Best Theme Poems
"Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us." - Hal Borland
Each year goes round, and so I must surmise
that even though four seasons make a year,
we cannot really say when one year dies
or when the brand new year has had its dawn!
At any spot upon this earthly sphere,
we, all of us, are going on and on.
There is no start, so there can be no end.
We try to gather wisdom from the old
to learn from it and then resolve to mend
our future ways, then pass it to our youth.
But wisdom must be valued more than gold
if love and peace on earth would be our truth.
Each year goes round, and so I must surmise
there is no start, so there can be no end!
(A Cornish Sonnet)
So, what is the best theme for
a poem? No guarded secret, all themes --
Freely to Roam! And what, the prescribed
destination or direction? Wherever the poet,
himself, deems worthy of fond or pertinent
affection –
Poetic Theme (extended metaphor)
So, what is the best theme for
a poem? No guarded secret, all themes –
Freely to Roam! And what the prescribed
destination or direction? Only those fond
and pertinent, giving affectionate-justification as
reason for procrastination – to linger in a moment's
subtle discovery – the courses followed only those
which the poet deems entrancingly divine – he seeks
heartfelt permanent encampment – or just an
amicable pause, in a neighboring field, fertile for
blooming enchantment; with his companion pen, to chronicle
canorous visuals, fervently inspired – or simply folksy,
lyrical rides; for the poet, alone, decides where his poetry lives
or temporarily abides –
(his muse, never far off – nearby, perhaps reflecting in the shade of a flowering
fruit tree: heaped in petals, not trying to hide – more enjoying the velvety feel of an
apple before the outer peel, though colorful, would be far too bitter for his present
aromatic meal) – muse and poet, composing through a single eye. Writing as one:
sharing new sights – sounds with scent – their mind dutifully toward poetry
bent – shades of detail, mellifluously transcending common scheme and rhyme –
incanting verse worthy of a brief performance, or immortal, blessed shrine –
It's all fair, such dulcet affair! All subjects! All seasons! – preferring spring, in which to self-lavish and spiritually entwine. Therefore, his paths are fanciful, never truthful as definitive
would define; often choosing glitter over harsh realty, yet can be a prophet and oracle if a troubling-time -- though never, a ruling class mime; – in this sense, he is a likable charlatan, a chimerical rebel...irreconcilable passion his soulful crime, therefore not ever exhibited, an atoning-word or act of sorrowful contrition – so loved by God, who gags at his counterpart, the lying politician.
I fear my monster
Powerful and beautiful.
With her deadly green thorns
And two piercing green eyes
She screams for me to let her out.
The infinity of the universe
stretches beyond our comprehension
Our minds can only imagine
with renderings on the theme
and our perpetual colors of creativity
painted in our minds by the sense of our smallness
So we look in awe
gathering in starlights to fill our wondrous dreams
7/6/19
contest The Universe
The rusted Ferris wheel, a skeletal hand,
Points to a sky it can no longer command.
Once, laughter echoed, joy on the breeze,
Now silence reigns, whispered by the trees.
The carousel horses, their paint chipped and worn,
Dream of merry-go-rounds, of days yet unborn.
Once, children squealed, clinging to their steeds,
Now shadows dance, where happy laughter bleeds.
The cotton candy stand, its windows cracked and dim,
Holds the ghost of sweetness, a forgotten whim.
Once, sugary clouds, a magical delight,
Now only dust motes, swirling in the light.
The roller coaster track, a metal serpent curled,
Whispers of thrills, a forgotten world.
Once, screams of delight, a dizzying race,
Now only rust and wind, in this silent space.
The park stands empty, a monument to time,
A reminder of moments, once so sublime.
The ghosts of laughter, echo in the breeze,
Whispering of memories, of happy, carefree days.
The vision of colors
Words that intensify with every varying assortment
When it comes to spectacular, it’s the amazement in what is to come, and what was transcribed
Beauty in every letter in what they provide
Suppose with no oppose
Every thought captured at the right moment of the angle
A Poet composes every night within
Sometimes bright stars or nightmare element dialog
Imagine fireworks surrounded by the dazzle Poet with their own writing explosion
Explosion
The mind with on a river in mine capturing all the components of delight
Picture the Poet like a Lighthouse being a guiding light
Expectation beyond
Fireworks after fireworks
Preparation and detail
Poet on sight
Get ready for the writing explosive night
No look up just a hook up
Razzle and Dazzle
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty, an average girl, born in Chicago.
I went to school there, then here, Florida.
Fifteen years, I’ve been to school
Two more, I still got
Before I’m done and in school again
But by that time, I’ll be the teacher
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
There are so many theories
So many philosophies
Well, just five
But that’s enough when you’ve got to prescribe to one
or two
or three
or four
or all five
At twenty, my age, I’ve suffered them all
Teacher-centered essentialist classrooms
Rows of students paralyzed in fear at no kitten but rather
Of a rather fat cat dressed up in a test booklet
I’ve been a victim of perennialists
Holding within a “great book” a great book.
For all the eyes behind her head,
Teacher couldn’t see my copy
Of Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging inside of my copy of The Iliad
One day I walked into a progressive classroom
The teacher put us all in groups
We built a robot and learned
About torque, levers, and voltage
I’ve been privy to social reconstruction
Now that is motivation
To seek and find a problem
Then to seek and find an answer
My mind was never idle in that class
In the class of an existentialist
I drank cool water
She let us be
And was our friend
Being me, I can never be you
Or Ms. Wild
Or Ms. Green
Or Mr. Melvin
Or Ms. Kilic
Or Ms. Miller
I can only be me
And with being me, I will carry every philosophy
I am product of them all
Of the tests
And old books
Of the group work
And activism
Of the simple, free classroom that played my kind of music and turned me into Da Vinci
For an hour
I’ve learned from all of them
I guess they all learned from me
And now we’ve both got something true
A living, flowing, breathing philosophy
This is my page for Special Topics
I thought it would be fun to pretend to translate
a yakuza-enka (gambler folk song) by Shintaro Katsu,
to be sung with gravelly grave seriousness.
Nobody seems to love me
Or care about my pain
My sandals are all worn out
I sleep out in the rain
I am a lonely bugger,
A blind and lowly bug
I have no home, I always roam,
I'm practically a thug.
My name is Zatoichi
My life is never peachy
I tap along and sing a song
As sad as it is preachy.
The only time I'm happy
Is when I'm betting dice
But if they try to cheat me
or fail to treat me nice
I show them quick my blind man's stick
Can flash with bloody slice
I cut them all in pieces
It's quite an awful vice.
My name is Zatoichi
My life is never peachy
I tap along and sing a song
As sad as it is preachy.
Hmm...What Discursive Poetic Theme Shall I Write About...
Today (a rather brisk, chilly,
and otherwise sat
tiss factory twirly delightful
December 18th, 2018) matte
her of fact quite
refreshing noontime, while this fat
tend plot of Earthen surveyed terrain
situated over scat
herd modest suburban tract,
(actually yours truly some watt
urbanely sprawled out) at
Latitude: 40.2538 Longitude: 75.4590,
where I sit pat
and think to write
about some reading material flat
touring my "FAKE" status
as king of agitprop for chat
hurrying class gussied up with
artistically crafted rat
tilly done up snazzy razz mutt tazz
(approved by Willard), this expat
lapsed Peterson harried tailored script,
asper previous peculiar
swiftly styled idée fixe
literary unnecessary, rat
tickly tawdry superfluity)
interspersed with dollops of splat
hard logophile, nonetheless gentle
on the eyes, yet feeling totally flat
and devoid of meaning, and quite
convincingly desperate idea this pratt
tilling far amore in the dell doth
expatiate, expound expressively, gnat
cheerily witty, (i.e. hint- please
pretend these humph fat
tickle lee meandering, rambling,
and warbling words) taxing
on mental faculty as bat
tan gruelling death march
physically, when circa
April 1942 Japanese forced
76,000 captured Filipinos,
and Americans Allied
soldiers to march about 80 miles across
Bataan Peninsula (province
in Philippines), where they died
enroute to...during World War II
on island of Luzon, espied
as a spiritual sanctuary hosted
by a knowledgeable tour guide
named Matthew Scott hood dons
genuine (musty smelling)
Tory wig to hide
as an alien alias (from the outer limits
of the twilight zone) incognito
even to himself, and especially the bride
of Frankenstein, who evinces a strong crush
toward said nondescript gentrified
vested gentry groundless thinker with pride
though, dirt poor (at least on the surface),
but deep down rich with
Schwenksville well watered
history harkening back to 1684,
when hoodwinked, jilted and lied
Lenni-Lenape Indians got fleeced
then taken for a ride
this land ceded to (stolen from) William Penn
nestled along the Perkiomen Creek.
