Best Tip Over Poems
I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil.”
Job 3:26 NIV
The way of peace they do not know; there is no justice in their paths. They have turned them into crooked roads; no one who walks along them will know peace.
Isaiah 59:8 NIV
“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33 NIV
“Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.
Matthew 10:34 NIV
Lord, you establish peace for us; all that we have accomplished you have done for us.
Isaiah 26:12 NIV
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Romans 15:13 NIV
Indeed ,this world is in turmoil
So, many corrupt paths and roads
Leaving one exhausted from chaos
Waves that would cause a boat to sink
Winds that would blow it sails to tip over
Many astrologers and meteorologist
That could try and tell one the exact
Day that one could sail for calmness
Oh wait a minute this was not in the forecast
Out of no where the waves and winds
Still come out to cause chaos
There is One which has given
One a way to find peace and rest
To bring a calmness not while just out at sea
But in knowing this road leads to Him
For a separation of the old self or worldly things
By the Holy Spirit guiding and molding.
Within, giving a new understanding
That one has nothing to fear
If we could be in the spirit
All are united as family
The waves and winds come but get rejected
Not of own works
But by faith and the will of Christ
To leave one out on a calm sea
Watching the beauty of God's creation
Unfold daily in His presence
Categories:
tip over, fate,
Form:
Free verse
SMART MAN
Who can tip over the water jars of the heavens
when the dust becomes hard
and the clods of the earth stick together?
Job 38:37b-38 NIV
SMART MAN
Smart man, God gave
you hands - to fill a water jug,
to sprinkle the garden.
Who has bought powdered water,
wrung out the rain from a cloud,
picked the dewdrops, like petals
from the sky? Smart man, who?!
Smart man, who turns to dust
after one hundred years,
who waters your grave, after
the mourners walk away?
How heavy, the water jars
of heaven? The angels huge
with wings, kick them over
at God’s command, not man’s.
Are we just clods, that stick
together. We are set to flight
only at the Lord’s command,
indefensible. Our tongues
cannot stick out to catch
a rain that does not exist.
Resist the Lord, smart man?
Is he not a friend? Is he not
the living water, the living end?
6/21/2022
Categories:
tip over, god, water,
Form:
Didactic
My dear incredible pen,
you are the pinnacle of writing instruments! Looking refined with your elegant ebony shaft and gold-filagree trim, you are a true technological wonder to behold and a master calligrapher.
I am amazed at your ability to ink my thoughts onto paper without a single smear, skip or blotch. You fit my hand like we were custom crafted as one, allowing me to gently glide your easy-flow tip over a blank canvas and create literary art.
Oh, my dearest, most reliable pen,
I am enthralled by your ability to interpret my scribbled thoughts into meaningful, coherent sentences. You are my inspiration, confidant, and protagonist; I would be lost without your profound influence and companionship.
You have established an almost intimate psychic connection with my muse, and together, we three create poetry. I love the feel of you in my hand; you give me the confidence to explore fantasy while at the same time anchoring me to reality.
My most beloved, exquisite pen,
the mere thought of holding you sends shivers down my spine, for I know you are eager to take me to faraway places we've never been as we explore the deceptions and truths of humanity. You come from a proud line of writing instruments, including cuneiform sticks, quills, and fountain pens, to the ubiquitous ballpoint pens of today. May your ink never dry up, and your contribution to literary works be recognized and appreciated, for you deserve no less.
(Ode)
03/03/2023
Write an Ode Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jeff Kyser
Categories:
tip over, character, fantasy, feelings, funny
Form:
Ode
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
The Present:
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Categories:
tip over, allegory, angst, black african
Form:
There’s a day soon coming
For Mothers and those alike
That will take a time to honour
Our Mothers in their own right.
And it’s what they mean to us
That cannot be expressed
It seems that they keep giving more
Despite that they get less.
A Mothers love can’t be measured
And if it could be at last
The scales would well tip over
For a Mothers love is vast.
” I hope you read this Mom
For I have had my say
And don’t forget how much I love you,
So Happy Mother’s Day”.
Brenda Elizabeth Rose
Categories:
tip over, appreciation, devotion, how i
Form:
Rhyme
Write a scary poem about Halloween?
Weirdest ode you've ever seen!
What is seen at Halloween?
