Best Patch Up Poems
It jumps not to the thought of riches or the prospect of gold
For common treasures are not what it seeks
But rather it responds to that probable possibility
That it may have touched the depths of someone else's soul
It hearkens not to sparkling gems or lusts after a lifetime of wealth
For inside jewels lies the hearts of thieves
But rather it stirs at giving a word someone needs
For inspiration to even the smallest person is a diamond in itself
It doesn't ache for dollar bills or lurch at the sight of green
For nowadays money comes in many different forms
But rather it longs to patch up another heart that may have been torn
And once again to give that person's life meaning
It is a place where the world dare not or otherwise cannot go
A safe haven for valuables other than currency
A hidden trail where treasure means finding creativity
A path that only the hearts of poets know
Categories:
patch up, imagination, passion, people, social,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
For better or for worse they'd pledged
upon their wedding day,
but all the so called better bits
had somehow gone astray.
Poor Blue and Joan had lost the zing
that matrimony brings,
so both sought out a counsellor
and hoped he'd patch up things.
"I sense you do not spend much time,"
the counsellor advised,
"on doing the together things
you both once highly prized.
"The best advice that I can give
is, spend less time apart.
Go find a common interest
and that will be a start."
While driving home Joan said to Blue,
"I know what we can do.
Next week when you go hunting dear
I'll come along with you."
"But Joan you've never seen a deer
or ever used a gun,
but still if that is what you want
I guess it could be fun."
The next weekend they set on out
and Blue advised his Joan
to watch for hunters who may claim
a deer that's not their own.
With Joan concealed and out of sight
Blue showed a lot of nous
and circled 'round to chase a deer
towards his waiting spouse.
Then suddenly he heard a ... BANG!
That made his poor ears ring
and as he worked towards his wife
he heard Joan arguing.
Blue saw as he peered through the trees
his Joan and some poor dude,
both locked into a verbal war;
a ding dong all out feud.
The bloke then cried "Okay! Okay!
You keep the flamin' beast,
but may I have the saddle though?
Please grant me that at least?"
Categories:
patch up, funny, blue, may,
Form:
Ballad
Please do not stress Mother dearest
As i do not want to add to your woes
But the dog has just come in covered
in ticks and fleas
And my sister and I have both knits and
scrapped knees respectively
So many troubles and this won't be the
last to try and comb over or sweep under
the already threadbare underlay or
cardboard box dinning table
Yet just more ammunition and stick's of
rock to be labeled and taunted by other's
with
Exactly just how much of laugh are you
having and enjoying at our expense
I've barely 23 cent's left after i've
settled my rent to patch up the
holes in the front door from the
bailiff's constantly knocking down
my door
But nevermind me what really strings
and breaks my heart are seeing my
children's faces bony and haunt
Like ghost's me do haunt knowing
hug's won't alone keep them warm
when the winter cold night's draw in
But those very kid's despite all of
this and apparently having nothing
are both happy and content at the
same time
Because 1 thing they know for sure
is that there are far worse fates than
being poor
So long as they know Mother loves
them
Categories:
patch up, slam,
Form:
Free verse
I stare at the world through slats in the blind
Which are partly obscuring the dazzle at times
There's nothing particular to spot there today
As even the birds seem to have all flown away
But once in a while a tractor growls down the track
Hauling a jangling old plough or a planter at back
Then later the post van is speeding here with the bills
Soon I watch our Postie get in and out of the chills
In past times we chatted when the dogs were inside
But now I'm in here while they bark out their pride
He'll stop at one house though and sample some tea
But there's nowt going on - it's his sister you see
Just across the river in the giant glass houses there
All trays have been cleaned and stacked with such care
Not much more to do now for a good month or two
Soon be time for their rest in the warmth of Corfu
Not far from their place is a great old machine yard
See bright yellow lorries sport scuffs where they sparred
With anything that didn't yield to their determined path
'Another post over' you may hear their drivers laugh
A few hundred yards more just out of sight on the bend
Is a specialist scrap yard with old machines that they mend
And sell back to farmers for much less than when new
In these cash strapped times there's a few more in view
When times past we ambled my old dog Griff and I
Some walls were crumbling and I thought they might try
To patch up or rebuild them but still they survive
If they fell in a high wind it would be no great surprise
At the jetty quite near there is a boat on the Glen
A spot where a while since I fed our ducks and their friend
The swans have moved on now and the grebes cannot be seen
For the best pickings have gone though the waters still green
It's time for a drink now so maybe I'll potter off to
The kitchen where there is much less of a view
Some soup and a sandwich will be nice I do think
Just as soon as I've washed all the pots in the sink...
