Best Plotted Poems
The rising sun marks break of day
Its zenith, we call noon.
Its setting brings the evening chill
And ushers in the moon.
The sundial charts its burning rays.
Its pathway plotted out
Predicts the hour of every day
Beyond a shadow of a doubt!
Precious time, there’s none to waste
And so we set the staff
Inventing ways to track its passage
Clocks and chronograph
The mainspring and the pendulum,
The tall Grandfather Clock
Becomes the heartbeat of the home
Tick Tock, Tick Tock, Tick Tock
The pocket watch with silver chain
Umbilical, life line
We spend our days; entire lives,
Winding our way through time
Time is time, it’s so precise
Ethereal and pure,
With a watch we always know the time
But when we’ve two, unsure!
To that one soul reading this…
whose problems seem abyss.
There is a bridge to better days,
where sunshine still exists.
To discover the way,
and a warm place to stay,
isn’t hard to recognize.
If you’re searching for clues,
that will help you get through,
they might be in disguise…
The mountains that you climb today
as storm clouds gather ‘round,
will soon fade into yesterday,
when all that’s lost is found.
The morning sun is not defined
by last night’s sunset, so
as for the trials of days gone by
they can simply be let go…
So dream sweet dreams
from dusk to dawn,
and your deeds will
stand applauded.
You’ll be smiling twenty
years from now…
as you walk a path
well plotted…
Cole Banner
Copyright ©2019
When I’m craving a well-plotted story
with a strong theme and creative rhymes,
I can say I have found masterpieces
here on Poetry Soup many times.
Give me characters, real or imagined,
that will speak to me right from the page
in a story that holds my attention
and would be great performed on a stage.
Fans have long deemed this poet a master;
yet, he’s modest. When he writes reviews,
he encourages others with praises.
I say hats off to Tom* and his muse.
*Cunningham
I want so bad in Casarah’s pants
She said I had to offer up some romance
Off we went to a local dance
I bought her a flower, a beer, and a Big Mac too
She said not quite enough but it will have to do
So in my truck that has no doors
I apologized and said no seat, its on the floor
She smiled and sat, I gathered in anticipation
Of having me in her bedroom a waiting
Little did I realize I'd wish to be vacating
We arrived at her home, at half past twelve
She said grab a beer, cause my hubby is here
I said what the hell, your hubby you say?
She said, why yes where else would he stay?
So I grabbed a beer thinking ok this is a wee bit *****
I was confused, I will tell you that
Her hubby smiled at me like a dirty rat
He had some rope and a little duct tape
This sure wasn’t what I figured on this ol date
From bad to worse, I resigned myself to fate
She calmly said, what could you have possibly thought?
I brought you here, for our pleasures of naught
We will tie you up and start the game
We are the masters, and you have no claim
Now what’s a little pain? so please, don’t try to abstain
Tied and bound what could I do?
They had their pleasures without further adieu
I did the dishes, the vacuuming and the laundry too
Not an easy task tied in ropes by those two
Broken and tormented and tired as heck
I soon plotted my escape up north to Quebec
This Gothic nightmare must come to and end
Else these two satins will drive me round the bend
So I unbound the ropes holding me so tight
Managed to escape into the dark frigid night
What made you so special my freckle faced friend..
the day I heard you singing to a record, from your window next door.
Bell bottom clad teenaged knock out, with a ballerina's step..
In huge Cape Cod two story where dreams took form.
My mom hummed a tune as she ironed my best shirt..
Fumbled with your corsage, wondering why I chose red.
Last dance I remembered was always our first,
humbled by a mirage., in a golden gown dress.
Realized too late the secret your parents kept,
all the plans they'd made for you..
plain enough to see I wasn't part of them.
Not enough coins lined my pockets to set you free,
at least not enough for them to ransom you to me.
Some days found me prayin',
some I cursed right out loud.
Wonderin' does the one you share today in,
know the goldmine he had found.
Did he bring you eyes full of stars,
and promise all his tomorrows.
