Best Topples Poems
Standing on tippy toes
Top shelf
Reaching
Stretching
Finger tips edging the jar forward
Imagining the taste of chocolate chips on my tongue
Yumm mom's chewy delicious wait till Saturday cookies
Thankful I have grown that extra inch
Thinking she'll never suspect me
The jar
Tips
Topples
Tumbles
Turns
Travels over my head
Lands on the floor
Just as Snoopy comes running through the door
Eating all the cookies except for four
Looks up with his doggy grin
Like he wants some more
I reach down and grab the jar
Surprised that it didn't break
Reaching inside was my second mistake
Mom comes in and says "For goodness sake!
I'm so scared I start to shake.
"Ricky get over here right now"
I drop the jar, she watches it break
Running I try to get away
Up the stairs
Under the bed
If she catches me I'll be dead
At least that's what she said
She lifts the bed skirt
There I am
With my happy face T-shirt
Just within her reach
She grabs me
Pulls me out
Laughs
Gives me a hug
"Don't worry it's OK
I'll make more
Later today."
For John Lawless's Just within reach contest.
Written April 15, 2015
Categories:
topples, adventure,
Form:
Rhyme
It begins as a gentle breeze
that rustles the leaves with its touch.
Scurrying through the tops of trees,
it begins as a gentle breeze.
Not enough to discourage bees,
it is only brisk; it isn't much.
It begins as a gentle breeze
that rustles the leaves with its touch.
It is only brisk; it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.
And yet, birds still escape its clutch;
it is only brisk; it isn't much.
It topples garbage cans and such,
gathering up a cloud of dust.
It is only brisk; it isn't much,
until that breeze begins to gust.
Gathering up a cloud of dust,
that soon blocks the Sun's sullied light.
And proceeds, with increasing thrust;
gathering up a cloud of dust.
When the sky turns orangey rust,
twirling tornadoes evoke fright.
Gathering up a cloud of dust,
that soon blocks the Sun's sullied light.
Twirling tornadoes evoke fright,
with debris flying through the air.
Morphing into objects of might,
twirling tornadoes evoke fright.
Finding cover, we hang on tight,
for flying shrapnel packs a scare.
Twirling tornadoes evoke fright,
with debris flying through the air.
Categories:
topples, hyperbole, imagery, imagination, nature,
Form:
Triolet
Putrid pus proliferates/purposely preventing
progression's passionate plea -
stifled cries...
Always ascending...and, assiduously avoiding
any acrimonious amounts accrued along apathetic
apertures..."Still I Rise!"
Incessantly fighting the urge to just drop
out of this rancid Rat Race we call living
Still, to abandon sanguine thoughts totally topples the
tenacious toughness that took time to temper...never stop giving
Enervated entities economically embattled
Man, each day we face trouble/In every Third World A Struggle -
singed and burned I'm like stubble/but, like The Ashes Of The Phoenix
to Resurrect from this rubble
Sometimes I shift towards arrogance; The Good Lord Keeps
me humble
Lifting languid limbs loftily to overcome this present Flood
Be Positive is my motto, the flip side?
It's my Blood...
B+
Categories:
topples, devotion, encouraging, growth, moving
Form:
Alliteration
"A Conversation with Aenesidemus"
all perceptions are relative
and interact
one upon another
take a coin
stand it vertical
spin it
gravity does that
it’s one way or the other
there is no in between
middle roads
even when you hold it
steady between your fingers
there is one side or the other
the middle exists
it stands for what its worth
for a short time
let go of the hold,
it wobbles and
topples over
and falls in line
one side or the other
eventually
choices are detours
you may take the high road
and one may take the low road
the road less traveled
too, converges,
where both high and low roads
eventually meet,
some say its complex
if you ask me,
designed,
even chaos has its place,
simple, neat
all perceptions are relative
and interact
upon another
truth,
he said,
varies infinitely
under circumstances
whose relative weight
cannot be accurately gauged
nor guaranteed
therefore, there is
no absolute knowledge
for everyone,
for all people
are brought up
with different beliefs
under different laws
under different
social conditions
yet, he says,
pyrrhonistically
speaking
all perceptions are relative
and interact
upon another
hiccups
contradictory
scrolls of tropai modes
the suspension
of judgment
it’s enough
to do your head in
all this walking on water
a real tonic
for those
experiencing cptsd
humour and
intelligencia
assists,
streaming
light through
jadeful windows
enter left screen
Belief
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Categories:
topples, muse,
Form:
Narrative
A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar,
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea. A girl child resplendent in
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake,
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes.
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.
*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)
Categories:
topples, childhood, fantasy, childrenchild, child,
Form:
Narrative
Spring has arrived with warmer days
And newness everywhere.
