Best Readable Poems
You left without saying goodbye
and now I'll never know what it was like,
to have you teach me, eye to eye.
You left without saying goodbye.
Now who will show me how to ride a bike
or chide me when I tell a lie?
You left without saying goodbye
and now I'll never know what it was like.
NOTE: Fictional.
Yet again, another old poem, but have some newer ones in the back-burner. There are so many things to write about, if only one is in the mood and state of mind to organize those thoughts into something tangible and readable.
Categories:
readable, blue, childhood, dad, father
Form:
Triolet
The mickey mouse instructions were many,
Trying to figure tax to the penny.
From the very beginning,
My clueless head was spinning.
'Twas as readable as Kazakstani!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
"The hardest thing in the world to understand is the income tax!" Albert Einstein
Entry for John Freeman's "Famous Einstein Quotes" Contest
Categories:
readable, confusion, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
Poetry with soup, is like a nice bowl of Alphabet soup
spelled out to your liken.
Poetry with soup, is like a bowl of Turkey soup very hardy and very chunky.
POETRY spelled liked: Palm nut, Onion, Ezogelin, Tomato bisque, Ramen, Yam; delightful.
SOUP spelled liked: Split pea, Oxtail, Ukha, Pumpkin; tasty.
Poetry with soups; is like having a bowl of hot classic Chicken soup.
A very hot home cooked remedy, for all writers and readers.
Soups of all kinds are like unto different variation of all writers,
having various nationalities, ethnicity, colors and gender.
All mixed together to form a readable poetic soup of enjoyment.
Poetry with soup is delightful and delicious:
Enjoy this with me as I write and reciting poetry
while eating splendid sensational tingling soup
with poetry and all its artistry.
Categories:
readable, appreciation, care, cheer up,
Form:
Ode
Cedars whisker the ditch along Possum Branch Road. Such small little fellers, hardly worth calling a tree. Some say haints put a spell on the whole two thousand arcres. Maybe so, maybe not, but leastways, the land wont grow even a decent scrub oak these days. Being mostly swamp, the creepy crawlers infest every rat hole and tuft of wire grass. The old run down Elizabethan house used to be a place of excitement back during reconstruction. It had the latest wood burners you could find in the south. Then the family started dying off- - - one by one. The old cajun Mammie came up with more fixins than you could shake a stick at, but nothing worked. The last one of the family died back in 1923. A marker in the small family grave yard still reads, "Here lies the last of 300 years worth of Deveroux. God save the Queen and these here states." Most of the markers are barely readable now, being so pitted by the weather. As long as Mammy lived, folks would drive their old buggies and rattletrap cars around the place. That's why they's that big bend in the road around it.
Anyways, you don't want a flat tire close to the place at night. There be a strange blue green light coming out from the small grave yard. Some folks say they suddenly had passengers in their back seats if they happened along at the right time. But I say, there ain't no right time for a rotton stranger to show up in your back seat, and not have a word to say. But remember one thing, if you are there at that house and a stranger shows up in the back seat, don't look straight at him. You will go blind for twenty four hours, and your food tastes rotton for a week. It's really bad because you just HAVE to eat somethin'.
So you best just stay off of Possum Branch road, even in the day time. There's folks out there that just ain't right.
Categories:
readable, humorous,
Form:
Narrative
You’re lost in translation like staunch Christians,
When they’re trying to understand Hebrew inscriptions,
Truth be told there is distance,
Between Ancient Jewish Mystic Intelligence,
And Jesus pleasers delusional competence,
Because they’re blind to the Torah scrolls evidence,
Of the underlying substance, the mathematical significance,
It’s not just coincidence,
The Hebrew letters were originally numerals, no readable sentences,
And the sequences are equations and multi-dimensional,
Eternal sacred geometry, sound and universal,
Transversal but lost within the streams of thought,
Only sought out by a handful of inner taught hotshots,
With eyes wide open from joining the dots,
Never lost in translation because the biblical narratives are a distraction,
Going back to the start, before the deception,
Math was an art, codified and describes reality inside and out,
About consciousness and matter,
You can doubt this if you’re reading this as a hater,
Because all you equate to are thought’s that are out of date,
Causing you not to see straight, you’re a lightweight,
So your mindset stagnates and can’t relate to what I seek,
I eat meat like a professional heavy weight boxer,
The Oracle is my sponsor and has given me honor,
As I continue to drink the living water I become stronger,
My writings will be known and read by future generations for longer,
Hear what this spirit that prospers is saying and conveying,
This world is decaying alongside with the minds that are swaying,
So weigh up and consume knowledge that is worth praising,
Escaping the cravings of this fading movie that I’m watching,
From my mind’s eye, with understanding injected into me from the sky,
Seeing things that can’t be denied like all the lies being played out that desensitize,
The ability to maximize your earthly ride to find purpose within our society’s circus,
So don’t curse this, read my verses and ask your minds services to connect circuits,
Or forever be deceived by the serpent mindset that’s within nearly every person,
So be determined, open your minds curtains and don’t be wordless,
Our minds are a surplus of true wealth,
Vital for our health while we are within our physical bodies, Our 3D house.
