Best Tends Poems
I am poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I wonder what mortal mirrors reflect...
For me, all races deserve respect.
I often hear the splashing of rain,
and flood rushing down the drain.
I see the petals of the morning bloom
and dawn peeping into my dusky room.
I strive to forget the tales of ages long gone
when dreams died as deeds undone.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I pretend to be a terrific tree
sapping the tears that betide me.
I feel old scars opening each time
my heart tends to commit new crime.
I touch the heart of the gentle moon
and worry if the Sun will shine at noon.
I cry for the youth and aged in need
and for gluttons in the grave of greed.
I hear the whispers of wealth and wisdom
flowing freely from the field of freedom...
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
I understand the chains of our choices;
frailties of our fate; our darn differences.
I say let us not preen on what is not ours,
we will leave them in the six-feat towers.
I crave a world without woes and worries;
the mortal mall of matchless memories
where everyone trades a lasting legacy...
and love is shared on the platter of mercy.
I long to see gray skies turn blue
and my sweetest dreams come true.
I am a poet with a priceless pen
born to burnish the beauty of men.
Categories:
tends, analogy, poetry, poets,
Form:
Couplet
For once in my life,
I want to be a poem,
Written with many metaphors,
By a poet with a heart that flows
Flowers of romanticism like the rivers
That roar with devotion deeper than the oceans.
I may never last forever,
Immortalise me in your poem,
I want to smile forever,
I have had oceans of tears
Splashing my heart
And tearing me apart.
Little less anaphora,
Much more allusion,
Refer not a rhyme or a rhythm,
Let me be free, wild and witty,
Just like the sunflowers smiling
In sunbeams in those dreamy paintings,
Let my hair be reckless like waves,
My eyes serene like grey graves,
My lips rosy like bleeding caves,
My fragrance drowsy and dreamy like the dead poets.
Can you write me like those burned up passionate pages in the night where the moon is just hanging low longing to be brought down in the grave glow of the cherry red candlelight.
Please, please,
Let me be a poem,
Say yes, say that you will write me,
Your glorious glass pen,
Ingenious emerald ink
Crunching on an aged, mushy parchment paper.
My typewriter won't work,
The ink on my fingers consumed me,
I choked on my coffee,
I am nothing but just shards of the coffee cup
That kissed my mouth every morning
With gardens and gloom,
Brought a sparkle on my face
That tends to bloom.
I want to be a poem.
Categories:
tends, art, muse, passion, poems,
Form:
Free verse
There she stands
Centre stage for all to see
Tall and slender
Precariously she balances.
I reach out for her
Draw her to me
My hand skims her body
Slowly reaching her skirt.
Playful fingers find hidden areas
Delighted her legs spring forth
Displaying the very beauty
Of her delicately adorned skirt.
Gaily she dances around
Dizzily twisting and turning
In the brightness of day shading
She gently tends to my needs.
Personal ballerina takes to toes leaping
Merrily bobbing up and down
As emotional to her performance
Clouds cry a thousand tears for her.
Reaching our destination
Slightly shaken, she leans
Watches me quietly drips
Against the wall.
Reminiscent of the day's fulfillment
We acknowledge one another silently
Restful knowing we shall be
One once more.
Categories:
tends, confusion, devotion, life, lost
Form:
Personification
I wish I could write
like those others before me,
Byron and Shelley and old Edgar Poe
Flowery phrases
Thy love unforgetting,
chasing a raven as ink tends to flow
Follow a sidewalk
in Silverstein footsteps,
sit neath a tree as the apples appear
Doth O’ my feelings
O’er Midsummer stanzas
Dream thee melodic as words of Shakespeare
Maybe some thoughts
in a past tense creation,
deeper in meaning like Sylvia Plath
Or Robert Frost
and the nature he touches,
meandering off through the trees down a path
Emily Dickinson,
aprons and daisies,
words overflowing the tea kettle rim
And let’s not forget
“The man”, Leonard Cohen,
what I would give if I could write like him
Neruda, Longfellow,
Kipling and cummings
so many thoughts in their own point of view
Taking our minds
to assorted locations
every piece speaks of something quite new
So many poets
who weave inspiration,
any or all I can just hope to be
But here I am
just writing my verses,
I guess I am stuck being little ol’ me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And here’s a few more,
some you might know
Who inspire all
when their ink it does flow
Charmaine, Paloma,
Heidi and Dee
Victor and Daniel
Catie, Laniey
Holly, Alexis,
Mystic and Rick
Maurice, The Seeker
Eve and Tim Smith
Arthur and Freddie
James, Jo and Jan
Nette, Laura Loo
Broken Wings, San
And so many others
I’ve met on this site
Who each day inspire
this poet to write
If I have forgotten anyone, I apologize. I am still quite new here.