Fruit trees are donning spring-time dress,
The apple, plum and pear.
Spring will just get nicely settled in,
When Summer moves her on.
Summer brings the sun in hotter mode
To assure that Spring is gone.
Fall topples Summer from her throne
With her strong winds cold and brash,
Summer packs her bags and waves goodbye.
Cold winds give her a rash.
Winter has waited patiently
For others to have their due.
With winter games and holidays,
She makes a statement too.
Each season has its devotees
And her own special charms,
With careful apportioning for each one,
Right amount of cold or warm.
4/4/16
Categories:
topples, seasons,
Form:
Quatrain
The cauldron bubbles
With blackest of black
Boiling over the rim
Thick and tar-like liquid
As putrid fumes fill the air
It gags you, chokes you
Making you wonder
What is IN that
And you look around to find
A rotted, termite infested shelf
Coated with years of dust
Webs spun by spiders long gone
One jar is labeled: Serpent tongues
Cunning and slithering
With lies, deceit, lashing words
Next to it sits a tin canister
Curiosity gets the best of you
So you pull off the lid to find
Bulging, gluttonous leeches
Eager to suck out the life
To drain you dry until discarded
Until you are no longer any use
A wooden box sits waiting
The lid creaks open revealing
Black, shriveled, petrified hearts
Formed by spite and hatred
Rattling inside a can
Are enormous troll teeth
Rotten and black from years
Of ripping and gnawing of flesh
In a sack there seems to be marbles
But inside you find owl eyes
Harden from all the scrutiny
All the harsh, critical glares
Stunned, it hits you and you realize
These are boiling in the cauldron
What makes up the blackness, the smell
And on a gnarled table
Scarred and weathered
From years of hosting
Is a bowl waiting to be filled
For the brim to touch my lips
And the thick liquid to trickle
Down the back of my throat
Invading my body
To spread throughout
Wreaking havoc and devouring
Everything it touches
Until I am the blackness
Until I am the host
Of this vicious venom
To spread the infectious disease
Fear of this driving me
I grab the large pot
Searing the flesh of my palms
And push with everything in me
Until it topples over
Spilling out onto the floorboards
Seeping into the cracks
To never fill another bowl
To never be consumed
To never inhabit another
To never take over me
Categories:
topples, hope, life
Form:
Free verse
Of Nature, Desert, Sand And Western Skies
Oh, silence -arid air where thorny cactus grows
Where desolation runs ever so wild
Towering nearby whitecapped mountains of snow
Bless the sweetest innocence of a child.
At dawn, an avalanche of soft golden rays
Promise of a bright new day. Hope begins
With magnificent essence of last night's dream
A strike! Down topples wobbling bowling pins.
Oh, flicking tongue slithering across the sands
Promise of heat and sweat, salt oozing skin
Yet beauty lives within these god-forsaken lands
No place for the week, or feeble old men.
At mid-day, even the cactus cries out and droops
As air stands still, baking all to its glee
Marching ants scurry underneath in racing troops
Life seeks shade in ovens of sandy seas.
Oh, beyond the expanse- heavenly shores of green
Where the low hills sing a soft melody
Cowboys vanished, just lonely in this hot scene
Hot rays, heat and thirst makes the threnody.
Oh, silence -arid air where thorny cactus grows
Where desolation runs ever so wild
Towering nearby whitecapped mountains of snow
Bless the sweetest innocence of a child.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-16-2021
Imagism
Note:
Rewrite of an old poem from the early 1980's..
Categories:
topples, art, beauty, imagery, innocence,
Form:
Imagism
sharp, tight, seething fear
anxiety absorbs control
soul's strength topples
Categories:
topples, on work and working
Form:
Haiku
7/3/2018
A waxing crescent moon shed a sliver of mystified light on the silhouette of the lonely shadow of a woman.
She sat cross legged on a chunk of hard Earth overlooking a circular abyss of stones.
Different shapes and forms of stones interlocking like puzzle pieces in the Universe’s jigsaw.
Mature naturally arched trees leaning forward as a hunched back Mother Nature would.
Her long locks of leaves high enough never to touch the ground but bowing low enough to dangle freely with the breeze, tickling the woman’s’ brow in a gentle sway.
A barrier of green, a curtain around her sanctuary secluding her from the outside world of black souls and Godless structure.
Misty clouds of dusk play hide n’ seek with the moonlight, showering her vision with schizophrenic darkness and illumination.
She lifts her heavy eyelids, revealing glacial blue irises speckled with amber.
Cool under the shade of her fanning tinted black lashes.
A stray cat investigates a pile of abandoned possessions litter and decomposed plants beside the woman.
Its slender figure perched on top of the pile, gazing at the sky with fluorescent lime eyes signaling sorrow to scattered stars.
