Best Schematic Poems
Tech-No-Logic
Of keyboard and swipe
a screens deliberation circuit electronic
in metal skin and paper thin
push button hums the chord of plastic
tech-no-logical inventum
such marvels to grind the wheel
impartial utensils the battery static
a signal from pre-molded concrete
sends the flip switch light
a barrage of city steel
Perfidious evolution
camera slapped ready to be mobile
disseminate precious packeted information
send the engine forward
designed specific mechanical
with purpose and all copyright invention
roll out the factory trinkets
and by wifi extol these virtues of freedom
such ease of apps
the dictionary of a creative human
Pander upon the wonder
tech-no-logic inventum
to satellite and celluloid praise them
the world a window
to ignore confusion
fanatical gears performing missiles
each trigger of functioning confident
laser guided telescopic retention
art forms innovation
and the busy discourse of bibliophiles
What design by rain
the mechanisms of perfume
a flowers technical schematic
a blueprint revived
so the wind sustains chaotic
fluctuations of forms molecule Phi
graceful filament wings
the meaning of feathers, thorns and insect
wood breathing light
inexplicable, irreproachable tree
of life
And who by sun
upon rainbows plain did walk
was uttered a catchphrase of miracles
no other perfection
wrought in animate visions sacrament
the momentums overture existential
rhythms dance plays waterfall
which finger tips technology
so in intricate reflex of memory
sustained an infinite birth
Lay by road side
in clank and clamor rattle
semaphore an accident in skeletal
and by marvelous creed
take emulsions photo
whys and wherefores the veins of petals
the everyday unexceptional
but still focus changes the angle
all reiteration speaks
by blueprint original perfected creation
Push it right there,
it's schematic addictions dismantlement in prisms,
push it all along the way-
rotation of grapes,
push it into the grey-
for we cannot fake our face...
Slow the born band,
because we reprimand,
yet adorn the command,
push in push in and see the next best,
squeegee encounter,
and then a phat rent.
RHYMING WAVE POETRY
The Rhyming Wave is a poetry form created by Katharine L. Sparrow, American writer and poet.
It's format; 2 or more quatrains plus an ending couplet. Lines 1 through 3 are iambic tetrameter and line 4 is iambic trimeter.
The schematic, is, I hope self-explanatory, showing the iambic feet, unstressed normal print and the stressed in bold. The coloured text shows the refrained and repeated/rhymed syllables. Note in lines 2 and 3 those coloured blue are matched, the red and orange one's rhyme.
The first line of the first stanza is used as the first line of the closing couplet, the last line of the final stanza as the second.
NOTE: The author is amenable to having poets substitute rhyming as well as identical syllables. I have, as will be noted in the schematic, stuck to the original rules. However, if you have read some of my R.W'S on Poetry Soup you'll note that has not always been the case.
With apologies I messed up on the schematic, I will post it when done.
Fishy Tales
river life, what can be seen, fish,
yes, can be, can be, can be fish.
some can be cooked, a fish pie dish.
some can be caught in nets.
young tench, when caught were kept as pets,
yes, kept as kept as kept as pets.
some sticklebacks, with sad regrets.
some stick to rules; see more
river life, what can be seen, fish,
some stick to rules; see more!
