Best Precision Poems
The Double Rhyme Sonnet is a sonnet that rhymes not only the end of the lines but also the front part (metrically)! Of course, I would be looking for imagery, good grammar, meter, etc.; however, the most important criterion is that it be written precisely with both end rhyme AND front line rhyme using the standard English sonnet rhyme pattern of ABAB CDCD EFEF GG and of course, using Iambic Pentameter; therefore, the rhyme on the front is on the stressed syllable (the second one) and NOT on the first syllable.
(My entry: A Double Rhymed Sonnet)
The starkness of my world now that he’s gone
pervades in all I see and hear and feel,
but darkness swallows all until the dawn
invades. Then what I’ve lost is made more real!
I yearn for Moon’s return - her tender light
to keep me soothed, for sunshine is my bane.
I burn with thoughts of him. I need, each night,
to sleep away my longings and the pain.
He left, and now he’s far away from me
across the globe. Oh, how I love him so!
Bereft am I, but he perhaps feels free!
My loss means where he is tonight shall glow
sweet Moon, caressing him - as once did I,
and soon, I’ll face the glare from morning’s sky!
For the "Enter Your Own Competition" Contest of Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
The Snowflakes Precision
What a cruel and un-compassionate fate you bequeath us
A million years of the mediocre and paltry garnish of faith and hope
Given for the consumption of these generations
How uninspired and habitually in denial
We have become
The lost worlds of dreaming
Left waiting
For better times and in a better place
Plied by consuming the majestic expectations
Of living
In the eternal wake of emptiness
What an unloving and unforgiving creation
We have come to exists within
Full to the brim
With uncompromising seconds
And not even in the grandeur of nature’s scenic beauty
Not in the snowflakes precision as it floats
No
Not unimagined complexity of form and chaos
No not even in a perfect chord
Does the merest or slightest of clues
Become existent or reverberate to us a voice
Which whispers to us of our truth
We are bereft of guidance
Untutored in this colossal magnitude and vacuum
Between the myriad stars
Tiny insignificant is this of our awareness
A planet a world
Part of an unending silence
So alone and so self absorbed
So material in the murderous evil
We have done to each other
So disunited in the dark reaches
So solitary
And yet we did not gather the family of man
No not even to look after of ourselves
Love is the ultimate and only real revolution.
For years I've hugged a dream
Not a very lady-like one
But then again
Who said, I am a lady?
Not me!
I want a pile of rustic junk
A few bicycles
A perambulator
A pile of wood
Nails plus aged string
So that I may finally set about
Creating
My favourite thing!
There is no need for long drawn
out plans
Blueprint, mentally stored
Dare I say?
Yes! I'm good with my hands
The item of my affection
My ultimate dream
Building a go-cart for deep
gradient
Screams
Of joy, exhilaration
Still on the back burner
But anticipation
With dogged OCD
Knowing myself and the core of
me
One day when I'm even older
than I already am
I'll relish the disassembling
Of one ancient pram
To create my most desired of
visions
A go-cart with side brakes
And steering precision
Bang! My lips turn down to frown
Windage and elevation, it didn’t feel right
Turning the turrets, two left and two down
Minute of angle accommodating my sights
Both eyes open and steady hands
Acquire the target and slow the heart
Breathe, and lets the bags of sand
Steady the path as the bullet departs
Still high and right, the target would say
Turn left and down adjustments are made
Bang, and another shot on the way
Near center circle, the lead had been laid
Now the world was leaving my vision
The target grew bright, in focus and clear
The shot required not a single decision
No hesitation or thinking, no doubt and no fear
And just for a moment, I was alone
No thoughts or distractions, no notice of the world
No intrusion for me, immersed in the zone
Laser precision about to be hurled
Bang, the shot rang clarity clear
Point of aim and impact are justified now
Slowly I come back to those who are near
They never knew I was gone anyhow
Maybe engrossment, or perhaps a trance
It’s hard to discern what is what
Just like the dancer is really the dance
I am the shooter - I am the shot
The Clock
dial bright-white
imposed with
bold-black numbers
scored sounding
repetitive
like 1-2, 1-2, 1-2
or
tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock
dial colors
contrasted
tick-tock sounds
perfect precision.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 16, 2018 (Imagism)
Ardor, not passion, when it comes to a profession
Alacrity, not zeal, when it's time for confession
HEARTBEAT PRECISION
A woven thread, not hasty, precision
of each honey-mannah dewdrop, in place.
Mercy extends soul’s heartbeat decision.
Of each honey-mannah dewdrop in place,
a restful haven in times of trouble,
a sweet bite of heaven - blessed embrace.
A restful haven in times of trouble,
manifest wings of Jesus open wide.
The master builder breaks down the rubble.
Manifest wings of Jesus open wide,
wondrous cathedral in shape of the cross.
A close-eyed prayer, a place where you can hide.
Wondrous cathedral in shape of the cross.
