Best Streamlined Poems
Sudden, as a bolt from the blue,
Came down a humming bird, tantalizing
Skimming down and darting up
As an ever revolving top
It reeled round and round
Before it alighted on a drooping flower;
That hung from a bending branch
In a corner of my front yard garden
It precariously clung on to it
Like a small pendent on a chain
A sight so cool, now so rare
That lighted up my dull spirits!
Once they showed themselves up
On almost every sunny day
Promptly after the monsoon rains
When the plants en mass in resplendent bloom
Oh! How I love this tiny bird
Not larger than a bumble bee
Dressed in a cloak of green and black
Flitting round on fluttering wings
It literally dances and pirouettes in the air
Before descending down closer to its target
Swirling, gliding n’ moving back and forth
As if unsure of what it should do
Finally with a terrific jerk and swiveling move
It hovers close to hanging blooms
Balancing itself sans any support
And draws out nectar with its long needle bill
When the zephyrs carry a sweet scent
It flits from flower to flower
And having enjoyed the ambrosial treat
It flies back, well satiated like a darting arrow
My eyes fail to capture its lightning move
As it goes whizzing through the lambent air
Quickly disappearing like a mote of soot
Losing itself in the vast expanse of the blue
Being less than an ounce of fat
So light, sleek and well streamlined
It travels faster than the speed of light.
In a fleeting dash, moving out of sight
Can any other bird rival it in agility?
Or vie with it in its simple grace?
How cute, this spirit of ‘disembodied joy’
This winged diminutive denizen of the sky!
,
Angel rift star dust
In one hand
The sun
In the other
The moon
In the mind
The earth
In the heart
The space to comprise it all
But I have skimmed the rim of the abyss
Stood on the edge of a ledge and blew it a kiss
Took a dive from so high to enjoy the freefall
Than I stayed for a day in the heart of sheol
I got those streamlined moves timed to avoid the hate
I got those sidelined hooves signed by the eye of fate
I'm dipping diamonds in gold for the souls that you sold
I'm lifting layers of lies from the beats you baptized
Using that haptic magic
Fantastic acoustic
Let the mind drift
The heart combust
Tripping on my angel rift star dust
She spent
her evening with a
friend named Jack. Jack
stood out like a volunteer, making
no apology for himself (though he forward
marched through her life like a
soldier's foot-stomp parade,
minus pomp minus
circumstance).
Jack always
took his possessions at
first ever impulse, that is
to say he was the type of
man who could "carpe diem" with the
best of them. She agreed. "Play
the horn play the drum", she
thought, while given
to him.
Jack always
left his possessions at
second glance. He was the
nothing-to-show-for-it type of man.
She did not want him to return. She did
want him to return. He did not
want to come home. He
did want to come
home.
She spent
her evening without
a friend named Jack, who
steals the thunder. Jack sat on the
shelf like streamlined vodka. Apologetically,
he backward marched a Saint Louis
funeral-in-reverse. She
then nursed a wound
to remember
him by.
(Author: Chad Wood - This poem was entered in the contest "Create Your Own Form, Maybe
?" sponsored by Constance ~ A Rambling Poet! ~ Form: Call this the "In and Out" form. The
stanzas have ten lines each, which expand and retract, with subject matter about 'something
in life that comes and goes', can be as many or as few stanzas long as wished)
Yup, here they come
hippies, yuppies, kiddies and Millenials, generation X on the run
they gather at the restaurants and malls
ten or twelve six feet apart walk along the walls
casually strolling pass the limited entry stores
no longer able to stay at home, so tired and so bored.
There's Old Joe and John, laughing as they wave their hands
to Sue and Lynn, Morgan and Zoe in the corner stand
masks upon their face, sauntering with grace
hoping to find a sale within this space,
but security is riding on their segway racers
courting those who appear displacers.
There are no flash mobs here
all the people hold back their fears
these once avid partygoers
are now streamlined floaters
longing, aching, wishful thinking of party times
when they all danced and drank alcoholic wines.
seagulls surf the wind
my escorts home
across the waves
streamlined gannets
sacred isle in view
saffron tints
ocean flower breezes
with scents of heather mingled
island essence
rites of spring
frolicking hares
scattering morning dew
eagles flying high
above the pagodas
sharing with angels
spectral in shadows
castle walls in moonlight
white stag foraging
eloquent landscape
shrouded in mists of time
stones with stories
ears pricked on full alert
deer transfixed in morning mist
ice cracks the silence
snow on distant hills
wind in ancient rowans
new stars twinkling
melting ice
slips down stippled bark
weeping cherry
beyond the twisted gate
flag irises bedeck the shore
beloved playground
fragile and fleeting
foxgloves in summertime
granite enfolded
exotic rhododendrons
sumptuous and alluring
bumblebees besotted
by the waterfall
dippers watching
trickle or torrent?
rhythmic shoreline
ageless slumbering hills
touching paradise
music for the soul
the lilting of the seasons
an Arran symphony
home again, my soul refreshed,
pilgrimage complete.
with Arran heath beneath my feet,
content- and feeling blessed.
