Best Transferring Poems
Seems as if I have waited
In line or on hold on the phone
Where blatant disrespect is shown
No longer fast service to show
courteous appreciation
Just wait, wait, wait
Without consideration
Take a number
Life is what this is
Waiting for something
Or anything
Or nothing
Waiting for the other shoe to drop
Waiting to see
Waiting to hear
No longer is waiting a past time
Waiting is all the time
Take a number
Do not have a seat
Just wait
Stress high
I no longer know what
I am waiting for
In this waiting game
When I get to the front of the line
The well has run dry
Or there’s a sign on the desk
Saying OUT to Lunch
My life is a take a number life
I have no reason to wait anymore
There is no wait left in me
The other shoe has fallen
The line is much too long
Time is up, the building closed
And now my time has come
I get on the line to talk with God
He asked me what I did while here
I waited, I exclaimed
I waited
I waited to be born
I waited in line to die
But most of all I waited...
On Christmas every year
Hello we are transferring your call ....
Hello, someone will be with you shortly
All of our representatives
are busy helping other customers
Your wait time should be
approximately twenty minutes
Hello, God
Can you hear me?
I waited..
I was next hello; Buzzzzzz..
When a department wants to get rid of a worker,
The processes used can be slow,
Transferring to a place where they will be moot,
Ignoring everything that they know,
Where they exist, day by day, in an office of work,
Where their job is not even defined,
In an office, where they sit every day of their life,
Until they decide to resign,
Because they’re never included, never valued,
Their case is never assessed,
They are simply bound to watching a screen,
Pushed to becoming depressed,
And as they sit watching their life pass them by,
They see their career has been robbed,
Of all of the skill, fun and scholar they were,
Of the good they once were at their job.
sift through sands of time
one grain sparkles forever
your light fills our hearts
_______________________
Tribute to our friend, Amy T.
Wonderful co-worker who is transferring
A talent you shall have from the one up above
Words given then written from memory with love
A clever thought of wit and rhymes through time
Transferring them onto parchment written down
Thou shall never look to another for praise
For praise feeds the ego filling the mind with haze
It is the soul that touches others blending one another
These written words shall stay in the heart like thunder
Clipping with roaring wonder though your mind
Each placed together as an orchestra of harmony in time
For the shallow mind will only see blank pages
But, a deep mind will see these memories in stages
Created with letters placed together into one melody
With eyes wondering in thought with intriguing meanings
Reading your mind as if you have become one
A simple poem created by a mind with wonder
that being:
You!
I picked the house whilst floating down
After travelling to this country town
The air from the house was delicious
As the shouting voices raised were so vicious
The first one I saw was a little girl
And I touched her lightly with a twirl
She would become a victim so sadly true
Getting her taste as sweet and clean will do
Then to the kitchen I did float
Touching the mother as I did gloat
For she would be the dead one
When the deed so evil was done
Then I looked him straight in the eyes
Transferring all the evil to him to despise
And I whispered in his ear
All the nastiness I could say so clear
With the scene now set
I settled down whilst he got onto it
The rage within him I had planted
Bubbled and broiled as it was fed
Until suddenly he sprang at her
Beating and straggling as her death occurred
He sat at the table with his head in his hands
Sobbing uncontrollably wondering at his next plans
After a half an hour he went to the shed
And hung himself from the rafter until he was dead
The little girl tried to roust her mother
But her sleep was eternal as no other
I savoured the scene drinking the sadness in
Delighting in it all from beginning to end
And when I had drunk my fill
I left the house moving on to deliver my next pill.
