Best Sort Poems
I’m the Lord-of
Kind-of Sort-of
Can’t make up my mind
No yes nor no
Just maybe baby
Give me some more time
I’m not ready
To go steady
Can’t we stick to dating
Don’t you worry
There’s no hurry
Nothing wrong with waiting
As the Lord-of
Kind-of Sort-of
I will not court a bride
Til’ came the Queen
Of In-Between
Who also can’t decide
We’re both unclear
Which way to steer
And should we say, ‘I do’
Then thought, perhaps
We’ll let time lapse
Until we have a clue
As the Lord-of
Kind-of Sort-of
I don’t get much done
But with the Queen
Of In-Between
We sure have lots of fun
At odds about the undertakers fees, Mark Twain jeered:
“There is a system of extortion going on here!”
What horrific prices to pay for just a box and hole
When it's not the body we care about, but the soul!
This clerihew is derrived from reading Mark Twains views on burying the dead. His only quotation is the second line. ( Mark Twain and the Carson City Undertaker) - February 1864
Sandra Hudson, 1/18/2012
Some people do not fall in love
They jump, headfirst, heedlessly
With little thought of where they'll land
Others dip in a toe and then
Either slide in cautiously or
Retreat with great haste, in contempt
Still others trip, most gracelessly
With much unseemly splashing
And left quite without their pride
Often, its some combination
Of the three above here listed
I am a genius
I must profess
I have a Doctorate in bundling
And one in making my life a mess.
Everything I turn my hand to
My efforts soon turn to dust
I'm a knight in armour
But covered in dents and rust.
I once had a date
But turned up three hours late
Nearly got married once
Until her mother locked the church gate
Went on a cruise once but the boat sank
And I got the blame
For hammering a picture nail
In my cabin in the cabin ranks.
I was the only one in school to get rickets
And ringworm on my head
And had to sleep in the garden shed
They took me from school to have a brain scan
And the Doctor said I was ok
There was nothing there
Well I took him lithely
And have worried ever since I swear.
I was never picked for the football team
Just in case something went wrong
And I couldn't join the school choir
Because people held their hands to their ears
And ran away whenever I burst into song.
Always got the blame for everything at home
Even if it was someone else but me
I was brainwashed into thinking I was useless
And now sadly I agree
It's not that I don't try
But I'm never lucky you see
I'm an albatross around peoples knecks
A Jonna and all washed up at sea.
I'm probably the most unlucky man
The world has ever seen
But doesn't that then make me a success?
If you know what I mean?.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015.June.
I fell in love was it chance was it a twist of fate
Looked into her eyes and fell in love
I fell in love as I saw it
thought it would be a made for TV movie
sitting in the audience watching the actors
wishing I was one of them
I fell out of love as she saw it
Love was supposed to be a song a gold record but
she didn't buy it and fell out of love as she saw it
Looked into her eyes and I saw a storm
Holding onto lightning as the thunder got louder and louder
When human nature collides with artificial love the fantasy melts
Looked into her eyes and saw disappointment and sadness
Holding grudges for a reason or no reason sucking it in like a vacuum cleaner never cleaning the clogged filter
My song was a pop song a one hit wonder once it left the charts I was done
I hear footsteps following me only shadows are dancing
The unwelcome song starts and stops inside my brain
And all I can do is dodge my past as the music becomes louder and louder and hope for a twist of fate
Frank (Black) Blacharczyk
And I don’t understand
As I lay here in bed
The words in my head
The words of the dead
As I lay here in bed
And the marching band plays
To the rhythm I say
In the cold of the day
The rhythm I say
As the funeral band plays
I say good bye to the world
For I never understood
Was love really good
Did I live as I should
I never understood
The perceptions of this mind
What was lost ill never find
Was this life ever mine
Was fate ever kind
The perceptions of my mind
And they play on and on
Forever the song
In a key that is wrong
On a day that is long
As they play on and on
the clouds cover the sky
Hiding the lie
That we all must die
No matter how we try
In hiding the lie
The ghost tolls the bell
To the black gates of hell
I stumbled and fell
In the blackness called hell
To the toll of the bell
Reaching up a hand
To the living land
Choking on sand
As I grasp with my hand
The life of the land
Joining in the choir
The chorus is fire
Death! called the cryer
As the flames rose higher
To the tune of the choir
All pass through fire
Long ago, in Fairy Tale Land, there lived a beautiful young girl
named Snow White. She lived with her wicked stepmother , the queen. The queen
was jealous of S.W., and when her faithful mirror began to tell her that she was no
longer the fairest in the land, ( the honor now went to S.W.), she had the young
woman taken into the woods and killed.
The kind woodsman couldn't do the deed however..and S.W. ended up in a
cottage with a bunch of unhappy Little People. The were, in no particular order-Vain,
Ungrateful, Grouchy, Stupid, Flatulant, Nasty and Petulant.
They were supposed to work in the mines..but rarely went there..instead the played
a lot of Texas Hold'em and sang.. " Whistle While you Malinger".
To cut to the chase..the queen found out and had Nasty feed S.W. a poison
apple. She fell into a deep sleep. Thinking she was dead, they put her in a glass
coffin in the deepest part of the wood. Well, who should come riding by but a biker
named Larry..he kissed her , as he would never pass up a chance like that. She
awoke, and they rode off ..never to be seen again .... but..it was whispered that
she had formed a group with 7 little guys and was performing on the strip in Vegas...