©Rhumour
October 6th 2008
Edit February 2016
(Note: this edited version is different from that in the paperback 'Rhumour Has It'
Categories:
patch up, life, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
"momma he told me he loved me," the little 9 year old girl cried. "he told me he loved me but I said no."
"why did you say no?" the mother questioned. "isn't love good?"
"momma he doesn't love me. how could he love me? I am me, he is he. I cannot be loved, I cannot be cherished. I am nothing more than a tangled mop of corn rows and holey dresses."
"darling," the mother said softly, "if he loves you, he will love you for you. he will brush out your knots and he will patch up your dresses. you both may not be perfect alone, but together you will make an unstoppable duo. he will love you for the beautiful 9 year old you are."
the mother then wiped the daughter's tears. the daughter hugged her momma and promised she would never change for anything.
but puberty hit, and sooner or later the little girl was a teenager. she obsessed over minuscule details, constantly torn between her values and her popularity. she went from door to door looking for love, but to no avail.
one day, after a rough day of school bells and textbooks, the daughter came home, flushed in tears.
her momma became worried and sat her down on the flower adorned sofa.
"momma, does he love me? he tells me one thing, but his actions say another. he tells me I'm important, but I don't think i am. I am lost in a labyrinth with no map. tell me momma, does he love me?"
the mother looked at her daughter and appeared hurt.
"darling," the mother said with a slight frown, "you should know if he loves you. he should shower you with love and adorn you with his heart. If he does not do these things, he is not worthy of your love. he may or may not love you, but he will not be loved by you. for you, my dear, are as ornate as a sapphire. you are a diamond among a million rocks. do not let your shine wear out. polish yourself. do not blend in with the rocks, for you my darling, were born to stand out. if a boy takes this shine away from you, he has captured you. you have given him everything. instead, look for the boy who will help you polish. look for the one who would pick you out among a million rocks. look for the one who picks the one in a millionth girl, because that is who you are. a one in a million girl deserves a one in a million boy."
Categories:
patch up, beauty, daughter, growing up,
Form:
Narrative
(1)
Split up all at once
instantaneous patch up
to kiss and make up
(2)
Ideas not matching
lack of trust and loyalty
break up relation
(3)
Split up relation
rejuvinating lost love
leave at the altar
(By Kishan Negi)
Categories:
patch up, philosophy, relationship,
Form:
Haiku
And memories still linger
memories of choruses of swindlers
singing melodies
in criminally inclined rhapsodies
minimally inspired to stop the crime
i floundered, yes i fumbled
and practically watched them
making off with time
mostly mine, some of it pilfered
some of it taken straight up
i've been set up in various stitch ups
people of different shades and sizes
setting me up and leaving
i was hung out to dry
left wondering why, but still survived
i will have to cut my loss
write it off as noncollectable debt
patch up the holes in my pockets
and find ways to move on
if you are hearing this
please feel free to comment
i'm just getting started
on a whole new process
And memories linger also, of fingers
strumming tunes on borrowed guitars
broken strings, missing fingers
hidden figures dancing
in the background of a beautiful mind
i have an eye for these things
i see the world in pictures
heads bobbing back and forth
and there, an orchestra of fiddlers
i heard you when you called
I have stared at the shadows of singers
compared notes and nodded
at the silhouettes of the happy people
lost in concert
nodding heads to the beating
of an invisible drum
fusion of rhythm and rhyme
and the passage of time
And all the sounds from different tribes
haunting the ragged edge of sleep
nightmares staking out
on the street corners of my nights
in affluence
offering different kinds of influence
in dreams we forged an impossible confluence
and memories will linger
of ditties sung beautifully in my absence
i'm taking leave of abstinence
Categories:
patch up, analogy, assonance, conflict, dream,
Form:
Rhyme
Few days more my dreams need to come true,
In that heart me to kindle a candle
The conurbation of lovers’ to locate
And to renovate the ruins of past
And to patch up with a friend much annoy’d
Few days I need, few days more I need.
