Best One(A) Poems
Today is a very busy day
and there is no time left to write,
let alone place words in play.
Ten minutes only left to sight
my goal, a poem a day
no matter what.
Most days there's nothing to say
but who knows what the fat
reveals when desperate fingers
claw the ridges of the brain.
All I know is that the poet's spirit lingers
and it is easier to write, though there's no fame,
when you force on yourself these exercises,
sometimes you move on past to some real issues.
I can't control what I'm feeling inside
Come with me baby and take this ride
I'll take you where you wanna go!
In a rush or soft and slow
Never again will you be lonely
Want to be your true love only
Let them talk-it won't make me run
Just let me be your number one!
You will be my number one,two,three,four,and five
Just believe in me,for I've never felt so damn alive!
Let them talk,it's just the jealousy in them
You better not walk,for we are the perfect item!
They can feel my rhymes,the magical and heavenly flow
People prejudged me for my crimes,and yet only a few really know
You loved me from the start,and yet you didn't care what I'd done
So I gave you my heart,and made you my number one!
*Note: I wrote the first two stanzas and Jimmy wrote the last two
like a breath of fresh air
my eyes fixated as she rushed on by
like an angel put here just for me
my shyness a weakness
an opportunity left behind in her wake
a ticket to stand in her presence
her deepest desires and darkest secrets
bound up inside a spiral notebook
finding its way to the floor
i took possession of it without hesitation
giving silent chase without a name to call
tracking just the scent of her lilac perfume
heart racing and pupils dilating
tired muscles and short on breath
dodging people and barreling through corridors
once outside my pursuit ends
a gentle touch creating ripples for years to come
how soft her skin felt under my fingertips
her long brown hair flowing as she turned
her green eyes piercing through me
and her voice intoxicating me with but a word
"yes?"
yes, yes indeed
oh god yes
without a word on my part
she looks down and takes notice
bewilderment mixed with relief on her face
a "thank you" from her lips
felt like being knighted
forever your humble servant
oh dear angel
speak unto me your name
"danielle"
my body shudders
my mind races
my chest tightening
my name escapes as meek
she smiles
and waves goodbye
that night in my bed
restless by the days events
by the glow of my desk lamp
pen in hand, "february 20, 1994
dear journal, today
i met the girl of my dreams..."
* inspired to write this based on Leo Larry Amadore's "The You In Me"
I can't control what I'm feeling inside.
Come with me baby and take this ride;
I'll take you where you wanna go!
In a rush or soft and slow.
Never again will you be lonely.
Want to be your true love only.
Let them talk-it won't make me run.
Just let me be your number one!
You will be my number one, two, three, four, and five.
Just believe in me, for I've never felt so damn alive!
Let them talk, it's just the jealousy in them.
You better not walk, for we are the perfect item!
They can feel my rhymes, this magical, and heavenly flow
People prejudged me for my crimes, and yet only a few really know
You loved me from the start, and yet you didn't care what I'd done
So I gave you my heart, and made you my number one!
*Note: The very beautiful Deb Wilson wrote the first two stanza's and I wrote the
last two....
The time has quickly passed away,
I promised myself a poem a day.
It is now time to write the last,
Now I need to really think fast.
What to write, I do not know,
Where on earth did all the time go?
I remember my promise clear as day,
I swear it was only yesterday.
I've wrote about Monsters, kids and kin,
I've wrote about never ever giving in.
Glitches and Rosie's and we are blessed,
The one about PTSD I found was a test.
Friends are back from their flyaway holiday,
I can't believe they were three weeks away.
Told of bedtime stories and Eerie nights,
Wonder if my mate is still wired right?
Well I think that will do for a quick resume'
Anything else I will leave for another day.
We have to go shopping before it's too hot,
We should be home soon, we don't need a lot.
So I've managed to fulfill my promise to me,
A poem a day, sometimes two or even three,
That's not bad going for an old fogy like me,
Off out now, maybe I'll write, right after tea!
