories:
noting, future, hope, perspective,
Form:
Pantoum
~
For every grain of sand the ocean shoreline comes to move
To count them all a task so very long
Fill your hand with grains that come in time to you to prove
The softness is a feeling ever strong
Endless possibilities now sprinkled in the wind
Dancing to the magic that we feel
Shiny little glistenings about the ground begin
Each and every footstep is so real
As we walk along our feet they know where we have been
Only do our hearts know where we go
Just to have these moments in our life now once again
And the knowledge that I love you so
Somewhere there’s a number written down in someone’s dreams
Noting every grain of sand we see
Staggering the digits as I hope the number means
Every day that you are here with me
~
Categories:
noting, good night,
Form:
Rhyme
I choose to be
the last to speak.
Then other’s answers I can seek.
Each one of them is unique!
There is power
in embracing my meek.
When my thoughts don’t leak,
into their hearts I can peek.
Being quiet,
doesn’t make me weak.
I learn more,
when not talking a blue streak.
No nodding,
or pretending to listen.
Not trying to think of gems,
so that I can glisten.
Truly listening,
is my mission.
Without knowing their perspective,
how can I or we make any decision?
Can’t we strain to hear all their voices?
Hear the loud and quiet speak,
Muslim, Buddhist or Christian.
Maintaining myopic vision,
leads to a philosophical collision!
Upon Holy ground,
can we not avoid division?
After all, isn’t inclusion,
the reason for Religion?
We go to a church,
a mosque or a temple.
Sacrifice meat,
or eat freshly made lentils.
The core of humanity,
is still elemental.
Each in our own way is sentimental.
We are the same,
in the ways that are essential.
We crave light,
a sense of belonging.
Sunlight music and singing.
We loved one another once,
in the beginning.
Before our hearts became,
intoxicated by winning.
Recognition and ego,
the foundation of our sinning!
So can we put aside the “I”,
and begin again, by truly listening?
With our mouths closed and ears open,
Witness a beginning worth noting!
Categories:
noting, discrimination, encouraging,
Form:
Free verse
From your hands that dipped me in cool tubs
and soft morn wakes, you were the gentle lion
taming my bohemian strains; the lamb of summer
rain catching me like a feather on your palm...
always, your balm poured moon glow of bliss,
erring only when my restless flowers needed
to bend: from where pictures stood, time bowed
shaping night talks, life’s edges, and paused faces.
Then the gas light dripped on lacquered frames,
silhouettes fading as I collected our thoughts—
marbles in my pocket—to keep me safe
from cold winds, rough dreams. And tonight,
my breath grows wild, noting the fabric of revelries
as I click past lenses : you smile; you laugh.
Just when evening’s done, you reach your arms
in slow motion to hold me close again...hands
that dipped me then, gone, without saying goodbye
from a wave of coma when I was only 24. Yet among
old photographs, we embrace through love's eyes...
Daddy, you're my special treat every day!
Tell Us About Your Dad Contest
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Categories:
noting, fathers day, inspiration, me,
Form:
Free verse
You will need a terrific setting. The suck up kids are nodding.
Make sure that your character is interesting.
She says this in a monotone voice.
The only voice she has.
The one that puts me to sleep.
I languish back, whispering with my tree.
A willow with flowing hair, and a sweet nod.
Her bluebirds call my name, inviting me to dance.
A teacher’s droning is in the background, but I can ignore her.
She is easy to ignore.
Here is a template you’ll need.
Two teacher’s pets immediately say they will pass them out.
The teacher calls another one’s name.
A reluctant student who is probably in the land of giants
Slaying dragons.
I smile. It’s not me this time.
Cardinals and robins flit over, hunting for food.
There is a brush against my arm. It’s the template.
But I pretend it is the willow tree, loving me.
My eyes begin to close, a nap in the works.
I enjoy my soft day with her gentle quick ways.
I am in the zone, asleep under the willow. It is a warm day. The sun is gentle.
“Will need a partner,” teacher says, bringing me back to my 5th grade desk.
I choose Jameson, I say, noting his horrified look.