To heal the wound of love deep and down
To raise the pennon of pain so high
To make the wind pleasant and saccharine
To glide the kite of hope up in Blue
To make every troubl’d eye to gaze at it
Few days I need, few days more I need.
To cut a gate through that steel of hatr’d
Negligence, ignorance and the race
To let the air overtake the barb’d line
To make the earth a place universal
With no country, coinage and congress
Few days I need, few days more I need.
To make my beloved to touch the peaks
Of my platonic love so untaint’d
To make her heart soft, tranquil and calm
To discover listening the grief on beats
Battered down by nay but native sob
Few days I need, few days more I need.
To make a Brooke to sing not from book
But from the half dead voice of the poets
The verses they compose from broken beats
Nay with steel Nibs, but by the rib’s edge
To make the mass to pick up the ache
Few days I need, few days more I need.
Categories:
patch up, life, heart, heart, love,
Form:
Free verse
Gravity Brevity
If brevity matters, dreams race swift than nightmares to catchup,
No muck and mire, no festering around, nothing to patch up,
A soloist than an orchestra, focus on one than all,
Critiques take a high note to second guess, a rise from a fall,
To explode in verse, implode to a terse form, worst or better,
A full platter, gluttonous matter, honey from hive, sweeter.
2019 September 29
*1st Place*
Brevity Poetry Contest No More Than Six Lines
~~Caren Krutsinger
Categories:
patch up, imagery, uplifting, words,
Form:
Couplet
They say happiness comes and goes,
They say joy can not last for long,
They say love is only a temporary thought,
They say life ends after all.
The being that I am,
the soul that I own,
the mind that I control,
and the heart that drives it all,
were they meant to come and go?
were they meant to last not long?
were they meant to play a temporary role?
does life really end after all?
do I believe in life after the curtains fall?
do I see future beyond all obstructions?
do I yearn for more in times of little growth?
do I seek to rise even when I fall?
The evil seek to cloud our thoughts,
and bring down all hope.
It creeps in our soul,
and leads us to suffering forever more.
It clouds our eyes till we can't see no more,
of the glory set before,
us till we run blind and spin out of control,
veering off our God made road,
the road meant to leads us above and beyond.
The devil,
full of temporary vanity solutions,
meant to patch up our heart and soul,
meant to please us for not too long,
for when the money goes,
will she really stay because of he see's him as being more?
will he really make time for her since all hustle is gone?
will they really see beyond what all the money bought?
Or will they follow the path of money and be gone...
They say happiness comes and goes,
I say the heart never stops,
They say joy can not last for long,
I say smile and be glad after evil is gone,
They say love is only a temporary thought,
I say love the life and see all sadness go,
They say life ends after all,
Well,
I say after doing good,
feel good,
and move on.
Categories:
patch up, how i feel, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Who am I?
Who are you?
Who are they?
I wish I knew.
We all feel pain
even though wounds
are technically inexcusable.
We patch up scars and make
them functional and reusable.
Oh the blood underneath these veins,
the flesh antagonizes me for days.
I'd poke it with something sharp
if I weren't so vain.
Plus looking at the imprints
it would cause would drive me insane.
There could be a cloudless sky
but still it may rain
Never judge a book
maybe until you turn the page
I wish I had something, someone
or just maybe a it.
