Best Surprisingly Poems
A windswept bluebell I am
even though the sun is high in the sky
The wind ruffled the hair
my skin would slowly freeze like mosaic
Want to paint the picture with beautiful thoughts
but difficult to find the rainbow
Tears, so many tears
my heart ripped apart
The pain took a different form
Your sobbing lungs needed a new life
Lung cancer with spread to the lymphs
You were so weak, like a bluebell in the wind
Suddenly it is not a matter of course to get old anymore
Death did not come abruptly or surprisingly
But it was quite overwhelming when it became a reality
Tears, so many tears
my heart ripped apart
I died a little inside
although I will always carry you in my heart
The blue lights are gone now
I have chosen a place near the coast
You loved this place
No exhaust smell or busy people
In the natural cycle your ashes will be spread in the wind
While the birds flying towards the horizon
Nothing can fill the emptiness I feel
From life to death, the road is so short
Rest in peace, I loved you dearly
Tears, so many tears
my heart ripped apart
A simple bluebell is left alone
The clock chimes inaudibly
08.02.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I died a little inside : Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
1st place in the contest
Poem of the Day 09.02.219
Ten-year Randi Clay
Just moved into town -
The town of Fear Street,
Where horror pulls you down.
Enormous, gigantic calendars
She sees, hung on her street
On October 10th is marked
In red - ‘The Birth of Pete.’
She makes new friends at school,
And likewise - enemies too,
Who seemed to keep on saying,
‘Beware – He’ll get you! ’
Whenever asked “Who’s Pete?”
The children turned too pale,
But at last, quite surprisingly,
They began to tell the tale:-
"There was a boy called Pete,
A normal 12 – year old,
Until one day he fell so ill,
And caught a horrid cold.
Alas! One day he died,
And was buried in his grave,
They thought it was the end of Pete,
Grumpy, dull, but brave.
But right from that very year,
Pete gets up on the tenth,
And enters into other kids,
For using up their strength.
It is now an annual tradition
Of playing Hide and Shriek -
Whoever Pete makes ‘IT’
Is the new one from that week.
Randi, the risk for you is
Too real - Heaven forbid.
You’re new to Town Fear Street -
AND PETE DOES LIKE A NEW KID."
---------------------------------------------------------
Based off the idea from an R.L Stine book
I was caught by a train yesterday
I hear people say
this often in exasperation
exaggerated tones
with over-dramatic groans
as if the train somehow
physically captured them
in its large mechanical grasp
diabolically refusing
to let them go
Yesterday
I was caught in a different way
imagination captured, you might say
captivated
charmed
and enchanted
by the passing art display
Something about the way
vibrant, vivid colors
unexpectedly
splashed out on moving canvas
of rust red and dull gray
traveling fast
across the city
feisty train talking smack
with tags and words amusing, witty
strange, disturbing, edgy, gritty
grinding down the tracks
Sometimes shocking-
artfully rendered obscenities
or surprisingly
endearing
cartoon creatures
manga characters
from overseas
expressed with impressive
expertise
and ingenuity
As other drivers sat nearby
fussing, fuming
missing the show
pawing their floorboards
like impatient horses
hands gripping wheels
ready to go-
I watched the trains in
constant childlike
wonder and delight
for those twenty minutes of my day
two trains gone by, one each way
...Then watched the other cars
rolling through
still red
flashing lights
as soon as crossing arms
were lifted halfway
rushing, roaring
trying to make up
the time that was “taken”
by the railway
Bearing the brunt of betrayal,
his long-time lady lover leaves him
for another flame. Surprisingly saying
"I'm so sorry, Sam, we should start
seeing other people"
Broken by a brutal blindside
out of nowhere. He couldn't comprehend
the reason; the shock shook him
like a loud trembling thunder
shakes someone out in the rain
Suddenly lovelorn,
he's left wondering why.
"What did I do to deserve this?"
To add insult to injury, he learns
she left him for his best friend, Bruce.