He knows I did not hear almost any of the instructions.
They all know I am usually more than half asleep in most of my classes.
Someone giggles.
The teacher must have given her a sharp look.
The giggle stops in mid giggle.
Jameson is terrified that I will not know what to do, but I do.
Taking the paper out of his hand, I offer to do the writing.
I ask for his ideas.
He has none.
So I begin with a flourish!
Categories:
noting, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Narrative
Grandma, The Farm And The Silent Young Cat
Before soft golden rays the roses slept
Night, its slumbers had not yet bid adieu
From its barn perch the young, silent cat leapt
Upon the old farmer's empty brown shoe
And from the farmhouse, breakfast call rang out
Grandma had no time for late sleepyheads
In her sternest voice, she gave warning shout
"Up and at'em, all rascals out of bed"!
That ringing throughout the place came alive
The cat swiftly raced to the backdoor
Soon as it opened in it would dive
To chase away mice was its daily chore
Table set with coffee, eggs and pancakes
Surrounded by those hungry mouths to feed
So delicious like only grandma could make
Out we went to fed livestock and plant seeds.
Midnoon her roses glowed vibrant red
Each paid homage to life and mother sun
Decked around the porch and the old shed
Grandma watered them having such fun
That garden and her kids her pride and joy
She still agile and spry at eighty two
With sweet memories of her three young boys
Each new day she thanked the good Lord too.
Before soft golden rays the roses slept
Night, its slumbers had not yet bid adieu
From its barn perch the young, silent cat leapt
Upon the old farmer's empty brown shoe
And from the farmhouse, breakfast call rang out
Grandma had no time for late sleepyheads
In her sternest voice, she gave warning shout
"Up and at'em, all rascals out of bed"!
Robert J. Lindley, 6-29-2021
Rhyme, ( Those were the glory days of youth )
Note:
As was promised, I wrote this new poem today,
using the phrase, the silent cat leapt-as was noted
from the haiku in my new blog, title-
"The Image, The Inner Reaches Of The Mind"
Thank you, James Marshall Goff for noting it
as your favorite line of that poem….
I promised to write a poem using that phrase
and have now done so.
Categories:
noting, art, beauty, cat, farm,
Form:
Rhyme
Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder Poetry Contest //Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
( 1st Place )
Written: August 07, 2025
They say stillness is absence, an empty space between worth noting,
but I have heard its melodies in the pre-dawn chapel where stillness reigned
and still the walls exhaled calm.
I have found stillness and not loneliness---
but in two hands clutching without speaking,
the heart knowing inside out
language would only raze.
Silence is like sunlight before it shines,
the tranquility after I sleep and
the reluctance before "I forgive you",
It grips what chaos cannot express--admiration, agony, dread.
Even when grieving and when at a loss for words,
calmness is at hand and says it all.
So let the world fill with echoes.
With clamor and vivid proclamations.
I will still turn up beauty.
In the lull between storms,
In the hush between instinct and doubt
In the sacred calmness, that hark,
Not to respond, but to understand.
Categories:
noting, inspirational, love, peace, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Today, meandering through the clutter of the local antique store,
I almost tripped and fell over an object partially hidden on the floor!
My hands came to rest on an old-fashioned school desk sitting there.
It reminded me of the one I occupied in my school days, I do declare!
My thoughts drifted back through the misty past to reminisce and ponder.
As I caressed its oaken surface with my fingers, I began to wonder.
Did it once grace a simple one-room prairie schoolhouse in Indiana?
Might it have come from a rustic schoolroom in the state of Montana?
The slanting top of the old desk was scratched and with ink was stained.
I saw faint initials carved by an idle lad whose attention span had waned!
The varnish was worn off the folding seat by many a squirming kid.
Wads of chewing gum still adorned the underside of the folding lid!
I recalled sitting at one of those uncomfortable desks trying to stay awake!
As Miss Ruth droned on and on, all I could think of was the recess break!
The room reeked of oranges and fried egg sandwiches we'd bring to munch.
Kids of means paid a dime to eat finer fare in the lunchroom for their lunch!