Entertainment tonight;
It's alright;
Entertainment tonight;
Out of sight;
Woo oh oh, we're here to entertain you;
We've got entertainment media news;
Music, and fashions dresses pants and shoes;
We got the scoop on the latest Hollywood news;
We're here to entertain you;
Entertainment tonight;
it's alright;
Entertainment tonight;
Out of sight;
woo oh oh, we're here to entertain you;
We've got Isaac Hayes, even Bernadette Peters hey, hey, hey;
We'll comment on Big Albert, and even Willie Mayes;
Got the gossip and views on whose marring who. . .
Woo oh oh, we're here to entertain you;
Entertainment tonight, it's alright;
entertainment tonight, out of sight;
woo oh oh, we're here to entertain you;
Words sung or vocalized to the music, original theme music from the 1981 era
06/09/85
Lyrics written by James Edward Lee Sr. ©1985, 2018
Composed music by Michael Mark
Resting Ancestors,
Far from Science,
But the fathers of social science,
Traditions and beliefs,theories of their science,
From rise to demise,
Marriage plays in between,
Bride and bride groom,
Bridging a gold ring,
Round like the moon,no ending surround,
Between in and out a tiny wall stands,
Many curves and many bends like Iceland,
In and out,curves and bends teaching some concepts,
To all the brides and grooms to accept-
Come in as we send out I,
Give in take out,
Joy in sorrow out,
Reaching the curves and bends,
Learn-
To turn!
01.12.2014
A spirit who had the sense
to want a human experience.
So, growing through earth days
she walks a thin line always
between heaven and hell
and oh my, she's survived very well !!
Survived and continues to grow,
an artist blessed, always curious to know
this earth's history and mystery, philosophies
never to shut down in a freeze
of close-minded ways.
She is a teacher and student all her days.
A woman of passion and serenity
living with purpose in sobriety.
Carrying a recovery message to all
graced to help others not to fall
into dark addictions so fear-driven
but to give Hope like she was given.
Faith in myself this She that I am,
a work in progress to the very end.
~~~~~ ..... Who Is Sue?
~~~~ Theme for A Rambling Poet's contest
When we first met here, it didn’t have such a dead feeling like it does now. This place used to have a soul, it used to be alive. Now it stands alone like a nameless grave. Forgotten and empty. Isn’t it funny? A place that once made me so happy, now feels like I’m walking into an angry cellmate’s prison cell, waiting to get shanked in the heart repeatedly. I walk past what used to be our favorite wooden roller coaster which is now rundown and rusty. It’s in shambles; parts of it are not even intact. The broken half of the wooden roller coaster looks as if it’s trying to reach out to the other piece that has fallen apart to become connected and complete again, but the overgrown vines keep them apart. I finally stop walking to look up to admire what has become of this thing that now reminds me of a torture device from a scene from the movie Saw. Just as I thought, looks worse than it did before and each day it begins to look more and more like an old woman who needs help standing up. As I stand here my mind begins to play tricks on me. My focus is now shifted from the wooden roller coaster to ground level of the vacant theme park. From a distance I see him and I laughing together, looking at each other as if that was exactly where we wanted to be and nowhere else. Then my mind starts to flicker the scene on and off like a light bulb, kind of teasing me saying “now you see it, now you don’t.” When my mind does this, I know what’s going to happen next. This scene that I’m watching from afar will soon be put into my imaginary basement of haunting memories for me to save for another dreary walk in our now least favorite theme park.
after the deluge
stilled cloud-shrouded land awakes. . .
flood of breaking day
Entered 4/15/2018 for MIck Talbot's Haiku no titles, theme NATURE Contest
Afghanistan, Afghanistan,
you can't win a war in Afghanistan
ask the Russians and A Mer I Cans,
if they can't do it, than no-one can
Watch out!....The War in Afghanistan
Afghanistan, Afghanistan,
full of Al-Qaeda and Taliban
opium poppies throughout the land,
a big paycheck for Afghanistan,
Watch out!... for The War in Afghanistan.
In the still of night, before he took flight,
Navy Seals dropped by, Bin Laden must die......
Afghanistan, Afghanistan,
it's time that we leave Afghanistan,
We've kicked the Taliban in the Can
no need for us to lose Servicemen
Watch out !... for The War in Afghanistan....
let's leave, get out of Afghanistan...
No more........War in Afghanistan...........