Best Reworking Poems
Again it’s another of those episodes
I hate being in the passenger seat
Now we’re back at those cross roads
It’s like we always render on repeat
So where do we now go from here?
Motor stalling, can’t we move forward
It feels like we’re again in reverse gear
You’re struggling and I find it awkward
I know that you always liked to drive
But driving each other round the bend
I ask at what point did we then arrive
Looks like we’re arriving at a dead end
As again it’s another of those episodes
I can’t stand all this pain and heartache
And now we’re back at those cross roads
Let’s us stop now quick slam on the break
About a current relationship/friendship
Being in a neither here nor there situation some way of clearing
My thoughts a bit but also inspiration a long time coming
With this i tried to add the idea of being in a situation
..............................................................................................
Who don’t know where to turn >>>>>>>>
Written between august October 2016
Note life’s been so bissy trying to find time to write
Currently improving reworking old writes that were on here
When got times to do so thank you to soup people
For inspiration if I never found this site would never
Have found inspiration xxxxxx
Categories:
reworking, girlfriend,
Form:
Rhyme
Night following day
Commonplace and unremarked
Scales fall from our eyes
Starlight pierces mind and soul
God revealed if one but looks!
A poem dedicated to my friends Eileen, Mary Jo and Anne-Lise. Thank you for you patience with me.
with speciasl thanks to Andrea for her help.
This is a reworking of my previous poem Tanka 2. I hope that this is more in line with the true form of a Tanka. I would really appreciate feed back on this.
Thanks Shane
posted 31/03/2015
Categories:
reworking, beauty, nature,
Form:
Tanka
One blond small frame curled up
in my lap, an arm around my waist
One small finger trails the leather straps
and small metal strips
that keep me upright:
"Why are these there Darren?"
"Because my back hurts, sweetie"
Silent debating in baby brain,
reworking information to
easy to swallow bits
"Shall I kiss the boo boo away?"
Her head disappears into tickling kisses
that make me squirm and giggle
"Does it still hurt?" "Yeah, sorry baby"
She sprints, runs, jumps screaming
in delight, returns with a handful
of Dora band-Aids
At this very moment she is playing
somewhere, with her toys
My harness is plastered with Dora
I've never been so decorated in my life.
***
February 15, 2017
Categories:
reworking, baby, child, girl, health,
Form:
Free verse
Still at times I can be an adolescent, a bit of a brat
I'm always questioning things, though I'm suspicious
I admit there's time's I've been ignorant to even chat
Yeah quit a lot of the time I've been quite obnoxious
A mr know it all! but at the time it seemed ludicrous
Like the magician, trying to pull a trick out of the hat
And getting everyone to say the words hocus pocus
But me thinking wise to it all one can smell a dirty rat
Then things I suppose at times are so blatantly obvious
Some could say your either death or just blind as a bat
But back then I was a little immature, as to it all oblivious
Still inquisitive though I'm now older, a lot less of a prat
And still I'm no real master mind, I'm not any genius
Why this is this, I ask and that always has to be that??
Why something’s are not always, leaves one curious
Though I was told it was curiosity that killed the cat
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NOTE TO READERS AGAIN LIKE INTERWISON AND FATE JUST
tweaked a few lines which I felt made better sense was originally going to add two extra verses
but decided to take some words lines from extra two and rewrite first two verses
in better context I don’t know
again some inspiration fro all the cool soup poets thank you..............***
ADDIN A LITTLE ON END
NOT SURE IF NEEDED TO OUR OF INSPERATION RIGHT NOW
SOUNDS STUPID I KNOW MAKES NO SENSE JSUT GOING THROUGH MY HEAD
DEEP IN THOUGHT WHILE REWORKING OTHERS ID WROTE
THIS POPED UP IN THE SAME VANE AS FATE SAME SOR OF PATTERN AND IDEA
WITH THIS iM OBVISLY MORE KNOWLGABLE NOW THAN WHEN YOUNGER
BUTSTILL I QUESTION A LOT OF THINGS WITH THIS TRYING TO ADD A LITTLE HUMOUR ALSO
INSPIERD BY all the so cool poet members of the soup if I had never come on this site
i would never have updated a lot of my old stuff or even wrote any of the thirty new writes
ive wrote over the past year of being on here THANKYOU FOR YOUR INSPERATION AND COMMNETS
MAKES ME FEEL APART OF SOMETHING XXXXXXXXXXXXXX THOUGHTS FEELINGS WORDS WITH MEANINGS
Categories:
reworking, write,
Form:
Rhyme
Written as a tribute to a popular song ... can you guess which one?