© Paul Warren Poetry
It is our poetic verse
That releases the restraints
Opening our minds eye
To flowing sincere thought
It is the flowing of ink
That becomes our salve
Healing our wounds and scars
Allowing us to be unafraid again
It is the poet’s candid opus
The voice of the untainted spirit
Transferring our tedious passions
From internal, to pen, to parchment,
It is our steadfast sanctuary
Where we hide in total exposure
Our poetry is the end of todays voyage
For we who dare to wander
THE SUN IS RISING BREAKING THE DAWN
SPREADING HIS HANDS ON THE WRITING DESK
THE CLOCK IS SCREAMING WAKING US UP
FULLFILLING IT’S YESTERDAY ASSINGED JOB
THE CALENDAR IS CALLING TO LOOK AT IT
MENTIONING THE NEXT 24 HOURS OF OUR LIFETIME
THE FLOWER IS SMILING WITH CHARM
EVEN AFTER KNOWING IT WOULD DIE THAT DAY
ONE MAYBE STANDING INFRONT OF THE CLASS
WHERE THE OTHER GET APPLAUSE BY TEACHER
ONE MAYBE PROMOTED AS THE TEAM LEADER
WHERE THE OTHER GOT FIRED BY THE MANAGER
ONE MAYBE IN 1ST POSITION IN BIKE RACING
WHERE THE OTHER IS IN ICU BY BIKE ACCIDENT
ONE MAYBE IN SAFER SIDE DURING EARTHQUAKE
WHERE THE OTHER IS RECOVERING FROM THE LOSS
ONE MAYBE LUCKY ENOUGH TO ENJOY TRUE LOVE
WHERE THE OTHER IS STRUGGLING TO EXPRESS IT
ONE MAYBE TRANSFERRING LUMPS OF BLACK MONEY
WHERE THE OTHER IS SAVING FOR DAILY BREAD
WE MAYBE THE ONE OR THE OTHER
FOR EVERYONE THE SUN RISES BREAKING THE DAWN
WHATEVER HAPPENS LIFE HAS TO MOVE ON…
I'm sorry for ever calling you a especially when it was usually a argument about something I did & you asked me to switch
I had it confused I didn't know your significance to this Earth now I know you came & come first
I had to walk through the fire & confront my own demons but it was too late when I woke up & realized I was dreaming
You were gone & you took everything good that was in me I was misogynistic but that's all that I knew how to be you were truly the best thing that ever happened to me
Im ashamed of the amount of disrespect I displayed you are the temple that should be on display not only do I want to hold your hand but I want you to see me become a better man I'll lay my life down to protect your crown & as long as I succeed I'll rest in piece in the ground
I really feel like the black woman is my God and savior if I had Mansa Musa gold it wouldn't be enough to pay you I owe you every breath in my body & every beat of my heart I have a lot of repenting to do so today I'll start
I should have never called you out of your name I should have never made you a unwilling participant in my games I should have never projected my insecurities on to you now that I'm wiser I realize that was the coward thing to do I should have never intertwined my soul with another woman and come home to you transferring those spirits is a dangerous thing to do
I'm sure you'll read this & think of the things I left out but I hope when you read it you'll see now what I'm about the disrespect stops here & anyone who continues should feel fear you are my Queen & will be treated as such I am your soldier any insurgents that dare to touch will bow at your feet when I put the in the Cobra clutch I love you so much
#VIEWSFROMTHETRAP
#POEMSROMTHETRAP
The invisible war, cataclysmic bombardments of frequencies,
digital layers, decrypted upon logical analysis with ease.
The spectrum of light, manipulated by the thoughts of man,
equations designed to deliver calculated back up plans.
Through the silence of high speed bandwidths and fiber optical illusions,
your choice to connect is the assumption of your conclusions.
Underground cables, run deep under the sea floor,
transferring ones and zeros faster than anyone has told you before.
Take a piece here and take a piece there, add up the analysis,
invisible implementations can cause visible paralysis.
Encrypted ciphers, kept under lock and key,
don’t look at them as they are, but as they could be.
Sixty-four, one twenty eight, two fifty six, and one thousand twenty four,
we can only learn what they tell us after the cyber war.
Life will go on, the digital Gods will need it,
that is exactly how it goes, the cyber war secret.
Poetry speaks the language of the soul,
its meaning interpreted by the heart.
And its words can either make you feel whole,
or emotionally tear you apart.
A poet adds an accent of wonder;
when transferring thoughts to pen and paper.
And when convictions are torn asunder,
long-held beliefs dissipate like vapor.
Poems capture your darkest hours of grief,
as well as magical moments of joy.
And time stretches moments beyond belief,
tethered to emotions poets employ.
Poetry is a collage of feelings,
that mirrors life and shatters glass ceilings.
The Strawberry and the Bee –A Fable on Friendship
Hidden away in a magical garden lived a single honey bee.
Busily buzzing along enraptured by the sweetest melody.
Busily transferring pollen from one plant to the next
When he stumbled upon the sweetest strawberry
He had ever laid eyes on.
“I must pick this strawberry and keep it all to myself,” he thought.
Thinking all the while how he could latch it upon his back.
Along came a fuzy wuzzy caterpillar searching for a noonday snack.
He invited himself to join in on the conversation between
The bee and himself.
