Best Outskirt Poems
In the library, we meet a young lady; her study, it does overwhelm,
Resting, laying her head down, she then transcends into another realm.
She awakes amongst a rolling fog, as it clears she heeds an immense object,
Wiping her eyes, she starts afoot and discerns a large book standing erect.
The cover presented then creeks ajar, the yellowed pages adorn with dust,
Projecting light into the binding with an antique lantern that’s covered in rust.
Pages turn rapidly, fluttering as the outskirt of her dream fold over and billow,
Suddenly she awakes to realize that she’s been using the same book as a pillow.
——————
Date: May 8, 2019
Free Verse or Rhyme Poetry Contest - Picture #2
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Poem Type: Rhyme
Categories:
outskirt, books, dream, sleep,
Form:
Rhyme
When still a child
I learned that plantation colony was belonging
to my father, the one who brought my mother
from the Dutch East Indies,
and the one whom he loved full in rage.
I was a small *****, beautiful, fat, and disabled,
helping her as far as the porch
along its edge where I now walk
what silence reigns among them!
I remember when slavery in Suriname was abolished
by the Netherlands in 1863, but my mother
was not fully released her love toward my father
until I grew as a star,
and I remember, back there, in Paramaribo,
along the its outskirt where I now walk
what silence reigns among them!
Still I remember.
Categories:
outskirt, freedom,
Form:
Free verse
Tackle box, fishing poles, radio, a good book to read
In a quite little alcove , the back outskirt of Lake Mead
The desert sun burning the sky, I’m comfortable in the shadow
I see the shad chumming toward the shore, my bait a live minnow
Suddenly, down the shoreline, I see the water, rapidly rippling my way
I was about to see, a vicious act of Nature: a school of large striped bass
A hundred strong with a school of fifty tagging along : the bass kicked …
I wonder Are The TROUT biting??
Inspired by Amy Green’s Contest : : I saw with my own Eyes
July 8, 1979 -- 10:50 A.M. Lake Mead , Henderson Nevada
Categories:
outskirt, adventure, natural disasters, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
In an unfolding poetic hymn of yours,
I will be the poet, with zealous zeal,
A Sky, unwrapped the horizon of yours,
while, I was a lonely, soaring seagull
Running brook of yours had a murmuring sound,
though, tranquil water touched mine
Within the rainy season,and your riverine landscape,
I will be the estuary, rushing to a shrine.
The mountainous high of your beauty
will be ever, an epic greenery of mine
In a pacing mayhem, in your controlling high,
I will be thy resurrection.
Be a forest in the deep, I will be the chirping bird,
in the camouflaging nature.
Salty tears of yours will be an anecdote
in these eyes, too, of mine, in pairing venture.
Wider outskirt of life and love of mine,
may it rush to yours, in prime time..
In an embroidered quilted story of yours,
I may be found, often in a silence of chime.
Na re na.. na.. na..
On a night, as dense as a silence, I will be thy color
On a moment of unfolding nature and bliss,
I will bring a surging silent uproar.
In a poem, singing bold and loud, I will be thy poet.
Wider outskirt of life and love of mine, may it rush to yours ,
in prime time..
In an embroidered quilted story of yours,
I may be found, often in a silence of chime.
Na re na.. na.. na..
May 26, 2023
Categories:
outskirt, life, literature, love,
Form:
Free verse
A prudent man walked intoxicatedly inside the temple gate
He sits on the door steps and hang his head shamefully
between his legs and whistle a somber tune.
The skillfully crafted temple hoisted on the outskirt of town
Once served as a pinnacle of hope now stands empty exposing signs of doom.
Thousand of spiritual warriors, carnal minded and material minded sinners
once paraded the corridors of the disfigured temple
Bathing in the spirit and dancing vigorously to musical songs.
I watched him lamenting in grief unable to hold back the tears
He held his hands towards the heavens and cried out loudly in despair.
Suddenly the day breaks ironing guilt upon shameless faces
Mocking perishing souls, smothering wounded hearts
And repudiating punctured bleeding vessels in the pews.
