Best Pocketed Poems
Waft borderless borders;
within;
The dividing line that separates the free
and the slaves;
where strangers come and go
but the cage is never lifted.
Where sticks and stones travel farther,
and idle remains your soul possession;
pocketed,
dispossessed
and disenfranchised.
Standing frozen in the temporal sea,
while global earth spins yonder;
giving birth to a global movement;
devoid of you,
where the shining guards of globalism obstruct your path
and the cage is never lifted.
apartheid in an open prison,
borders without a border,
where freedom is ill defined
and internal struggle
links the spider web without a spider to keep it.
Categories:
pocketed, life, people, philosophy, places,
Form:
I am trying to find the backdoor
From this solitary room
The silence is oppressive
Shadows paint the walls with gloom.
The entrance stood wide open
I walked in feeling free
I was naïve and unsuspecting
When you pocketed the key.
I heard a loud jingle
As you sidled across the floor
Then you slipped through, to pull the latch
And boarded up the door.
You claimed to be a man of virtue
One of honour unsurpassed
But those keys that fill your pockets
Are not just tokens of your past.
My heart is held a prisoner
In this empty, lonely space
I wonder if this missing key
Is a bead on your necklace?
Categories:
pocketed, confusion, depression,
Form:
Couplet
Of yesterdays……I have pocketed plenty.
Of tomorrows, will I perchance, have any ?
Categories:
pocketed, life,
Form:
Epigram
(Inspired by the movie "the Rabbit Hole," starring Nicole Kidman as a
woman, along with her husband, dealing with the grief of losing a child.)
The weight of it becomes that of a stone;
once pocketed, it’s something you can bear.
This boulder on your shoulder now your own -
the weight of it becomes that of a stone.
Time goes. . . You won’t feel always so alone.
Although the pain is hidden, it's still there;
the weight of it becomes that of a stone!
Once pocketed, it’s something you can bear.
For Brian Strand's Contest of poems 2, 4, 6 or 8 lines long.
Categories:
pocketed, loss, recovery from...
Form:
Triolet
She knew they
were easy marks midst
her beguiling cunning
had it in spades,
they thought they had
the better hand,
stacked the deck in their wager,
til she bet them all
under the round table
with token trick
aces up her skirt,
they didn't realize
she had already gambled
her jacked-up savings,
this was merely a player's
penalty game of suits,
she'd never get beaten
nor shuffled again,
pocketed kill in dealer's turn of a card,
outmaneuvered the joker's clubs
broke the bank's seven-card studs
trumped the king,
walked away the Queen
decked out in diamonds
Categories:
pocketed, allegory, hyperbole, satire,
Form:
Carpe Diem
There was no brilliance
in the photo I took.
No inspired flash
as time's translucence
caught up with us...
Filtered past blinds,
early Sun's elegance
haloed her grey cloud curls,
soft blurred the lines
between past and presence
I said: "Just tilt your head
a little bit to the left..
Now where's that Smile?"
Captured she is.
In my heart's new album.
Pocketed providence.
With her Silver and Gold
" pennies for thoughts..."
In the photo she looks
like a shy child
aglow in the sunshine.
After a storm.
Posted: 7th November, 2019.
Dedicated to my Mum.
You've lived up to your names: Thelma Grace- "Willful, and Graceful..."
It might take some time for a daughter to realize how many positive " life lessons " she has learnt from the First Woman in her life.
I am grateful for your motherly mentorship. Never to be forgotten!
I love you with all my <3.
Categories:
pocketed, appreciation, daughter, mother,
Form:
Alliteration
Squeezing out a saturated rag.
Torn asunder, pieces of a heart.
Head, eyes, lips, arms — sore-sag.
I’d thought I’d known weeping.
I was only dreaming; nightmares
hidden in caves, silently creeping.
A mime’s hand, waving away his smile,
pocketed in eternity’s change purse.
“Geez,” muttered, as a flood beguiles.
Tempest, no longer outside home’s border.
It’s kicked in the door! Like a king it reigns,
stores up blankets and dust like a hoarder.
One who never kept account of compassion,
relentlessly unprotected, battered with emotion.
Comes crashing in - all sixty years of marital passion.
Still, I’m touched by such all-encompassing love.
The upside-down of Happily Ever-After, close to hell,
and yet, something’s birthed…he puts on a glove,
understanding the cruel depths, others have walked.
O those years upon years of deaf, dumb and blind.
The shadow of death, in his own backyard, chalked.
I’m touched by heart-wrenching mortar.
Silent is the grave of urned ashes —
a cheerleader of son and daughters.
Family forms a chain, squeezing of hands.
Scent of cordial roses in the squall.
Cross purposes - we’re no longer an island.
7/19/2021
Touch My Heart
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Hebrews 4:15-16 NIV: For we do not have a high priest (Jesus) who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses…Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.
*Just as Jesus sympathizes with us, so we sympathize with each other, as we gain knowledge about suffering and death.
Categories:
pocketed, grief,
Form:
Rhyme
In times of impending demise, you might see your life being replayed across your mind. Sometimes it’s in fast forward, sometimes in slow motion, sometimes both at once. Life flashes in random order, constantly cycling in and out like an out of control tilt-a-whirl at the county fair. You’d think that with all those moments stuck on a playback loop that one would walk away with perfect recall of all the events. Not true. You can remember things like the first time you pooped in your diaper and that piece of Bazooka Joe bubble gum you pocketed when you were ten years old. Every detail, no matter how small or insignificant will come flooding back. But what the heck just went down, draws a complete blank.
when death feels certain,
life flashes by in seconds—
don’t regret the show
Categories:
pocketed, death, life,
Form:
Haibun
January has pocketed frosted dreams
Firmly tucked away, hidden under her black ice
Her treacherous blizzards torment the foolhardy
Many driving too fast on her hills should know better
In a heavily prayer-scented car
A risk-taking older cigar-smoking woman twirls around on the ice
Finally landing with a splat, slamming into a steel embankment
Her days on earth over now
bitterer than any rejected suiter, the incredible storm picks up
The woman's Ford is covered in mounds of wet heavy snow
This is a desolate road, people do not see the wreck for hours
Nine One One is called, but it is too late.