God’s embrace of time, sublimities grace.
Bright-sun resurrection dislodged the dross.
God’s embrace of time, sublimities grace.
The Ancient of Days’ roving eyes keeps pace.
8/30/2017
Terza Rima
Sans iambic meter
Raven on my shoulder, emitting faint smolder,
swirling, formed a vision with self-like precision.
TRADITION WITH PRECISION
A poem celebrating art and the artist…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ancient hands weave the threads of time
each brushstroke a heartbeat,
each hue a memory etched in silence.
brushes dip in pools of pigments,
the clay shimmers like the first light,
each stroke deliberate.
every whisk echoes the practiced grace of learned fingers,
as if the brush speaks a language long forgotten,
revealing stories layered in texture and hue.
in chambers of solemnity,
the old master gazes down,
his eyes a reflection of trials and triumphs,
his art is more than mere creation;
it is an inheritance, a sacred dialogue across ages,
a tapestry of tradition and precision.
Precision swearing they call it
A term that may sound absur
But it’s economical with the breath
And wastes not a single word,
It rolls smoothly from the tongue
Instantly relieving pain
And, in the case of mental turmoil
Relieves stress and strain.
Better for use in private
When one can really let rip,
Out in public one feels
One should really keep a grip.
No perverted back street cursing.
No random state of mind
No ranting and raving
Of the common peasant kind
A selection of eloquent phrases.
Not all of them in general use
All carefully, precisely chosen
To avoid any language abuse.
An unappreciated form of therapy
That is readily there to explore
A bout of precision cursing
Satisfying to the very core.
Throw away your tranquillisers
Throw away your happy pills
A bout of precision swearing can
Remedy so many common ills.
major decision
use poetic precision
with my permission
bishop suffragan
right hand person of bishop
who makes things happen
as well as abuse
an abortion may misuse
constantly confuse
must accept challenge
or by it may be consumed
right down to last once
God always with me
set free from futility
with humility
always be laid back
people should never pressure
let them have own way
be sure that you know
things became the way they are
never existed
when Holy Spirit
is in our very presence
we will be assured
has humility
when God had shown done on me
from sin was set free
up from dirt did peep
then our wheat slowly would creep
eaten by some sheep
had been some big gaps
causing building to collapse
result big mishapse
we were in search of
success that future had held
we were sure to find
we always did know
time much effort exerted
while we goal would seek
Jim Horn
Winning done by sinning will be gaining no meaning!
-
Anger appears to be stronger, but the rancor will linger fairly longer!
-
If you really want something, nothing must daunt you to think you can't!
-
In your mission, submission to rules must be given permission to realize the taken ambition!
-
Vast scope is there and so forget the past and do your duty fast to win glory at last!
-
Fear and each tear will cripple cheer to stop you from grabbing success my dear!
-
Sleep is damn cheap, but if you keep in mind deep worries, with you, on your bed, sleep won't leap!
-
Forget the past to get peace or else success can't be met, but in its place comes regret!
-
Kind words soothe the mind of mankind as in them precious treasure all find!
-
Peace will appease and please the soul if we bend our knees before God and increase prayers during our life-lease!
I watched the morning glow as the universe gets ready for the evening show, everything was in place and they were getting ready to run the big race, but time was on their side and on wisdom they had to rely, the birds were singing the trees were dancing, and the morning celebrates with a grin.
The people gather around from country, state, city, county and town to join the celebrations and gallivant around the town. They were dressed in fine linen adorn with golden trimming, hundreds of them descend on the stage to join the parade in costumes made from laces.
I have never seen anything like this before, everyone was on the dance floor. producers. directors and designers and the chorus and the actors were leaning together on the sides while the big band entertained everyone.
The crowd gets bigger and thicker, and the children began to scatter, moving from door to door and asking for more; trick or treater the sound kept repeating and the wind began to howl, some got their bags full, and others did all that they could, but some bags were half empty, and some children were unhappy.
The universe enters the town once more knocking on every door, but no one was around; all the houses were empty and bright lights shines majestically from every roof, the people could not understand that winter was creeping upon the land.
Chilly breeze flow through the trees telling everyone that winter was drawing near, and they had to prepare, but the people act as if they didn't care, they walk around, the street, greeting the people that they meet, adorn in fine costume, they move slowly to the rhythm vibrating in the town.
Some people came in late and could not find the place, they had to walk in a straight line until they reach the gate. Coordinate with the precision of time, and you don't have to join the line.
Little boys learn to fight using their tightened fists to throw a punch,
Throwing rocks, or tripping someone at lunch.
Little girls have a much more subtle and longer-lasting effect,
Using their words to leave bruises, using their words to gossip and mince and dissect.
Words, if used wrongly, can leave a scar - not on the body but on the mind,
Words, spoken harshly, you cannot un-do, you cannot unwind.
I ask that you reconsider how carefully you use your words, that you would think them through,
Because it really hurts when someone uses their words as a weapon on you.