Quincy Mac
Date Written: 1.5.2016
Categories:
readable, allegory, bible, meaningful, metaphor,
Form:
Free verse
Writing
I heard a clerical, documentary developing
Eagerly I looked for the deed
Read, read!
I crave the developing, developmental declaration
The literacy brought such sorrow
Only this and a text
I crave the directive, draft drawing
The nonindustrial narrative noting
I crave the cultural, creative competence
I felt compelled to sniff the lyrics
Declaration - declaration - declaration!
Only this and a composition
I crave the documentary, declaratory drawing
Of rhythms that are clawing
Of lines that are drawing
In there stepped a readable read
Only this and a typesetting
I crave the paperbound, prepress plea
By the grave I saw the readers
I remember I was meaning
I have dreamed of the contracts
I heard a such as a, testamentary lettering
I awoke and flung the recitation
Much I marveled the noted typing
Deep into that darkness creating
Much I marveled this learned reader
The developing declaration dowering
I crave the developing, developmental
6/11/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
Categories:
readable, analogy, meaningful, word play,
Form:
Free verse
A flower is wonderful to have in life,
but it reminds me of a rose that is
red, that I used to have, and to hold,
all of the time I thought I was
wrong about a rose, and a flower, on
which way it will go,
it is red I know my eyes see different,
in the light blood wine light in the
light,
this sparkling lit weather of the rain,
of a red rose that I use to know,
I still do, know it, it is dark but,
I will rub it in the sun,
above all things bad including the mud,
to my dearest goth, and gothic, love rose,
To my gothic dearest gothic rose love,
I just love all flowers in general,
but only one and it is you,
Ummm, what kind is it ?,
what heart beat will it take,
what kind of gothic rose is it,
Ummm, what heart beat will it take,
I will smell it right now,
to see how it would taste,
this is a sample of how much I love being gothic,
each, and every, day, of different aspects in life,
but the same routine thing will never go
away,
I will feel the warmth breeze,
of the glowing wind stone,
Stone, wind glowing of life's wind,
will take wind airs wind, and me, there,
and that is my all orange, and separate black hair,
with the gothic cross, while standing by the
gothic cross,
the red rose that is, two different strong
things, ??? while standing by the Gothic Cross,
a simple red rose is just what I love,
it is what I love to comfort it as I hold,
while smelling the flower and it, it & the flower,
I just love the smell of the red rose flower,
to let out the breeze fresh scent,
the outside is a typewriter, I, and every, thing readable a violet,
come and take me with you,
saying this again and, and again,
until I get it, read me until the graveyard tombstone,
die as I am listening to the rain again,
while the song is playing during the day,
and the evening wind capture it, and me,
feel the heavy weight of,
the dress fall right into the, the night of mortal eye love, I am knelt rose holding down, the red rose, twinkling moon stars is in my eyes, twinkling star is in my eye, like the rain where it goes,
away,
where it end tomorrow or
today,
Categories:
readable, adventure, april, august, beauty,
Form:
Prose
Villanelle: Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
for the author - male or female, prince or pauper, playboy or priest - of the
THIRUKKURAL*, the reputed "bible" of the Tamils, the principal Dravidian race credited with having engendered the first literary heritage of the Indian sub-continent. Only one thing might be said of him with certitude:
he tamed the language like none other and was more alive to his "times" and his literary, inter-personal, romantic, religio-philosophical and political environment than any prince, philosopher or priest ever since. In my view, whoever he may have been, he was an unjustifiably oppressed individual like King Wen who wrote the judgments on the hexagrams and provided the explanations of their images and the Later Heaven arrangement of the Yi Jing, the Canon of Change.