The blistered irony resonates from the pulpit
Spewing liquor, intoxicating believers and driving away strangers.
Age old rocks buried deep beneath the kingdom of doom
playing rock and roll at the piano and mumbling scores of honor.
It dribbles and drops, dribbles and drops until it finally made a stop.
Dozens of mighty men hang high up on the pulpit
Filthy hands, disdained hearts and treacherous ways.
They have blemished the pulpit and mutilated the pew.
Sin drapes like gangster in suits crawling under skirts
riding on collars ejecting deceptive agony
in the pews and turned the congregation into a bitter gall.
I sat in the pews for years listening to their stories
watching the endless drama pushing and shoving
bad mouthing and back stabbing and them praising their God
While unseemly retribution creeps silently upon their doorsteps.
Blinded by their own tyranny frighted by their own thoughts
Sunday after Sunday they flock the temple seeking for something that wasn't there
Suddenly a strange sensation ripped through the atmosphere
Pulling saints off their feet
And scattering material minded people in the streets.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Categories:
outskirt, abuse, bible, bullying, corruption,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Consider for a moment the circumference of a coin
Inseparable is three point one four one five nine
Perimeters of toilets as you sit upon their seat
is just the perfect size when your bum feels replete
From boundaries of planets to sub-particle design
are radii times twice three point one four one five nine
On eyeing dodgy radials before you own a fine
insist on Michelin three point one four one five nine
Newton discovered gravity – Einstein, oh he did too
Humble Pi is amazing without the previous two
The outskirt of the universe is expanding over time
it’s only axis times three point one four one five nine
Categories:
outskirt, funny, humor, humorous, universe,
Form:
Rhyme
I was born in Middle East in the outskirt of a state of Palestine –
Abducted at birth and my father executed when I was thirteen;
We buried him alone, bade him goodbye, in the midst of night.
Our desires and dreams, as family, put to fire and set alight.
Aware that our knight, the hope and the warmth with him are gone,
We felt unsafe, uncared for, deserted by life – menace sworn.
I was only thirteen years old when I was targeted to be raped,
Brutal a man who wished to ravish and leave my womanhood reshaped.
I witnessed my mother ravished – my fear remains indissoluble till today,
Take it straight from me, I laid back, with hopeless anguish in my way.
At only thirteen, I saw how my mother endured the brutality of wild man –
My heroine, violated at the expense of my wellness as best as one can.
Which despicable man lets a woman go through such torment,
I, the child, my soul from within weeping tears of sad lament?
Life in Middle East was never fair on us we absconded for a better state,
Traveled through a desert, to as farther as our feet could possibly take.
Life was hell –with the knife I was ready to stab into my troubled heart
Bleed to death for as long as me and torture could live apart
With a pistol I was ready to shoot right to the level of my head,
My life was just of pain and unworthiness –I felt as good as dead.
Death or dignity – we crossed the desert scared to live, scared to die;
For it seemed like only the stars were peaceably with us from the sky.
Just give to God what belongs to God, and to earth what belongs to earth;
Today it marks thirteen year since my father died, I’m sadly reminded now of his death.
March 16, 2017
Categories:
outskirt, anti bullying, childhood, fear,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Boots buried deep in the ground
Boots concealed under mounds
Boots with shapes and restless frown
Boots marching underneath the ground
camouflaging the heat of a cruel folly.
Boots of young women and little children
Lay indefatigably under the troubled ground
Sealing the fate of the sparsely populated town.
Just before dawn I drifted in a fiery doze
I found myself at the foot of an unfamiliar hill surrounded
by numerous dwellings wrapped up in the company of unknown people .
I started digging in a garden encircled by a mysterious plot
Gardens that have been watered and well kept
Conceal dark secrets exposing shadows of death
Gardens pruned and overgrown packed with
Spinsters’ boots and children abandon in their youth.
Boots that flourished in spring; boots bearing woeful tides
Remain deep under the earth waiting to be unearthed.
I digged and digged deep down in the ground
And exhume a boot knee length long and another
a quarter foot long; I showed them to my daring neighbor
but neither of them had a rightful owner.
