Best One Off Poems
I am a coward with open sores.
I write and wonder who it bores.
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly.
I see others carrying out my dreams;
that’s what’s defeated me.
I am a coward with open sores.
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way.
I touch base with the fear in my heart, tearing me apart,
leaving nothing to say...
I worry the world will leave me.
I cry because no one believes in me.
I am a coward with open sores.
I understand nothing comes easy.
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me.
I dream I am healed and brave.
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave.
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours.
I am a coward with open sores.
© 2011 ~JSLaM
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* 1st PLACE in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by C. Devonshire 2011
* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand 5/11/2011
* 1st PLACE in Contest "BEST EVER" Sponsored by P.D. 2011
Scratching their heads
They look at me
Am I a tree stump
Am I a grotesque face
Inside I am laughing
I know what I am.
Am a freak of nature
Plus the imaginative mind
Of my master
Stand back
see the root of me
My ivy hair
Sightless eyes
Garland of lemons garnish my neck
I am singular
A one off piece of art
I am me ....symbolising winter.
The flash of cameras
Light my wrinkled face
Can feel the warmth of inquisition
Words float by as voices are raised
Conclusion ...no conclusion.
Giuseppe Arcimbodo painting .....Winter 1573
Penned Aug 26 2017
Artwork Contest Judged: 9/6/2017 9:32:00 PM
I've bought a brand new mabel fern,
expansive, I can tell you,
when I've learned just how it words
I'll have a go and bell you.
It's got five ponds of crudity
which should last me a moth
but just for now I'm sending taxis
and this is the firk one off.
I've learned to use the camilla,
and music files called empty trees
which quite impressed my goon ladle
who wished she had one of these.
The only treble that I'm having
is the massages I type out
keep changing anatomically, don't know what that's about.
I may just take it back and give the ship assassin what for,
and get my monkey refunded and find another store.
Hope you and the wolf are in good hearth.
You are the tear that follows me
the ache within my soul
the bitter-sweet that sings to me
my heart you came and stole
You are a dream beyond my reach
a wish I can not touch
it breaks my heart to be so close
for I love you far too much
You are a kiss I can't make real
a whisper never spoken
a cherished thought that stays asleep
a smile lying broken
You are the one I can not have
no matter how it pains
my dream for which I sit and grieve
a shadow that remains
You are the sun that has to set
our time just couldn't last
I need to wait for the dawn to break
while I mourn for is past.
'1st poem on poetry soup contest'
6th place
Brian strand's 'One off contest'
1st place
Beneath the Sword of Damocles
As we nurse our nuclear nightmares
in a not to certain day
We are conjoined in common phobia
of madness or foul play.
In '45 the gadget was born.
Collective minds formed this creation.
Where medicine was the safe place
for containing its radiation.
Little children of the Fifties
hid beneath the classroom desks
closed their eyes and dreamt of mushrooms
saying, "This is just a test."
Beneath the Sword of Damocles,
possession had by all
Who’ll be the first to get one off
and spread the fireball?
Everyone wants a power sword
to wave above the next,
a challenge to the strongest,
though nothing will be left.
The chance exists to burst the sun
and hurl it into space.
A few will long for greenery,
the world that was this place.
Speak with Japan's hibakusha
of burnt flesh, white light, black rain.
Listen to their tales of horror
feel the hatred in their pain.
With a wave of a finger
falls the sword of megatons.
Ask yourself will the survivors
be the truly lucky ones?
American President John F. Kennedy compared the omnipresent threat of nuclear annihilation to a sword of Damocles hanging over the people of the world.
The survivors of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bombings are known in Japan as hibakusha. There are about 48,000 of them living in Nagasaki Prefecture, and about 83,000 in Hiroshima.
