Best One Sentence Poems
Wisdom is
the pebble
remains
of a mountain
chipped
away.
7/27/2019
One Sentence Metaphor Free Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Jesse Rowe
Sorrow is
the night’s rainstorm
lashing an impoverished psyche
wandering lost with loss
‘neath weeping eaves in murky-minded alleyways
without an umbrella.
Susan Ashley
July 29, 2019
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: One Sentence Metaphor In Free Verse
Sponsor: Jesse Rowe
The grass "dewed" in spring’s early morning shimmer
Upon a crocus lay an "alula" in the sun with a glimmer
A symbol of many flights on every "level" there is to be
Whether it be "solos" or those together, feeling free
Often at "noon" Robin hop across the sunny land
Their "stots" fun to watch, then so still they do stand
Summer brings the "pop" of fireworks in the sky to see
Hummingbirds, "kayak", cookouts and bumble bee
Fall for me can sometimes bring on a "doom mood"
As fun summer "sagas" end, squirrels scramble for food
Winter looms but "live not evil", for there is Christmas "Eve"
Followed by Christmas, a "tenet" most important to believe
Heidi Sands
9/26/18
*Placed 2nd in Palindromes 2 Contest.
One palindrome for each sentence.(oops one sentence has 2) Difficulty getting the bold to work for the words.
Dewed - Past tense verb of wet
Alula - Broken bird's wing
Level - Horizontal plane above or below given point
Solos - Plural for one singular person
Noon - Midday
Stots - Bounces
Pop - Explosive sound
Kayak - Canoe of a type used originally by the Inuit, made of light frame
Doom Mood - Feeling of things going badly or to get worse
Sagas - Long stories of achievement
Live Not on Evil - Choice not to live evil
Eve - Period of time immediately before an event
Tenet - Principle of belief, especially one of the main principles of religion
One sentence, written as true as you know it,
An understanding conveyed as sincerely as you feel it...
The sand flows through my fingers,
And the water droplet sticks on to my skin,
Fleeting thoughts and impressions seep in slowly...
My writing awakens me from within.
I am not what I used to be before this word was written,
I create, I search, I struggle to live, constantly changing,
Time and 'I' lose its meaning, my words remain and return.
Picasso painted me ugly.
Two lips slung over a rusted hanger.
One eyebrow burnt for attention's sake.
Let's tell Grandma how much fun we had today.
Picasso is still at work.
Monet swallowed your stupidity.
Five teeth missing and nary a barbed retort to bend.
One un-photographed smile was left behind.
Let's tell Grandpa his prized lilacs are in mourning.
Monet is still at work.
Seurat poked your larynx.
The roses in your hands may be the thorns in your side.
Ivy and Sumac spice the teas I serve the unfortunates.
Let's tell Auntie June her parasol spikes are dull and snapped.
Seurat is still at work.
O'Keefe smears one simply.
Stamens and pistils shoot the misanthropes dead.
A spare will be guarded for the one's I've missed.
Let's tell Uncle Ed the lessons you've learned today.
O'Keefe is still at work.
DaVinci played baccarat with Stalin.
Swelled hands made it difficult to paint distinctly.
Dirty tongues are as useful as frayed dishrags.
Let's tell no one anything.
Let's tell no one nothing.
(naughty, bastard boy -
using double negatives in one sentence).
Pay one tuppence to the tillerman
and remind the collected town criers -
I'm at work.
We're all
at Work.
What makes you human without your limbs,
Human without your nose and toes –
What makes you human without your ears
Makes the unborn me human without your form.
Yes, it’s my essence, not form, which counts:
Be not liberal in defining gender yet conservative
in defining life.
By one sentence do mass killings in the world
and womb begin:
“They don’t look like us and don’t act like us:
they’re not human.”
Today, I heard hushed voices say so – then
came a sharp pain.
How I wished sweet mum or the doctor would
come:
I little knew they were here and directed the attack.
“Et tu, mama? Et tu, doctor?” Dying words, I uttered.
“Your life is not good for ours,” they said.
Out of my cradle they forced me and whisked me
past the world into the grave.
“It’s my body, my choices,” I heard mum say.
Yet I challenge not what she does with her body but
with mine:
It’s “my body, my choices” after all, in this her world.
My flesh is aborted but not my voice; lend it your lips,
for mine are gone.
Then, perhaps, the unborn shall like the dead rest in
peace some day:
Not belittled, not assaulted, but shielded with concrete
and taboos…
Behind me gut microbes swarm and play where side
by side we formerly lay.
Now mum’s cuddly flesh they enjoy better than me --
They must think they’re her babies and me the
intruder.
Warm winds of change swept past my door,
I turned my back and moaned, No more!
Peace did not come, an urgent nudge—
designed to move this lazy fudge—
kept popping up inside my head,
until there remained not one shred
of pride, or joy, nor serenity.
I came to doubt my identity
as God's own, a Christian warrior.
Instead, I became a common worrier.
Still he sought to call me near
with urgency and love sincere.
All it took was one sentence,
sent in a prayer of repentance;
"I'm sorry, Lord, I will obey."
Heaven's breath blew in to stay.
Love is my weapon when conquering hurt
An invisible energy released automatically
When someone says something to stir up the dirt.
The dirt seems all settled like on top of a grave
Then one word or one sentence is heard the wrong way.
A button gets pushed, something physical happens
And the next thing you know, a defensive reaction.