Illmatic
Date: Wed, Dec 2 2015 at 3:53 PM
I'm illmatic, Stillmatic,
Rapid, Automatic
Lyrical Systematic, Schematic, Graphic, Imagery, Casted
I'm a Artist at War, Creating On my Magic Carpet, Orbs
Coloring Markers, Carving in the Core,
Watching the Picture Form,
Sharpened Dagger Sword I use to Artichect a Door
To an World not Explored
This Supreme Mathematics
Cause I'm Subtracting these Fractions into Fragments
out of my life to Abstinence
Don't need any Distractions
In my Vision of Happiness
I'm Savaging my creative Passion
Out lashing my Magic
From the Flares of my Magic Stick
Magic Tricks
Art that's Fantastic
Cause I'm Fabulous
Become a Master with Practice
Now the Masters Magic is Lavish
An I Even Scare my Challenges
With Gifts & Talents
That I try to Balance
I'm Great I think I was born Outstanding
An leave Masses to Panic
An a Napkin
Under my Shirt cause Paint Splashes
An a Seal over my Head from Damage
From the Magic Reaction
I open my Pamphlet
Inside is Brilliant Chapters
Of Stories that I Crafted
I Impacted
In this journey of Iife I Captured
To Open my Secrets is a Password
Then you'll see A Latter
With a Bright Light Up to follow After
You'll be in the Spirit to Feel the Habitat
Cause it's a Realm where only Spirits Inhabit
Where All Spirits Passes
Welcome to the Life Of Aladdin
Spare change was rare at our house when I was a lad,
But you could bet on it, when I got a quarter from my Dad,
I didn't blow it on mundane things like a baseball or a mitt!
I flew to the local Five and Dime to buy a model airplane kit!
The store shelves were piled high with model planes galore!
Spitfires, Hurricanes, Mustangs, Thunderbolts and many more!
The man at the counter patiently waited 'til I made my selection.
I needed the perfect specimen to add to my vast collection!
I set up my shop in the seclusion of our cozy attic,
Sanding, painting, gluing and poring over the schematic.
In isolation if things went awry, I could utter a cuss word or two,
Without Mom yelling, "Son, I don't know what's to become of you!"
From the ceiling of my room hung dozens of the things,
Each floating aloft supported by delicate gossamer wings!
How oft I'd lie abed dreaming of flight, sensing total elation,
Freed from earthly bonds, soaring above the beauty of Creation!
Assembling balsa wood planes required a certain degree of skill.
Nowadays, they're hard to find and cost a twenty-dollar bill!
The plastic models of today are realistic but will never compare,
To building your very own creation and releasing it in the air!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Entry for Frank H.'s "A Childhood Memory" Contest
In an innate world, the brain is beautiful.
Being two percent of the body mass, the brain requires about twenty
percent of its oxygen and calories.
The most beautiful image ever seen is the brain normal functions.
So when you are at your wits end, remember that sound understanding is a
beautiful place to be.
Your brain is majesty.
I know this because of the abnormality that can manifest when you do not use
common sense.
This takes away from intellectual power.
You are therefore, diffused.
The mind is encompassed.
Supreme exquisiteness that boons the utmost splendor is the brain.
Use it wisely.
The superficial element of the brain is like imagery seen.
Information is process to enhance memory.
Through telepathic means, your senses thrive.
Manifestations of colorful or colorless montage are visualize.
Let your mind take control.
Live your life as bursts of insight to attain positivity while acquiring the
guidance needed.
All know the story of the dead brain.
The woman revived it with a base of knowledge.
She stemmed it via the occipital lobe.
Then she found it a body to raise above.
The brain begins to function normally.
The human was magnificent to see.
What are the metaphors?
A brain is nothing but a scheme.
The schematic brain is allegory.
The brain encompasses the mind.
The mind forms symbolism.
This is where your reality becomes your thinking.
Your clown frown is on.
Your mouth hangs open.
You are a click of hyperactivity.
You win arguments but you lose disagreements.
Your vicissitudes are with your anticyclones and nadirs.
You know that the world is in a depressive state.
Foster good will to cultivate empowerment.
Therefore, bringing forth the most beautiful image of all normal
preoccupations of the brain.
_______________________|
PENNED ON JULY 02, 2014!
