Best Qualifying Poems
Poetry Soup
It's imagery, movement, rhythm, and rhyme,
Composition of words that baffles the mind;
Art woven meticulously, lines by design,
Pleasing the senses soothes like fine wine.
It's calmness, excitement, free flowing words,
With qualifying beauty like the Peacock bird;
Musical interludes that rises and fall,
Like the waves against an ocean wall.
It’s a hodgepodge of homemade colloquialism,
That challenges our thoughts through aerobic athleticism;
On occasion, darkness sprinkles the pages,
Spoon fed mixture absorbed in small stages.
Poetry Soup, food for the soul,
A deliverance of warmth through written scrolls!
Written : © 11/12/15
Submitted for: Your Absolute Best II CONTEST
Sponsored by: The Seeker
haiku olympics
i bench press
my pencil
courtesy of management in general
and particularly Jackie Geiger
assistant property agent.
One benefit living social
at Highland Manor Apartments
until decrepit and bent...
constitutes qualifying for reimbursement
direct deposited into checking
as chump change event,
hence one generic grateful gent
feels self satisfied as Clark Kent.
After broken wing and prayer
granted courtesy The Flying Tigers
at long last located valuable information
issued December of each year
surprisingly enough exactly where
social security (2021) 1099 form
remained untouched, I swear,
yet earlier yesterday April 5th, 2022
at 1500 hours though very near,
and finally located necessary documentation
(think rental rebate) here
with unexpected discovery
birthed following poem aware
many if not all avid readers
will not care, nor give rat's a$$
regarding humdrum minor dilemma
involving one bonafide
*****sapiens merely
bruising himself – common Joe
garden variety generic biomass,
nonetheless, he fetes, lauds, tauts...
rental rebate tantamount
approximating financial reimbursement
without being unduly crass.
Thus reasonable rhyme
yours truly doth aire
without stut... stut...
stuttering, yet no guarantee
wordsworth their weight
in gold will ring clear
more likely receive
frosty reception everywhere
across world wide web,
perhaps with unwelcome glare,
yet profuse apology
if man with wit - me,
(i.e. Whitman) didst unwittingly interfere
with unwanted distraction
courtesy bobbing square
pants donned sponge
soaking up precious time (yours)
foolish longfellow rushing in where
one capricorn long since wed
not nsync, but alone,
cuz angels fear to tread
"quod erat demonstrandum"
forgotten Latin accessed
at least once year
when yours truly crafts poetry
more familiarly recognized as Q.E.D.
(shares close pronunciation
with ska quid word)
ditch costs extra nay saying
horse sense according to Ned,
whoop sorry, I meant mister Ed.
Patriots we are
Ashen through war
To a more promising today.
Ruminant mammals as warlords
Insinuates the future of glory to come.
Open to emigration from across waters
Today is our day
Significant to determine a stronger unity.
People of the United States of America
Educate your minds innately.
Our focus is for greatness in a better way.
Plausibility is our qualifying state.
Love, peace, and harmony are what we search for nowadays.
Equanimity is our religious situation.
P eople of unity
A ssemble as one
T o form a greater purpose.
R ebels for a cause
I s not a threat to others
O nly a stronger walk.
T his is our country.
I deals are now.
C ome patriotisms unto the clouds to celebrate.
P arade so grandiose
E njoyed by all
O stentatious vainglorious
P raise triumphant
L ong live the USA.
E nvision events that fulfills our people and our states.
________________________|
PENNED ON JUNE 30, 2014!
MOUNTAINSIDE
Always, there would be darkness hovering through-
out the bushes and trees, massive sky and earthen ground
he tiptoed upon in shoeless stealth, machine gun slung
over one shoulder and, strapped across the other,
a leather pouch holding coded messages he delivered
encampment to encampment, their locations razor-sharp
in his 11 year old brain, in a body tall enough to be
mistaken for older. Tall enough to be made a Partisan —
a courier, and down the road, likely qualifying as
a full-blown saboteur targeting Germans and the war
machinery they were transporting through Yugoslavia’s
Mosor mountain villages.