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Words come asunder blown on road side-table
Debris of wanton collisions intone
Long-gone ages singe the stylo his work shone
Who knows what diamond crumbs spill disable
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Sans case-endings morphemes participial pun
Regimented feet in seven steps enable
Debris of wanton collisions intone
Who confined meaning in drumbeat phoneme moan
Lest envy upper-caste knowledge expose enable
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
None know who he was nor what age saw he sun
Savants pat cheeks his lines to render readable
Debris of wanton collisions intone
While lordly conferees seek to feather nests own
His sculpted riddles tease meaning and jumble
Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon
Debris of wanton collisions intone
* Thiru=Sacred; KURAL, meaning "short" or epigrammatic composition in the form of couplets (1330: ten kurals allotted to each topic in three books with a short introduction), composed and ordered according to the rules of a strict classical prosodical pattern: the "venba" metre while adhering to complex rhetorical features, such as, alliteration, assonance, initial-rhymes and ellipses. The author was known as Thiru-VALLUVAR. One of the earliest commentaries on the Kural, still extant, was made by a Tamil scholar PARIMELALAKAR during the 13th century.
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Categories:
readable, appreciation, bible, celebration, dedication,
Form:
Villanelle
Circa Holy Roman Empire
between ninth
and thirteenth century
after common era
(approximately 800 AD and 1200 AD)
benchmark year 780 bracketed
Benedictine monks
Of Corbie Abbey
devised cheeky guttural lingual rapartee
vis a vis European
calligraphic standard script inked lined
writ via extant Irish and English monastic
members nsync
strong influence of Irish literati
eased communication
popular Latin cognoscenti
common lingua franca
spawned Carolingian Renaissance
Codices, pagan and Christian text
plus educational material
written viz Carolingian minuscule
Emperor Charlemagne issued prescription
(hence named Carolingian)
boosted unified modus operandi
he advocated learning,
though somewhat illiterate
recognized value of education
predicated on singular
codified regional alphabet,
the then webbed wide world
linkedin, sans uniform symbolic shapes
uncontested salient advantage
offered up ease to master
clear distinct explicit letter formation
simple logic boosted
rapidly transmitted standardization,
especially with exceptional legible
readable characteristic
adequate spaces between words
Merovingian "chancery hand"
reserved to draft traditional charters
Gothic and Anglo Saxon
favored traditional local script
as opposed to Latin
learning latter involved less tricked out
embellished flourishes
or interconnected strokes
drawn by a scribe
allowing, enabling, and providing
greater popularity to teach masses,
latent etymological nuances apparent
centuries following implementation
quasi initial Carolingian letters
steadfast, where Carolingian
influence moats strong
adopted local stylistic signature flavor
divergence woke since proliferation
stoking diffuse prospects
decreeing entrenched footing,
where auspices boded prescient
until groundswell didst surcease
sub limb mated into modern patois.
Categories:
readable, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Centuries have rolled,
The generations don’t connect anymore.
They grow as trees in isolation
And don’t make a garden anymore.
They are stories divided in incongruent chapters
But don’t make a readable book anymore
For I don’t understand your language
Nor do you mine.
If my times could be closer to yours
And yours to mine
We can bring the generations drifting nowhere
A bit nearer.
We can build a bridge together.
You can cross the bridge
And come to my times in my heart
The times when the values were valued,
Come to my old village I adored
The village where people had soul.
I will show you my house
The bare walls collapsing and the doors cracking
But standing strong on foundation, the faith
I will show you my garden
The flowers drying and the trees dying
But they preserve the essence of good times.
I will show you the grey picture of my little daughter
Holding my hand
She remembers no longer.
I will show you the mirror hiding my face
Beaming in happiness out of measure
I have left with my times to treasure.
I can cross the bridge
And travel to your times you are shaping
The times when you value people by money
To your modern city that wiped the villages,
The city where people have lost their soul.
You will show me your house
The walls decorated with abstract paintings
But the windows don’t see the sky.
You will show me the garden
People rushing to pluck odorless flowers
But the garden path is all stairs people climb and climb,
You will show me the picture of your little son in color
Holding your sleeve
Not knowing who you really are.
You will show me your iPad
Storing your face smiling in rue
At the uncertain times you gave you.
Let us build a bridge together
And on the bridge
I will take a step forward
You will take a step backward.
I will hold your hand with love
You will hold mine with care.
And let the times meet
And the generations connect.
Written : July 12, 2017
March 25, 2020
Contest : Strand Choice Q, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian Strand
Categories:
readable, emotions, feelings, relationship, together,
Form:
Free verse
Undeniably and Knowingly Bill Nye.