Springtime’s sparkiest
blue skies schematic
seedlings to be transplanted
with cup-bearing daffodils
and mimosa sunflowers
2/22/2022
Gripped by the throat with tension
Mad aggression pumping thru my veins
Changing my complexion
Pressing thru the world of small selections
Fencing off the other feelings of oppression
And while I'm resting
I don't wanna wake
But once my eyes open no time to hesitate
To much bullshyt to escape
It's not like I was born with a cape
And even when matters are crazy but I refuse
Not to be great
I refuse not to turn the hands of fate
And make the universe concave my way
Been a struggle since birth
Trying to live with these lies
Told even since I put the me in time
And now I got a family that's mine
And I must throw away all pride
And keep the dream that I breathe life to alive
Hungry for what's never told was mine
And told all the things that are above my level
That's fine
Sit and watch as I not climb but claw to the top
Kick scream and holla at the stars
That like to play against the odds
Of the campaign of my cause
Causing me to fall
Causing me to look forward and back to remember where I came from
Causing me to wayward this and carry on
For that's all I know
That's all that anyone been telling me
How I'm wrong
How I'm slow
How I'm the one that love doing it the hard way yo
How I'm the one that will fall flat on my face
Lose my place
Lose the initiative in which I started this whole thing
Have me missing my template
But they don't see I'm God sent
Regardless
Of all the bullshyt curse words and bombardment
I will be in undeniable
Came far from where it was that I begin
Even with snow storms and hail pours I'm destined to win
Even if I'm straight drowning in gin
And gasoline was part of the triathlon that I had to swim
The king is crazy
So for my babies I will swim
I will seek opportunity
Watch it put away it's jewelry
Sit back maniacally
Schematic the whole the place
Plottingly
Run up n the place also smiling
With no gun on the waist demolishing
Any and everything
That's my plan
To overstand
And not undermine what my mind will conceive
For it's what I can grasp in my hand
The whole damn planet
Water sky clouds and granite
And if too much for me to hold
Just u watch me manage......peace
Tears that are never acknowledged suddenly take precedence unexpectedly within nocturnal callings
hidden wounds long festering never acknowledged sliced openly are silently hemorrhaging fears
one’s loved least claimed through schematic vows haunts the night’s mechanisms ever consuming
while black tattooed weeds on a widow at no time seen are never shed in tempestuous mockery
The trees we watch through the winds of winter grow more sullen and desolate as their time passes
everyone shall cross on to frozen ice chilled veins leaving remains defeated by death’s caress unexpectedly
harmony is now long gone inexplicably across the abyss where nothing meaningful rests in disillusioned chambers
shattered pieces of treasures faded by fairy tales glued together into a patchwork frame hung upon hollow walls
Night visits of final farewells long past overdue won’t break the divide if left unspoken forever cursed
mystic vows whisper inside the shadows to never love again is grace with peaceful slumbers kissed sublimely
unfettered is an enviable plea that echoes insensately as no other request beckons so appealingly
dreams unrivaled and unreachable fill the days forged with sugar caned sweetness of darkened honey
Waking once unimaginable is now fully embraceable at the beginning of the widow’s dawning…
I, Kinshala
am a portrait of a small piece
to the grander schematic puzzle,
I the gardener
to small ships who harbour
within tight slips
wherein waves rock and wave
and say hello
as I pass...
I the fallen eyelash of yr former dream,
You of oldsoul charasmatic mystery...
...of Kinshala...of the nine worlds in
between...
to one day be enlightened
like some slowly burning
incense - or a thirty day candle...
for those who merely admire,
and those who would rather smirk
than smile
I pity them...for they have lost
the light of vigilant candlefire...
and will never see You
as we both do
only Heaven Higher....
STOP POLLUTING
A
KYRIELLE HYMN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Heed climate warming it's for real!
Not all life can adapt,
symbiotic pairs will, yes keel,
sadly becoming fact!
Stop polluting, recycle, please!
Time is running out we must act,
help nature right our wrongs!
Simple things like recycle that,
sweet smelling or it pongs
Stop polluting, recycle, please!
Mother nature still begging help.
Seasons fickle, forlorn.
Yes, she can see us suffer, yelp!
Begging is not her norm.
Stop polluting, recycle, please!
~~~~~~~~~~~
NB The only thing it has in common with Kyrielle is the refrain.