(German soldiers, who, if they’d caught him, a Jew,
& partisan, to boot, would surely have beaten him
to death extracting every bit of information they could.)
Upon each return to his farmhouse refuge, the
communications he’d been charged with having been
delivered hours before and miles away,
the fear he’d braved began melting away. And,
in the moments it took him to hang up his courier bag
and machine gun, he felt ready for the evening meal
of pit-roasted mutton and stone-ground bread
washed down with goat’s milk. Then, a foot soak
(weekly, a full-body scrub), followed by deep sleep,
in a basement below a trap door — a peasant woman’s
woven blankets softening the wooden floor boards
and his heart. And when that heart rejoiced with freedom
in ’45, at 13 years old, is truly when he understood why
he detested the taste of lamb, no matter how gourmet
the preparation offered the boy he once was —
the boy who’d put meat back on his bones in Brooklyn,
and the gastronome he’s become — a content 82 year old
grateful for his hero Tito and the fact that he’s managed
to keep his Hitler-torn past safely locked away
in a tight-lipped box, he rarely chooses to open.
I am...
a lamb of the Good Shepherd; seeking to love and follow him more faithfully
the husband of my college sweetheart; with her, I hold a winning lottery ticket
a family man; seeking to make my clan a place to thrive, a safe haven for all
a hard worker; seeking to pour heart, soul, strength and mind into each task
an empathetic friend; seeking to acknowledge pain and help you find your way
a waistwatcher; seeking that enigmatic perfect ratio of flavor to calorie count
an aficionado of nature's beauty; seeking moon rises, waterfalls, and sunsets
a trail maven; seeking to conquer unattained summits and enjoy unseen vistas
a pedal pusher; seeking to luxuriate in the great outdoors by cycling through it
a careful arranger of words; seeking to write poetry qualifying as transcendent
a student of the arts; seeking to divine their secrets and know myself better
a creator of music; seeking to be a blessing, mindful of those far more talented
a lover of humor; seeking to laugh at myself, and 'dish' with a wink and smile
a player of games; seeking camaraderie over a win, fellowship over high score
a solver of puzzles; seeking to use math and science to comprehend my world
a connoisseur of the fine wine of baseball; seeking that elusive championship
a perceiver; seeking to heal with a compassionate ear and encouraging word
.....
I am blessed and grateful to be alive and loved by such wonderful people
I am a zoo of many animals; come by some time and find one you like!
Four dimensions, yet three in one,
Location, space and time,
X Y location, space around, and in time,
We don’t consider an X as without a Y really.
So quantum mechanics stand to floor,
The claim of the atom’s indivisibility,
Because there’s always the atom’s nucleus to consider,
For qualifying it to be the smallest thing we know on earth.
What’s time’s beginning is made of?
Can be minuscule,
That subtle ignition of structure,
Which formed life’s foundations,
Set joy and inclination,
That lit truth’s mandate to do the right.
I was in hell when I was young,
But time was a friend,
Let me speak even when I couldn’t form;
Credibility is on time’s side by time’s identity,
As time’s the only form that can claim credibility,
Without having acted or done, functioned,
Only having been, only having presumed
Because credibility is the essence of that configuration:
That’s why you need to be a friend of time,
Because time’s credible without you,
And time will give you life,
Time will not demand respect.
I have not changed my view of time,
With ages, triumphs and tragedies,
But time has changed its face to me:
More friendly, more gracious,
More amorous.
But I needed people on my side more,
More trust surrounding my disability,
Sociology was not once nice to me,
When time was on my doorstep.
However, I could say it was my fault,
More determination would’ve sufficed,
More belief in two of us, not individuality,
And more trust in asking emotionally,
About anything, the physical.
Time is truly physical, when it’s analysed,
Because physicists inquire into it resolutely,
And so I will always have that friend,
Which I made as a child of recondite contortion.
Spectacles of perceptions.
Yes, exactly in fact.
I'm quite skeptical.
Even if there exist recollections, seems
As if there were a mirage you see in an oasis.
But a mirage is NOTHING but an HALLUCINATION
IN THE SANDS.
YOU SEE life here does EXIST or do we only IMAGINE
OUR selves as living BEINGS.
Well, me? I'm only exactly a perceptive being.
AS WE ALL ARE TO SOME DEGREE.
It's my percept that we do EXIST, PLAINLY,
Plausible we do this eventually to persist.
Representing the human race.
With this REPRESENTATION comes amazement
With the ideation of how FAR WE HAVE COME.
This is SENSATIONAL QUESTIONING.
Do we truly exist as we think, we ponder and
Replicate? Then amuse one another with QUIZZICAL AND
Qualifying discoveries. So let's rethink this. We claim to
Be human BEINGS.
WITH QUESTIONING EXPLANATIONS about our own
Existence and tendencies.
We need to feel we need to breathe, simply. We need to
Breed. We have stolen natural substances to be deciphered
In LABORATORIES. as if we're thinking we have this GOD
Given AUTHORITY and we are who we are. We are worthy
To conduct such trials. We are worthy, with CUNNING
SMILES.
We are worthy BUT..... we are specks in the GALAXIES AND
BENEATH THE MICROSCOPES OF GODS.
Along the urban stream at the end
of a perfect Saturday,
I sit and watch the sun go down.
I watch below me as a father and
his young son pick their way gingerly
along the rocks of a still fast flowing stream.
They are looking for treasures
brought downstream by the previous week's storms.
The father, tall, thin, and balding,
hair the red side of blond helps
the red haired son negotiate the rocks.
They are striking in the setting sun.
The father periodically points out some
hidden find in some rocky notch
or crevice.
I am thinking who could frame
such an idyllic theme in our present era,
or even care to?
It is a Norman Rockwell cover!
No one comparable or even close
in todays garish din.
He could stop a moment,
and celebrate ordinary folks
without sarcasm,
no qualifying mote,
no sugary note.
A cool breeze kicks up as the earth cools
and my dog and I leave the scene and
race the fading sunlight
home.
Each step reverberates...
There are no Norman Rockwell covers.
There are no Norman Rockwell covers.
I Asked Myself A Rhetorical Question...
Asper daily expounding fostering
inchoate manifesting mod
er writ writing quality,
solitary scrimmage tackling
undertaking, yielding whir
ring, sputtering, kickstarting, and
buzz-feeding at competitive, communal
crowed did metaphorical trough,
where household named author's
top New York Times best seller
tier, overshadowing under
rated genre bending, breakout aspiring,
story board qualifying,
opportunistic newbie man
use script artful dodgers
mere dust collecting drafts,
anticipating to stir infectious interest
incumbent - at mercy,
tripwire activating quint
essential key, which anchors print
ting projected uncertain
popularity first edition,
awakening, guiding, nosing
asymptote analogy steering
reader toward nascent
scribe, where paper
back writer wannabe,
toils away incorporating subtle
(hook, line and sinker) techniques,
(albeit apropos literary
ploys, a true test tum ment,
viz sophisticated gambits
to massage late tint
prestidigitation abra ca dab rah,
sine non qua cogent
see kant, and tangent triggers
modest mien fortified, exemplified,
and downplayed akin
to unassuming Clark Kent
in his cape ably nonchalant
transformation into superman,
and/or more pointedly,
some original heft leant
to set apart striking
poignant implement
exhibited by aspiring
writer daily revising,
albeit gal or gent
his/her uniquely obscure
trademark, but
eventually keen agent
assays non-boastful writing style
im prim mature print,
sans unassuming swiftly tailored
harried style seduces seek
curing sincere overnight reverent,
well deserved kudos
comically marveling
at thee most im portent
salient strengths, per
hops hue moored opulent
quality instigates
affinity toward nascent,
bar riddle be, bill leading,
bud ding scrivener,
not necessary alluding
to a hypothetical outlier
thus, any similarity between the
above statement and
a living person perchance named
Matthew Scott Harris
purely coincidental.
All Beauty Calls Delight. Every Freeman Grows Heavenward Inspiring Justice, Keeping Lilliputian Mentalities Natal, Ordering Procreation, Qualifying Rare Synthesises Toward Universal Visitations, Wandering Xanadu, Yearning…. Zion.
Thank you for creating me - and bestowing me with life.
Thank you for what I've learned - from struggles and strife.
Thank you for my health - and a phenoniminal family!
Thank you for my moral compass - and my true Spirituality!
Thank you for the food I have - and a wonderful home.
Thank you for my friends - from them not to roam.
Thank you for my furry family members - who give me unconditional love!
Thank you for sending them to me - from your home up above!
Thank you for all the knowledge - that you have given me.
Thank you for strong legs - criminals for to flee.
Thank you for all the little things - that most people cast aside.
Thank you for the ability to choose - just being able to decide.
Thank you for the Moon and Stars - when falls the night.
Thank you for guiding me - on the path that leads to right!
Thank you for the Sun and Sky - when we reach another day.
Thank you for your courage - to face what comes us may!
Footnote: A very Special Thank You goes to all the people that give me encouragement and support in my poetry endeavors, all those who read my poems and who give such uplifting comments. To all these people - past, present, and future: My Sincerest and Humblest - THANK YOU!!! :)
Footnote #2: Thanksgiving is about showing or giving thanks for all that you are blessed with so I deemed this poem as qualifying for your contest.
Morning comes with a smack around the ear hole
Shaking me to the foundations of my sole
The morning meeting at 9 am
Is like the sound of a bell sent up from hell
As all parties take their seats
Competing as if they were in the Olympic qualifying heats
Musical chairs would be perhaps a better description
But at least half of the attendees would not understand the diction
The chairman calls for attention, we are about to begin
And pray to the Holy Father above to please forgive our sins
As we are about to enter into a fierce debate
As a result of these discussions we will open up the floodgate
I will not be held back in my opinions!
But they are valued the same as a one pound bag of onions
I hear what the other attendees say
And watch them scream to try and get their way
But I am just a no-one
A wanderer amongst the cow dung
The lowest of low
And to be honest, it show’s
That I don’t like going to the 9 am meeting
I would rather be sat by desk eating.
(Note: This poem was written shortly after the 2022 Olympics and after Richard Branson and Jeff Bezos rode their rockets in a new space race for billionaires.)
Races
By Mark D. Stucky
Our country had a Space race
to beat Russians to the moon.
Decades ago, we left lunar footprints
and brought back rocks and selfies.
Rival billionaires build rockets now
for suborbital joyrides above.
We periodically join Olympic races
to go fractionally faster than others
for prestige and multi-metal medals.
Hosting countries spend billions
to applaud athletic bodies.
But for all that cash and hype,
we get no cure-for-cancer hope,
but viral spread and doping.
Our world needs better races
toward things that truly matter.
We require a Race race
to travel much faster
toward equity and healing
than ever gone before.
While we wish for a quick sprint,
a marathon is what we’re running.
Ending slavery long ago,
this race’s qualifying heat,
was just one stride
beyond the starting line.
Jim Crow still taints the track.
Systems still are prejudicial.
Supremacists still conspire.
Voting rights still are suppressed.
Vigilantes still chase and shoot.
Police still harm the unarmed.
This crucial marathon
has many miles to go,
but if we struggle to the end,
contenders might all be winners.
(Originally published in Small Town Anthology VIII: Entries from the Eighth Annual Tournament of Writers, Vicksburg Cultural Arts Center, 2022. See also my poems "Closed Community Prejudice (an Alphabetized Memoir)," "Weapons of Wonder," and "Hate Vacuuming?")
(Image by Braden Collum on Unsplash.com.)
Eclectic
Be mindful of the Logical Fallacies.
When enlisting proxy's honor yourself and qualify them.
If you ask direct questions respond in kind.
Qualifying ones self as obtuse will not excuse duplicity.
Choosing doesn't preclude choice.
Those who speak of omissions have omitted.
Don't speak if you don't want your words spoken.
Don't write if you don't want your words read.
When you ask for privacy expect an audience.
If you sue for peace expect war.
When you strive for humility it may be construed as vanity.
Suffer not bigotry even from within ones own.
Hate brings vengeance invest in neither.
Have faith in your convictions and speak them plainly.
Do not emulate that which you abhor.
The wisdom of the crowd isn't always wise...
© veritatem voluntatem 2016