Best Pan Out Poems
You know, its been in most fimiliard circles that the saying is...."tomorrow is
not promise to you". Yet 7 day's a week the census of time passes us hour by
hour, minute by (?) you know. The way of creation dictates why so many fimil-
iard people's live with so much sorrow. Do we tell them also that "No Tomorrow's,
no need to expect hope, hope in exceedily better yesterdays that promises a
chance at lease, if you get up-pitty is replace with No Tomorrow's".
You know, its been said by the glamour of religious folk's of scholar, that the mea-
sure success of rules and regulation, help determine how far some churche's bridge
out into the community. But what if the same bridge only pan out to certain people's
with Dollar for dollar faith in a God of wealth and presteige.
The word of God tells us that the death on a tree is an atonement that reunite be-
lievers unto his Kingdom. That the light brings one from the darkside who's suffering
despair and horrow's. It will give some strength, some the knowledge that heaven is
a better place when the bridge offer's a one way road to all that know the word is my
foundation, in a world that thrive's on, "No Tomorrow's.
The word of discovery of gold in '49 in Californy raced across the nation!
Why, it was said you could fill a bushel basket full with little botheration!
This appealed to a young feller in Boston town named Clancy Wiggins,
Who forthwith trailed the sun west to help himself to his share of diggin's!
In them days to make the trek you had a choice of travelin' by land or sea.
He chose the sea carin' not a whit for wagon trains or tanglin' with Cherokee!
Clancy left his mom and dad, Spike his dog and Sarah Jane his fiancee,
Fixin' to strike it rich, return safe and sound to marry-up with her one day!
In March of '49 he boarded the ship Barnacle and sailed from the Boston quay.
'Twas cold and icy, the sea was rough, he was sea-sick, not a cheerful day.
They tacked to and fro and three months later transited perilous Cape Horn!
Four months later they reached San Francisco, both man and ship badly worn!
Clancy bounded off the ship anxious to head fer them thar hills and streams.
He bought the necessaries needed to accomplish his far-fetched dreams.
Includin' shovels, boots, jeans and grub as well as a sassy mule named Fred,
Plus pots and pans and a tent to 'batch' in to lower costs and overhead.
Fer nigh on a year he panned, dug and sluiced searchin' fer that pot of gold,
Sufferin' claim jumpers, cheatin' partners, floods, rain, snow and cold!
Now and then he'd pan some dust or a nugget, but didn't amount to much;
What he found he quickly blew on gamblin' whiskey, wimmin and such!
His venture didn't 'pan out' like them lying Californy hucksters said it might.
He sold Fred and his belongin's since his future as a miner didn't look bright.
Clancy left Boston with 21 bucks and left Californy with 18 bucks in his jeans.
It might be said that he didn't arrive back in Boston as a man of means!
An optimist and pessimist were sitting in the park,
Their outlooks as divergent as the light is to the dark.
“I think this will be over soon,” the optimist declared.
The pessimist just looked at her as if she were impaired.
“Our lives will never ever be the ones we used to lead,”
The pessimist asserted, but her buddy disagreed.
“You’ll see, before you know it, all will be just like before,”
The optimist responded, a believer to the core.
Their argument continued, each convinced that she was right,
Not seeing any grays at all between the black and white.
Yet time will tell whose thoughts pan out, for now the world’s a mess
And I don’t see it going back. (My side? Well, take a guess!)