Categories:
tends, poems, poetess, poetry, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
~
I drink from the chalice
in light of the day,
a goblet of crystal
on endless display
Where amethyst rainbows
sing songs in the sand
and sunflower fragrances
walk hand in hand
When happiness touches
each mountain I climb
of heart beat concertos
in three quarter time
As clouded sky warriors
reach for the prize,
then fall to their knees
as the sun starts to rise
I savor the tea leaves
in herbal delight,
in hopes that the wrongs
now become every right
To take in the distance
that I’ve come to know,
if only a dream
where my heart tends to go
I follow the pathway
of lavender rose,
where love is the garden
that forever grows
My thirst now does find
on this journey anew,
my chalice in light of the day
it is you
~
Categories:
tends, good morning,
Form:
Rhyme
When asked to write Limericks about ladies
I said, "Oh, no. There's no way in Hades!"
Too many are my friends
I'd have to make amends
Not even for a brand new Mercedes
Then, I gave the matter a bit more thought
And chose women closest to my heart
The ones in Milton Creek
Five who are quite unique
All lovely women who are very smart
Jan holds ownership of the Manx Saloon
Where two lovely ladies sing a fine tune
It's where Milt played poker
But do not provoke her
Jan has been known to throw a mean spittoon!
Tania now runs the bakery in town
Her Whiskey Whoopie Pies are world renown
Come to Kitchin's Kitchen
She might let you pitch in
to help her make the best pastries around
Deb manages the Manx with extra care
No outlaws allowed, so you'd best beware
If you're packin' a gun
Or maybe on the run
She'll call the lawmen and they'll be right there
Two recently hired ladies fit right in
Caren tends bar, pouring jiggers of gin
Anne-Lise is the town flirt
Servin' drinks in ruffled skirt
Fine ladies, living at Aces with Lin
There's a few others at the Bordello
I hear one's sweet on a certain fellow
Maybe just a rumor
A tale told with humor
The Creek's calm enough to hear cows bellow
Residents will keep it free of all spats
No bad hombres who'll be wearin' black hats
More ladies will arrive
Our little town will thrive
Mayor Tom will have more to say 'bout that
Categories:
tends, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Was it a sheer accident that I became a poet?
Poetry, I didn’t pursue, rather it cropped up
As a late-night guest, quite unexpected.
A teacher’s career, I have been bent upon
And prefer to be known more as a teacher than a poet.
In my eyes, teachers are a venerable sort,
Happy that I could belong to that ‘special’ lot,
Instilling in young ones - newer insights gleaned,
Enriching their lives - with atoms of knowledge pooled,
Brightening their paths - with millions of lanterns lit,
Rowing them away - from the perilous shoals of life,
And leading them to be anchored on safer shores!
A teacher sure stands taller above,
Every other mortal who serves!!
Numerous are the guise a teacher has to put on,
And cleverer the tricks she has to play,
To tackle the wards in her all-out care,
And launch them out into a world to fare.
I have played all at once myriad roles,
More of a mentor and not just a tutor,
A physician who heals, a nurse who tends,
A parent who cares or a pal who shares,
A patron who supports or a lawyer who argues,
A scholar who learns and a master who trains.
As Christ taught his disciples - with parables many,
As Socrates instructed the youth - through endless queries,
As Sullivan led Keller - to the new dawn of light,
As Aesop enlightened kids - with countless tales,
I strove to be a TEACHER.
