Best Shape Up Poems
icy daggers serrated his chilly mind
memories sharp as polar bear’s claws
wielded reminiscent evocation in pain
how he longed for selective amnesia
heart and reason at war with the enemy
a battle only to be won if he surrendered
to inevitability that conflicts were useless
unless of course they concluded in cease fire
his father had fought at the Russian Front
which left his own upbringing out in the cold
no Potemkin façade could melt the chagrin of
twelve years of Germanic menace and madness
both of them prisoner to emotional deprivation
trans-generational transmission of trauma in action
it was bitterly cold in the heat of many a moment
and icicles festered in the young brain to be formed
shape up they said – fight flight or freeze
food for thought no doubt but what about feelings
many winters have passed and the old man is dead now
took many secrets and memories into his grave
the boy now in his sixties decided he needed a snow man
carrot charcoal eyes and Che Guevara’s bandana
collected drift wood from a beach of forgiveness
and danced around the bonfire of exorcised hurt
until permafrost yielded to fire and passion in time
he had been his own antagonist for far too long
Oh, fear! The sinister finger of a tornado!
Twisting, spinning, spiraling in turbulent
toroidal twirls of angry winds and high
pressures, few forces - natural or nay -
are as destructive or as frightening or
as beautiful! Yes, I am myself afraid
of those weaving beasts of spinning
horror, for there are few things as
certain to bring unavoidable death
and destruction, but I have also
always been drawn so to their
violent beauty and power, and
their affect on atmosphere and
light. There is little anyone can
do to avoid their wrath if they
find you, and that assured ill
anger of nature is why they
are so reviled ... buildings,
cars, animals, trees, bits,
pieces, farms, insects,
trucks, people, pets,
houses, things that
grow, move, stand
still, fixed, loose,
secured - there
is hardly any-
thing that is
outside the
mix of the
horror, but
if you are
a broad,
strong,
long,
flat,
....,,,,~>>~,,,,....
- Smooth, deep, thick, hard, layer of the finest concrete, then you are SOLID! -
Submitted on November 22, 2020
To the "SHAPE UP" Poetry Contest
Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor
~ 1st Place ~ in the "The Shape Of My Art" Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
O I
am so
sad now
that she left
for up above.
Twenty years
is a long time
to love a cat,
this sweet.
A kitten came
that fit my hand
all fluffy and purring,
she loved to cuddle
all the long nights.
I held her in my arms
till her body was stone.
And now I go to the place
where I buried my beauty.
I told my friends- no, no,
more cats for this here girl.
They say just give it time!
Oh, oh my- days are empty,
sometimes, I hear her soft
meow call, calling for me,
and that breaks my heart.
Tears,
now
fall
fall
fall
like
rain
on
my
new
wee
cat.
______________________________
August 23, 2018 - Repost
Poetry/Concrete/Concrete Cat
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1307-284-23
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest Shape Up
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 11/29/20
First Place
Play me a tune,sing me a song
Take me places where lone hearts belong.
Put your strong arms around my waist
Unveil the smile upon this face.
Make me belief in dreams long gone
Stay close to me till early dawn.
Show me the world,walks on the coast
Protect me from each noxious ghost.
Play me a tune,sing me a song
Take me places where lone hearts belong.
Put your strong arms around my waist
Unveil the smile upon this face.
Cover past scars with deep- pressed lips
Soak my dry river with just one kiss.
Build us a cabin with a mountain view
Shape up my night with thoughts of you.
Play me a tune,sing me a song
Take me places where lone hearts belong.
Put your strong arms around my waist
Unveil the smile upon this face.
Reach out for me like a gentle breeze
A Summer ripple in starlit seas.
A voice which soothes,A voice which heals
Whisper soft lullabies into my sleep.
Play me a tune, sing me a song
Take me places where lone hearts belong
Play me a tune,sing me a song
Take me places where two hearts belong.