here's to best intentions that don't always pan out ~
AP: 1st place 2025
Posted on November 6, 2019
I took a little time tonight
To look back on the poems I write
Just to check and see if there
Were any improvement in my fare
On some of them I cried once more
On some of them, how I did roar
On one I laughed till my sides did ache
But I felt justified
Because of the comment Joseph Spence did write
Of course a spelling flub now and then
But what the hey
Cowboys don't talk to gud an nee way
I can't say I have changed much
Mayby there is hope after lunch
But if that does not pan out
I guess I'll just have to live with a pout
It was on a Sunday morning in the village where I stay
Out walking with my dog, I heard some pensioners say
Did you hear about the earthquake, it was somewhere in our State
No magnitude has ever been like it, it's impossible to relate
Quickly I headed home, to view this terrible news
Upon turning on the TV, I'm in horror at what my eyes now view
The awesome Golden Gate Bridge, against an azure bluey day
Lies broken, distorted and twisted, as if it's foundations had given way
The camera now focuses on the mainland, capturing plumes of choking black
Freeways lie twisted and contorted, trains running from their tracks
Gas lines spew throwers of flames, sirens resonate in blaring sound
What was level hours before, have dropped from it's original grounds
Many reporters are now on the scene, as they pan out across the blue
From the helicopter of CNN, Alcatraz disappears from their view
Slowly the island it sat on, as if by magic, now it has gone
Words are heard through the speakers, what the hells gone wrong
The daylight turns to black, a city lies in shreds
Memories of 1906, when three thousand plus were dead
All through the night, tremors came and went
Has history repeated itself, the San Andreas Serpent
I am awoken in the morning, having left the TV on
Panic stricken reporters screaming, most of San Francisco's gone
Where once stood a city, lie pillars of battered ruins
Deep gorges surround them, in bloodied scattered strewn
There's a break in the programme, it's from Yellowstone National Park
The land is starting to rise, incredible is the remark
Geysers that once flowed often, have receded in their shower
Are we about to witness, another of her powers
Back to the CNN studios, more footage of the morning
Towering inferno's in sickened tears, the clock, the warning
I fall to my knees in remembrance of the date
It's December the 21st, has earth met it's fate
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-17.php
Find my sugar, find my soul
Find my heaven in a mixing bowl
Shake it up momma, dice me whole
Roll me up, jam me like a jelly role
Best real eggs I’ve ever seen
Not too soft, just in between
Best real bacon ever been
Canadian bacon, that’s what I mean
Buttermilk batter, fluffy and light
Flip me on over, done just right
Berry my blues in your morning light
Butter my soul up, sweeten my sight
Rock your tootsie roll my queen
Shake my biscuit pan out clean
Taste your jelly bean my dream
Fill me up a mess of that peaches and cream
http://mike-martin.net/Peaches and Cream
Blank canvas in your sight
You get to choose
The way you drape and decorate
Don't be too conservative
Change might scare you
But you might
Relish the outcome
There will be days when it don't pan out
That doesn't mean you failed
If you judge yourself too harsh
You may forget there is a lesson to be learned
How will you remember?
If not by your mistakes?
We all have to start somewhere -
Unless you prefer to be inert
Unless you remain
Rooted to the spot
Refusing to grow
To falter isn't your lesson
How you react to it; is
How you embrace
The opportunity to grow
©091020141420
Things never turned out the way they were supposed to,dont they?
Words never came out the way they were meant to,arent they?
People never grew up the way they were expected to,wouldnt they?
And life never pan out the way we were always planned to,isnt it?
Cause if they do,or they are,or they would,and if it is..
Then,living would be so easy u will forget how to bend on ur knees,down to ur feet, crying for His Mercy..
Like a dandelion in the windy dessert u will lost---nowhere to be,
Like a blind man in the deep dark night u shall not see..
Until u embraced it for whatever it may be..
No matter how hard one would feel.
Hatched from an egg, larva begins gathering around massive trees;
consuming enough leaves sufficient for morphing within chrysalis.
Once this process is a success, reconfigured caterpillars nibble and wiggle their way out.
Something extraordinary happens—
Atomic metamorphosis liberates an epiphany.
Majestic, colorful creatures emerge—
Beautiful butterflies make birth, liberated larva bloom, flourish and blossom
A state away from cocoon, a graceful performer sets sail.
Boating across blue skies, butterflies float in thin air.
Rays of sunlight break amid overcasting clouds.
Bright shiny wings vibrantly glisten.
Seeing colors, happiness smiles and goosebumps pan out shivers.
Butterflies of beauty miraculously appear.
Viewing spectacular enlightenment—
Bearing witness to an irrefutable, sighted stupendousness.
Delighted butterflies reminisce, recalling life as larva.
Remarkably capable of flying anymore, professing subject ability by becoming remarkably adept; nearly instantaneously.
And no matter how ugly the world may seem; at times—
Butterflies of beauty allow belief, tarrying wings of hope.
Metamorphic, frosted cookies maintain my emotional environment; anchoring momentous love.
Inclined to bind a beating heart—
Now filled through butterflies of beauty, deep blue eyes shine, reflecting love and life; unveiling romantic harmony.
1/09/17
For contest sponsored by Mystic Rose.
For fifteen years I’ve watched the world,
Seen the flags of ‘we’ versus ‘them’ unfurled,
I may be young, but don’t you underestimate,
The potential I have to overcome, and to dominate.