When wak’st from slumber shall I be
Fain present to lay next to thee
and whither shall my sojourn be
methinks that thou would’st walk with me
much ale beset me to the ground
laid next to thee shall I be found
if all’st my parley bawdy be
I warrant, it shall be with thee
Forsooth five hundred miles afield
Travail - and then five hundred more
Traverse a thousand miles, in truth
To haply lay athwart thy door.
A reworking of "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" by the Proclaimers
Categories:
reworking, funny,
Form:
Free verse
Thank you, for excavating from dead tongue
Under midden of lies
The archive of our own history
The outlines of identity
So we under obscurity white sheet
Could find resurrection of self
In another voice oppressed
But unconceding of its comeliness.
Before I grew old I was only school
Afraid to be nobody unless I conformed
To class, and status and creed.
I could not see then how I consented
To condone the designation of a weed.
Before I was old
I did not even know weeds were revolutionaries
Resisting the pharmacopia of gods
And heal me in the old ways again.
Let this vernacular, this dialect
From in between the interspaces of existence
Reworking the problem of my preservation,
Let it flowers like weed
Gushing from unexpected places after rain.
Thanking you for understanding how to spade
With it the introspection of itself
Match with veins, leaves and flowers
The pattern of remain alive.
The tongue is archive of the soul, and language
The repository of all the culture holds.
Sure, folk songs are sweets, but our stories are more
Than words. Babel has no meaning
If it confused only words to flock in nearer trees.
Something deeper there was lost
Perhaps the lens by which we tell who we are
The frightening part of God,
The vision that must be consumed in hell
The staircase that if we trod
Would tear the scream of worlds from us
Making a new dilemma out of dust.
I sing not for Babel heights but the rights
To flock the founding tree of truth.
Thank you, for permitting me to speak again
To taste the lilt and roll of visceral sounds
Wearing glottis masks and labial screens
Spreading the germ of belief
And the sanctity of self in an ubiquitous air.
Folk people, balmyard man, healer
Kuminah giver, obeah veteran
Abeng blower, anancy teller, long spoon cook
Your anthropology will be the first page
Of my exumed biography, my life given back
Like raft to me. I am going to dig the moon.
Categories:
reworking, history, visionary, old, me,
Form:
Free verse
When you meet someone
That can look into your soul,
Reworking you into
A window clear enough
To feel terrified-
This is love
When they know exactly
Where to find the cracks
In the glass
And take the time
To trace each one
With gentle
Fingertips...