"Look around and see how birds and animals disclose the secrets of self survival and display how their bodies are streamlined to excel in their art"- By Poet
In the twisting tangle of the mangrove
Where eye can’t see beyond leaves
Sits a kingfisher, very alert,
Without the smallest quirk or quiver.
Its wings are bluer than the blue skies,
And body brighter than the brightest gold.
It sits surveying intently the water,
Flowing down the river.
With its sharp polaroid eyes
It spies the shoal of fish,
Darting up and down.
Measuring the distance
It makes a sudden move,
Diving into the water.
All we see is a flash of amber and blue,
And the water suddenly splashing up,
With a harsh clinking sound.
Sweeping down, the bird comes up,
With a sloshing silver fish,
Dangling from its beak like an ornate pendant
And landing down on a dry twig.
The fish shuddering in its beak
Is gulped down in no time,
Then it wheels away
To its accustomed cover in the mangrove
To preen its feathers and resume
Its hunting game once again!
It sits there, this skilled angler,
Till the hilltops turn auburn,
And the far -flung sky, stygian.
Then it flies back seeking its far away nest
In some sandy burrow or cavern.
It has come into question
My love for the Croc
Whether it be in bare twinkle toes
Or with knee high socks
Rubber on rubber
From top end to sole
Soft spongy comfort
To take on the road
Yes they're here for the comfort
Not here for the speed
Certainly not for the fashion
If that's what you seek
You might have already guessed
That left long ago
Trying hard to impress
Those in the know
The older you get
The less that you care
Hence my love for the Croc
And fur underwear
But back to my Crocs
Like it or not
It's all that I wear
They're all that I've got
Ask me which style
That I mostly own
(Inquiring minds want to know)
I'd have to say
Why, "The Original"
It's streamlined to date
With the perfect number of holes
I even wear them on dates
These Crocs got it going on
So let me be the first
To let you all in on this
My love for Crocs
Is just what it is
Be it in the bare feet
Or with paisley socks
You need to get over it
Cause I love my Crocs
There is a field where Sherman marched
Across the bloody South
Just beside a freeway, that connects it to the North
No one builds and no one plants on hallowed bloody ground
And late at night tis said there’s ghosts that hover all around
In the spring there’s beauty on this poor forgotten place
No one live remembers the men who died with grace
No cell phones or gadgets to escape the fear and dread
Letters lost or just delayed were part of war twas said
Brothers fighting brothers in a bloody senseless brawl
Shattering a country while a death rate took its toll.
Marching cross the U.S. burning towns just shortly built--
Lynching and destroying without a modicum of guilt.
Streamlined education doesn’t bother with “ancient” facts
Parents want a fast track deal –full deductions in their tax
Highlight education is the modern style—on line.
No room for the how’s and why’s –there simply isn’t time.
So, if you seek reflection in a conversation pit
Find an avid reader for a talk with any wit.
As day turns to night she's awaken
hunter, food provider for her brood,
Stretch, flap wings, feathers shaken,
pitch black, one thing on her mind
nocturnal rodents high protein food,
with stealth she flies, silent, streamlined,
eyes clear, professional killer, all fears
especially mice, vole, one way blood feud,
when our snowy owl silently appears.
Nocturna.
A B A C B C D B D.
I used to sashay into a room
And see all the guys just stare
Now when I waddle in a room
I get cuddled like a bear
I reveled in the very fact
That I was just sizzling hot
Now I feel rather lukewarm
Marilyn Monroe I am NOT!
I used to have a tiny waist
That accentuated my breast
Now there are lots of tiny rolls
That go right up to my chest
People like to touch my arms
They remind them of a pillow
And when I walk, do watch out!
My bum does jiggle like jello
Although now I am not streamlined
Unlike Angelina Jolie
I’m still happy with who I am
Cause there’s beauty inside of me
I don’t think that a woman’s meant
To be merely some skin and bones
But rather curvaciously soft
Or her pokiness will bring groans
And yet I confess to moments
When I wish I could turn back time
I want to be drop dead gorgeous
Not skinny… but full and sublime
Well, this lament is getting lame
So I'll start the exercise craze
I still want to make men go weak
So they’ll stare at me in a daze!