Have you ever been overcome by a book before
While wondering what next for us is in store
Darwin did say be strong avoiding infection
While recognizing each use of natural selection.
What I will do is frequently and on always rely
Is Bill the Science Guy who we can never deny
Who we determined without a doubt is reliable
What he always said was completely undeniable.
Each day may be determined to end up nigh
But never or ever will Bill the science guy.
Jim Horn
"Undeniable" by Bill is completely,
utterly incredible, so simple and easily
redable (readable). I would say
it was written on a ninth grade
level of thinking.
Categories:
readable, allegory, analogy,
Form:
Couplet
Domestic beer and cheap cigars
inflame my lyric flare,
spark my anxious urge
to create something readable,
splurge into visions of sugarplums,
flights of pure fancy, till I have a
poem distilled in my brain.
The struggle to articulate
is pure and simple pleasure,
making mountains out of molehills
and silk purses from sows' ears,
perched at my computer
with my dreams and foolish wishes.
So I'll smoke another stogie,
free a beer from the refrigerator,
write another silly verse to share
with who knows whom;
I'll keep shunning good nutrition
and be grateful to my muse
'til they lay me cold and lifeless in my tomb!
Categories:
readable, funny,
Form:
Verse
“So, who appointed you the grammar police?”
“No one, that’s who!” may your sarcasm increase,
But grammar is important if you seek readership
For readers will pass over you if you don’t give a flip.
Basic language skills are essential for readable writing
Knowing when to use “its” or “it’s” is, frankly, inviting
Using “then” instead of “than” is always an off put
And with your reader gets you off on the wrong foot
“Either requires or,” while “neither requires nor”
I assure you prissy-perfect grammar opens the door
‘Tis true every writer makes the occasional mistake
But you will get high marks if the high road you take
Hone your grammar skills and your poetry will improve,
Readers will rejoice, you’ll have found your groove.
written February 2, 2022
Categories:
readable, perspective, poetry, words, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
I have always loved to write
real…romantic rhymes
but now I have to feel free to
form a fantastic freeverse
with my creative caps on and my
pleasant pen and pad
I am doing this, drawing words
from the well of wild words.
To flow in this fabulous fountain,
all I need are tender tools;
Witty words, rare rhymes and
some lovely lyrics,
adding the flavour
of impressive
imageries, just to cruise
in the cart of creativity.
Playing with words and using
originality as my errand boy,
I dare to ramble and fumble but
never rumple my art's artillery
keeping each line lovely, lively,
meaningful and readable.
I patronize punctuations
just to paint
a perfect poem with the pen of
passion.
Poetry is all about what you have
to write and how you write it;
where and when you write it
does not really matter… at all
So I just felt free to
write a fantastic free verse in the
fountain filled with fragrant
flowers.
Categories:
readable, artwords, write, write,
Form:
Free verse
Temple bells
Echo fond longings;
Feast day prayers
~~~~~~~~~
Old room
Memories collide;
Touching time
~~~~~~~~~
Brief vacation
Island paradise;
Getaway trip
~~~~~~~~~
Loft sanctuary
Stillness percolates;
Quiet recluse
~~~~~~~~~
Children's playbook
Tales to tell;
Fond distraction
~~~~~~~~~
Sad glimpses
Earthquake disaster;
Desperate moods
~~~~~~~~~
Evening escapade
Banquet feast;
Wedding celebration
~~~~~~~~~
Stillness attends
Wounded day bleeds;
Dark night comes
~~~~~~~~~
Super mart crowd
Groceries in tow;
Stressed cashier
~~~~~~~~~
Haiku etchings
Encounter puzzles;
Birdsong duet
~~~~~~~~~
Christmas mood
Mall decorations;
Buying goodwill
~~~~~~~~~
Sun plunging
Sea horizon swallows;
Night grips
~~~~~~~~~
Sit still then
Hear stillness;
Restore faith
~~~~~~~~~
Miniature books
Readable art works;
One of a kind
~~~~~~~~~
Spring cleaning
Rainy day echoes;
Tidy rapture
~~~~~~~~~
Seek nothing
Allow change space;
Embrace empty
~~~~~~~~~
Spiritual discourse
Insight comes;
Rapture frees
~~~~~~~~~
Morning psalm
Light reveals;
Dawn brings gifts
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
08 December 2016
Singapore
Categories:
readable, change,
Form:
Haiku