Best Passable Poems
She stared into the mirror,
wished she could utter the Queen's request.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall...."
What was the use? She was not beautiful.
Nor was she rich. No plastic surgery for her.
Oh to be beautiful, men admiring her,
she'd be always in control,
beckoning, ordering, playing, partying.
But her face was not beautiful,
passable perhaps, but not beautiful.
Was it any use for her to wish the impossible?
Was beauty so important?
The media thinks so. Look at all the ads.
Cream for this, cream for that,
slimming, poises, massages, trimming.
She picks up her brush.
Yes, her hair was beautiful,
smooth like a luscious green meadow.
She smiled. Her face lit up.
Incredible how such small lips
could produce such an effect.
Even the old woman whom
she helped yesterday said so.
You have a lovely smile
and a big heart, she had said.
But she did not say she was beautiful.
Nor did her husband ever tell her so.
He just called her "My treasure."
And they always made love in perfect harmony,
uplifting their hearts, passion uncontained.
Again she smiled. Soon he'll be home
for dinner and love. Did she need to be beautiful?
Did she need to change her life?
Was not all she possessed
all for the best? Again she smiled.
Her face, not beautiful perhaps, lit up in joy.
Categories:
passable, beauty,
Form:
Free verse
inextinguishable
is your appetency
for what you suspire
you feed on this drug
to make life passable
but by the same line
that educes endurance
it will transport
inevitable death
Dec 10. 2019
If you Live by the sword, you die by the sword poetry contest
Sponsored by Silent one
Categories:
passable, addiction,
Form:
Free verse
(Verse 1)
First day of Summer it came and seemed
Like Summer would never end
The weight of all my hopes and dreams
Could be carried on the wind
The heat burned off the memories
Of cold and dreary weather
But somehow we forget that seasons change
And nothing lasts forever
(Chorus)
The Summer breeze
Like a Summer day
Floats on the trees
Before it blows away
Now, I'm on my knees
Under a Summer moon
Praying Summer, please
Don't go so soon
(Verse2)
Last day of Summer is here and now
I know I must face the Fall
When what came alive in Summer dies
And is wrapped in Winter's pall
But before the last breeze slips away
I'll give it one last chase
Remembering the cooling wind
Still warm upon my face
[Repeat Chorus]
(Bridge)
Summer breeze
Where do you go
How do you hide
When the Winter snows
Why do you leave
And where can I find
[Repeat Bridge]
[Repeat Chorus x2]
8.10.18
Contest: Summer Breeze
I recorded the song, but the link mp3 option doesn't appear to work.
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1q00g3uj-8ekys0G3rAoiAAZoqfzLrEZU/view?usp=drivesdk
Excuse my voice, I am no songbird, but I have a vaguely passable singing voice.
Categories:
passable, seasons, summer,
Form:
Lyric
Almost always, as additional allurements arrive, ask as a Being...
By better borne behests become best Causes ?
Can causes create concise concepts Diligently ?
Do doers do decidedly dumb doldrums Ever ?
Each eek echoes egotistical efforts enduring Familiarity...
Faith fathers forgiveness for flaunting fabled Gifts.
Gasps give great grief, growing gruesome Hatreds...
Hasn't humanity had hurt hearts hung Innocently ?
Is insistence in increasing irritation inevitably incongruous Justice ?
Jimson jars...jitters...joggles...jolts...just jocose jurisprudence' Knell.
Kerfuffle kin, kickshaw kept ken, kindly knaves kneading Lamentations...
Leaving love's loaves, lordly lotharios, looking like lowlifes Made.
Marking more madmen mere moronic monsters meting mayhem Nearby.
Now, not never, nab needed nerves, nurture nasturtium near Openness !
Once only one, ordained our ostracism, outrage outdone on overwrought Plight.
Perhaps pride precludes passable patience, posing portentous prolapse Quickly !
Quiet quandaries, quarrelsome qualms, quivering quixotic quirks Resplendent...
Reaching relapse, revolving recidivism, reconstructed reflective reform Seen !
Searching secretive states, seemingly simple, sincere serenity sought Through...
Tender tears, touching together to total tympanic transformation Unjust.
Unique union...unimportant, unbending, unpopular, unless universal Veracity !
Verbose verbalism, vertical vignettes verify vital victory Won.
When written with wit...watershed words work wonderful Xerography !
Xyloid xylography, xeroxed xeno X, Yet...
Yesterday's youth, yowled yummy young yips Zanily !