An erudite soul with a mission!
A sculptor who sees an angel, veiled within a rock!
An architect building an edifice to last a lifetime!
A warrior uncompromising in war,
On Ignorance – the most ignoble foe!
I don’t know where I presently stand,
Nor do I know how my students would rate me,
Though often floundered or failed to act,
In the manner I ever so longed to do,
I would rather be a TEACHER all my life,
A ‘guru’ out and out, from hilt to heel.
And I would wear that mantle with pride!
Categories:
tends, destiny, inspirational, passion,
Form:
Free verse
Middle child of seven siblings and has had a troubled childhood
It has made me a stronger person, just not easily understood
Had a baby at seventeen and had to grow up in a flash
Now tends to over think, tries not to do anything rash.
I have dark long blond hair, hazel eyes and an infectious smile
Patient, laid back, but still gets frustrated every once in a while
Likes long hot showers and is wise with money
Drinker of herbal teas and hot lemon with ginger and honey
Friendly, outgoing and loves to laugh
Driven, ambitious does nothing by half
Enjoys to read, dance and play scrabble
Inspired by poetry, in writing it I dabble.
Is a PSW in long term nursing care
Empathy for the elderly I can't but share
Loves truly and deeply, is a hopeless romantic
Directionally challenged without a GPS I become frantic.
Mother of three sons, who enriched by life with so much joy
Recently blessed with a grand daughter, who I cherish, love and enjoy
Kindhearted, non judgmental and a very loyal friend
I'm always there when needed, on me you can depend.
Never smoked, did drugs and rarely ever has an alcoholic drink
Likes crosswords and sudoku, games that make me think
Loves sea food, sauteed onions and homemade soup
Energized by biking, long hikes and is a leader in a scouting group.
Moved by Nickleback's song, 'If Today Was Your Last Day'
For we should live life to the fullest, let nothing stand in our way
My favorite movie is 'Ever After' starring my favorite actress Drew Barrymore
Hoping like the movie that my prince charming will soon walk through my door.
****Sidney ~ LeeAnn's " All About ___ " poetry contest ****
Categories:
tends, introspection, life, me, life,
Form:
Rhyme
St Helens, volatile lady,
Is letting off some steam.
She is seething now with anger.
We know not to what extreme.
I remember the eruption in
The year of ninety-eighty.
That fierce outburst proved her to be
A quite hot-headed lady.
She will not tell what ticked her off.
She gets her satisfaction,
Not from talk or boastfulness.
She articulates with action.
So take your puny instruments
And foolish speculations.
She well may have surprise in store
Beyond all expectations.
Don't tramp on her abundant skirts;
That tends to irritate her.
This lady's incensed enough now,
You're foolish if you bait her.
She's given you fair warning
And if you take her dare
You can't run far enough to get
Her ash out of your hair.
By Joyce
Categories:
tends, natural disasters,
Form:
Narrative
A Picture Of Oneself contains not too much to tell,
Except the package showing that in which they dwell.
This is the only purpose a picture has and does,
Telling nothing about the person who is or was.
A Picture Of Oneself shows nothing that's inside.
Who is the real character that within does reside?
Are they a soul with compassion, full of empathy
Or are they all about themselves with only apathy?
How much do they care? How much do they Love?
Are they ego driven with pride derived of?
What character traits does the picture of possess,
One of integrity, virtue, along with humbleness?
Do they seek and tell the truth or do they lie?
Do they have a code of ethics they only live by?
What do they aspire for in life and/or hope to gain?
Do they care how or if it's by causing others pain?
What are they feeling, happy with joy in their heart
Or are they battling pain in their deepest, inner part?
What have they been through; what have they endured?
Have they overcome with an outlook, healthy and secured?
All the aspects of a person are left unaddressed
In a Picture Of Oneself, the real is oppressed.
The packaging is glorified, says nothing of its host;
Though appearance is deceptive, it tends to matter most.
Technology would surpass itself and be truly smart,
If there was a camera that could capture one's heart.
All the devious hearts wouldn't have invisibility
And all the hearts of beauty would shine then brilliantly.