Kyrielle Hymn
Type: Structure, Metrical Requirement, Repetitive Requirement, Rhyme Scheme Requirement, Stanzaic
Description: A hymnal stanza with appended one line iambic tetrameter refrain.
Origin: American
Schematic: ababR cdcdR, etc.
Rhythm:
xX xX xX xX
xX xX xX
xX xX xX xX
xX xX xX
xX xX xX xX
Rhythm/Stanza Length: 5
Pasted from: Poets Collective:
http://poetscollective.org/poetryforms/tag/iambic-tetrameter/page/2/
For the contrived inducement of fixated being,
the transmuting tenet of uniqueness,
the personified indented identity,
changes in the self-devised palette
of metamorphosed color mélange,
while the conjured chameleon slyly cocooned,
paints the shifting façade of deception.
In the ostensible enactment of life’s incredible drama,
the performance perfected in one-act play
with the obsession of passion professed,
gilding the consequence crafted by alchemy,
the surreptitious shift from one actor to another,
is an axiomatic drive of the dormant design.
Out of the limelight, the clandestine colors fade
on the tangible visage of virtual makeup,
the pallid original face morphs mystically into
the veracity mirror of fragile actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of identity,
rinsed with the primal hues of persona
of the distinctive disposition embodied once.
The spasm of schematic perception splits the mirror,
the shapeless shards of shattered pretence
scatter as discarded debris willfully abandoned.
Transformation creates the deluding entity,
an alien in its own renovated realm,
completes the illusive paradigm of contrast.
Once upon a fantasy- of meat and potatoes and gravy
I closed my eyes- and saw a memory.
(but opened them again to watch TV.)
Poetry can be whatever you want it to be
except a definition in a dictionary.
Poetry can be found in the twinkling of an eye
after eating that whole 10,000 calorie pie!
Poetry is our theory of reality.
(the idyllic schematic of the way things ought to be)
seen through the painted windows of memories.
(in this poem they’re called hallucinomeries)
Where streams had fish that ate your worms
and roads had forks that ate your dreams
when you were just a tiny tadpole trying to solve a Rubic’s cube.
Poetry leaves its indelible stains of dejavu ripping through your veins.
Hidden deep in an outer protective layer of mazes holograms and typing paper.
Or poetry can simply be- anything older than BigBangology!
So when the eclipse blots out the moon and sun
clocks lean backwards and monkeys chew gum,
it’s time to take a huge breath of wonderful city air
and watch your rhythmicalical poetry disappear-
like an enigma wrapped in a riddle that has run away and hid.
(which is what this poem just did)
And when the Night Thoughts reign supreme
and reality WRIghTES its final dream
us part-time astronomers-
can go back to being part-time fantasy farmers.
Maybe nobody really cares.
Maybe I should never dare
To trust a human with my secrets
That I’m not ready to share.
Maybe I should just give up,
Just smile and wave and just say ‘yup’.
Maybe they'll always let me down.
Maybe they’d just watch me drown.
Maybe I’m just being dark,
Maybe I should just leave it alone.
Maybe I should cool off in a park,
Or maybe they’ll be the ones to shatter my bones.
Maybe, just maybe, I’m paranoid,
Or maybe there’s some truth to this noise.
Maybe I’m being overdramatic,
Or maybe I have it down to a schematic.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
yes, the stars shine bright ere the clouds
bright spotlights in a vast darkness
sadly unseen, above dense shrouds
in the universe, it's vastness
on the night when clouds give in, thin.
o the milky way, its glory
many a tale, told on a whim
ere it is no jackanory
tales of many endings untold!
of planet earth? it could be one!
a story, as yet to be told,
ere we must stop all pollution!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Serventesio
Type: Structure, Metrical Requirement, Rhyme Scheme Requirement, Stanzaic
Description: An eight-syllable quatrain rhyming abab. A variant on the redondilla. Schematic: Rhyme: abab