I recalled the thwack on my knuckles of Miss Ruth's ruler to get my attention,
And what awaited me at home for misbehavior with growing apprehension!
(A clerk noting my glazed eyes asked, "May I help you sir? Is anything amiss?"
"Nah", I replied. "If you please, I'd like to stand here awhile and reminisce!")
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
noting, nostalgia, school, school, me,
Form:
Rhyme
A clinging coolness in the morning air
Makes boyhood autumns live once more—
Blue-ribbon produce at the county fair,
Father trimming a newly sticking door.
Walking to school on frost-crusted leaves,
I worry about what awaits me in fifth grade.
Water dripping from icicles hanging on eaves
Temporarily distracts me from being afraid.
I develop a crush on my teacher, Miss Hales.
She stirs something mysterious inside me.
It’s clear in this season I will face new trails,
Including the allurement of a grown-up she.
Peers make light of the patches on my coat
Lovingly stitched by my Mother one night.
I find it unseemly they are wont to gloat,
But they are unaware of my family’s plight.
Radio was the rage during my tender years.
I ran home after school to hear more and more
Spoken by heroes who vanquished all fears.
While real heroes were dying in the gore of war.
Autumn’s advent brings a flurry of emotions.
They happen like snowfall year after year.
I smile at them now, noting boyish notions,
But morning air leads me to hold them dear.
Categories:
noting, autumn, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
Sometimes I just want to say
I reckon it doesn’t matter any way
I remember once I watched a ghost
Fly into a soul and become the host
As darkness inhales clear blue sky’s
Mothers feeling their children’s cries
In a distant bar there is a singer who sings
As two more betray their wedding rings
Gliding upon the dance floor of lust
If you burn the toast scrape the crust
On the other side of town a call is made
Another soul is offered up for trade
Trading tricks just to ride the white horse
Steady as she goes and stay the course
A little old lady about 60 pounds
Grabs her chest and hits the ground
A baby is born to the most awful fate
Parents drinking from the pool of hate
They had no love and with noting to hold
Play in the snow and you will get cold
An old man could no longer take the strife
He grabbed his chest and fell next to his wife
I guess that is how strong love should be
If you have to go then please wait for me
As suddenly as it started it was all over
A man finally found a four-leaf clover
Categories:
noting, lifeold, love, old,
Form:
Couplet
joy of written word
Here comes the festival again
‘For the joy of written word’
There comes a time when
My excitement is limitless
Like the little children I bloom
Noting sweet than a book I see
Nothing joyous that words I read
Here comes the festival again
‘For the joy of written word’
The world of books & words
The festival of writers & words
In the cultural capital it comes
I prepare like the joys of Eids
Make list, spreading the news
Along with the friends i prepare
New faces to meet, new books
Authors, poets & writers
Young and old to meet
New cultures to discover,
New words to learn
A festival unlike in red deserts
A festival of million books
A festival of billion thoughts
Beating in my heart with joy
Here comes the festival again
‘For the joy of written word’
Dedicate to Sharjah International Book Fair - 2011 #SWBF
This trade show is held in Expo Centre Sharjah during 16 Nov 2011 to 26 Nov 2011
Categories:
noting, dedication, education, happiness, on
Form:
Free verse
Before the future and after the past
We have found each other’s souls at last
In the beat of a heart I was able to see
The rest of my life belonged to thee
When our eyes met it wasn’t a glance
Locked together in a forbidden trance
For we had each given up on love
And being forgiven by Lord above
We were forever lost and on the run
Burying our pain by having our fun
Children scattered from here to there
As we stayed so high we didn’t care
We each knew when you come down
You lose your mask and face the clown
And that was something we couldn’t do
Until the day you met me and I met you
Unplugging the phone we locked the doors
I told you my sins and you told me yours
The people in our life just couldn’t believe
We found in each other the strength to leave
To change our fate was quite the chore
But there was noting we each wanted more
My children love you and yours love me
Because we have melted into one family
I wrote this poem because I want you to know
You beat with my heart and live in my soul
You have always been way more than my lover
You’re the friend I found who is like no other
Categories:
noting, family, friendship, girlfriend-boyfriend, life,
Form:
Couplet
We often speak of 'family and friends,'
Noting that family's first, friends at the end.