A Picture Of Oneself may preserve one's appearance;
May be used to con others and to run interference.
But a Picture Of Oneself, nothing does it tell.
It's just a package picture, a picture of one's shell.
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2018-04-13 08:55:00 (EDT) All rights reserved.
Categories:
tends, character, mystery,
Form:
Rhyme
A parrot sits on my shoulder.
Unlike those that squawk, mine tends to whine.
When she is in the mood,
she moans and moans and moans.
No Polly-Anna Parrot is this one!
My pain she keeps repeating,
and hearing of it hinders me from being
more completely sympathetic to the pain
of others in my life.
As she dribbles cracker crumbs of pessimissm
from her annoying and ugly noxious beak,
it’s so difficult to pluck her from my ear.
Alas! I’m hearing the sound of my own voice,
for ‘tis I - who taught her how to speak.
Jan. 20, 2019 for
Maureen McGreavy's Plucking the Poisonous Parrot Contest
Categories:
tends, psychological,
Form:
Free verse
`
“We all have shadows in our lives,
but they are so much easier to face
when we don’t have to face them alone” – Chris Green
~~~
I gaze the horizons of October days
tree lines in silhouettes form
Across windswept fields tightly wrapped in the haze
a few steps ahead of the storm
Clouds gather round in a sinister view
my mind tends to search for the sun
Shorter these days now that winter is due
thoughts seem to be on the run
Counting the minutes till darkness appears
dampened the air comes a mist
Strolling I smile in spite of my fears
wishes now November kissed
Cold weather calls at the end of the day
soon as the stars come to be
Still I can push all the shadows away
as long as you are here with me
~~~
Categories:
tends, good night,
Form:
Rhyme
Up high on our soul’s trapeze
we tire of the bar we hold
but we find it hard to release our known.
Eyeing the free bar full of potential
we wish to air dive, then clutch-catch that swing.
Here comes, now nears, the free bar
we thoroughly want to grab,
but fear paralyzes all dreams we have.
We tell ourselves what convinces ourselves
to stay put, we count the reasons we should:
"there’s no way it could work out;
I’ve got no chance of winning;
I'm too fat and old for website dating;
I’m so skinny they won’t want me playing;
My problems would turn others against me;
Not with my ills and sore back;
Naw, I do not deserve more."
A lone angel tends God’s blessing warehouse,
dusting boxed blessings that bear people’s names -
those whose faith so lacked it blocked blessings gains.
Father promised abundance,
yet we clutch less as our best.
... CayCay
October 11, 2018
Categories:
tends, blessing, change, christian, courage,
Form:
Free verse
Where is the love you promised us always? Eternal love is
cast out of heaven for the angelic it seems—Quote by poet
It burns deeply knowing our ways of love aren’t angelic
Love’s awe emerges then torn apart as old as a Christian relic
It seems true that blessed love can only abide in its
eternal among the angels above and only in the purest spirits
We mortals find the gift of love can be difficult at best
Echoing passions of no forevers with no peace or rest
Awaiting parting and its end with such sweet sorrows
Pink coral sunsets no longer signs of golden tomorrows
To paraphrase Shakespeare’s sonnet, love which burns
brightest tends to dim the quickest—coal rakes and it churns
inside informing me that our ways of love are not angelic
Just to discover true love is as rare as a lost and sacred relic
Categories:
tends, angel, feelings, irony, longing,
Form:
Rhyme
Migrating southward before Autumn dies;
flocks of geese split the air with honking cries.
And snow clouds dapple Winter's ice-blue skies;
as winds kiss the trees with audible sighs.
Dawn's first light ignites an ice-cold sunrise;
long-gone are the songbirds and butterflies.
Yet, some creatures have learned to improvise,
turning food into fat, they winterize.
Hibernating bears must bulk up their size,
not gorging in the Fall would be unwise.
A long Winter could lead to their demise
should the need to wake up early arise.
Inclement weather tends to brutalize;
for nature doesn't react well to surprise.
Fighting starvation and all it implies;
some species evolved to cannibalize.
Categories:
tends, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Monorhyme