But Belly Dancing won’t be fun
There just won’t be enough to shake
So maybe I’ll just stay this way
And be good...for heaven’s sake!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
...should have been a dolphin
not human with a torn dress on
with dawn upon the door
seized by freezing rain
i'm human for nothing
over and over and again
a captive in a torn dress
...should have been a dolphin
Shivering next my will
...should have been a dolphin
eyes closed warm the cloudburst
sound the surf and swim the waves
fallible and threadbare
streamlined beneath a deluge
....should have been a dolphin
stead of being human
In the 40's I was black, not even shiny.
And so were my mother, father, and cousins.
In the 60's I came out in all kinds of pastels.
Soft pink, sky blue, sea foam green,
I was a new shape too; streamlined.
Some called me names and laughed.
I did not mind because everyone fought over me.
The second they heard my ring they'd be shouting
and running toward me.
I had spittle on me most of the time, it made me feel loved.
My great great great great grandchildren are not as lucky as I.
I heard so many voices - high ones, low ones, happy ones, sad ones.
My grands only hear one voice; just one.
Their tails have been eliminated.
They are not prominently displayed.
They don't have the pride we did.
Sure some have fancy covers, but
They are not part of the family.
My great great great great grandson is sometimes worn in a pocket all day long,
never taken out.
My great great great great granddaughter gets plunked into a woman's bra
on a daily basis.
In a bra!
And they only hear one voice.
They are not part of a family.
No one fights over them.
No one yells, "I'll get it!"
I'll get it used to surge through me like warm butter.
It was a love call.
None of them have curves or dials they are proud of.
My great great great great niece was stolen.
You heard me right.
Stolen!
Her brain was removed, curtains for her.
No one could have stolen me.
The whole family would have fought them.
Even if they hadn't,
I was hooked in.
I was loved.
A Giant
There is an unknown legend that comes
from the great Black Forest
of a creature fearsome and oh, so glorious.
Though his brain be small
and barely larger than a walnut
his head and jaws are held in fear and awe.
Those huge brown eyes hold such a stare
and his teeth are sharp as nails
with claws long and pointed reaching everywhere.
The body black and boldly trimmed in brown
short haired waistcoat thick yet soft
rapped snuggly at his belly round.
The form is slim and trim, the torso long and lank
a streamlined tail waving in the sun
satisfied when its task is done.
There he is, can you see him frown
thrashing through the field
everybody running as he comes into town.
His sound is loud and deafening,
it roars like echoed thunder
as feet imprint the earth he plunders.
There he stands with renewed vigor and vim
challenging every eye on him.
What's that you say, you're unafraid,
He is but a tiny Dachshund?
Stand back my friends, you doubting disbelievers,
be fearful and leary, despite his size
he is a giant,
a Rottweiler in disguise.
Hooks and lures and fishing line, an eight foot throwing net
The sea is calm, the weather fine, there’s challenge to be met
Bait fish schools along the rocks dart frantically away
mesh descends on heavy weights to trap unwary prey
A baited hook is set and cast, the line is brought in taut
time like water trickles past, the battle still un-fought
The sun beats down on golden sand, the waves lap at the shore
the rod is passed from hand to hand as shoulders become sore
Nibblers tease and rip the bait but miss the gleaming hook
larger fish show here and there but only seem to look
Then all at once the sea explodes with one almighty flash
a heavy pull and line reels off, a headlong racing dash
Leaping twisting running deep the line pays off the reel
excitement builds and tension mounts, the fish’s fate is sealed
Pumping rod and straining arms bring colour to the top
but once again the fish will run, it seems to never stop
An hour or more of reeling in, the fish begins to tire
arms and neck and shoulders burn and feel like they’re on fire
The battle nearly over now the fish comes closer in
at last you have it in your hand, how sweet it is to win
Looking down at shining scales of silver black and blue
the streamlined body glistens with the light of every hue
with mouth agape and staring eyes the fish begins to gasp
the hook is pulled, the fish reacts, falling from your grasp
Back into the sea once more, it slowly swims away
maybe to get hooked again and fight another day
A flick of tail and flash of scale it vanishes from sight
You long to hook it up again and recommence the fight.
From my PDF book "Bush Ballads and Bulldust"
streamlined gannets
Holy Isle in view
the long journey ends