“I’ve carried many berries upon my back ushering them to my den.”
“If you allow me to assist you with this endeavor you will surely make a friend.
So the busy bumble bee took upon himself a new friendship.
This was a new journey for him for he had no real friends and he
Lifted the strawberry to his new friend’s back.
They marched off together side by side wonderig what adventure would be
next.
What is the moral to this story you might ask?
Cast your burdens on eachother and alwayswalk beside one another.
Let the love of your Creator make your hearts light.
Oh! And finally, always make room in your heart for another friend may come
along when you least expect it!
Gwendolen Rix
8-1-14
Smoke bellowed out the top
Of the trawler’s ships
As the merciless hunters loaded
Their harpoons with exploding tips
“There she blows,” a sailor shouted
It was a female whale that surfaced and spouted
The engines roared in hot pursuit
The Captain aiming ready to shoot
He shoots, it explodes, making a hole in her fin
She gasps her last breath as she can no longer swim
Her eyes expresses her agony and shock
Then close as she passes out and sinks like a rock
Divers plunge to secure their with ropes
But she is out of reach dashing their hopes
Then in the darkness she feels a thump
Again and a again under her she feels the bump
Her eyes open drowsily to see him struggling to push her up
A male dolphin she identifies when he swims close up
Endangering his own life he will not go up for air
She must breath first as he is overwhelmed with her despair
What seemed an eternity she finally surfaces and takes a breath
The he surfaces satisfied they both cheated death
He swims gently supporting her wounded fin
Til they reach the shore of an island call Baralin
The water is warm and shallow enough
For her to breath where the water’s not too rough
He swims out to sea where it’s warm in the south
And returns with plankton and kisses her transferring it from his to her mouth
Each time he does this, their feels grow strong
Of the love between a dolphin and a whale which will be remembered in loves folk song...
**For Elizabeth Wesley, Who wanted a poem of a dophin who falls in love with a
whale**
Death is painful for those who do not understand
but death is not a punishment , simply part of a plan.
Death is merely the transferring of a soul
To a new place from a place of old
Salvation is the thought that the soul can retain
as it passes from the physical to the spiritual plain.
To the physical being, death is kind of hard to swallow,
because where the spirit goes the body cannot follow.
Death should not be a time of mourning, but a time of celebration.
For the spirit of a man has completed a kind of graduation.
As a student of life pursues his doctorate degree,
death is the final test as he passes the state of sleep.
Once the body passes through the threshold of the physical and spiritual barriers.
The consciousness becomes pure light, as the spirit uses energy as the carrier.
The realm in which the spirit resides, we simply do not know.
because where the spirit travels, the body cannot go.
So if someone in your family dies.
Understand the path they take....
Just because their eyes are closed,
doesn't mean they aren't awake!
Was he in the wrong place at the right time?
Slipping, sliding, dying
to live;
just a kid.
Mom and Grandma busy,
gabbing, too far
away.
Was he in the right place,
a parental replacement
for such a time as this?
A little boy with prayers said
over him
while he traveled life’s rough roads;
even his carriage ride was bumpy.
After transferring hands a couple times,
the little boy found himself in Germany,
a celebration,
now his feet are slipping and sliding,
he can’t get a hold -
the pond, his death pondering.
An old man reaches in and snatches out
this little kid.
Just as soon as the boy is saved,
the angel disappears.
That boy grows up
and marries me.
5/23/2022
So many lives ended here
upon my sturdy seat...
A tale of terror resounds from each
doomed soul who rest upon me
Built for a function of destruction...
Upholding Hamarabi's code
A tool of vengeance and suffering pain
Taking from those who robbed of God.
Furniture holds the pleasure of appreciation
...the product of need and want
I am not these things. I am a device.
Built of oaken sinew...joints bonded in steel casing
Asthetic beauty is a triviality not of my concern
Bracketed with wire veins and head- harness- halo
My arms adorned with restraints for bracelets
Girthy legs firmly affixed to unforgiving concrete
bolted down into permanence...a fixture of function
I hold audience to those desperate faces
Mourning and seeking vindication
...of others grieving for this soul I'll take
...and more still who are, sadly, morbidly curious
My occupant squirms under my confining "comfort"
my veins tense with a surging punishment
Transferring my wrath into this condemned soul
A contorted writhing face is all that remains
of this guest of mine...I mourn him not.
My only consolation is the victim looking down.
Inspired by Deborah Guzzi's "A Chairs Tale" contest