© Dave Timperley 31 August 2016
I am no one
The man alone at the alter holding the wilting rose
I am no one
Trapped within this pain only God and i alone know.
I am no one.
Standing alone at the bus stop in pouring rain
i am no one
Waiting behind you i hear you slander my good name
I am no one
Who waits on hold for hours and hours
I am no one
Who keeps silent as you abuse your power
I am no one
The lost soul slipping through societies fragile cracks
I am no one
From this tormented mind theres just no coming back.
I am no one
The stranger who passes that you wont look in the eye
I am no one
The one you constantly reject and deny
I am no one
Buried deep beneath the unmarked grave
I am no one
Who died on foriegn dirt so freedom could be saved
I am no one.
Form:
WHAT YOU DOING ON THAT BARSTOOL FOOL?
Is that what it takes for you to feel brave?
And why can’t you simply behave?
Don’t you realize it’s transience you crave?
And why do you secret youthful beauty within a cave?
Upon a time once did a wolf sleep with a lamb
Him with lethal teeth and her with a cute little curtsey and curls
That wolf who slept beside her didn’t give a damn
And never cared about the feelings for any of his young girls
silken sheets were where his advantage was taken
For the little lamb would obey his every demand
But by belittlement and a bastard was that lamb forsaken
And the bridge between fangs and curls could never be spanned
Oh but were the lamb to have been on Venus and the wolf upon Mars
Two different planets for two different hearts
The wolf’s teeth turned crimson while the lamb had her scars
As, from that little lamb the wolf purloined her prettiest parts
There was no running away for a lamb held captive in a cave
And fear doesn’t always lead a lamb far away from Mars
The universe isn’t sizable enough to hide what that wolf would crave
And today the memory of my being that wolf keeps me in shooting galleries and seedy bars
© 2011.….Poefree
I am not the famous one. But my pain was equal to his.
He became Chekhov. I became Alfie.
The meanness of the streets that spawned us made him a literary oak, while I became the hollow man, looking both outward and inward for substance not yet there.
His legend established, his journey ended. My mediocrity lingers long, yet unexplained.
He lived close to the fairgounds while I climbed its fence in a black leather jacket, collar turned up, white t-shirt underneath, scowling, announcing a manhood not yet achieved.
He was raised by an alcoholic, itinerant father. My flesh grew as the devil ranted, my spirit beneath his feet, no handhold to raise itself.
He had no inside plumbing on fifteenth street. At the house in the alley I had beer bottles on Sunday and hunger by Wednesday.
His father wrested a living from the same mill that filled my friend Jimmy with water, taking away his profanity and leaving his mother with hair turned white overnight. Death still not understood, I laughed at his funeral.
His house too full, he wrote his stories in cars. Bereft of self, cars became the vessel in which I conducted a fruitful search for meaning, if only for the briefest of moments.
Words were his refuge. Mine was spherical and a talent to manipulate my body in fluid physical form, pleasing to others, giving birth to more brief moments of wholeness.
His was the class of Monda, Golphnee, Majors, Irwin and Keith. They lived in the light while our equal to Russian brilliance groped in the darkness, unseen.
His star, fully risen, he kissed his Tess goodbye and surrendered himself to the infinite untold story.
Still lost in the forest, I look back over my shoulder and ponder the complexities of that mean little town, still mostly unaware of the stature of the boy who emerged from its east side to take his place alongside Hemingway, Mailer, Thoreau and Wilder.
I’ve seen the minds of my generation bested by their handheld mobile devices,
texting for a dopamine rush, tuning out the reality around them.