Realize what heaven sent gift you are,
never lament a heart left to sorrow.
Does he read them bedtime stories,
and tuck them into bed..
Listen to child borne wonders and worries,
every wild dream that fills their head.
And did you share those freckled hands,
every time you stopped to tie their shoes..
protect them with those same plotted plans,
your parents chose for you.
Do you ever hear that record playing..
among the distant stars that shined so bright?
New days come, battles lost and battles won..
lost in heartfelt wish that I'd been born..
that lucky seventh of seventh son.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Venice, the daughter of the sea
Winding paths, waterways or cobblestones roads
Rulers of the renaissance, noblemen would be
Her navy full of conquests, her triumphs all would see
From nobility rose, a woman fair
Her life a whirlwind, with her share of despair
Banished from Venice, for daring to speak
Her desires and wit, did many a man seek
The golden rose the pope did give
As she fled to Florence, so young and deceived
Her strength in spirit and a mind so refined
Her friend Marco, the captain, with whom she dined
He parted his wisdom as best he could
He sailed victorious, for Bianca he should
His secret was safe out on the seas
Which is why he and Bianca, could never be
Her royal blood would keep her in stead
As nobility in Florence would turn their heads
Francesco indeed would commission a palazzo
For Bianca his mistress, in waiting, his queen
The Grand Duchy of Florence, all powers bestowed
A seeker of knowledge, of wisdom composed
His Austrian wife, alone, cold and barren
Could not compete, with his love yet to be
They danced, they confided, in each they held
A love of intellect, beauty and lust to be feld
And sadly, one day, the enemies of Venice
Plotted and schemed to bring about a demise
The poison was swift, and an era did end
In a villa in Florence, Francesco was dead
Bianca his love, her beauty unblemished
Fell by his side, and whispered to thee
My dear, my love, it was meant to be
Bianca Cappello (1548 – 17 October 1587)
Note: OK OK I invented 1 new word, that's what poets do
The quintessential of nyctophilia, wrapped in bridal attire, slowly and slowly as in somnambulism there goes the heroine of timeless tragedy to supersede her lovers feigned insanity.
Her beloved father is no more, being killed by her suitor's intrigued tyranny;
ignored to be drowned, to burn in the flame of plotted felony.
Jilted, to be startled by the selcouth performance of her handsome wooer's vile strategy;
there goes the most beautiful heroine ever to be the victim of fated irony,
immersed in senseless lunacy, to vanish from the sight of Hamlet's fatalistic eyes to bid adieu to the agony,
slowly and slowly to be disappeared into melancholic darkness from the dazzling maniac opaque sight;
there goes the Danish heroine of evergreen tragedy.
Before birth
I was the universe
All knowing, all embracing
Molecules of beauty in floating meditations
I was everywhere
Then............
The darkness.........
The womb.......
I begot limbs and flesh
Imprisoned inside this human frailty
I was freed, exposed, pushed, fallen into humanity
Lights, voices, sins, I screamed
They cut off my only bond to the universe
Here, a baby an orphan of the heavens
Imprisoned upon the imperfections of human realms
Hell.................
The holy book of sins...........
The great sadness.........
I miss the cosmic beauty
Stuck here, the devils collection of earthly kin
Days... weeks.....decades…. despair......
I plotted and planned
The great escape
From this finite boxed in land
I begged the infinite, and danced with infinity
The universe waltzed
I twirled with insightful delight
Soon, to be rejoined with eternal light
To be free, to roam the stars
My death, now rejoined with the heavens and all of thee
You visit, candles and crocus upon Parisian stone
I am neither there or even here any more
I have become what I once was, healed and whole
All knowing, all embracing
I am God, the universe once more
"Ensnare My Heart"
By M. Taha Effendi
(Ballad)
O beautiful maiden of my captive heart,
Are you not the lone bard's pompous muse?