Zeitgeist, zombie zealots zapping zonked zingers...Away !!
Categories:
passable, conflict, fun, imagination, introspection,
Form:
Alliteration
When the real you
Is not good enough
When you weighed by a stranger’s scale
And you are labeled inadequate
Do you try and become
Who they think you are
Or do you walk around under the blanket
Of not being good enough forever
Even when you know you are passable
Do you pretend it doesn't hurt?
That being judged by strangers
Is just one of lives’ curves?
When they trot on who you are
As if you are irrelevant
Do you tremble in confusion?
Or turn a blind eye?
©120820151505
Categories:
passable, judgement, life,
Form:
Free verse
Who were those hoodlum, who wanted thy do lour ,
thou were revered by all the classes , honored by only colors' ,
thou ruled the entire family of the galleys , who looked like the great Hercules ,
who had a large amount of strength , whose strength was impenetrable .
Oh my great - Titanic , thou were the stage on which many lovers passed by,
those lovers who enjoyed their voyage dancing "Hula", which made thee more intensify,
there was a Capella sang by the silent water , which gave color to the entire dance ,
where have thy beauty gone , which have left us back alone , giving no further glance .
It was not thy carelessness , but the carelessness of thy master ,
thy master - underwent enjoying lashings , never thought the approaching disaster ,
in spite of loosing hubris , thou had been praised by all ,
nevertheless it was passable , but thy lifespan had become less and small.
Whom would I like to draw the blunder , for they were also in love with thy splendor ,
thy luxury would result winning bountiful amount of hearts , counting those spirits leaving the globe without blunder ,
I seek pardon to my dearest sweetheart , for my humble tears could sail thy gorgeous carcass ,
I have to get rid of all those pains , by crafting thy beauty to the late mausoleum grass .
I kept dreaming for thy creative beauty , but beauty never thought for my dreams ,
my thoughts try reaching the sun , but thy imagery covers all the sun beams ,
I promise to build a minster for thee , where my dreams and thoughts idolize thy existence ,
the minster would pray the poetic words of mine , never allow my mind-set reveal thy grieve disappearance !
Categories:
passable, absence, dedication, depression, dream,
Form:
Free verse
Quite silly to
During inclement
Birds on the hill
Announcing the
resentment
Blessings for
disappeared
Water and stone not
working miracles
Not the rule
Although some
Not effectively
contained
And no smiling
Possibly reduces
Souls
Loads tears.
Puzzled stripes
In south and breeze
And the dissolute
No one else to turn
Affected continuous
The Hobo
Also fell in
quicksand!
But are persistent
The wrath of Heaven
Impatient that
perhaps
With the integration
of tikatik ...
The roof
the beach
And the plains.
And also quite tired
The grain
In nearly depleted
Cause stubborn and
rebellious
That attacks
In shy grass
And shoots beyond.
Allowed to
Re reign
Among those in
The brilliance of
passable
And blaze of
aggression
Heat of dawn,
In the world of the
living!
On standby
In the air
The cloud
To spread scattered,
And love dancing
Adjoining the thirst
Lost souls.
Ledge already
favorable
The Mysteries
And mystery machine
Stumbling
Insisted stand
Over the world
As hell!
Tomorrow morning
show the moon
To impair
Although clarity
Stare and think,
A light wind
In promising fields!
At night reign
The day head,
And the rainbow
Eager to sit
Notes and stars
Who love
And enjoy!
Not drown
On the strength of
false conflict
And not widows anode
The rose and leaf
Cause brutality,
nalalaos
Despair is running
out
Ends the storm!
Categories:
passable, dark, earth, moon, mountains,
Form:
ABC
Pronounced side effect upon my dreams...
courtesy Fluoxetine hydrochloride
Fluoxetine Hcl (C17H18F3NO·HCl)
known as Selective Serotonin
Reuptake Inhibitor (SSRI),
especially prescribed to treat
depression, panic disorder,
and obsessive-compulsive disorder
the above symptoms
profoundly experienced by yours truly
said prescription medication
seriously impacts sleep (mine).
Debilitating panic attacks
wrought (particularly years gone by)
physiological displeasures chiefly constituting
vertigo, racing heart, nausea,
excessive perspiration, adrenaline
coursing thru body,
whereby Prozac (brand name regarding
aforementioned synthesized chemical)
ameliorated unbearable, unmanageable, untenable...
earth-shaking, devastating,
and crushing manifestations
disabling, exhausting, jackknifing... functionality
hijacking life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.
Essentially yours truly experiences
dilemma analogous to sleep deprivation,
cuz ofttimes upon arising,
I feel utterly tuckered out, exhausted, bushed...
thus zapped body, mind and spirit
ill suited to physical,
mental or spiritual endeavor
subsequently lovely bones (mine)
(pine to join grateful dead)
rather than feebly kickstart
lame effort to write, read or meditate.
Thus respecting Sir Isaac
Newton's first law of motion
a (human) body at rest
inertia keeps said entity at rest.
Interestingly enough as
daylight doth wax and wane
casting dark shadows upon urbane
countenance buzzfeeding hidden reservoir
exerting estimable energy
decreasing arduous strain
therefore purposefulness,
I seek renewable resource to imbue
garden variety generic
doubting thomas and ordain
him (i.e. me) with spontaneous
magnificent grandiloquent enlightenment
ala Orson Welles Citizen Kane
laughable comparison linkedin
with story extraordinaire quite insane
September 4th, 2020 insight one can gain
perchance even coaxing passable poem
from deep within Matthew Scott Harris' brain.
Categories:
passable, adventure, confusion, imagination, journey,
Form:
Free verse
Butters Drippin’ From My Ears
Summer’s mostly over
I’ve not once mentioned Iowa corn.
It’s the symbol of the state
In which this rhymer’s born.
There are other places
That grows passable “sweet” corn.
I’ve eaten several others
But my druthers always torn.
In dead of winters dreary days
And it’s all the markets got
That “shipped in” product
May pacify the corn longing spot.
But when Iowa summer’s here
Weathers so hot & steamy.
There’s nothing like fresh corn
With melted butter. . . so creamy.
I’ve always thought eatin’ corn
Was the most sensible fashion reason
Hot butter drippin’ off my elbow
Makes short sleeves so now in season
We start dreaming of its coming
As soon as local gardening starts
Sweet corn & vine ripe tomatoes
Are close to this old couples hearts.
There are various spots to buy it
Lots of small, road side venders.
There are local “farmers markets”
Even “organic” stores for heavy spenders.
But my wife has a favorite seller
So weeks early we start spying.
To find that special farm fell'er
Many years his ears has been buying.
When she says, going out the door
”I’m going to see the little man”
I know I’m in for a real corn treat.
She’ll soon return with ears in hand.
It’s always cool and fresh picked
The husks are tight, the color bright.
The ears are chuck full of kernels
And almost never a bug in sight.
We get them all shucked
The waters now boiling
But the season is short
Soon there will be no more toiling.
We close out the season
Cut a few ears for the freezer.
Soon we’ll be saying “Good-by”
To this special taste “pleaser”.
Written by oldbuck after another
wonderful home cooked meal that
included “Iowa” corn on the cob.
Categories:
passable, farm, food, poetry,
Form:
Rhyme
they would dice many a chive
by management me from da dive
apartments in hatfield in close proximity
to the bloody sorry fate
oof a von nee gutt
thar slaughter house five.
mine eyes saw gore
and remained fixated
orbital fixture
of poor creatures in a daze
sans reaction averting gaze
away from disgusting entrails
visible picture amidst the maze
of chutes and ladders
stepping on select
foursquare did raise
or lower (similar to an elevator)
but movable blocks
also went cross ways
oh, anyway, this reply
written by me - scott math u
passable poet tree - at most true
this email far ye to rue
these twisted sister strands
of pearl jammed zz topped
chromosomal strands being did hew
who only to five feet and ten inches grew
crafts, finesses,
indulges love of language
to prose from fingers flew
and writes poems
cawing all r e'en juiced
one angry emu
leaving her/his presents
custom made doo doo
per comprising a motley crue
of a family - pearl jammed color ague.
please rsvp asap via text
to me scott matthews my chosen ac/dc label
i.e. pleasure like rubbing against sable
create r hard woo n intimate scorpion fable
unless ja noah under me ma jib rush
like inxs o ruck kiss in tower o babe bull
by texting if willing, ready, eager and able
froom - - scotts matthew
who lives way off the mainline -
juiced about a few dirty dozen dancing deeds
done dirt cheap miles west of philadelphia,
and some ten miles east of king o prussia
pennsylvania who imagines your sultry skin
silkily soft as a lynx, pussy cat
rubbing against ma leg under da table.
Sent from my iPhone 456789
Categories:
passable, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
Jim’s fingers are grimy, oh dear
He has a solution I hear
As Jim loves to bake
Scone mixture he’ll make
Of his cakes I am steering clear!