That feeling
Of wanting
To laugh and cry
As the whole world
Shines and shatters
In the same moment-
This is true love
Categories:
reworking, analogy, fear, feelings, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
You know its so short lived but do we not think or realise
Who gives it a second thought, it's gone before your eyes
It sounds cynical your born, you live, you die, end of story
One frowns but guess it's part of the cycle of life’s journey
Though I would still question what about the in-between
What’s ones intension we ask our self’s what dose it mean
You know I was once told that time, it will wait for no man
Go with the flow, whinge and whine, or do the best you can
With obstacles to tackle, herldes to jump ,bridges to cross
At times there’s miracles, theirs hope and too, love and loss
What a drag, if not enjoyed, it's endured, where is the rapture
A zigzag, getting annoyed or bored, moments we try to capture
There's no straight path in this life, it's like one side or the other
Makes you laugh or cry at times it's rife , so much too discover
But gone so fast, like your picture taken then faded into obscurity
A touch of a button, a flash, I guess it's just apart of life's journey
WITH THIS I WAS TRYING TO DELVE IN TO THE MEANING OF LIFE LIE SORT OF THING
GOT LOST AND BORED WITH IT FINALY BROIGHT TO AN END I STARTED TIS JANUARY 2012
WAY BEFORE I CAME ON THE SOUP MAYBE ILL CHANGE IN FUTURE M TAKE ON THE CYCAI
ALREADY ON SOUP BUT FAR TO LONG ALL OVER THE PLACE IN BETTER CONTEXT
NOT SO MUCH ABOUT MYSELF BUT UNIVERSAL...........................completed January 2013
LIFES JOURNEY WRITTEN BY MYSELF DAVIDSCOTT,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
NOTE THIS WAS ON HERE BUT DELETED AS FELT ALL OVER THE PLAC THIS IN BETTER CONTEXT
OF WHAT AM TRYING TO GET ACROSS........................this is not a rehearsal you only get one life
NOTE DONT KNOW WHY i TRYED REWORKING THIS AS MESSED IT UP PUT BACK
AS WAS AND CHNGED LAST TWO LINES TO FIT WITH TITLE
Categories:
reworking, write,
Form:
Rhyme
Last week I was shopping for ideas on the corner of metaphor and allegory,
Rummaging through a pile of discount words to help me tell a story.
A shelf of very expensive words caught my eye because they were so flirty,
Then a drawer of words that must have fallen down because they were so dirty.
There were several words in a mark down bin and they were really cheap,
And even though they didn’t quite fit I decided that I would keep…. them.
I could bend them down and twist them around until the sentence was a maze,
With just a little bit of reworking I found that I could shape them into a phrase.
I’d have to wrestle with a word sometimes until my huffing face turned purple,
Then I‘d have to resort to telling lies like, an aglet is also called a nerple.
Remember when you’re shopping for words that orange creates angst,
And that a poem is never really done until the subject is properly thanksed.
The word store sent me a coupon in the mail showing the fifty percent off it gives,
It says that this is the greatest sale of all time so I went looking for superlatives.
But when I got there I found out that the sale had several misrepresentations.
It seems the promised discount was only good on words with abbreviations.
Categories:
reworking, funny, on writing and
Form:
Light Verse
Quantum Theology
By Mark D. Stucky
Spirit filled the formless void
before matter and energy were born,
before infinitesimal became infinite,
when, from a singularity, a speck of nothing,
the biggest bang birthed everything.
And still the Creator of the quantum realm,
on a vast yet subatomic scale,
casting loaded dice of probability,
nudges particle positions,
tuning endless interactions.
Apparent uncertainty,
indeterminacy,
and random chance
ultimately collapse
into incarnate intentions
and divine designs.
Causation cascades through the cosmos until:
revealing transcendence, a bush blazes unconsumed,
reorganizing natural order, a sea splits asunder,
reversing cursed decay, death falls defeated,
redeeming moral corruption, hearts strangely warm,
and recreating creation continually, heaven and earth entwine.
And now…entangled photons…and entangled hearts…
commune across distances infinite,
yet immanent and intimate,
with the Quantum Mechanic,
the Cosmic Creator,
the God of Abraham,
the Spirit filling us.
(This reworking of Genesis 1 from the perspective of quantum physics was first published in Solum Journal, (by Solum Literary Press), Vol. 1 (Fall 2020), p. 138-139. For a humorous Genesis 1 reworking from the perspective of astrophysics, see my poem “Mystic Physics.”)
(Background image purchased from agsandrew on istockphoto.com and highly edited.)
Categories:
reworking, religion, science, space, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
It feels like
cold water was just poured on me.
Okay, I’m awake now;
you’ve got my attention.
Are you telling me
to simplify my life
rather than take on complications?
