Best Pointing Poems
POINTING TO THE PROBLEMS
{Bivouacs}
Beat down with legal fees
Tied up with taxes;
Tripped up with mortgages;
Ripped off with student loans
Insulted with insurance
Telephone updates.
Out of date opts,
New upgrade rates;
Food on the down-low
Carrots in the closet;
Conjugating with fake rice.
Plastic cabbage, inedible corn.
Tomatoes with fish dung
Water with lead, flatulent cows
Polluting the air.
Carbon emission:
Beyond the stratosphere:
Halliburton and agent orange.
Nuclear explosion -radiation;
Devastating the atmosphere.
I can’t explain, with no
nutrients to the brain.
No minerals to the lungs n heart.
Contaminated nation;
Sheer contamination.
Is it too late, to rise above the hate?
Tired n Devastated, tried elevation.
Tried to immunize, and fine tune
My body to this new moon.
With herbs n mushrooms.
Sun Hot, Global Scorching...
Illuminati wants hearts,
and good body parts.
Neanderthals,running back to their caves
Underground bunkers, where they’ll be safe…
Americans dangling off bridges with knapsacks;
Flimsy structures and Bivouacs
No air, no food, no heat,
Not even water safe to drink.
Like Dinosaurs and bees, fast becoming extinct.
I can’t even think, with no nutrients to the brain.
No minerals to fortify lungs n heart.
Contaminated nation,
Sheer contamination.
With nowhere to run;
What do you think should be done?
Categories:
pointing, earth day, emotions, fish,
Form:
Free verse
Never speak ill of others,
No matter what they do,
For I can guarantee my friend,
It'll come right back to you.
Don't repeat the things you hear,
If it could hurt another.
Things like that have ruined lives,
Set brother against brother.
The things you do, the things you say,
Always come back to taunt you.
The past can be a witch my friend,
When it returns to haunt you.
Whatever you cast to the wind,
Gets blown back in your face.
Remember that the next time you,
Put someone in their place.
Be big enough just to admit,
The faults that are your own.
Don't put the blame on someone else.
In time it will come home.
Mind your manners and your mouth.
Remember these words well;
And keep your eyes upon The Lord.
Most gossip's made in Hell.
Do unto others, says The Word,
As you'd have them do to you.
That way it don't hurt so much,
When pay back does ensue.
Categories:
pointing, inspirational,
Form:
Quatrain
Sitting by the window of a moving train..
Feeling alone
She ponders..
As to why it must be..
Pointing fingers..
How can one know another..
He explodes in a massive fury..
Insinuating negativity..
Demands..
Insults..
Behaving as the judge and jury..
Judgmental accusations..
Harsh poisonous words..
Pointing fingers..
She had become an open wound..
Hurting immensely..
She had become a target..
A bullseye caused by his delusions of her character..
She stares deeply out the window..
Train moving rapidly..
Beautiful scenic views of landscapes..
On a warm spring day..
took her breath away..
Splendid visions..
Pointing fingers..
She feels alone
Pain..
Misjudged by another..
A victim of his delusions..
All..
While embracing magnificent scenic views ..
A stunning picture perfect scenery..
She melts into the moment..
She delves into the magnificence..
Captivated..
Becoming..
Being..
Suddenly ..
Only that moment in time existed..
There was nothing else..
Pointing fingers had vanished..
Melted away..
No longer existed..
Now she sits by the window of a moving train..
A warm lovely smile..
Glowing beautifully..
Natural beauty does indeed dominate..
Categories:
pointing, conflict, emotions, judgement, life,
Form:
Free verse
Pointing back
From where I sit,
this crowded street of frowning faces and lying eyes
meander past the mom and pop facades with kids in tow…
tethered by their wants
and constant whining
now glaring at me as if,
I am the problem
I wave them off in my best oceanic gesture,
casting salty aspirations to the ground around my feet…
all the while keeping my fitted
thoughts to myself
For opposite this asphalt divider
of pot holes and swept debris
she sits, twisting her chocolate hair around her finger,
staring at the clock, waiting
Wearing her favorite dress,
glistening crimson nail and lip paint
The violent sun finds my shoulders
scattering grey clouds
between the concrete and neon
folded on the structure facing my perch
A single drop of sweat rolls down my cheek,
on this day more will come
Mixed, blended, hidden or defined
by tears held back, losing the battle
I take in the second story window,
shade slightly drawn and I imagine her
Jumping excitedly at the knock,
a quick mirrored touch up and fanciful bounces,
as smiles lead her to
his rugged features and fat wallet
The engine idles, I can smell the fumes
dancing across my nostrils, sickened
Floating the steps, (they) she looks happy, then at me
her head drops, sad or thankful, probably
Engine revs, my eyes fill
as thunderstorms erupt on my face, (they) she disappears
My heart near death, beating slow
it reels on this day,
while others, in their mindless pandering
and nose followed directions, stare and point
I spit, reaching our heart encased initials
carved in the stained and tiring sidewalk
My chest throbs, legs weak and nonexistent,
transparent of hurt and glass filtered wishes
Pointing back at those who would judge, I shout…
Yes, I am the problem!