Pain is excruciating but It's mass
produced like McDonald's so I'm used to it
It's the repetitive nature of it all that
makes people loose a tooth or two
they can't pick, swallow or chew the truth
so they bottle it up and chug it like a fresh cold root
I take it in and blow it out like a flute
such beauty can come from ugly things
that's why so many beautiful girls
let their boy friends call them ugly names
I spin in a circle and when I return it's all the same
Who am I? Who is she? who are we?
Categories:
patch up, lifeme,
Form:
Free verse
like a hinge of an old door
rusty and lacking of midnight oil
I am left speechless
unable to decipher the writing on the wall
it wails accuses belittles
mocks groans teases and admonishes
from cracks unable to hold its grout
where a couple of stones
have become loose
it is not an easy patch up work
bricks crumble under
a pick axe blunt and far too short
to keep longing at bay
but I wonder whether
there is a secret treasure
a message
pot of gold
old newspaper
an old marble lost
hidden behind my partition
with the world myself
and the past present delusion
that everything must be okay
a church bell distracts from agony
the cemetery must be a cold place
some graves are overgrown by moss
others too immaculate
not to scream out in numb pain
I can’t stop sad music playing in my head
too many voices opinions and judgement
a discomforting concert of sorrow
and a gramophone record hurt
by a needle unable to move forward
the clock strikes again and once more
endless reverberations of throbbing exertion
vibrations of torment and misunderstandings
and yet I can do this and my last thought
before overdue slumber
is that there is energy in the Universe
and sometimes it passes through me
that is when the silent scream
becomes a loud whisper
and shrieks become music
24th November 2022
contest pick a title volume 33
sponsor Edvard Ibeh
Categories:
patch up, appreciation,
Form:
Free verse
Do you know what it’s like
To have your freedom back at last,
To be able to choose new colours
Once pinned out of reach to the mast,
To find tho’ you’ve lost your employment,
You can still retain all of your pride,
To discover the grass is greener
On the unexplored other-side,
To patch up your battered ego,
Once thought irretrievably torn,
To feel a strong urge to celebrate,
When others expect you to mourn,
To take a fresh look at careers,
When you thought it was all in the past,
To discover your destiny’s liquid,
And never in concrete cast,
To realise your aspirations,
Which no more are held on ice,
To alter your life’s ingredients,
And add a small pinch of spice,
To discover you’re no longer frightened
By things that are different or new,
To embrace all those sensible changes,
And take a much loftier view,
To keep everything in context,
And never let monsters appear,
To look to your dreams and take aim,
Keeping your sights crystal clear,
To be intimidated no longer
By applicants younger than you,
To know a wise captain will always
Choose an experienced crew,
To retain your sense of adventure,
Your instinctive love of fun,
To put down the now closed chapter,
And enjoy the one just begun,
To be welcomed back to life’s table,
And invited to sit down and dine,
To feast till you’re utterly bloated,
And swill it all down with sweet wine.
Categories:
patch up, freedom, happiness, happy, hope,
Form:
Rhyme
To some
folks
Life is like
a quillt
For me
It’s a
Cut &
Paste
Job
Categories:
patch up, 8th grade, abuse, art,
Form:
Free verse
I have been broken
Like a man left without a token
Staring surprisingly at the cruelty
Melted out on my fragile soul.
Here in my solitary state
I try to patch up my heart's pieces
To forget about the pains
And let tomorrow heal the scars left by yesterday.
Broken! Like a marooned sailor
Broken! Like a traveller in the desert
Broken! Like a lover rejected by a loved one
Broken! That's simply the words that escaped my lips
So I watched the wind blow the dust on my face
And yearn so much for a saving grace.
Helplessly I wandered like a raging spirit
In shackles of emotion I staggered all along.
Oh! I look shabbily claded
And the hair on my head seems overgrown.
This look, like that of a taunted soul
So devastated, crying out foul.
They are the traumas of being broken
Left to the cruelty wrapped in mortal flesh.
Trampled upon by hatred of men
Sent down to languish in a disastrous den.
Broken; like a building shaking to its core.
Left with body and soul to carry on.
Staggering helplessly for someone's arm to lean upon.
Categories:
patch up, sad,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme