Best Pointed Poems
The difference in saying you,
a great big unseen pointed finger, or we.
I didn’t know. Some figurines
wave while others scrutinize with wizened eyes.
The analytic panics, hairs raised by static.
The simple leans in to catch butterflies. One is cynical.
The other sensuous. One slaps your hand away.
One squeezes it. Personality
like the word itself broken in pieces, a flotilla.
In the storm the words like jigsaw waves.
In placidity, the sun’s too hot or doldrum’s ebb and flow.
We will make it!
Still, even in this exchange, coarse sand,
a castle with a moat. Your motives sought - there I go again
“Y O U R…”
Sisterly size-up. Am I trying to win? I didn’t know
we were preparing to arm wrestle. I’m unshaped,
neither the flat piece of a puzzle or linked.
The dreamy sky from the beach. Salt in the air,
eyes on the horizon, lap of the waves —
the same lift I feel when swinging high and higher.
The excitement of adventure, no one’s judging
my every word. I’m breathless…it’s breathtaking
when my feet float above the ground.
There I’m in the arms of love. There I point
and God answers with his digit reaching out, touching mine.
I am reborn by the finger of God.
We will make it!
12/19/2020
Categories:
pointed, god, imagery, perspective, sister,
Form:
Prose Poetry
My dear friend I keep you often in my mind
You guided me to my native path
Dancing with me through feilds of time
Where to an Elder I have talked at last
To find what might be my truer name
Though Red Pony I hold close as
She runs through my hearts flame
Red Pony flying through the fields of wheat
Painted hand prints on her cheeks
A warrior and lover who fights when true
Not a battle could be lost between I and you
Fox tails swish through thick forests trees
I peer through amber lenses and you peer back at me
Wado I speak into pointed ears
A wolf brother stands where a fox had appeared
Mingled tails meet as they greet one another
Waiting for the name to be spoken from an elder.
Categories:
pointed,
Form:
Free verse
Moses one of the great prophets
showing Christ as an even greater prophet
both sent by God to do His will (Ex 3: 1-12/ John 6: 57)
forever we are in their debt
Both born under remarkable circumstances( Ex 2: 1-16/ John 20: 30)
as well as under threat of death at birth (Ex 1: 15-22/Luke 1: 23-38)
God's hand destined to bless them
preserving them in all the earth
Mediators were they before God and man (Ex 20: 19-22/ 1Tim 2: 5)
reconciliation was their required aim
pointing all to Calvary's cross
where the prize redemption had came
Living foodless for a required time (Ex 34: 28/Matt 4: 2)
proving God to be their real sustainer
then provide food for the people (Ex 16: 2-22/John 6: 5-13)
show their authority to be a no-brainer
Teacher, Prophet, Lawgiver and King
(Deut 4:5)(Deut 18:15-19)( Ex 31: 28)(Deut 33: 5)
(Matt 5:12)(Deut 18: 15, 18)(John 1:17)(Matt 21:5)
just a few titles that they held
Moses to be sure a Prophet supreme
pointed to Christ the greater word did bring
Categories:
pointed, bible, jesus, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
With sadness and a deeply furrowed brow
I am apalled at the hate and wonder how
this world will somehow manage to survive
while bigotry and enmity eats humans alive
Lines are drawn between black and white
by those with penchants to bicker and fight
Words fly like feathers plucked over a nest
Blood seeps through the wounds in my chest
Humanity has fallen from grace and gone mad
Dark visions are of sorrow, my thoughts unclad
I've been stripped bare, left moaning deep sighs
Tears held in check behind my lamenting eyes
If you think you are innocent, you have no clue
You continue to accuse others until you turn blue
Point those scornful fingers at your sneering faces
Where anger and bitterness have left ugly traces
Earth is my sinful child but don't call me "mother"
Your wickedness and abuse causes me to smother
I pray with each mournful beat of my woeful heart
Seek the truth before you tear this sad world apart
Categories:
pointed, earth, grief,
Form:
Rhyme
Fingers are wrongly pointed in accusation
Assuming poems are written for intimidation
Voices raised in needless defense cry aloud
As they huddle and mutter among the crowd
Consider how your allegations must sound
As you toss foolish words and slurs all around
Don't defame those whose troubles you don't know
You've no reason to sow weeds where poets grow
Categories:
pointed, character, cinco de mayo,
Form:
Rhyme
Day in, and day out, from the ripe old age of five,
I’ve take to sharp objects and whittled at their sides.
Lancing pristine white paper with brazen blue veins,
it was quite impossible for me to abstain.
Day in, and day out, from the egg to the cane,
with old age beaconing and more of the same.
