Best Object Poems
My heart is not an object
but it can feel every word you say
My heart cant be held nor fondled
but it is touched by you each day
My heart can't bleed or break in two
but it cries out loud for your I love you's
My heart can't hide in the shadows
it isn't worn out upon my sleeve
My heart can't be ripped out
turn blackened or dead
nor take over for thoughts in my head.
My heart is not an object
but for you it fondly beats
when you come close
and squeeze me real tight
it thumps ever so sweet
She was a gentle and careful woman
and when she'd found something so fragile
she had taken it,
carefully and gently,
and tended to it,
patiently and lovingly.
Then,
returning to where it had first attracted her,
repaired where she could repair,
and strengthened where she could strengthen,
she replaced, carefully and tenderly,
a better thing than that she'd found.
There are times when an object misplaced
Is the most pressing problem you've faced
For you search and you search
But get left in the lurch,
All that time you spent searching a waste.
If you're lucky, you'll find what's been lost
After each pile of stuff had been tossed
Yet it's possible that
You won't find where it's at
With frustration and sadness the cost.
We all have the capacity to worship
having been created for that noble matter
but we're so full of self-loving ourselves
telling everyone we know so full of chatter
God has designed us to worship Him
and only Him alone for He is God alone
the atheist has removed God from their mind
thinking they're well proud they're prone
For in worshipping nothing they value nothing
life is meaningless so being unsatisfied
so in denying God they worship themselves
proving nothing but in God who they denied
God calls His own to worship
to bow before His great holy name
recognising the God of very God
who is the almighty as is His claim
All correct worship has only one aim
the great sovereign God claims His due
that all mankind worship God alone
scriptures show this be fully true
(Ascribe to the Lord, O families of the peoples,
ascribe to the Lord glory and strength!
Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name;
bring an offering, and come into his courts!
Worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness;
tremble before him, all the earth!)
Psalm 96: 7-9 (esv)
In her eyes rises the flames of love,
The passion of care and cherish;
She sings with such a beautiful voice
That the clicks and clacks of her rhythms makes me dance to her tune;
The words she airs and the way she takes me by the hand,
Pricks a call for concern and makes me feel that endless love;
I made her my sugar mummy,
Teaching her the physics of love
And she made me her sugar daddy,
Teaching me the linguistic of love;
Each time I take her for a walk,
She holds me so tight and lean that beautiful head of hers by my shoulders,
Letting that hand of mine to crap her waist;
I spend my time preaching to her lovely ears the melodies of kindness
And she spends her time just doing it to me;
If there is anything I have ever needed,
It’s her and the kinds she possess.
The end
Mysterious Object
In the middle of the night
Sleeping in my bed
To see this huge craft in flight
A vision in my head
A huge cigar-shaped object
Moving from east to west
Words cannot describe this subject
I am afraid, this is not a test
From the direction of the Hudson
Or the Jersey shore
This is the second cousin
Of the first in two, I am very sure
Over the Bronx, a hundred feet
A people sleeping late
Have no idea, they are about to meet
A horrible fate
William Morrissey 6/15/02 vision
On Christmas Eve the stratosphere was rent with strange communication,
As an Air Force pilot in his F-16 was on routine patrol protecting his nation!
He was tooling along when suddenly on his radar a weird object did appear!
It was zipping along at mach three speed and came so close he had to veer!
"Tower! I've had a near miss by an object flying at thrice the speed of sound!"
"Roger, Snoopy One! Are you sure? We've had no such report from the ground!"
"Tower! It came over the horizon from the north and gave me quite a fright!"
Please affirm if Area 51 is playing games with a new toy on this frigid night!"
"Negative, Snoopy One! Kick in your after-burner and give the thing a chase!
Arm your rockets, watch your six and keep your trigger ready just in case!"
"Roger, tower! I have him on my radar but I have no visual on him yet!
If he causes any mischief, me and my ol' F-One Six'll get 'im, you can bet!"
Though he poured on full military power he just could not keep apace!
To the befuddled pilot, the object was seemingly lost without a trace.
He was concerned that on this Christmas Eve, aliens from outer space,
Were invading earth and that he alone was left to save the human race!
Fighter planes from NATO nations were also scrambled to join in the hunt!
At last the pilot received a call from his commander and it was rather blunt!
"Snoopy One! Your mission is terminated! Return to base without delay!
NORAD has confirmed that the object you saw was Santa and his sleigh!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Your Honor, I Object
By Elton Camp
Lawyer Louie caters to a special clientele
Only those who are rich and guilty as hell
And, in exchange for his exorbitant fee,
Louie will make sure that they’re set free
He will use ever trick, but never go so far
That the ABA might take action to disbar
All of the prosecution’s witnesses he’ll try
To show they’re incompetent or telling a lie
When the District Attorney starts to close in,
Then Louie will “Your honor I object” begin
He objects to someone able to establish a fact
And from his client’s reputation dare detract
Louie finally found a judge as tough as nails
Who is determined to see that justice prevails
A man who, by such tactics cannot be fooled
Will speaks up and say, “Objection overruled”
The more time spent with her,
The more that I thirst.