The woman’s chi topples over, unbalanced, her meditative state lost.
She is transfixed with the black cat’s hypnotic purrs, its indecipherable plea to a listener above beyond all perception and visibility.
The woman’s throat fell victim to a viselike grip.
A thief in the night robbing precious oxygen…her bulged open pupils losing energy.
Slowly, her strength subsides…her eyelids close like bedroom blinds between a Peeping Tom.
Her body drops against the multi creviced rock.
Alas, she is weightless.
The skull encasing her cranium cracks against countless stones as she is tossed into the shallow hole of the unknown.
Categories:
topples, beauty, cat, death, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
~The Beauty~
The shining black snake,
monster of dimension’s loss,
tattooed with roman numerals of molten gold,
perfect in place,
fluid and immaculate;
you are what you eat,
he devours time mercilessly,
it’s influence on the mind,
drifts ethereal,
whispering from the grasp of thought’s illicit and invisible hand.
The hour glass drips tears of fire,
flaring bright and disappearing without a trace of their presence,
the glass topples as the snake slithers past,
a three dimensional depiction of a twisted figure eight,
now lays upon my canvas...
we have only interpretations of breath;
within the stasis of our time.
©David Nickle Read 2015
All Rights Reserved By The Author
Categories:
topples, beauty,
Form:
Free verse
As the head emerges
from the womb of soil,
brightly declaring its birth
in the scream of birds,
the new day is born,
a life to live to night,
as the body travels in its path,
as the head held high, aloof!
Hiding behind veils of cloud,
breaking and slicing through
as it gazes upon the ground,
a humbled beggar to his shoe.
And then it reaches the height of its career,
as shadows flee and hide in reverential fear.
But then it topples from its ladder,
the inevitable decline,
until in its retirement,
it gets to end of line.
And then it is pierced by the spears of Cyprus trees;
it deflates slowly, and flattens
as it plunges to the ground
and the feathered choir sings songs of praise
as the day’s last trumpet sound.
And to earth it returns,
to earth where it was born,
dust to dust,
ash to ash,
tomorrow,
to be re-born!
Categories:
topples, earth day, life, sun,
Form:
Free verse
Before her glassy eyes, crystal bubbles seem
to strangely dance.
Slipping down into the water as deeply as she can,
she revels in the liquid warmth enwrapping her.
Such contrast this is to the crispness of the air around her!
Before running her bath, she felt compelled
to turn off all the heat in the house.
Now she reaches for her glass on the edge of the tub.
Bringing it to her lips, she savors one last time the wine,
her one small taste of "heaven"
from the bottle now lying nearly empty
where it spilled out to wet the floor’s cold tiles.
Very relaxed, she sets the glass back down beside her.
It topples over. The woman hears it shatter. . . yet she lies still.
Intoxicated (as was her plan),
she lays the sharp edge of a razor blade against her wrist.
Making sure to clutch it well,
she slices through veins but feels no pain.
Then the other side. . . Red fluid threads
stream among the fading fizz (all that now remains of the dancing bubbles).
And as she drifts off into numbing unconsciousness,
it dawns on her that her tub has somehow become unplugged!
She is too lightheaded. . . too feeble now to move.
The heated fragrant water slowly and steadily subsides.
A sharp chill invades her body.
With her final breaths, the woman thinks of how her one last plan -
to be discovered immersed completely in water -
has ended up just like every other messed up thing she ever did
and how her plan,
like the water of her "perfect" bath,
has just
gone
down
the damn
proverbial
drain.
7/7/13
Categories:
topples, suicide,
Form:
Free verse
I see him on days
As I walk from school
Weighted with books + facts + insecurities
Feet moving to the rhythms in my head
A thousand songs
Illustrating the world in slabs of impressionist paint
And then he is there
Jerky movements invading my mind
Shouted expletives aimed not at the crowd
That shies from this desperate drunk
But at unknown enemies
That he fells with a frantic blow
He topples
Rises
Falls again
The sane wrinkle their noses
And he is gone
Just another madman
Another drunk
Another dreg
Scum, trash, refuse
Suffocating society
Nothing lingers but the stench of his fear
Not alcohol
Nor cloying smoke that haunts my soul
Just whispered warnings to secret friends
Move along
Move along
Scream a thousand songs
There is nothing left to see
Categories:
topples, sympathy,
Form:
Free verse
Stray sheep play hide-and-seek
Knit one, Purl one, Knit Two together
Pick up a stitch, before it slips, and runs
Intertwining it, lest the pattern unravels
and the wayward flock topples over the cliff.
For sheep astray will play
with a wondering lust for wandering.
Categories:
topples, freedom,
Form:
Free verse