STRAND CHOICE P,any form,any theme Poetry Contest( Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date written: 03/24/2020
I stood still on the top of the mountain
Gazing at the nature's colourful fountain
Wondering what's behind this amazing rainbow
I ventured curiously on to every high and low
The Violet proudly presented the Valiance behind her Royalty.
Indigo proved that Devotion yields Power and Dignity.
Blue demonstrated that Wisdom is the outcome of Stability.
The Prosperity, as Green proved, results from adventure.
The colour of sunshine revealed that Hope fuels Survival.
Orange disclosed the secret behind the joy of Freedom - Commitment.
Red introduced Courage as the guiding force of Self-empowerment.
I extrapolated these rainbow lessons to understand the essence of existence
Then I was amazed to look at every bit of life's radiance
On the other side of the rainbow of mother's love, there was labour.
On the other side of rainbow of success, there was the waterfall of sweat.
On the other side of the rainbow of sweet dreams, there was bloodshed.
On the other side of the rainbow of independent thoughts, there was abuse.
On every facet of life, only one side of colours is typically seen.
But the brushes that paint them are surprisingly umpteen.
How can people want rights but they aren't right
While working in the daylight with souls bright as night
The creator shall judge the judges, The evil deserves evil
Good people will get what is equal to their actions
And immoral skin passions have fatal lessons
God has a scale where He weighs & sits
Because everything has equal opposite
We selfish to others but hold our nose when they sell theirs
And not giving pardons while expecting God’s cares
And blessings while leaving others with our bee stings
Now turn to your devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
To be right there's no wrong, the righteous are morally strong
You need more than calcium to be the backbone of society
While society breaks you, to makes you. Surprisingly,
The -able are ignorant and unstable
Unable to add-up in the moral table
Telling fables of multiplication while being divided
Trying to add reasoning in facts provided
Their individualism is subtracting from the fold
Being percentages of a percentage, losing the stronghold
False foundation told about a “Doomed Youth”
While the witty wise horde the fake truth
As the truly righteous shake their head and sings
Go ahead with the devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
The battle of truth lies in the beheading of lies
The Righteous must write us
For justice to be just to us and right us
Bleeding thoughts to think, words to ink
Carving insight to push sanity to the brink
Punching Intel, in mind, for knowledge to sink
Unfold stories consoled foretell tails told
Today's prophets profit profits with souls they forfeit
Crumbling towers with warped foundations
Ripping families but cursed lives they’re facin’
Losing the troubleshooting; uprooting with a booting
Bearing false fruits flawed brings
Now play with your devil’s favorite things
Praying to join the heavenly choir
But with an evil song you desire
So retire before you join the hell fire.
I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...
Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed,
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised.
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate? If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us.
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow.
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you.
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep
Inspired by Friedrich Von Schiller’s poem,
The birth to a tumultuous...orchestral bliss.
The flicks of his wand was the rhythm he heard,
A call for dramatic attention...an extraordinary passage.
As he pulls...he demands...rejecting the three movements,
A dense prelude to what is to come softly emerges.
The lower strings of the orchestra sadly...grope,
And transcend into a new melody...a higher plateau.
Intermingling yet surprisingly...exploding into full orchestra,
The rhythm leaves his wand...to the choral of ode to joy.
A musical patriot with passionate poise...conducts in silence.
His soul’s final composition permeates from the gestures of his wand.
A deaf body with a mindful soul...fatigued and battered,
Deprived to listen to the thunderous applause...of his life’s magnum opus.