It took lots of training and prayers then some proof
But I learned about Love and all It could do
It forgives and forgets and heals all wounds incurred
When i simply remind me of that one little word.
Love is all inclusive, unconditional too
It comes straight from the heart, doesn't care what you do
It can't be affected by opinions and such
For it knows what is truth and that is enough.
One
One letter
One word
One sentence
One paragraph
One page
One chapter
One section
One book
One
(What To Do When There Is No Inspiration)
I open my mind to music and allow the sound waves to wash over me
then, soaking in the notes as if I were a skilled virtuoso
a master of the arts , I allow the sounds to meld and mesh in me
Lost in the ethereal feel of this peaceful moment ,
I forget about phrases and compositions and begin to focus
on the appearance of color and imagery;
When my soul feels the longing to write like the poets of old,
I rise to the occasion and allow my mind to surprise me
with the many spectrums of written possibilities ;
I inhale deeply and begin my journey home to poetry
Sometimes its one sentence, sometimes just a word
but as I string my thoughts together the music fades
and the beautiful glades of verse, magically appear before me
I give honor to my creative spirit and I give thanks to my muse;
There is no greater satisfaction on earth then being inspired
so after a long stay in the dessert, I give thanks to God
for showing me how to regress back to my original spark.
Her words were mumbled unprovoked and put him through the grinder
minced they were tearing apart they hurt like a dagger so he finally knew
where his heart was dismembered as it stood still one sentence then silence
No stream no consciousness emotion arrested a world destroyed broken shattered
He picked up the pieces the fragments shards of an ugly mosaic coloured in black
The cutting edge of glass penetrated into frozen blood in icy veins turning tattooing
engraving the twisted knife chopping torturing where passion kindness love
had once been the messenger grinning at the grisly gristle ground to the core
With surgical precision her scalpel incised at the flesh scarred in a flash razor
wire ligatures asphyxiating suffocating mortal wounded lost mindless soul
Denervation ensured neurochemical transmitters flowing into nothing a wide open
schism fissures fission exploding with nowhere to venture a road not yet travelled
Blessed in disguise of disaster her words grew into an unlikely story of hope of
a mixture of memories retold new pathways narration novel meaning of words
No more mill stone weighing the rope round the severed necklace of horror
he found undreamt off passion with a new soulmate and lover a poet tree in motion
Weaving kindness now sensual emotional reason scribed on paper fantasy clouds
written on dreams healing momentum of moments nights and cinnamon bark
their sizzling skins their touches feelings new found beauty make love and make
loving and making love with words and with lived meaning worthwhile again
16th June 2016
Ignoring those slaughters,
as if there were none.
But one of your daughters
Were always son.
Simce pre-school,
hating all girl toys,
Even though he acted like a fool,
Always was one of the boys.
Confused child,
With mess in his head.
Worthless maybe kinda wild,
Fantasising about his death.
How lovely, I want to find peace.
Honestly I don't think I can.
I wish seken would not call me "miss"
I wish I could be 'real man'
Nothing. Just ignorance.
Humanity is organisation filled with idiots.
Cause they don't let me finish one sentence.
They ask questions, but in the end they write dots.
I'm tired. I want to cry.
Im not sane, can't see no consequence.
I think would kill myself, and die.
I think I would, if I had a chance.
I would drown myself down the river,
I would feel the cold water, as it soaks my clothes.
I would feel comfortable, I wouldn't shiver,
My hair would feel easy as it floats.
What? No I'm not writing about my own suicide.
It feels like speaking to the deaf people, that are dead.
So please, step aside,
And forget everything I said.
Lady Queen's Of Queen's
Where? ''ladies'' maybe
Take a chance of romance thus
As whomsoever excels this memorable
Glance thus ''chance after chance''
We've observed the muse to be excused
When? exhaled breath stops to then breath
In separate ways amongst one sentence
Said within a huge sized breathless breath
Forever sleeps When? applied to die in disguise
Thee ''lady Queen's'' feels When? she's
Feeling thus an diseaseful illness
Concludes Who? kills to be heeled
Why? ''hungered feelings'' substitutes to
Cure those everlastingly opened doors
However, cures needlessly needy ''ladies of
The Queen's'' blinds us ''useful Queen's''
As
What? keeps ''joyous time'' to spread even
More joy to enjoy
Beforehand eased to ''wait until exhale'' excepts
Lady Queen's of Queen's!
Love within its stupor
an emotional rollercoaster
ride of instability for
before you know it
you’re down again.
July.27.2019
One Sentence Metaphor in Free Verse
Sponsored by: Jesse Rowe
N/A for contest
I want all your finger tips gripping me tightly just like you'd do a book
I want you to turn to the next page so badly it's got me shook
If you can't read me clearly I'll give you some glasses now
go back to page 3 and give me another look.
I want your eyes on me all night.
Tonight I want you to be my nerd if you can.
And if your a fast reader once your done I want you to open me up again.
We can repeat this process as long as your willing.
I want to draw you in and keep your fascination.
And when you've read my last words I want
you to get a tingling sensation.
You see when I read you I never want to put you down.
I've titled you " queen" for obvious reasons
but also because your contents are profound.
It's crazy that just with one sentence you
can get me aroused. And your pages don't
contain much explicit images but my imagination runs wild.
I want you to open me.
I want the reader to really get to know what's behind the cover of me.
I want you to drink in my thoughts, taste my substance, feel my essence.
And when you have turned the last page I want there to
be no more second guessing.
Any questions?