This smoke has words that escape me actually
The EMT says, as he reaches the scene
I see no smoke, his unaware partner replies
Not seeing the haze that is taking the lady’s soul to heaven
Categories:
pocketed, car, death,
Form:
Prose Poetry
“Freedom Fall 8 and the Removal of Ray Bans”
The Dilettante Diaries: New Chapter
Sometimes it’s necessary
to
Lose
to
Win
Freedom Fall 8
Sans Rays
A new chapter.
Light, waves
and
dances
barefoot
with the
Soft gumshoes
Hustling to Win
with the
Gilded Morai
(Lovejoy-Burton/September 2018)
1. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eight-ball
Break:
One person is chosen by some predetermined method (e.g., coin toss, lag, or win or loss of previous game or match) to shoot first, using the cue ball to break the object-ball rack apart. In most leagues it is the breaker's opponent who racks the balls, but in some, players break their own racks. If the breaker fails to make a successful break—usually defined as at least four balls hitting cushions or an object ball being pocketed—then the opponent can opt either to play from the current position or to call for a re-rack and either re-break or have the original breaker repeat the break.
If the 8 ball is pocketed on the break then the breaker can choose either to re-spot the 8 ball and play from the current position or to re-rack and re-break; but if the cue ball is also pocketed on the break then the opponent is the one who has the choice: either to re-spot the 8 ball and shoot with ball-in-hand behind the head string, accepting the current position, or to re-break or have the breaker re-break.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1sDx8VDzB8
Categories:
pocketed, celebration, freedom, imagery, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
P.S.: Take Note
We are met again
at the crossroads of delusions
reminiscing failed choices
and broken promises;
here we stand once again
in the vanity of illusions
reflecting tainted truths
and old compromises.
Here they come again
dancing in our faces;
streaming confetti,
blinding revelations of lies,
pretending there’s no more parting
the river of races;
yet our children continue to be
swatted down like flies.
Many lessons have been taught—
few have been learned;
the new day that dawned
was a mere placation
to stall the drive and determination
of freedom yearned.
Little was it realized
that this was—is the same old nation.
Once again they’re at it—
making us the butt
of their everlasting joke;
stop, think—take a good look:
alls claiming
they’ve pocketed our vote!
P.S.: Take note!
Categories:
pocketed, allegory, analogy, conflict, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
Butti the tortoise from the zoo has flown the coop
Your brother Tutti misses you, you little poop
On you there is a large bounty
If found in El Paso County
Hope you don't end up as a bowl of turtle soup
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
This is based on a true story. Butti came up missing at the Colorado Springs
Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, 27 Mar 2011. He and his brother, Tutti, are Indian
Star tortoises. Suspicions are that some miscreant pocketed him and strolled
away since he was about the size of a grapefruit and weighed about a
pound. Coincidentally, a river otter named Kitchi, escaped from the same zoo
a few months ago and has never been found. If interested you can read the
saga of Kitchi in my poem of the same name. Will keep you posted!!
Categories:
pocketed, animals, funny
Form:
Limerick
spring stitched the horizon
budding with French knots of red
and jade and gold
the underpinning of branches
began to disappear
as the surface danced
with pointillism
kelly-green cuffed the lawn
daffodils were pocketed
in among the satin threads
of pine bark mulch
temperatures fluctuated
and though a layer of white snow
would still lace the collar of mother maples
it was merely winter’s last kiss
impossible, truly impossible it was
to dress for spring
First Published In Mused: The Belle On Line Literary Review Spring 2014
Categories:
pocketed, spring, daffodils,
Form:
Free verse
Technological age.
Advancement of advancement,
Digital acceleration unlimited.
Gifted and pocketed,
This watch,
Dull dark silver,
True and tested mechanic,
Short and sturdy chain,
Analogue accuracy.
It fits comfortably in my jeans pocket,
Ages alongside my creasing lines with wear marks,
Time isn't well kept with its adolescent sporadic tock,
Certain to be set to be kept at a minute ahead,
I am directed to watch this future unfold,
While it clings to my pocket lining and present time,
And the engravings pull me back to the past,
You told me not to let this time pass me by,
As you held me tight before you passed me by,
And I never kept very good time like this
Fresh watch that sticks close to my side,
I cannot say that you were lost,
For the path you had set was more set than stone,
No improper implication should be allowed,
The wallowing whispers that beg me every which way,
They told me to go away from the very place
That I had interest to stay and investigate,
The stars sway with no stationary complaint,
Our night sky that's not so city bright,
Contains a dim white plate in-between its phase,
Much like my pocket of space it hangs,
A witless glow behind the cloudy night.
I am no more than I was except for a simple realization,
To look back and find I am not the same as I was,
Commonly known as growing up and moving on,
But I know I'll be happy in just a few short years,
Just glad I am not the same as I am now.
Categories:
pocketed, loss, love, time, me,
Form:
Free verse
O’er this land I roam
Eternally through sorrow
Escaping thy ‘morrow
Seeking thine home
Pocketed tools, head hung low
Stones kicked roll swift
They flee thee as on I go, bereft
Woeful and yes full brimmed regret
Tears nay neither sweat nor dew
I would shed existence for you
Categories:
pocketed, depression, girlfriend-boyfriend, loss, lost
Form:
Rhyme