And they all lived happily every after...(except for the queen, who became an old
hag and in a rage took a hammer to her poor mirror).
The End
For John's contest
Sort out the new
one of the New
Sort of the New
Millennium I am
Sort out the new
one of those
Reluctant recalcitrant reprobates
Sort of the most
High Speed
Falling in love
In a moment
To tell
To view
To sort out the new
To gift in the old.
We had a sempiternal sort of love. We endured nightmares of broken glass and hours of pure bliss. It seemed strange how he loved me the way that he did. See, I was always his cynosure. His daylight focal point leading him into a realm of freedom and relief. When we met I was nothing but ingénue. Oh boy, how my eyes were closed and he opened them and brought my essence to a whole new dimension. I remember that night he held me as we danced. Body to body, hands around my waist and sweet kisses on my forehead. The tunes of “Lady in Red” were mellifluous and I still remember the smell of his cologne brushed gently on his neck. He thought I had glamour and walked with lissome while my delicacy screamed his name. When I was young I was so demure and humble. He always had raging thirst for my chatoyant opalescence.
We had a sempiternal sort of love. I remember the day he came to me and told me the bad news. It seemed like yesterday we had just got married and started a romantic life full of love and gratitude. You were crying, I started crying and we both wept until the sun came up. For there were no ineffable words to describe our sorrow. He was dying…therefore, I too was dying… I didn’t know how I could live without him, my sweet man. For there was no panacea in the world to keep his organs from shutting down. There was nothing I could do to save the other half of my soul. For he would leave me unwillingly and I would have to spend the rest of my days alone and isolated. My safety was delivered when we met and now my fear lives in the core of my heart.
We had a sempiternal sort of love. Now I am nothing but a solitary deserted widow without a reason to live.
This is a ten word challenge given to me by Silent One. The ten words are:
1. sempiternal 2. ineffable 3. lissome 4. chatoyant 5. ingénue
6. mellifluous 7. cynosure 8. Panacea 9. mellifluous 10. glamour
Written By: Laura Loo
Date Written: May 12, 2016
OUT OF THE ORDINARY -il sort de l'ordinaire
When dost my heart fall prey to agony?
Only when I recall what used to be
and only when my thoughts of you
come to my mind, just like they do
with ev'ry breath that swells inside of me.
Mon coeur! It beats the life I'd have to end
if my poor heart could ever comprehend
what's done is done, and in the past;
but I can never make it last,
the thought that now you've come to be a friend.
But I must never let the eyes of you
to see the pain your love has put me through,
although, il sort de l'ordinaire,
I'm sure if you could see it there,
there's not a thing that you could even do.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
I kinda, sorta want to talk about people who are vague.
It’s kinda really important to be clear about what you have to say.
To ramble and sorta kinda talk all hazy will never sound o.k..
It’s better to talk in black and white than a puffy sorta grey.
I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, it’s important to be clear
About what you’re tryin’ to say, and what you want people to hear.
To LOL someone or say DBD then tell them BRB
Is kinda sorta really crap when you could be more, like, wordie.
The Oxford has heaps of words, bucket loads have heaps of meaning
And to sort of replace them just with letters is kinda sorta demeaning.
Dumping on kids from spelling bees that had to study their grammar,
They got replaced by kids tryin’ to talk kinda like a poetry slammer.
So next time you’re sort of having a chat with another kinda person,
Use words not letters and speak kinda clear, kinda like you’re rehearsin’.
Because the letters sorta have heaps of meanings kinda like a heap of phrases,
It’s better, I reckon, to use real words, and it helps fill up the pages.
Let's be always gay
today
leaving sorrow
for tomorrow.
Volodymyr Knyr
2014
a phone call
a text
a stroke on my cheek
the way you weep
your sarcastic guile
a cheeky smile
you melt me
unambiguously lay my fear
at your feet
that hat tossed about
your head
your cherub nature
a tarnished sweetness
assails my heart
sorcery, magic, the dark; dark arts
whatever that is
is you
whatever will be
is you
White Knight gallantly galloped
swiftly 'pon his black steed
to discernibly save the day,
pretty perky princess 'twas awe stricken
with the well endowed stallion,
they trotted abruptly into the future - -
presumptively, the knight retired to the dark side
weighing the total sum of existence
is not a skill which is given to us
lying well beyond realm of human minds
even those of prophets and wunderkinds
requiring eternal omnipotence
along with very dogged fixedness
on the tracking of every single change
within unending universe of strange
perhaps why all the gods are too busy
to notice devotees in a tizzy
over all who will not follow their rules
deride and treat them as self-righteous fools
certainly some will call this blasphemy
which should result in incapacity
removal of the right to live and breathe
to do any ungodly thing I please
while others may react slightly more gentle
needing to indoctrinate this fellow
fill me to the brim with scriptures and verse
before my condition becomes much worse
coming right back to the totality
that driving need to measure all which be
inevitably to count, sift and sort
that which their true religion should abort
keeping it all very crisp, neat and clean
creating an accounting-of-souls dream
I for one have no evil scheme or wish
within the sacrilegious pond to fish
fully content to not bother the gods
measuring of totality and odds