Jan’s in a bit of a jam
My microwave’s a sticky mess
Strawberry pulp’s splashed on my dress
I must find a programme
On how to make fruit jam
Mine’s dreadful I’ve gotta confess
Written after I did gardening this morning… and then baked scones go with my paltry effort of attempting to make strawberry jam in the microwave. It boiled over and was everywhere was covered with a gloopy mess , took me 20 mins to clean up but I retrieved what I could and boiled it and made some passable fruit conserve
06/26/20
Categories:
passable, food, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
My mother's dishes are as delicate as she,
Tiny pink rose bouquets and silver rims.
Once I used them with her lace tablecloth,
For Thanksgiving and Christmas back then.
Then came the day of casual living,
She had given me a set of gold flatware,
So I set a pretty table of everyday white,
And gold and food were there.
It was passable pretty, no need to be babied,
If something broke it didn't matter;
They could go in the dishwasher for tomorrow,
Throw the paper cloth away, join the holiday chatter.
The rosebud dishes I fear to use
For each day makes them more antique,
So I've willed them to someone young and special,
Will she use them, what do you think?
Categories:
passable, change, mother, nostalgia,
Form:
Narrative
If I'm not allowed to fall,
I can't learn to walk
Through peace with falling,
I rise again in strong faith
When I climb a mountain,
I see its lowest point
By peace with the lowest points,
all fears dissipate
Even while traveling,
I long to stand still
Thanks to such stops,
the journey feels more intense
Deep below my strength
I sense there is softness
Thanks to that softness,
much stronger I am
Do I choose to shine,
it illuminates what seems dark,
not remembered and
overlong unseen,
When I embrace with love,
everything that once fell
returns to a state
of purity
And just as I stand still,
I long to travel
Thanks to the traveling,
my path unfolds before me
Narrow but passable,
enlightened by love,
so if I do fall again?
Then I can only fall…
very softly
Categories:
passable, growth, introspection, life, love,
Form:
Lyric
Merrilyn escorts John through the Western trudges, as strangest of strangles blocks the memerrical double
Her momentous reflection: sordid, drossy, and wide to portant throttles
As whips become kisses and fainting memories open with admittance
The sorest sense of what will
She sinks down with arms befuddled, hands secreting rantfit metal
The sheer glory of having a semblance to riddle
Awoke Marin from her marching parade huddled softly around the charred spittle
As a choke veered into the holdings of her room
No one came, no one threw
But out of light came light, words yet more words,
Gone again and afrittle,
The shyest voice in a passable kidult
‘Laudable is that which mantles over a variety of rituals delineated for the appreciation of the belittled’
This is what we call to your view
And how we crusade, A rolling few,
Round after round, at the eve of curfew,
Steepening the anguish, as identity falls to loom,
The track marks printed along the ever-present faro plateau
Following dusk till dawn
Wheat fields and a draft court after the meager youth
‘Tis a xenolithic anthem we hunger after in dissolution
Our copious ardours, our lasting milieus'
As last meets new,
Past meets few,
Drastic action opens a polylogue,
With visage repute,
Merrilyn dances tiptoe out her seven-storey window,
All around her, print vestiture falling to the ground
Categories:
passable, social, , western,
Form:
Free verse
My hands are busy with today,
but my thoughts hang back
in the humid air of a deceptive
yesterday; to dinner and the jungle heat
congealed under umbrellas,
stained with the residue of city traffic,
too loud and too close for significant
atmosphere to stand any chance
in factoring urban style.
Paris, it wasn't, but the setting suggested
the delusional coolness of a sidewalk café.
The invisible sultriness that had seduced
the day forced rivulets of sweat
from even the chic-est brows tucked beneath
the shaded shadow of the backdropped skyscraper.
Heat had the upper hand, and with attitude,
flipped off the advancing breeze from the lake;
defeated, it proffered nothing more
than the stale breath of a probing lover.
The haricots verts were passable,
the whitefish with pesto-laced orzo -
commendable. The coffee? Ah, the coffee
was an invisible accompaniment
to a parody of authentic New York cheesecake.
It was a one sip, one bite affair, exchanged
for an iceless margarita in deference
to the science of cooling the body
with room temperature libations.
Jose winked from the glass
as I settled back in my chair
and began to paint a self portrait
for other people's minds.
It's what a poet does
on the avenue in Chicago,
in the heat, in July;
eat, drink and imagine
you're seen.
Categories:
passable, adventure, happiness, imagination, introspection,
Form:
Free verse