Categories:
pointing, lost love, sad,
Form:
Free verse
You are one of the reasons
Why they inflate their quote
If you had seized the seasons
Good men could have had your vote
You are one of the reasons
Why our sweet land has gone sour in waste
Here is one of your multiple treasons
You aid corruption just to suit your taste
You are one of the reasons we wedge weighty wrath
Bombs daily detonate like fickle fireworks far north
You decided to do nothing but shut your mouth
So they took our weary sail south
You are one of the reasons the land is inflicted with rape
Overflowing in abundance yet you mong like a greedy ape
Alas our land is grey and old but not due
And it hurts me to know that I am also you.
Categories:
pointing, black african american, caregiving,
Form:
Concrete
Blame game players sigh and lamely cry,
“Not my fault” each time plans go awry.
Date: November 15, 2020
entered in Brian Strand's Du-O Your Two-Line Poetry Contest HM
Date: September 23, 2021
Contest: Your Best Rhyming Couplet
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
January 20, 2022
entered in the Bite Size Poems #33 Contest placed 2nd
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Categories:
pointing, character,
Form:
Couplet
It is true
That my unbalanced 'ying-yang'
exposed me to evil.
That I embraced darkness
instead of the awaiting light
That I chose the garment of stains
instead of the plain, spotless apparel.
And none of these
is done in error, but deliberately
and with adequate awareness.
But
I held on to a rock
before completely falling down the mountain
and screamed for help
before completely drowned in the sea.
The danger sign wasn't ambiguous
and I had a U-turn
before reaching dead end.
It was just once
that the deed is done
and the confession of my lips
proves to be the last of such
an atrocity.
Oh
Why has the testament
of others shown otherwise?
Why has my one mistake
created so many advocates?
Why has accusing fingers
go hand in hand with my first name?
Why has the same sin
permanently claim me in friendship,
and subsequent offenders
hide under its lordship?
Why am I now the goat
in the midst of a flock of sheep?
Why has the constant reminder
of my misdeed; they forever worship?
Why has one slumber
bound me in ownership?
Why do I have to earn
the bitter scholarship of misjudgments?
See me now!
Justice is exchanged for sentiments
and assumptions
mistaken for truths.
Causing the upholders of morality
not caring about important alerts
as they point all the guns at me
while the actual target
transgresses right in their behind..
Categories:
pointing, community, conflict, culture, depression,
Form:
Epic
Let me show you the perimeter first Diamond with cool edges like water
Upon the shroudless sunshine of thirst That is the constellation he was after
Four well clad figures on the perimeter And a single soul back in the middle
Women all tha their provisions straddle Big broad bankras holding ends and center
Of the national pride of work, waiting On the morning bus to come, a new day
Away from the green canefields looking
In sweet wonder on history's fading May
But what holds my eye with still wonder
Is two women who never will surrender
The dread weight upon their head, like
A finger pointing at Christ on his pike.
Explanation: a bankra is a large Jamaican market basket
(b St Mary, 1923; d Kingston, 1975). Jamaican painter. He studied painting at the Art
Students League, New York, at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, Paris, and at the Instituto Nacional
de Bellas Artes in Mexico. He returned to Jamaica in 1953, where he quickly established
himself as a major avant-garde figure, challenging the sedate homespun realism of
Jamaican artists such as Albert Huie and David Pottinger with vivid Expressionistic canvases.
Karl Parboosingh's "Jamaican Interlude, 1958" The work is aptly titled "Jamaican Interlude"
since, in it we see that quiet pause between two acts, as five figures obviously wait at the
roadside , maybe for a country bus to carry them to the weekly drama and hustle and bustle
of Saturday market. The five figures comprise four females and a youth, all depicted in the
same white garb. They are placed against the backdrop of the Jamaican landscape, a blue,
cloud-filled sky, lush vegetation, the hint of a cane crop, in the stillness of glaring sunlight,
waiting with their produce-laden bankras
Categories:
pointing, political
Form:
Ekphrasis
What would you expect to accomplish here?
In this house these people are incapable of feeling.
Indulging in eternity inside their frozen frameworks.
They began to grow suspicious as our mouths burn like acid with
Every word we wish we could utter.
If the tape were gone, who would believe this unspoken chaos?
The answer settles on the back of my tongue as
Your pulling at the skirt of serenity.
You'll touch me with your thoughts and never with your hands.
I could breathe a thousand seas for this and this alone.
In a dreaming state,
Our mouths burn with something other than confinement.