I suddenly appeared in a house at the foot of the hill
And a man of fine nature abruptly walked in,
He asked for buns, picked up some paper and said that he was
going to attend a meeting on top of the hill.
Yet the mystery remains a puzzle in numerous gardens in
A sparsely populated city on the outskirt of town.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Categories:
outskirt, angel, corruption, dream, flower,
Form:
Didactic
The air arm touches the sky with glory
air force stand for Aerial warfare,
for the sake of their country
took the oath to serve the country,
the Indian air force showing their victory.
holding the fourth position across the world,
Tejas, Jaguar, Rafale, MIG-29, SU-30MKI, Mirage-2000
are their lethal fighter Aircrafts,
through which they defeat the enemy by ripping the wind.
always ready to meet any contingency
in the storms and tempest condition of the atmosphere
with unlimited source of energy in every situation they bear,
takes off their jet fly
with their fighter jets hoisting the tri-colour proudly in the sky,
from earth to sky
oh, the keeper of Indian outskirt
go on growing, with shroud tied,
fly high up in the sky
come out with a shroud on head
even knowing lives can be lost in the blink of an eye for a second,
a soldier is never on off duty
sometimes get their posting in phight
where the foes welcome them with rifles and bullet,
kissing the horizon with vanity to glorify
soldiers are just not born to die;
but born to live for the nation, and serve till they die.
protection of their country yard is their theory
nevertheless soldiers proudly wear the uniform
and go where the duty calls from,
Fly high, high, high up in the air
keep Indian tri-colour high forever.
Categories:
outskirt, patriotic, power,
Form:
Free verse
Its a blurred image of my wish
So deeply buried I wish it resurrects as fast
From those thorns of impracticalities my bones fears to tend
When shall that day be, real, true
A song above the cries of the "Bata" drums, to shout joy
For my birth into a courage, that I lost all this age
Oh Sovi Agbade, god of the thunderous laughter's
Let it flow into my heart and punish my weak ego
Now!
Yes, from the olden stocks, i am born
Risen to the call of the dawn criers ogene
That calls me to tend the land, for the seasons seeds of sweats
Aye! I shall respond and on guard long before
This day of this age
To claim my lost glory, from the drown fate
My trampled destiny, today we part communion
For my new image awaits at the outskirt.
Now!
Categories:
outskirt, uplifting, lost, day, image,
Form:
Chant Royal
Come let's dig deep into Mother's tale.
her border is the immaculate finger of the sky,
Beside this seashore was her flower taken.
under the rippled moon tale of the northern
Sahara, they made her the dummy of silence.
her mother sold her eyes to the tale bearer,
papa, the village artifact of the specified terrain.
she was the north of the aggressive villagers,
then, her father sold her to Papa who took her
Pride under the rimpression seashore.
If in this outskirt of another blood line, we lied,
then she lied of yesterday and today with an eyes of timbers.
if this is the miracle of the custom in our land,
then, women are meant to tolerate men existence,
and men, an organised egoists bottled in ignorance.
She was sold and her freedom lost to the forest,
the dancing of the forest trees made mockery of her,
her waistband was ridicule treasure to papa's hand.
he refused her food and water but see through her
every masking night on cruel bed of sin.
dig deeper you will see her past through his eyes,
curling and calling a fainting torment of a woman lost,
lost in love and ambition, lost in fear and humbleness!
her mouth smitten by a rosy flashy hand,
years have gone with the winds of time,
we only remember sounds of rain in our ears
dabbing before our roof and fate of our destinies.
with our unbeatable smiles, egoism was created.
she ran out into the ocean against her wish,
with our curled happiness in her mind;
stamping her foot on the temple of sober,
grounds of memories, heart hurt memories,
Splashing the waters of infidelity of love,
Her misery with our foot crossed paths in voices
as we were made whole through her tale of agony
dancing under the rain, an African nightful rain
made women scapegoat in an African way.
indeed nothing taste like freedom of feminism,
so nothing sounds better like the yelling of peace.
the songs of rain, rain of colours dangling voices
where mother rest her breastful pride for tomorrow.