As Our Blessed Lady appeared holding Her Divine Son in Her arms
you will leave this state of pain she said in 3 days
In forty days you will leave this state
that she serves a higher purpose Divine
such was the news her heart
it began skipping faster inside joy
Her Lady Mary said to her
you 're the light of all stars hope is your virtue
Smiling the sun for you
as I myself am called Aurora,Star
the moon in her gentle fullness
and the brightness of the golden sun
Now nature will always bow down meek, and very humble
to our Masters voice
Assets it law
in the final moment of combat
Grace will come to lend you it's force
and your angel who is also mine
Gabriel the name expresses strength
will come to your aid in the time of need
you Princess are beloved among my children
It was then the prison filled up with a Heavenly celestial perfume
Her virtues she was bent on keeping
a public chastisement to offend her virtues
Then condemned stripped and scourged
like the spouse Our Lord preferred
Horrifying what they done to her
such are the faces of shame
The prison guards hesitated to unclothe her entirely
they proceeded to tie her to a column
in the presence off, a full court of men
Where they all lashed her with so much violence
until the floor was soaked and herself bathed in blood
Her whole body was an open wound now she fainted
they dragged her back to the dungeon cells to die
Two angels appeared and they began shining their light
inside the dark cell they embalmed her wounds
In the sweetest light of Heavenly oil
one off eternal life and salvation
her strength in His love she grew stronger for living
The emperor viewed her with greedy desire and lust filled eyes
he tried everything he had in his power to impress her
It was when he exhausted every means know to him
Talking about Jupiter
offering her the position of empress of Rome
using seductive words in every manner
blessing her with great honor
to be continued such a story just blew my mind in loves grace
a man and a woman
lucky in love and precious
fate walked in and kissed them both
kisses wet, sloppy, thirsty
from an unplanned tenderness
romance fluttered
love came next there was no doubt
their chemistry delicious
played one off the others substantial
in the beginning of her purring
on purpose as fate
walked them down the primrose blushing
passion concentrated and gifted
translovely dream cooing
across the abyss
separating them from their naughty
they talked of love needful
secrets were confessed fragile
vowed to leave the past behind
shredded and troubled
their bond will be sewn husky
he closes his eye tender
she holds out her attractive
together they are damaged
Oh Holy Spirit you lifted me without wings
I was overjoyed flying
inside a warm celestial glow
tears falling golden love
Raising up inside joy sings a Host
With crystals shining sparkles
rainbows your light misting promise
I got so much happiness in news tonight
Blessed is You oh Lord
who has just brought me great light for a future ahead
one off the purest kind touched by an angels hand
To feel a warmness lifting all pain deep inside
saying be proud off love as it's a gift
pure Heavenly fluttering warmest wings
I felt my soul elevate dancing on air
lifting to the Heaven's in a song
In your Holy name Master one bows in Grace
Clouds pearly white mixed with the softest blue
floating dancing white mixed mother of pearl
on air breathing warm angel wings
Rejoicing in one prayer Holy Lord
in love I honor beautiful
Thank you for granting me
my lifetime wish come true
truly a gift I say
Amen Holy Father
It came upon me unawares
As I bargained to make a living.
Thus absorbed in daily cares
The years I deemed forgiving.
Getting old was ages away
I told myself each new year.
"I'm still young," I liked to say,
"I'm certain to stay right here."
But the clock began to chime
Messages in muted tones.
I was running out of time,
A blackening in the bones.
I felt it too in others' acts
Addressing me as sir.
They excused my mislaid facts
Ever pretending I didn't err.
A godly mercy attends old age,
The past becomes a blur.
It eases one off life's stage
Thinking things that never were.
Bill Bulldog was our gorgeous British Bull Dog. We were so lucky to have Bill in our lives for eleven wonderful years. Bill was like no other dog we ever had before. A gentle boy ~ a character! My granddaughter was always scared of dogs, but adored Bill, for to her he wasn’t a dog ~ he was a ‘Bill’.
A face only his Mother could love and she did
Bill bulldog was his name
Bill was a character
Bill was adorable
Bill knew it ~ he was such a Diva
Bill had so many facial expressions
blinking his eyes rapidly – Bill’s pathetic look
jutting his jaw forward – Bill’s naughty look
tossing his head in disdain – Bill’s diva look
bounding toward you whilst running sideways ~
Bill’s ‘get out of my way look ~ I don’t think I can stop’
Bill on rising would roll on his back ~ legs in the air ~ rocking from side to side
as if welcoming a new day ~ you could almost hear him shrieking with glee
Bill loved all homosapiens for what they might have in their pockets
Bill was always on the lookout for treats
Bill ignored other dogs – never thinking he was one
Bill’s snoring kept me awake – stereophonic sounds with hubby joining in too
as he aged Bill became a late riser
needing gentle persuasion to go for a pee
aghast that we had woken him at such an unearthly hour
Bill’s fierce demeanor was a mask he wore
to hide his loving character
Bill would lick you to death
Bill loved to lick
but licking his food was not something Bill did
Bill would gulp it down at the speed of light
Bill was our handsome Boy
Bill was a ‘one off’ – for when they made Bill they broke the mould
Bill was unique
Bill was our Boy
Bill brought us so much laughter and tears
Bill I miss you so…
Written 30th July 2019
3rd PLACE
Contest: Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 – List
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Contest Strand Pick 5
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A
randomness in art
essentially
a one-off experiment to suggest
a counterintuitive interpretation
In a visual representation
with the element chance
to bring spontaneity
thereby
liberating creativity from rational thought
becomes
full of surprise
open to different interpretations
revealing
visually striking
unexpected connections
of meaningful shapes
in
chance
imaginative conclusions
Banking on heads but coming
up tails,
Life is a train on the tracks and
death is one off the rails;
Turning right when you should
have gone left,
Letting your guard down and
succumbing to theft;
Theft of your ideas, faith, and
love,
Hoping and praying for
guidance from above;
Your conscience weighing down
upon the thoughts you bear,
Leaving you susceptible to life's
gruesome wear and tear;
The pathway ahead now not so
clear,
Fog disrupting your view of
what once seemed so near;
Uncertainty now surely claims
your every thought,
Not knowing whether or not to
pursue what you once sought;
What's white is black and
what's black is white;
What's right is wrong and
what's wrong is right;
These cards you've been dealt
are not what they seem,
Neither winning nor losing, it's
more than a dream;
Life is a roller coaster with no
fail proof restraints,
So live every day like your last
and hold no complaints;
Nothing is ever set in stone or
kept secure with a lock,
And unpredictability is just one
of life's numerous building
blocks.