I’ve watched them, withdrawn from present company, looking for bars of microwave coverage, friending strangers, downloading angry birds,
internet junkies, living in the ether, looking for that server connection to fame gauged by the number of hits they receive,
who sit in restaurants with downturned faces aglow, oblivious to their dinner companions, to check who has Twittered® them in the last few minutes,
who drive distractedly, causing fatalities in order to update their Twaddle® followers with TMI about their state of mind on the road,
who walk into traffic, updating their relationship status or performing Binglehoo® searches for celebrity gossip or obituaries,
who envision themselves as divas, broadcasting narcissistic images of every party or event they’ve attended in the camera phone eye, imagining others care,
who live without discretion in the digital age, unknowingly or uncaringly giving up control over their destinies to follow the latest manufactured meme,
who look with disdain on anyone behind the curve of the latest cell phone product designed to track them through time, space and potentially subversive ideas,
who are GPSed at all times allowing local merchants to alert them to sales or law enforcement to track their movements,
who are trained to demand ever higher speed connection because they’re afraid to be, “so seven seconds ago,”
who fire up the Wiki at both ends eliminating the need for scholarly research or retention of thought,
who self-publish their diaries and essays as open blogs pretending that makes them journalistic writers,
who trust all their personal information to cloud networks they don’t begin to understand,
The memory
arrives
colder now.
Spring in
Phoenix,
a palace
of tan grass
beneath
our feet,
all of you
that remains.
The water
and the wind
still dancing
in my mind,
running
furiously
in my speech,
your quietness
appealing
to every trace
of what I was.
All of this
makes sense,
the way
anything
exists at all
makes sense.
Forgetting you
by degrees,
an impossible
arithmetic.
Keeps
me up nights,
wound up and
scorned
by your presence.
I search
for you,
your eyes
touched
by fire,
by impatience,
your voice,
trumpet calling
me home,
and I remained.
I search
for you,
but I
am
the missing one.
One apple a day keeps the doctor away
One vitamin a day keeps 'PI' away
One poem a day keeps the brain in play
___________________________________
'PI' stands for 'Perceived Infectability.'
YOU ARE RIGHT TO WRITE
I keep all of your letters in one neat pile
They stay on my desk in favor of a file
I keep them like that to remind me of your style
And don’t allow anyone ever to defile your smile
I envision that grin I love which graces your face
As I recall the comfort of your embryonic embrace
A great deal of people say “good things never last”
But please, girl, don’t ever become a part of my past
I am never alone because of the letters you send
And relaxation becomes mine when I read what you’ve penned
Then if missing you begins to hurt too much
I gaze at a photo of you that blesses my hutch
Magically looking at that pile makes me feel better
As I grow more in love with your every letter
The love I feel for you leaves me aghast
So please girl, never become a part of my past
© 2011.…..Poefree (SHE TREATENED TO DENY ME SOMETHING PLEASURABLE IF I DIDN'T
POST THIS POEM)
Muhammad, chosen by Allah to lead,
A humble man with a heart full of creed,
His words, a guide to all in need,
A mercy to mankind, indeed.
In the land of Arabia, he was born,
A light of guidance, a hope forlorn,
To worship the one God, he did adorn,
And from idolatry, he did scorn.
His teachings spread like wildfire,
His message of peace, love, and desire,
He conquered hearts with his soft attire,
And made the oppressed feel higher.
A man of integrity and honor,
A just ruler, a compassionate donor,
He spread love like no other,
And made the world a better harbor.
With the Quran as his guiding light,
He led by example, with all his might,
He fought for justice, day and night,
And always stood for what was right.
The legacy of Muhammad (SAW) lives on,
His message of peace, not gone,
A shining star, until the dawn,
A mercy to mankind, forever on.
By Angeline Vine
In the midst of someone's middle age
it was discovered that one a day
could help
Except it really depended on what
one accepted as 'middle age'
My sweet,There's a flower in your heart may I smell it
My dear, There is a flower by your ear may I touch it
There is a flower on your lips may I kiss it
you are the flower that I behold
a fragrant beauty unspoiled
fluoresce my heart beats not
Until we too hearts are in a vase
Melting are spirits soul and bodies as one
Fragrance is our love we too do share
Planted in the garden once again
We are as one a flower
1/26/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021