So, remind me:
what am I reworking, and why?
“Your life, what’s left of it,
because your feet are glued to the ground.”
And how?
“Bury your locomotives and muscle cars;
you no longer need brute power,
clear away the thorns and sticky bits
plugging access to your soul,
sweep away dirt and ashes
left from other faces,
leave those boxes of doubt and guilt
in a grimy alley where they belong,
hide the clock.”
And then?
“It may be trite,
but give what you’ve made to those who will care,
paint landscapes that twitter and green,
watch the moonrise then sunset and moonrise again,
learn the language of your lover,
say goodbye when the time comes,
help yourself lean deeply into whatever lies ahead.”
Categories:
reworking, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Stuck.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and ov
Stop that.
Bad habits, that’s all they are.
Stuck.
Repeating and replaying and rewinding and rehashing and recounting and reiterating and reworking and re
Overanalyzing, that’s all it is.
Everyone does it.
Stuck.
Reminder that was a failure.
They made a mistake.
Get over it.
Stuck.
Reminder that was your only chance.
There will never be redemption.
They’re just taking it really hard.
Lighten up.
Stuck.
No one is sure how they got here,
Stuck.
Or how it even began,
Stuck.
They just seem to be
Stuck.
Categories:
reworking, anxiety, how i feel,
Form:
Free verse
ARDINGLY ELEGY
The clock tower tolls the passing of the day
The bleating flock wends home neath darkening sky
The Judges homeward plod their weary way
And leave the world in peace at Ardingly
Beyond from the madding contests’ noble strife
Their preferences no longer put asunder on
Reworking judgements that were given life
The ghosts of jurists sit in shadowed UNDER*
Across the world the living spirits go
To lands deprived of custard on their pie
Gone from the halls up under and below
May they again return to Ardingly
The faithful Leaders' bright young teams have gone
Far from the English contest's hue and cry
When spring once more brings us a brighter dawn
May they at heart return to Ardingly
Now all the shepherds and the human flock
Time no more measured by the tolling clock
When frosty sheen still paints the cricket field
And yet the buds burst green on sylvan high
May then also returned to Ardingly.
Categories:
reworking, allusion, parody,
Form:
Rhyme
you may have heard me come in
from a silent place i lend a hand and you come with sunshine
a dream long forgotten brings back memories of solid regret
i then realize that i have been given the rare gift of a second chance
this time i will sit down with you and take in the art of your changes
so many colors and definitions make you shine yet even more
nonexistent are the clouds and raindrops that gave you such a wilted stance
happiness has been rerouted to a place where growth and maturity can both get their proper care
without words we make a declaration of a promised youth got in the way of so many lifetimes ago
i may have caught your new debut
it is such a refreshing feeling to be uplifted by the upgraded designs that this renewed you
now i know for sure i must come correct and treat you like this new crowned queen in front of me with a presentation of such class and flawlessness
i will be up to the new excursions and its roads of unpredictability but it will be a blessing worth my wile
emotions overwhelm me while at the same time changes the scope of the current of my current world
i myself in a trance as we retrace our steps and begin our reworking to plant the seeds that should have been miles of enchanted forest all those years ago
all we can do is try now and we are willing to touch the sky now and there hope in the joy as we cry now
Categories:
reworking, wisdom, work,
Form:
Free verse
Do you ever doubt what other folks say,
Do you mistrust their intent?
Do you walk around reworking their words,
Living a mental torment?
Overthinking short bursts of simple remarks,
Overthinking the words that were said,
Overthinking those comments filling all of your mind,
Comments filling up all of your head.
If you are be aware that most of what’s said,
It’s forgotten, blown away to the sky,
Blown away and never considered again,
It’s just you that’s left thinking why.
Why did they? When did they? Where did they go?
Who is it they think they have seen?
Leaving you confused with thoughts of your own:
“I wish they’d just say what they mean.”
Categories:
reworking, strength, truth, words,
Form:
Quatrain