"say Brian"
what is your poetry creed?"
POETRY IS AN ORAL ART AT ITS BEST WHEN RECITED
it then becomes a two-way unique one-off.experience .
ok then...to the detail-
"So is traditional line capitalisation ok with you?"
In RHYME ..YES..
but NOT otherwise as it creates a natural pause (ie it stilts) & thus disrupts the flow
"presumably thats why wrap-around lines are also a no-no for you? "
YES but mainly they are not visually conducive to read digitally or otherwise!
"Ok,I see that but what have
you got against those five forms
and the like,you know
acrostic,
kyrielle
terzanelle
villanelle
&pantoum etc? "
NOT against them per se
they can be good for a learning exercise,
a bit like scales are important when learning the piano
but are too contrived & mechanical IMHO for our art form
"Yet you like shape,emagi & ekphrasis verse! "
Indeed,they reveal my weakness for art in poetry!
"So why do you appear to dislike prose poetry!"
I don't dislike them as such, the two arts just don't mix for my taste.
"Are there particular forms that appeal?"
Rhyme,alliteration,clerihew,footle&hiku*(both in the singular especially)
tanka& American cinquain-will always ring my bell.
& of course
poetry in the OPEN VERSE style
which is what Brian?
**OPEN VERSE uses spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols relies upon 'the one breath limitation' this intuitive cadence pemits the 'reader' (reciter) to respond in an interpretative - interplay unique to the ' happening
Put one, before, nine numbers of zero,
and take one off, have nine numbers of nine.
Grows a number ten times, zero, the hero.
Put one, before, nine numbers of zero.
Centre of integers, is the number zero,
to the left and right, may go endless, fine.
Put one, before nine numbers of zero
and take one off, have nine numbers of nine.
************
Zero and one make the computer byte.
Zero is the dark and one is bright.
That is what the cycle of day night,
Zero and one make the computer byte.
From the zero and one, gets its life,
on binary system, computer does thrive.
Zero and one make the computer byte.
Zero is the dark and one is bright.
1000000000-1 = 999999999
So robots write poetry now. Here's what I think of that.
Yer shiny enough, Robot Boy
Yer hard as a shard of rock
You never run out of energy
You and yer digital clock
Sex isn’t problematic
There isn’t an issue, you know
Just wipe you off with a dampened cloth
And then you’re good to go
I don’t love you, Robot Boy
You’re not my one and only
I keep you in the cupboard just
For moments when I’m lonely
But now a ghost in the machine
Has affected yer circuitry
Ridiculous algorithms making
Mechanical poetry
You’re hardly a Parker or Larkin
Your verse gets much worse with each byte
I have to tell you, Robot Boy
Yer poetry’s hogwash, alright?
You’re not making me juices flow
With yer hexadecimal rant
Where’s the amo amas amat
Amamus amatis amant
Where’s the chuffing soul in it
It’s far too formulaic
Give me an unexpected twist
And something a bit archaic
Oh, yer metre’s simply textbook
Get you with yer perfect pentameters
Adhering to all the rules of form
Within the expected parameters
There’s no chuffing joy in it, Robot Boy
In yer tedious black and white
Oh, you’ve cracked me one off one about rainbows (yawn)
Bet that’s an interesting write
It’s not like you want to woo me
You’re programmed to say it like this
There’s zero soul in yer empty words
That leave me as cold as your kiss
You’re not a poet, Robot Boy
Yer not Shelley, or Byron, or Wilde
You’ve never screamed in the wild winds
Or dreamed the world as a child
I’m just going to dump you, Robot Boy
Calculate that, methinks
‘Cos you turn me off with yer binary thing
And frankly, yer poetry stinks
© Gail Foster 2016