Her fragrance spells my doom,
Once pretense has been burst.
She's the salt of my earth
Her taste makes my heart run
Her kiss forbidden fruit,
I can't have just one.
She moves with crepetation
Yet her sound is still sweet
She's a visual beauty
She looks good enough to eat.
I savor each curve and ripple
With a touch of my lips.
She's not just all that,
She's an actual bag of chips!
An Old Copper Vase – A Second View
an old copper vase
a witness of age
saw a lot
during times—
but all new to me.
the grace of the
experienced one
shall share it
with everybody
who is
willing to listen.
so
the old
and
the new
are
coming together
in a
new-found way
never expected
to find everything
that is needed
on their
individual path.
grace and openness
shall help
on the way.
Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman
A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
September 30, 2018 (Imagism)
Have you asked yourself...
How do I percieve the world,
what is object reality?
What are these sources
of abject identity,
alienating values which
further seperate sensible unity...
significant to whom and what,
obligatory to how and when,
the free spirit of autonomy versus,
past bondage and expectation...
What is the subject matter,
of objectifying principles...
differing as such,in regards to
ethical and moral sentiments,
obviously,the same rules
don't neccesarily apply equally,
schema's presentation of schisms...
what it is,or what it isn't?
So...what is object reality,
but also,why does it differentiate and alienate ?
If one has free access to well being,and
another is deprived of similar opportunity,
is the one whom benefits,made impervious
to the slow decay of others...or,
do we all share equally,the natural balance...
as one concerns itself with progress,yet
impedes the progress of others,
what sort of real progress is being made...
wouldn't that be then,the creation of abject identity?
...and for what purpose,
a ready made low wage labor market?
So,again...what is object reality,and
what does it mean to you...fundamentally,
what do you identify with...and why ?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
" 'till now man has been up against nature,
from now on he will be up against his own nature..." Dennis Gabor
To be that,
that is the
object of your
affection.
To feel a
love that is
one of perfection.
To be the
object of
your desire.
To be that,
that fuels
your fire.
To want
so that it
becomes
an need.
A hunger,
in which
to feed.
A fire, to
no end that
it burns.
A heart that
only yearns.
A life of
longing.
A wish of
belonging.
I can only
pray for
such a
blessing.
My love I
am now
confessing.
I would
love you
for a lifetime.
I would give
my life to make
you mine.
I pray this,
that my wish
will come true,
in time.
Sarah Comstock
4/2/00
Objet Trouve*
diverse assortment of art
on the stoop, enticing allure
bright clay pottery
welded lawn ornaments
photographs and paintings
inside the gallery
traveler's treasure trove
time slows, snail-like
eyes dining, sumptuous feed
walls, steps, tables
crowded with creations
eloquently speak
the artist's message
snagging emotions
louder than words
son's poetry penned
honoring father's sketch
childhood memory
treasured tree house
Instant Sale!
*Found Object
Regrowing my beard, time for celebration
My CPAP machine was causing frustration
Seems quite okay now
Sleeping better, and how
Once more I'll be the object of the ladies' adoration
© Jack Ellison 2015
It is gone forever now, a swirling mote of dust,
above the hills and fields, memorial fleck of dying love,
vanishing from tear swept sight, away from the world,
oh how can life continue now, how can it go on?
In cruel desolation, such cold, numb emptiness
where scalpel sharp pain wields a wafer thin blade
daily drawn, lacerating nervous tissue and nuances of emotion,
slow, meticulous, precise, a living thing this pain.
Silvery and honed to savour each slash and each nick
with the sick sadist glee of a diligent torturer;
tears cannot be cried anymore, dried out now, Winter cold,
desert arid and Easter Egg hollow, a screaming skull inverted.
Bleeding dry, bleeding dry, a pale anaemic husk;
eyes look but do not register the living world,
fingers touch but do not feel the pulse of regrowth,
ears listen but do not hear the words to set things right.
One of the almost dead who envies the truly dead,
the truly dead for their interment to inanimate peace,
for where will my love find the object to lavish itself upon,
who will hold me now as one who did before?
No courage at all, only the curse of the craven to endure,
less than surreal, no longer human, nothing outwardly tangible
save a mass of screaming, electrifying pain
howling down the empty corridors running beneath the flesh.
The hardest of hard lessons are learned and learned so well,
taught as only a past master of deranged ardour can teach;
the loss of sanctity when expelled from the mother womb
is the outset of the clue to life's meaning.
From this point forth, the love object is a thing to be lost,
family, friends, possessions, innocence, integrity...mind,
eventually life itself, for all is ultimately stripped away,
with each love object finite and thus both fabulous and terrifying to behold.
If loss be the meaning of life, vice versa, the meaning of life be loss,
instilling life with it's value and fragility;
your trauma spills indistinction, uncertainty - the loss of the love object,
wreaking ball on my defences - and likewise my refuge from pain...