For years and years
I lived the curse of all women
A woman’s work is never done
That is, never finished
The more work I did the more work showed up
The To Do list was never ending
If I made a dent in it
You couldn’t tell
It was multiple pages and still
I refused to forget a single item
I used to work my To Do list and hope
For some opening somewhere somehow someday
Where I would be able to read, take a candlelit bath
Go for a leisurely walk, paint, write poetry
It never happened
My ever growing To Do list
Had stopped even giving me the glimmer of hope
I was just that crazy hamster busy at her wheel
Till one day
I was late with a painting I had promised
I was pushed to the wall I had no choice
I just had to focus on my craft and not think of anything else
I went at it and focused and focused
It wasn’t easy but I eventually got it done
It was an awesome feeling to finally sign my name
And say it was D-O-N-E
But my celebration was more to me
About having won over time
Time who had always been so elusive
So demanding so full of orders and ultimatums
Seeming so rigid and inflexible
All of a sudden I had decided
I would ignore it
Along with my long list of To Do’s
And surprisingly life went on…
Nothing drastic happened
Nothing fell apart
Nothing exploded
I was actually stunned to tell you the truth
I had once learned about
The differences between Important and Urgent
But my power over it never really sunk in until then
Now I have a new life
Where my Important priorities are in front of me
Where I can reach the one or the other
And the dishes get done but not till I decide to take a break
I do my best to add less to my To Do list
And most of all, pace myself instead of
Trying to kill myself racing through it all
It may seem to you like a small paradigm shift
But to me, my life is turned inside out for the better
AP: 2nd place 2020, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on August 21, 2017 for contest THE POET'S OWN sponsored by GREG BARDER - RANKED 4TH
PS featured in 2021
Another big bright star,
Blonde Scandinavian like dawn smiles
Indeed, sensational sunshine in daylight
Grin without grudging, gracious so soft gently
Splendid her spirit smoothly shines sight
Surprisingly lovely going soul beguiles
Smart mind good heart.
My Mother-In-Law has passed
so she is no longer here.
Mixed feelings I have
but a little less fear.
She was not my big fan,
was less tolerant than most.
She called me a bum... I thought
'What a strange wedding day toast?'
I was told more than once
my Wife could do better.
She wrote Ann Landers nine times
about me in some letters.
She would scream like a banshee
with a voice unlike silk.
I was always hoping to see her
displayed on a carton of milk.
She was always at our house
so I had no where to flee.
A cold wind would soon follow
killing the leaves on our trees.
Real Estate values have fallen
all over our block.
She kept wearing those short shorts
when out for a walk.
There was a knock on my door
and who did I find?
But a 'Peeping Tom' crying,
'Please close all your blinds.'
A sizable women as she smoked...
had a cough.
When the Lady broke wind...
my car alarm would go off.
We had gone to the beach
and swam late through the night.
She then got a bit hungry
and bit a Great White.
The next day we went to the Zoo
where she was attacked by three apes.
The battle was wild and fierce...
only one would escape.
I arrive early for the service,
it's the least I can do.
Considering our checkered history
and what we've been through.
The people are surprisingly quiet,
they are silent in prayer.
But my thoughts turn quickly to lunch,
what will they prepare?
I will definitely miss her somewhat
as I ponder her fate.
For poor Heaven has gained
a little more weight.
But if Heaven be not
but the other direction.
I have no doubt she will have
the Devil's affection.
We shouldn't speak ill of the dead
as there is no need to flaunt.
They may come back as spirits
determined to haunt.
The Church service is finished
as the mourners depart.
The only thing left
is to put a stake in her heart.
The End
*For those who might be interested. I will be posting my cartoon 'Bob's your Uncle' on my homepage. A new one will appear every second day.
I was only ten when I first fell in love
surprisingly with the vast blue sky,
the sky was very near to me then
almost within the reach of my tiny hands
as if I could easily touch it or smell its fragrance.
Its changing colour used to take me in a world
where I built palaces of childhood dreams
those childhood dreams had the wings of Pegasus,
and I used to talk to the sky for hours,
my mother smilingly called me sky-crazy
and my father predicted about my bleak future,
my friends used to pull my leg.
Now after so many years
I have proved my father's prediction wrong
and some of my friends are jealous about me,
but I don't have the time now
to look at or talk to the sky,
only occasionally I can see it now
through my back view mirror~
gradually distancing itself from me.
==============000==============
At the end of the finishing line,
a deep grouchy voice thunders in my ears
and said, “Welcome home”.
I stepped on the green carpeted grass
and gazed at the slender bushy trees
waving peacefully in the hot summer breeze.
Happy squirrels scampering along
and merry birds singing happy songs.