With allure that inspired the divine art,
Heavens' hand made you with such delicate use,
What sweet circumstance upon me befalls,
My heart the endearing perfidy has plotted,
Entombed in my bosom, it beats to your calls,
Loves beyond reason the heart besotted,
Let my soul swoon at your eternal beauty awhile,
Mesmerize by sheer fineness of your chiseled cheek,
Beguile by crimson roses that adorn your seraphic smile,
Savor in you the beauty of which poets speak,
Your eyes are gleaming lagoons of preserved vintage,
Shades the cerulean ocean from their depths did lease,
The jealous eye of heaven envies your radiant visage,
The blushing moon embarrassed cowers beneath the seas,
Would you shelter me in your silken veil perchance?
That imbue elation in those who wander in its shade,
And sways to cadence of zephyrs in an eternal dance,
To invoke dark urges of soul with a sublime serenade,
sprinted by the love of lust
firmly walked by those who trust
breathed upon by warm desire
moments spent beside the fire
plotted out with marked restraint
fallen to by swoon and faint
gazed upon with starry eyes
muddy from heartbroken cries
baptized by a single tear
never trod by those who fear
timid, shy, reluctant feet
mindful of the stones we meet
stumbled on by reckless feet
softened where two lovers meet
blind to any right or wrong
lost within a lover’s song
blind to where the path will lead
lost to travel paths of need
Hope
I care not for the odds
Spoken by sooth sayer voices
They are blinded by statistics
For a seemingly sure concept
Though a bleakness dampens
Every fainting ray of light
There exist an unexplainable God
Characteristic of sensitivity
Endowed to man by birthright
To no other creature but he
In my bleakest hour
I dare not say
I do not believe
What I search for is an impossible concern
A thing so obscured
There seemingly just isn't a way
I trust not in mortal man
He does not grok the serverity of his own plight
For God my Father has just the plan
My wants are as heavy on my heart
As a weight to a drowning man
I can not save nor free a single sinner man
To heal the unhealable
Lame to walk again
To save the dieing
Breath to life again
I view both the rising and setting of sun
I walk in a light not viewed by temporal man
The wretchedness of worldly life
As I seek to do what is right
Infringed by fear of plotted death
What so ever to be my plight
Hope sustains when all reasonable efforts are tested
Hope- the belief in worldly impossibilities
Hope -the sweetest of God given characteristics
Hope -the strength to endure the unimaginable
Hope -the force of movement to that which would make still
Hope -the song for the heart when all instruments fail
Hope -the submission to death for there is life yet awaiting
Hope –the gift from God for our rejoicing
*** Awaiting Inspiration ***
(written for my brother and sister poets)
Reaching for dreams in the black of my closed eyes, but sleepless,
I go on in music, out past radiant lights —
Bright and brighter — spreading beams that hold back off every
Fright plotted by the cornered, infernal shadows threatening
To overwhelm as they amass over meadows bordering
The forested wilds’ protection of those — hidden therein.
Those, who, in their God-graced innocence, their divinely destined lives,
From infant cries to elder wise; and who will survive
Keeping in the depth of their beings a spirit of truth with
A visible valiance — seen upon a look deep into their eyes;
While —- in this place — in this secrecy thick with trees — I alone
Am ready with pen in hand...to be their mirror…
For I am a documentarian of the hopes held
In humanity’s array of feeling hearts:
Whose stories I note
In the bounce of continuous city din; in tales recounted by farm folk
Walking between their grain-growing rows; and told in chanted
Prayers rising for the ill, the poor, the despairing…needed and answered.
Thus, holding visions and voices, I persistently proceed with my work,
First, with a necessary pulling at these pliant walls
Of the creative cocoon — its soft, loose weave deceptively
Can seem easily penetrable. Possibly God will respond to these
Cries for his collaboration. Meanwhile, alone, awaiting inspiration, I stay
With crayons in hand, watching the approach of a very rare snowfall in May.
*****. ******. ******. *******. ******. *****
Inspired by Milton & Dante, may be Part i of a longer work.
Thanks be to God…
Also for Charlie and Jim with thanks.