It seems the powers that be are perturbed,
Their once firm grip on society is disturbed,
For what they miscalculated, or failed to see,
Is that overbearing control does not earn loyalty.
So despite all the censors, the rules, and the lies,
The chaos is growing right before our eyes,
Though we paid for ‘security’ with voluntary cuffs,
There will come a time when the people have enough.
When **** hits the fan, what would you prefer?
To get information from the source, or use the media to infer?
To infer the truth about the goings-on around you,
To know before things happen, and understand the ‘why’ too?
We’re now at a crossroad, a difficult decision,
One road is normality, the other is broadening my vision,
I can live out my life and fulfill normal goals;
I can change my direction and be at the controls.
And though neither is right and neither is wrong,
The question remains, how would you carry along?
Each option results in its own implications,
The effects of this choice could be seen for generations.
Although I am still pondering what I should do,
This crossroad will also pan out before you.
And so, choose wisely which path you will seek,
But commit to it fully, this choice is unique.
PANNING FOR GOLD
Sifting, sifting
Listening, listening
baffled and hoping that we’ll be
Friends in the end;
Watching, watching;
Looking for what glistens.
As I contemplate on those who may shine.
Nuggets of truth surface sublime,
Who will stand the test of time?
Yet time has already shown its hand.
And only fool’s gold left in my pan.
Sifting, sifting, praying
That your sincerity would shine,
leaving no doubt.
Not wanting to let you go
but the proof proves…
” that you’re petty” now
I'm saddened because…
‘’You didn’t pan out’’
Les C. More back from the vay-cay holidays,
giving my poetry peeps
a look-see at an odd Klondike meet
He ain’t nothing but
small potatoes
Trying to live
big-talk lettuce large
His backsliding snowshoes
walk so holey
That short con grifter grin
spin tall tales —
Green giant beanstalk
talk guacamole-y
Mucho moneybag dreams
full of empty air,
that don’t ever avocado amount to nothing
Small-time schemes
of simple-minded plans,
which never pan out ... sub zero foul headed south
Always bringing in less than nothing
He ain’t never gon bandito be nothing
but a small fry —
Small-time peso, catphish criminal
on an asphalt pond coin hustle
Pennywise pygmy putting on froggy airs,
croaking a tough guy cry ... squirting big croc tear lies
Acting like dollar store muscle
But his big, bad Canadian woofs
be a poodle scare farce,
French barks full of nothing ...
giving him kennel plenty caged time
to have more polarizing, petty cell thoughts —
Little gray matter blowing
big bluster got busted ... Arctic cop caught
Leprechaun brain freeze melting grandiose dreams
into Yukon fools gold, iron bar moonbeams
Solitary mote musings eyeing elephantine endings:
more get-rich angles, poach-the-poor fantasies
Tiny-hearted man with big swindle hands,
always got a large lung bag of con
for holding paper vapors less than nothing
Are you frying today? No? Not at all? An attempt to pull the frying pan out would be better off left alone as other plates could fall. Oh dear. The frying is best done outside then? Yes? Are you even listening to the logic? You are? Really? Wow. Well that makes about as much sense as a conversation between a hammer and a screaming screw. No need or necessity for screw fix, adhesive pastes nor metallic elements. Ok then. Now that is sorted it is merely open to say and state that a single word like bus means a station and a single word like train also means station. Why??Because it does. Irrelevant interference interfering intertwining interesting innermost informational influences. Like pow Pow Pow then? Ok and goose kisses a hare. Sponge tab equals tap tap tap and opened opinionated oversized overspills' are too noisy in a library. X mountaineering z z z z at seven yawning lions looking out of a keyhole to twelve flamingos bouncing on trampoline lake. z
Curling keys . A fork of bees. Pan out to the thoughts of temperature. Radius unforeseen. Ten laughing giggling elves on a trout trampoline. Policing the avenues of river and stream. While external energies arrive on a moon beam.
Twenty-six copper kettles sit on a shelf in a line. A horizontal view is never ideal in a cavernous vault of a dinning hall. One should not sip nectar of pea. Nor shout at onions. Tempt you not by the snow orbs melting on chocolate soup? Grateful to dishes are we? Great wisdom of cup.
Take no heed to jaded sperms of fallen ogres. Meaning is lost in an internal jelly of a plasma time. So go ride the tree then.
PHILANDERING. PICKING. PICKLE. PLACING. PLACE. PACE. PLUM.