But the moment swiftly fades and the
tormenting sound of fire trucks sirens chimed in
Trash less garage truck put on masquerading scenes
and empty school buses appear on every corner
performing a deceptive drama.
I gazed across the horizon and drowned out
the intimidating sounds in America’s streets.
Instantaneously a hand touched me
I reached out and held on
but surprisingly it disappears.
I held on tightly clinging to something that was not there.
Bequeathed by a mysterious will
my mind glides up a gigantic hill
shades of wonders, throngs of danger
could not stopped god's destined will.
With hand clasped and eyes closed
I whisper a prayer for my compelling soul.
I tried to detached but it kept coming back.
Something bigger than faith kept me going
more profound than hope itself
It absorbs my innate being
and laden me with mystical dreams.
Weighing heavily upon throbbing heart
It was strong enough to melt my spiritual thoughts.
Thousand of them stand in the midst of the crowd
but only one I could make out.
That one gambled with my heart
Stretched my bone and pull my marrow apart
unmindful of the wounds it caused
smiling at me without an infinite thought.
most powerful and most worthy
Yet strong enough to rip up my aching heart.
©2013 Christine Phillips
Every so often, my mind wanders back to the summer of my youth, where a specific memory awaits.
Having completed my first year at University, I’ve come home. My younger brother John, fifteen, seems all grown up, so different. He’s gotten taller but it’s more than that.
I'm surprised when he offers me a tour of his new ‘Boyz Only’ clubhouse. I almost wonder if he has missed me while I was away, likely not. The shell of a hand-me-down camper has been converted into a hangout. When I mention that he keeps it surprisingly neat, he snickers and reveals his stash of hidden girlie magazines, safe from the inevitable parental inspection.
I am impressed, and at the same time, I can’t help but feel like I’ve entered a time bubble, a door, a transition. On one hand, it feels surreal; on the other hand, it’s simply an honour to just sit here as a guest.
I talk to John about what it was like to adapt to life in the big city. He talks to me about his recent exploits and his adventures with his friends. It isn’t long before we reminisce about the escapades we shared when we were younger. In our pauses, we’re somehow cognizant that we’re one step closer to adulthood, to what we might call freedom.
In the past year, I haven’t thought much about home and our countryside fields. For me it’s more about what the future has to offer. But on this day, it’s tangible how John and I are setting out on different journeys. He is next in line to fly the coop and I'm sure he realizes it. As we spread our wings, it’s obvious that the gap will only grow.
This precise moment clings golden to me, ever so close to the surface of my heart.
at the forest’s edge
by the old baseball field
youth within reach
AP: 1st place 2024, 2nd place 2026, Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on September 1, 2025 for contest 2025 POETRY MARATHON MILE 13 sponsored by MARK TONEY - RANKED 1ST
and on November 15, 2025 for contest 2025 POETRY MARATHON QUALIFIERS' FINAL PLACEMENT sponsored by MARK TONEY - RANKED 14TH
I'm a polar bear, just that.
Don't ever call me bi-polar
or I'll angrily maul you to death!
Take a good look at me;
I'm a hulking menace.
Don't let my elephantine size
fool you. I'm surprisingly agile;
fast enough to chase down
an Arctic fox!
I'm a formidable apex predator
and wanderer of the North Pole.
When you don't see me,
I'm probably in hibernation.
My hunger is unslakable.
I can eat up to 10%...
of my bodyweight in 30 minutes!
My dense coat and body fat
insulate me so warmly that I...
sometimes overheat in summer.
When I do, I cool down by
plunging into the ice-cold sea.
Did I mention I can stand and
fight on my hind legs? I'm like the
energizer-bunny; incessantly mobile,
roaming hundreds of miles across
the barren Arctic tundra
in search of seals and fish.
I'm all dressed in white;
the snowbank, the perfect camouflage
for me to suddenly sneak up on a prey.
Invade my frozen kingdom at your peril.
I rule the arctic wastes like the king lion
rules the Serengeti!
Submitted for...
Strand Select A ,Any Form ,Any Theme Poetry Contest (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date: 02/01/2020
Date written: 01/24/2020