©John Chizoba Vincent.
Categories:
outskirt, adventure, africa, allegory, anxiety,
Form:
Blank verse
TWILIGHT HAUNT
In the outskirt of the town ,
Beyond the dragon village,
Seperated by the green pond,
There a castle with two towers,
Wholesome in antiquity of age ,
Beyond the rotten four wheeled carriage.
Inhabited by bats ,owls and ospreys,
Landscaped of blooming prairies,
Non lived there,
Nor has been there,
Voices from there loudly heard,
Culinary smokes puffs overhead,
For the fear of the abstract,
Non dared to venture,
And courage ceased from all.
In the minds of three young men,
Darren ,Garren and Warren,
Courage found venturing hearts not withering,
Horses saddled by Darren and Warren,
Amulets with Garren,
They dared to venture,
And sped towards the castle .
It was a bit night,
In the castle,
Welcomed by onomatopoeic "tywii tywoo" of the owls and bats,
They braced their mights,
Advancing inwards the round table hall,
Began frenetic and apocalyptic shutting of doors and windows,
Glasses broken,metal scraps ontop another.
Came the wind like sirroco,
Thorny hands tossed them up and landed them ontop the roundntable,
Voices shattering round the table ,
Shadow apparitions gearing forward,
Amulets thrown at the gearing crowds,
Captured and locked inside boxes,
The castle baricaded with amulets,
The three young men left the castle,
Never to let open the boxes..
Categories:
outskirt, dark, fear, magic, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
There was pretence in a brand new shoe,
It was telling about a play on the street tonight,
And it was singing about life well being in me and you,
Coming against my own reality made ruins to relight,
We talked the more with the heart of unfading truth,
As a young breed with wisdom,he preached to me with heeped lies,
And I portrayed schemes of loyalty from disloyal route,
And drastically,offered me on alters to form good remarks of his personation guise,
Knowing nothing about this,he scared me to step up in frood,
In fact,the picture he drew was actually painted black,
But appeared as white in my knowledge,
Whereby behind awareness,he exchanged the pinch of salt in my soup with vinegar,
That night before his arrest,the pillow I take deeper meditation upon was packed with gabbage,
But I went behind the margin still expressing myself to him as real filler,
Substantially,the climatic condition of the matter canopied us two,when we both planned of making billions of dollars from my positive integration,
He swooped to procede with his aiding abating,
No maximum inter spacing,he worked to perfection,
Making the relevances of my idea forgotten,
Now that an outskirt of consequential personality disorder has tainted his ambitions,
He's calling for you and I,because he feels frenzy,
But focus on hardwork is positivetly keeping us busy,
Please,someone should tell his frenemy,
"I'm now sleeping on the sunset of reality".
Categories:
outskirt, 6th grade,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Let you come someday soon! To my lonely cottage in the village outskirt. We sit in evening in the moonlight At the eastern jungle-side window. Ah! As it is november, caress eachother And kiss Under a hairy blanket; Having salad and slices of fried fish, And slow sips of some costly drink.
Categories:
outskirt, romantic,
Form:
Free verse
THEY RATHER LIFT YOUR CASKET THAN YOUR DREAMS
Dreams are made
just like beautiful caskets.
Dreams can be waylaid,
even in reality outskirt.
Dreams do come true
but death has only one rule:
that is, the inevitability of death.
With colossal demands,
a dreamer rules the earth.
Despite your reprimands,
your corpse is lifted up
only to later undergo a drop.
To lift the casket of a corpse,
it takes 6 to 8 people max'.
Now, fathom the possibilities
and probability of the visiblities
of those 6 to 8 people,
eradicating portentous evil
in a man's life when actively alive
and save a soul about to starve.
Let's lift each other's dreams in life
rather than wait for the coming of death
to lift our casket while dissipating wealth.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhymes
Copyright ©? April 10th 2023.
Categories:
outskirt, 1st grade, death, dream,
Form:
Rhyme