Lancings lingering images on pages of fading memories...
perhaps they're dreams these blue traceries,
As impossible as it seems, impossible, and often strained?
I wonder would it have been best for me to simply have abstained?
Categories:
pointed, introspection, age, old, age,
Form:
Couplet
A bibliographic oceanographic espionage is merely a tidal titan in a mesmerising swimsuit sipping tequila sunrise on a pool side sun lounger on a large eighty foot yacht. Tactless men who smear defecation in print are quite often timely reminders of the inportantance of inner self. Not an imports range. Nor a grangefield lodge. But a ehim of a wielding whisker in a wicker basket carrying a lot of water. Very safe isn't it? Catacomb no category cat. Nor catfish. For an exploding beef bomb is just not pleasant. Especially at sea. Always wavering when wielding. But also watching. So take no curly eyelashes yo a discordant discotheque for the apples are waiting for your call and the contour caress of an old anticipated fantasy adventure. So no I can't carry amy more then 87 thousand pickles I'm arrived. Topic shut. Starboard saving ships. Fry fish then with or without icing? Hahaha balancing a bingo hall on a head holding a gong. Hahah interesting. Hahaha justification z. P y q was reporting from land of hooverfield. Z
Categories:
pointed, baby, blessing,
Form:
They miss the point
with their pointed finger
as if the soul can be pointed at
and found out. True the finger
does not mean to injure,
but it is so very pointed.
Categories:
pointed, life, philosophy, social,
Form:
Free verse
Well bless your little pointed head
You catch me when I fall
And thanks for finding cushions
When I slam into a wall
You always know I'm somewhere
There's no buffalo to roam
I'm mapless and I'm clueless
But quite sure I'm close to home
So bless your little pointed head
You answer when I call
And help me dream I'm somewhere
When I'm nowhere after all
Categories:
pointed, friendshipme,
Form:
Rhyme
The left hands we carry,
that imitates so well what
we call ‘the right’
keep telling us
there is nothing to it,
because they can do it,
and eventually they will
correct whatever it was
that caused the problem
of not being able to cool down
with just an inch of water
lapping against our toes,
which persuasive hands
have told us was fixable
because reality isn’t fixed,
leading us to believe
that eventually water
might start flowing upwards
in the brilliant, magical lie
told to gravity,
who insists upon its planetary truth,
which leading left hands ignore,
while the passive ones
obediently disregard truth
as an issue because fact is
offensive in both its smell
and its gait, causing those that
insisted we needed a king,
insisted we needed
a list of what is wrong,
insisted that we choose
which bullet is more painful
than the other, to wear the
self-appointed title of
‘Judge,’ even though it was
never our decision to make,
because we are still
arguing with the ineffable
about which way
is up.
Categories:
pointed, judgement,
Form:
Prose Poetry
This vexing pencil in turgid fingers I gracelessly hold
Sorcerer's lead conjures up casuistic captions, fools' gold
My peripatetic purple pen winks at my commands
Dancing to a distant drummer on sun-scorched parchment sands
A cunning keyboard mocks me, in cast-iron briefcase locked
Contrarian bent, loaded for bear, at my Muse pointed and cocked
What with erasers missing and forever low on toner ink
It's a wonder the poetic process has not driven me to drink!
Categories:
pointed, poetry, satire,
Form:
Rhyme
Is the cruelest of all cancers ironies ?
Not that it is to be met
or end in death ?
Nor the suffering the disease itself
inflicts ?
On both the terminal and those left ?
But rather how it brings us together
than ever before ?
Unfortunately to late ?
And how the every day to day things we
once found a chore or mundane we
have since ironically learned to cherish ?
This poem is written in gratitude and
thanks to a comment posted by
J.A on what is really precious
and worth valuing in life
Categories:
pointed, slam,
Form:
Free verse
Point me a finger
And at least just consider
My desperate state
Point me a finger
Even though in disgust
And calm this little dust
Point me a finger
Even if the middle one
And I’ll make you the little one
Point me a finger
Even though in anger
And I’ll knock a little harder
Point me a finger
And rotate it with vigor
And I’ll grow a little bigger
But ignore me not
For I’ll grow no more
And become just a little knot!
Categories:
pointed, anxiety,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
steel pointed angel made of knives
epitome of juxtaposition
shiny, beautiful, glitzy, welcoming
also crass, sharp, frightening, dangerous
what mind thought to build her?
she shows both sides of every woman
scary really
Categories:
pointed, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
confused, confounded, comment caused considerable caustic chuckling
Categories:
pointed, funny,
Form:
Monoku