4/25/19
"Remember that"
You got to be more clever than that
If you really want it to turn out better than that
It'd do you some good, to remember that
You need to shape up
If you ever want to make much
And accomplish great stuff
If you wanted to
Then it's something you got to do
Otherwise it will be haunting you
Pay the B.S. no mind
But do pay attention to the road signs
And be prepared for show time
Hold on steady
Stay ready
People will act friendly
And then be petty
Especially when it comes to Fetti
You're doing great
Don't let anyone take
From your plate
There will always be hate
And those that are fake
Wild animals getting a taste of flesh
This whole place a mess
But you got to make the best
Of it, otherwise it's a waste no less
If you need to, go take a rest
So that you're ready to face what's next
Poetry is about faith, a song, and sometimes a checkup.
It’s about that girl on the other side you want to link up.
Poetry is about the beauty of life when you want to grow up.
It’s about lost love and now all you want to do is throw up.
Poetry is about the frustration that makes you want to blow up.
It’s about all those things you just said and you want to backup.
Poetry is about a good night of sleep but you struggle to get up.
It’s about the time it takes you in a rush to put on your makeup.
Poetry is about being stuck in traffic because there's a pileup.
It’s about realizing you should take your car in for a tuneup.
Poetry is about the spring fresh air in the morning when you get up.
It’s about enjoying a breakfast together with hotcakes and syrup.
Poetry is about being at your local bank when there's a holdup.
It’s about the police showing you all of these people in a lineup.
Poetry is about family reunions when you don't want to show up.
It’s about all of the gossips, you hear while sipping on your teacup.
Poetry is about going to the doctor’s office to get a workup.
It’s about finding yourself at the local gym, counting a pushup.
Poetry is about all of these emotions that need to be let up.
It’s about writing things down balancing your life to shape up.
Edward J Ebbs - September 13, 2014
Written for a Contest, How Poetry Began
My name is Mario and I have an ingrate for a brother, his name is Luigi.
Even though our games are in my name, he's always had it better than me.
He needs to be taught a lesson and it will be left up to me to teach.
The sorry bastard takes everything, he even married Princess Peach.
He always got all of the attention from our father and mother.
Now he wants our games to be called the Super Luigi Brothers.
He went over my head and asked Nintendo to change the title.
I'm so pissed off at him that I'm starting to feel homicidal.
I sued Hollywood Pictures in 1993 because they did something that really made me mad.
When they filmed the Super Mario Bros. Movie, they made me old enough to be Luigi's Dad.
I deserve seniority because I've been in more Nintendo games than Luigi.
I was in Donkey Kong and years later I was in Mike Tyson's Punch-Out as the referee.
Luigi had better learn that I will not take his sass.
If he doesn't shape up, I'm going to kick his Italian ass!
(This poem was inspired by the Super Mario Bros. Games.)
My little black dress,
fit for a toned Barbie doll-
Nine months to shape up.
Battle me, ill thrash thee into dust
Warrior spirit bust with a carnage thrust to ya chest
Evolving the sun into my godliness throne
But the moon says i make her moan
So i gotta plant my seeds into her lunar drones
Midnight admission, crackhead addictions
Street corner benedictions
Minotaur inscription ending in nothingness
Its best that opal u-turns, burn the scar deep within
Dragon blends seethe swords conceived tainted lore
Belize believe nothing else comes close, cuz i wrote IN'I gourds
African soldiery and more, strike existence snare
Pour youth between thin air blocks columbine shocked
Aviators rocked I flew higher than they ever got
Stocks and bonds cropped akuma slash block
My talents germinate brain waves optimistic in nature
Irreligious vapors incompetent
Money rules the defense soon to trial, convictions vile
Shape up son, close is judgment interaction won
Unless hector had the gun and he was the one by your side
STAR
*
(I)
*
@
hope // light
@
silence // longing
@
@
challenges//expectations
love
faith
grace
prayer
Christ
@
E d O tO s o
a a i AN p t U F
C Y s p r r a
h o e I
t n t
u G H
N t
i h
t e
y n
23.11.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
SHAPE UP Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
1st place in the contest
Once there was a man called Hitler, the good
“Shape-up or die” his great ethics for good
Remove inhibitions by exposing to light
Fire shyness and inferior thinking out
Bloody this Hitler executes dull minds! Good.