11/21-28 (c)S. Young Eslinger
Through rolling vapor MISTS I spy, a sailing ship at sea,
And think, perhaps, the Captain’s lost, MYSTIFIED as to where he be-
For he had MISSED his plotted course, because he could not see,
And now was lost and AMIDST, with others just like he-
There was no sign of MISTING, leaving the harbor an hour before,
REMISS about the weather, didn't know a MIST was rolling to shore-
MYSTERIOUS murk surrounded his ship, as he looked to find some ground,
And MISTY eyed he did become, when a way home wasn’t found-
“MISSING BOATS in a MYSTICAL FOG", the newspaper headlines read,
And those who'd been 'board the “MYSTIC,” now reported dead-
Up in Colorado, in the forests of Pikes Peak
A cranky critters conference was held just this week
It was led by a mouse, 3 legs, whiskerless & without tail
"Against a common foe!" He said "We must Unite! We must prevail!"
He hobbled out to the edge of the woods & pointed toward a house
In that house, I once lived a good life, a young & healthy mouse
Then one day the rancher's wife decided she'd had enough
I will say she is a worthy adversary, Mercy she was tough!
He looked around at all the critters, weasel, skunk & squirrel
& said "I hate to admit it but I was bested by a girl!"
Its true, I escaped alive but she got her trophies, too
For I left my tail, paws & whiskers stuck there in her glue
The squirrel spoke up in a streetwise Brando voice
I'll accept the challenge! For this mission, I am the best choice!
I know this lady well, having enjoyed seeds & nuts out on her deck
I am not afraid of her & will show her we deserve respect
So the squirrel plotted & waited until the time was right
He saw his chance & took it while in the birds she took delight
He scampered up a pine tree & scurried out on to a branch
While she was distracted with a phone call & a pretty bird, he seized his chance
He took a flying leap, landing square on her blond head
Taking great delight in her squeals of surprise & dread
He then let loose with a torrent of the defecation sort
"That's for all the dead & walking wounded!" was his parting retort
The moral of this story, for one there must be
Is be mindful of avenging squirrels when you sit beneath a tree
We had a garden gnome named Griselda
the bane of our small bungalow
she was nasty and mean, at times quite obscene
the worst that you ever could know!
Her garden mate, Gregor, had feared her
but one day he mustered the nerve
with all of our backing, to send the girl packing
with cleverness, cunning and verve.
But she was vindictive by nature
and wouldn't let 'bygones' be gone
if it took all her years, she would stir up our fears
her plans were all plotted and drawn.
She waited 'til we'd quite forgotten
her villainous, vile, evil reign
then with fierce aggression, she took bold possession
of our lovely, dear, docile domain.
She poisoned the pansies and lilies
and shredded the sweet climbing vines
she disturbed my repose, when she broke the windows
with a shriek that sent chills up my spine.
She tore down my front porch swing
shattering the flowerpots and planters
mad wreckage in her wake, as she sought all to break
taking off to the back at a canter.
I squared off to defend my back garden
grabbed whatever I thought I might wield
at first, on my guard, as I entered the yard
I found she was hardly concealed...
And 'though she seemed alone in the garden
I soon found that I was mistaken
for, succinctly put- I was bound head to foot
and carried off, unhurt but shaken.
Griselda had built quite an army
it seems, in her time far away
for gremlins and trolls, from the caves to the knolls
were under her terrible sway.
They answered her orders directly
and smugly, she smiled and she smirked
a gleam in her eyes as she planned my demise
as her minions continued to work...
Heaving in stones from the quarry
they were piling them higher and higher
and my strength gave away as to my dismay
I saw they were building a pyre!
But Gregor'd escaped all their notice
as he'd hid 'neath the back garden shed
and despite his wee size, he would prove her demise
at his bellow, her company fled.
He used a cheap trick, an enchantment
that he bought from an old witch named Rue
and it seemed there were thousands (as far as the eye scanned)
of Gregors that came into view!
Her face was distorted with terror
and she promised that she'd stay away
and off like a blip- she jumped on a ship
and sailed to somewhere near Bombay.