Blood sucking Salem zombies,
TV addict Abercrombies,
Spiders and maggots in their hair,
Crypts in the garbage tip over there,
Witches floating round my room,
Fit right in, as they zooooooom......
Hey, my other car is a broom!!!!!
Categories:
tip over, allusion, halloween, scary,
Form:
Free verse
I learned to win at Dominoes
To topple each one of my foes
It does not matter their standing
For on the floor they’ll be landing
Once I figured who to depose
I learned to win at Dominoes
Of whom each boss I’d tip over
To enact a full takeover
I used to try to gain by fraud
But quickly saw that that was flawed
I learned to win at Dominoes
Where one by one, down each one goes
The game is filled with exertion
Along with the chance assertion
Yet there are none left to appose
I learned to win at Dominoes
January 28, 2016
Categories:
tip over, desire, evil, games,
Form:
Quatern
Every time I see that pretty face
Blossoming the world around, like flower in a vase.
Those eyes sparkle defying the sunshine,
Suddenly the reflection on me and I’m not mine.
The smile that takes away all your attention,
A laugh that puts you in awe, that I don’t have to mention.
Keeps me wondering over god’s creative beauty,
You feel like protecting it, even if it’s not your duty.
Wish you could be a reason for smile,
Wish you could cherish her every once in a while.
Wish you could hold that moment and never let go,
Wish you witness it every day in a row.
When it’s in front of you, all words fell short,
Overwhelmed, startled, you get stuck! can’t say a lot.
Every time I see that pretty face, I tend to think;
What makes it so special, that you won’t even blink.
They say, “don’t get fooled over that pretty charm”,
Well until you are totally knocked over, what’s the harm?
The real pretty face holds a true pretty heart,
It’s a great loss, if you can’t differ fake and real apart.
It might be an illusion that overturns so many,
People do get tip over, that’s an apparent irony.
But all we wish is our gamble fits right our prediction,
The face we’ve fallen for turns out to be true, hearty contemplation.
Sometimes you stumble upon, sometimes get mesmerized,
I know what it’s like, every time you see that pretty face…… :-)
PRATEEK SHUKLA
Categories:
tip over, beautiful, crush, cute love,
Form:
Rhyme
Seventy1
CharlaXPFable
CharlaXFables
A Rose by any other namme shall smell as sweet to mee as ewe.
Jesus paid the sacrifice the aritifice of life became the death of me to give me
back the life eye gave away for him to follow him is to find it all again the words
men speak if allowed to brew would make them dead to make them blow to just
explode the air then turning into chamber pots of full. Love can be a sacrifice a
very strang surprise a hurried meal a quick repast that lasts all day and then
some into the night making merry just for heart. The dead weight of most people
would cause the air ship the alien crafted vessel that eye ride in to tip over and
the eye would fall out all over the place. Love can be a pillow cold on one side
and warm to face. The avid reader can imagine this. Head stopped up with
saving grace the pain inside stops sleep from come.
Then the pillow turned the face pressed up into the cold the wonderful stopping
of the pain the added comfort of the pillow side out getting cold again then
comes the time when the repeated effort is again applied oh the wonder of it oh
the bliss of a cold pillow kiss. NEWS FLASHED before mye eye:
This is just in from NEO Pueblo when someone gets a message in a forum and
the message sender sends it as a thank you and then adds a different picture
than the one in his posted poem as way of illustration do ewe think they noticed it
at all or is it just that it seems so strang to mee and would it be that they aer so
obsessed with what they aer doing to jump up and dance on just one foot and
yell and holler look what CHARLAX did he sent the wrong picture to the forum.
Eye just deleted an accounting error it was a majoretted disappointed mess to
me they always made fun of eye and mee and the way eye use my style to make
a poem bleed the pain of being one so far ahead of time is priceless in the
function of an android using lifetimes.
Categories:
tip over, confusion, introspection, social, visionary,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Gramma's sewing basket
Overflowed with bits of fluff
Ribbons from a cardboard roll
That weren't quite big enough
Buttons in all sizes
And colors rolled around
If it happened to tip over
And spill onto the ground
The yarn left from my mittens
And scarf and baby glove
She knitted on a cold night
Entwined with so much love
Shiny needles packaged
Some filled with tails of thread
Blue and green and yellow
And several trailed red
Tiny beads of crystal
Made into a ring
Lay there on the bottom
On a golden stretchy string
Lace wrapped on a wooden spool
Soft pink and pale blue
Left from making outfits
That we too soon outgrew
I cherish that wicker basket
That Gramma used for mends
It's like her life and love goes on
And never ever ends
©Neva Loretta Brown
Categories:
tip over,
Form:
Rhyme
The wind roars like a lion
As a sheet of snow, blows on by
Dusting of white sticks to windows
The weighed down bushes tip over
Outside, there is a brewing war
I walk, bting wind on my face,
By the snowbanks climbing higher
I hear loud scraping of plows
The tree branches crack like gunshots
Suddenly, blinded by white-out
All the animals have hidden
Parked cars are buried, pillowed mounds
No time to keep up with shoveling
The storm is whipping nature
Then it slows, miraculous ways
Change tames wind all around
Smoke now seen from.the tall chimneys
Light breaks through and the war is won
12/26/22
Entry for the winter storm contest. Sponsor : Kim Rodrigues
Categories:
tip over, snow, storm,
Form:
Imagism
A briefly wrung-out sky
is blotched with clammy clouds.
A humid air clings to my chest.
Damp squirrels hang limply
from dripping branches.
Desultory birdsong mops
but not much.
I yearn for the cold slap of sea-spray,
chill cheeks and fresh lips
not this damp-dive-walking
through a moist miasma.
Maybe the day will shake itself free
of its mope?
Perhaps this drizzle will tip over
into a cresting surf of sunlight,
or anything that smacks of a
rolling ocean
that can dry-out, rinse and clean.
Categories:
tip over, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
I stepped on a flower & I heard a beautiful scream
U slept on me because I was your dream
Eyes wide shut but you saw everything
Excepted my collect calls every day from the bing
So you know exactly why the caged bird sings
Intimate touches and venomous words
I think that we are what each other deserve
Don't let me down and I won't hold you up
Meet me halfway be that half full cup
Lean on me I won't let you tip over
before you hit the ground you will hit my shoulder
I cant wait until the situation gets sober
Hear my revelry from miles away Im YOUR love soldier
Categories:
tip over, black love,
Form:
Ballad
I know I keep on doing wrong moves
I keep failing...falling in a whirlpool of racketing frustration
I'm trying all my tries...so save yourself from drowning
Keep yourself entertained...there's no use of frowning
I guess I have to feel
My way out of trouble
You'll see what I have to show
Oh look! Look how the shores
Rise up in woe...blocking the view of sweet sunshine
It shows that light will always be with us
Though the raving waves swallow us alive
I guess I have to feel
Our way out of trouble
If you look even closer,
You will see fascinating colors
Shaping and forming in the life-giving sea
You'll see what I have to show
Finally we both see
A ship row on top of envious, captivity-like waves
Flowing gently and keeping itself away
From the lifeless,
bottomless water
You'll see what I have to show
I could see color brushed against an island sky
I grow more curious than ever
Where did that ship sail off to?
My mind is wanting to comprehend in this unsettling matter
So I have any idea of guiding?
I'm no skilled sailor or even
Have the knowledge to lead
The ship to its destiny...
It may tip over a couple of times
Here I am...lying down...complaining harshly
I guess this is my farewell to you,
Tackling expedition
It only takes a courageous try
To guide the ship and say goodbye
To the quarrel-stirring waves
I scream:
"Behave, you water balloon head!
Go on and dry up till your dead!"
And here I am again
Roaming and spacing out
Who knows where... I wonder in despair
This task unwillingly pulls me in
I'm here after the expedition,
Knocking on the entrance corridor
To learn some new sailor techniques
I'm here to simply learn
A tip to replenish
The possibility of the ship
Tipping and going overboard
This time I shouldn't discard
This remarkable opportunity
Categories:
tip over, adventure, confusion, dedication, devotion,
Form:
Epic
You do not have to explain
I heard the sense of tame
The lion roared loud within your heart
No words were very smart
Of you to do, the suppressed anger
Now to deal with it release the danger
Different views ways to deal with it all
Listen they will try to call
Right now you are more important and your life ways in the balance
Do not tip over, it maybe a hard challenge
It may be difficult right Now
But now has somehow granted an access to bow
Down to renew restore a chance at it again
To walk upright a smile not to pretend
Hold on
Tormented values given wrong
Release pressure a new song
Categories:
tip over, anger, freedom,
Form:
Free verse