Best Specific Poems
I can get big, fill up a room
till it shines and shimmers, and you
feel uncomfortable sitting there in that thickness
Written: July 10, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
******************
To read a poem
is not to hear one
it is to enter
through the quieter door
the voice arrives later.
First—
the white between words,
the hush that carries them,
the margin where pen pauses,
leaving ink to dry
the breath
the reader...
does your pulse
alter, too,
when language
refuses haste?
like dust motes
floating in the air.
A poem
asks almost nothing—
only
your eyes,
your unborrowed attention
the age-old act of awareness
of remaining
stay on board
let the line
find its own weather
seek its own skies.
Do not rush
the syllable
still gathering rain
turn
the page
as though
a raw light enters the room
opening a window
not a feed
the world need not refresh
to become unworn.
Reading a poem
is the opposite
of swallowing
while elsewhere
it is the slow intelligence
*of tea
cooling against the lip
*of bread
remembering grain
*of light
crossing a wooden floor
one patient inch
at a time.
Your breath
learns
the measure
it misplaced
even silence
develops texture—
velvet,
salt,
the gentle spirit—
of introspection
the soft mineral
of whimsy.
The Scroll
counts
motion
the poem
counts
returns
one consumes
your noticing.
The other
returns it,
leaf by leaf,
until language
is no longer
something you read
but something
that reads. . . . . .you.
I asked the old fruit tree out back
To bare something sweet for a snack
Went back the next day
His root was displayed
I chopped him down quick in one whack
an original poem by the poemdog Daniel Turner
I help only the following two types of people.
Children & The Mentally Disabled.
All other down on their luck people can all go to hell
because most likely they caused their problems of their own free will.
I will Always however help every single other animal.
The distressed and the oppressed of human acts unfathonable.
in sunlit tether
cloudy blue skin water cooled
dizzy ember spins
The large feather floated in the thermal air
twirling and swirling up and down, round and around.
Where has it come from, what’s it doing there?
In wonder I scooped it into my cupped hands
gently blowing on it to see the *filoplume quiver…..and
as I lay it on the grass, there are birds all around
they noisily fight over such a find, the victor thinking it’s grand
I hope it will be used to line a nest then all can share
*filoplumes arise exposed beyond the contour feathers on the neck.
Penned 7 November 2016
The point is dull upon the spear,
But still it pierced my greatest fear-
That this pain will always worsen
(My sinking ship so wayward steered)
Through the Ocean of my person
Toward a vortex, alas! Am veered!
I'll sail to Hell- cursed excursion!
But, lo! An island doth appear-
The sea doth swell; to Her a burden
My Vessel and I; 'tis clear! 'Tis clear!
That She vows for our submersion,
Crashing upon the rocks rushed near
Shipwrecked! Incurred Her incursion!
When She, so once to me endeared-
How I wish a diff'rent version
Of our tale that endeth here...
*HEART OF THE SEA CONTEST ENTRY
Homegrown deprivation weeds of poverty
taste like grassroot famine
Detroit dark amber alert operatic style ...
Ms. Sing Hope
is an Ursa skydive dirt bier
Purchasing uninsured ash fault grief
from an actuary worm liar
She has an octave register three days higher
Right on cue,
Misery is standing on Eight Mile;
(the black boundary marker)
her green felt pain
is knees shakily,
suburban crossover eyes st-rolling
behind the siren sound advancing
Stunted cries from bloated bellies,
inner city tragedy
has an empty space opera void feel
Malnourished dreams
are ever present: wilted ... suffocated ... dying
Decaying half-life,
volatile poverty bio-chemistry
Atomic weight tears,
falling
on the scale of injustice,
are ghetto specific
Minor concern
be the opinion of the majority
Blind compassion
is the white hanky gleaner judgment
of a funeral procession decree
Polaris is pointing downward,
the path to ghetto freedom
is as it always was —
Northern beans, southern fried ...
green tomatoes frozen on the inside
Ursa twin color bears are bereaving
for their missing children,
who died
exiting the womb ...
hope buried as they were stillborn leaving
Atomic weight tears
be the evaporated years,
they are ghetto specific vapor breathing
SPECIFIC MOMENTS
visual language
inspiration
in
retrospective
contemporary
dreams
of an alternative
future
a moment
of
reckoning
flooded
into
the eye
once moribund
now
captivated
encountering
the beauty
of refinement
to establish
affinities
between
the sensitive
& the
non-comprehensive
a turning point
a narrative
of the a romantic
constantly
renewed
in
the mind
a battleground
& clashing
of styles
a sign
of prescience
& genius
an indicator
of dialogue
in rethought
figuration
of
the
absurd
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Gone are the days of simplicity
Open are the times of complexity
I must relate
There is no debate
I must develop a sense of ambidexterity
Russell Sivey
Limerick like...but didn't follow syllable counts...oh well...hope you enjoy it anyway!
Not specific this God beyond understanding
Said Elihu to Job long ago.
Outstretches all classification,
Not bound by identity one or another,
Bigger than any holy publication,
God above definition of those who made God
Pleasing to themselves, that is,
A gender-ascribed Bronze Age tribal god of war
Unable to deliver from foreign control who
Now saves only souls who believe such a thing.
Specific Ocean
When eye asked the travelers on the road which way should eye the toad go now
they piped up a dream to me on the enciphering cosmic plow. Go to the specific
ocean the frantic ocean the Atlantic sea. Turn left at kismore pines and try
swimming in the Dead Sea the salt will make yew weightless and yew will float
eye have heard this one all my life it is just not true or is it it may be write or the
old wives tail spin on a fact not yet proven ewe the gentle reader must decide
there is a Pacific place to go there is Atlantis lost so long ago there is several
continental drifts the one that had this North America now does not exist the
timeline is destroyed the aliens have come look closely at the pictures of your
friends. How many of them swim with fins.
All of my poems may be prolific;
Subject should be more specific;
With much logic and common sense;
Understood even if you are dense.
From my finger poems always run;
From start until finally be done;
Take a break along with some rest;
Which for me always will be best.
Poem style relates to my Impunity;
While I welcomed each opportunity,
That allows me to become creative;
Was Initiated by me a local native.
If pandemic we are able to overcome;
Create a song we can play and strum
Maybe my great poems will be in need
After well loved and everyone agreed.
James Horn
when some things stop
others begin
it is fractals
marking density
patterns of voids
as spaces
in infinite
relativities
subject to laws of nature
stan sand
Not specific this God beyond understanding
Said Elihu to Job long ago.
Outstretches all classification,
Not bound by identity one or another,
Bigger than any holy publication,
God above definition of those who made God
Pleasing to themselves, that is,
A gender-ascribed Bronze Age tribal god of war
Unable to deliver from foreign control who
Now saves only souls who believe such a thing.