There was an old coot named Clyde Hugaday
Who hugged gals in a most passionate way!
This didn't please his spouse
And she warned the old louse
He'd best shape up or there'd be hell to pay!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Pink planet, you saw me dreaming alone,
Without a dream in my heart,
Without a diamond ring of my own.
Pink planet, you knew just what I was there for,
You heard me saying a prayer for,
A diamond ring I really could care for.
And then suddenly appeared before me, the only one my arms could ever hold.
I heard somebody whisper 'hocus pocus'
But when I looked, that planet had turned to a leaky rowing boat!
Oh oh oh...
Pink planet, now I'm no longer alone,
Without a dream in my heart, without a leaky rowing boat of my own.
You better shape up,
'Cause I need a diamond ring,
And instead I got a leaky rowing boat.
You better shape up;
You better understand,
To my heart I must be true.
And this leaky rowing boat and me are through!
We go together,
Like George Bush and Bart Simpson, Like Bart Simpson and George Bush.
Remembered forever,
As condescending condescending condescending smelly-smelly boom de boom de boom.
Well - a well - a well - a huh...
Tell me more, tell me more,
Which came first
Tell me more, tell me more,
Is the leaky rowing boat a joke?
Tell me more, tell me more,
Where is my sodding diamond ring?
Dreaming dreams ripped at the seams, but oh those dreaming nights.
Shape Of The Nation (an oval precaution)
News outlets draw the line at racism
Pencil gray, color blind and crayons ready
Fantasies replace triangles, circles and square deals
Pentagons, hexagons, octagons where born to serve
Here today gone tomorrow with the curve
Will never shape up to political correctness
Or move into the oval office in any way shape or form
The people saw dangling chads in Florida
Hanging like spots before their eyes
Circular, uncounted votes remembered
Dots drop like spots before their eyes
May have to be recounted once again this November
News paper lines run up and down with lies
This election season is no less political
Etched like Escher paintings
Stairs that go up and down for no reason
There are 2 parallel lines aligned side by side
Redundant on the horizon as simple black stripes
With a vertical one joined at the middle
At the center of attention to form an “H”
For Hilary rising
A female that Mr. "T" calls crooked
Emails can not be erased by media twists
Even with BleachBit
It is a simple precaution though
To roll into the oval office
*Note:
(A Link to Escher works of art)
http://www.bing.com/search?q=escher+paintings&qs=HS&pq=escher+&sc=8-7&sp=2&cvid=9E3983FDB1E54B90BAE4130918F3D096&FORM=QBLH
Ladies say he's just lazy; he needs to get a job,
fellas say she's too crazy; she’ll scream then she’ll sob.
He’s a man who's a man-hoe; messing around with all these girls,
she's a flat out gold digger; simply in it for the pearls.
Ladies complain he's insensitive; he needs to learn to care,
fellas moan about her attitude; face her wrath if you dare.
A bunch of baby momma drama, is that you will get from him,
kids running around like a nursery, is that you'll find when she lets you in.
She say's he doesn't make her feel special, and is contemplating the breakup,
he replies that she's full of herself; looking like a clown with all that make-up.
He lacks the ambition to ever do something with his life,
she's just plain heartless to ever be considered as a wife.
He keeps looking at her friends; acting like he's going to make a move,
she's already had his brother, so there's nothing left for her to prove.
Girls say he's single minded; he's only after one thing,
boys say she's a lead along; they call her pretty string.
They never have a shape up; always looking rough with their nappy hairs,
they always have a weave on; bet they ain't even sure what hair is theirs.
Women say they hold their nose; he doesn't know basic hygiene,
men say they're appalled; looking at the love handles pouring out of them jeans.
He's merely a grown boy, who doesn't know a thing about chivalry,
she acts like a brat, always expecting him to the give out his currency.
She can't believe he's a momma's boy; 25 still living at the home,
he's shocked by her expenditure; caught buying shoes with her loan.
These are not the facts but the stereotypes,
when women are considered cold, and men are painted in prison stripes.
Pr!ck vs B!tch
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