In a dreaming state,
We sit and watch the waning moon.
In a dreaming state,
Our thoughts will escalate to any
Action of our own five senses.
But in this bitter sea,
We'll spend our days plummeting down these aimless rabbit holes
With the freedom of choice in a predetermined world.
Categories:
pointing, angst, lost love, love,
Form:
Free verse
total fiction
I heard the words repeated on the news
so sick of them that my mind rebelled...
"Doge's plan and Trump commands
the Constitution should be banned.
Hell to that Chief! There's no relief
Breaking news only heightened the blues.
I don't want to hear anymore.
By seven P.M. I lost count of the trips
I'd made, walking fast, past my kitchen,
refusing to turn on the light to see
a day's worth of dirty dishes
that wish I'd make them sparkling clean.
They're staring with a look of contempt at me.
I knew what I'd find...
coffee grinds stuck to the filter
Raisin bran flakes
caked along the edge of a bowl
a saucer with a bunch of crusts
cut off of a sandwich from lunch.
I'll get to them later....
The excuse I used on myself
when the sink is a refuse of clutter.
I've become a recluse
and no one will see them anyway
and the old cliché of...
Tomorrow's another day.
By eight thirty I was bored
a time when food comes to mind
Hunger would not be ignored
A frozen dinner of mac and cheese
"Geeze" said my stomach
when it saw it coming...
"Oh PLEASE, don't do this to me"
Ok, ok...
chocolate ice cream
sounds better anyway
By ten, guilt pointed accusing fingers
lingering and wagging before my face.
Stop it!" I actually said aloud
"I'll get to them later,
first thing in the morning. You'll see."
My new mantra was repeated.
I decided to go to bed. My usual stunt,
but culpability was on the hunt
haunting and taunting inside my head
Two steps over the kitchen threshold
and my conscience took control
when I smelled the leftover fish.
The thought of facing each greasy dish
would not be on my to-do list come morning.
I knew my mouth was puckered in a pout
No doubt my yawns were angry at me
and my sudden notion of conviction...
a vow of benediction, it seems I'd taken
awakened me to the need for sanitation.
Liquid was pouring from two spouts
Hot water in the sink
and a 'clink' of glass on glass
Pinot Noir flowed from a decanter
I raised my stem and toasted the dishes
"Here's to wishes that don't come true."
Categories:
pointing, humor,
Form:
Free verse
Categories:
pointing, rude,
Form:
Rhyme
Finger, like so many, aims at me
and then at something else.
Finger is a small yet significant creature.
Finger's addressing me by pointing,
pointing to me, saying,
saying without speaking.
Finger sports a nail that may hold the significance
of that creature, that digit: brown-ended with soil
or brightened with soap on a bright-cleaning brush.
One or the other (as they say).
Finger will point up or down or way across
at me, at you, at her, at him, at it.
Finger may dip its eager end into cream or candy
and move swiftly to eager lips,
be licked, sucked on, causing eyes to brighten and smile.
Finger may point a mile
up the lane or down the road,
up to heaven or down to hell.
Ah, finger, you can be friend or foe (as they say),
or something between those two
with or without significance of expression.
(May 2022)
Categories:
pointing, candy, sometimes, sound,
Form:
Free verse
I don't point
I don't cast blame
With a log in my eye
As brothers are the same
A hypocrite I'd be giving flak
Care to let your judgement linger
As three of your fingers will point back
See now you know when you point a finger
Categories:
pointing, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Every where I look out,
Trees-
Branches pointing V,
Reminding me to win!
Categories:
pointing, identity, imagery, teacher,
Form:
Light Verse
When you point a finger
There's three that's pointing back.
I was taught as a nipper,and I have learnt just that
To stand and judge another, you must be squeaky clean
And even then,who put you on a pedastool to be my king or Queen.
As to err is human,but to forgive sublime
And I have to live with my actions,its not your life its mine.
Until you've walked another's shoes,
how can you say which path you'd choose.
I try to treat others the best that I can,
can't be doing with judges ,they're against natures plan.
As with the laws of chaos,there's a very fine line,
Between love and hate,good and bad,sunlight and moonshine.
I have to take, whatever I have coming,
to forgive myself first,its about mindful knowing.
I do know people judge, when they feel guilt themselves,
cause its easier to point at others,then breaking down their own shells.
So if you've got a problem, come out and say it straight.
To hold inside and fester,will only create hate.
Then when its laid before us, we can work it out,
sometimes we gotta cry, laugh ,talk and shout.
Then we can leave the judges,to stand in their great courts,
to wear their robes and silly wigs, and treat their lowers worse than pigs.
And I'll answer to the goddess,and her crazy plan,
and I'll carry on being, exactly who I am.
Categories:
pointing, emotions,
Form:
Free verse