But what of the fellow whose family is nil?
For him friendship is vital soil he must till.
At holiday time, when families gather round,
This poor fellow's lonely; his mood's mostly down.
Anniversaries he lacks
They feel like attacks
On his very soul
It just wants to
Crack
And even on birthdays when parties he makes,
His momma's not there to bake him a cake.
You'll be performing the greatest of kindnesses--
I know: Too much of my life that fellow was me.
Categories:
noting, family, friendship, holiday, loneliness,
Form:
Rhyme
Twelve little girls and eight little boys
Each one the source of their parent’s joys,
Innocent children following rules,
Paper and pencils their magical tools.
Holidays coming, rehearsal of plays,
These were the most exciting of days.
Safe in their classroom as their teacher smiled
Noting the presence of each beloved child.
No inkling of trouble, no feeling of doom
Until a mad man invaded the room.
I so hope these children had no time for fear
And had no idea that death was so near.
Six brave teachers went to their deaths,
Protecting the children with very last breaths.
The big gates of heaven then opened wide
For six teachers ushering children inside.
Twenty small children are angels today,
And six faithful teachers in Heaven to stay.
Mothers and fathers and siblings and more
Are mourning their loved ones whom they adore.
The teachers who willingly gave up their lives
To protect their charges were daughters and wives.
Some had their own children whom they left behind.
No braver soldiers could one ever find.
A whole town is weeping for dear ones they lost.
How long must innocents bear the high cost
For folks who clamor for right to bear arms?
You’d think such mayhem would lessen guns' charms.
These things will keep happening, the danger unchanged,
Until we keep assault rifles from hands of deranged.
Categories:
noting, angel, angst, children, heaven,
Form:
Couplet
In Memoriam Quietly Always Close
Are they whispers, then, settling
So gently upon that slightest breeze wending
Over the granite crosses and statues of cradling angels,
Which stand in their long cemetary rows?
Stating each name of the one passed on with
There-on etched, too, the noting of time alive
And telling of the beloved, who hum there their slow laments;
Who send up colorful balloons to celebrate their love and
Take far their silent greetings in the sky.
Are they lullaby heartsongs, which
Rise on sprigs of heaven-bound light,
So tunefully sweet for love’s addressed, aided
By a league of angellic composers
In their lyrical rounds from above our earthly sphere?
Are these the places of our hushed sympathies?
The places we lay over our dear ones
All the broken pieces of the grieving heart’s still longing
To stay in some way forever near, and, so, we linger thoughtfully
Criss-crossing the undulating final verdigris
Landscape, which embraces the last remains ~
Resting on in heaven’s wait for that further journey going on.
Are these faint mists surrounding
So many hours of our own remaining days —
Which are spent summoning back the stories, the touches,
The eyes that happily cast their glance into our own —
Not truly our tears
Being turned to magnifying memories,
Prayerfully appearing with each
Dusk’s close of day and placid rise of the radiant moon?
Do see that the soundless falling is our aching?
Is a furor — burst of pure, white snow:
A flash of a blizzard, looking nearly weightless,
Landing in silence, but
Incongruously, falling heavily down, into those forming crystalline layers
To dress a seeming lace-like çover over all the stone markers
With a luminous beauty, revealing a metaphor, ineffable
~ Blessed markers of life itself set here before us
Within reach of meeting the Divine.
—————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 6/5/2023
(Written for Jennifer Wilson & Maggie Hopkins in loving
Memory of James Hopkins, spouse, father, & friend) Also written with the inspiring power of images of the 9,000 marking gravestone crosses in Normandy, France, and sights of Arlington Cemetary, Washington, D.C.
Written to unaccompanied cello Suite 1 in G major, perfomer Yo Yo Ma
Thanks be to God…
Categories:
noting, grave, heaven, love, memory,
Form:
Free verse