Best Tweaking Poems
"Once upon a midnight Poe"
Underneath the midnight mask, I remove the makeup at last,
The moon is an anvil to my mood, mooring along the vacant vast
I lay the Gin and Tonic by the bedside asking for more,
I hear a noise, a lost voice, the echoes of no rejoicing,
I couldn't brush the light coming from the cracks under the door
I gave it some thought,
My eyes twinkle, towards the tinsel tiles on the floor
Seemingly the light seemed to be deeming the distance of resistance
Curiosity came in crawling and caressing
To sense and taste of sinful skin
Everything then grew thinner than thin
On the spur of the moment, I hear a whisper, my love is near
"Darkness there, and nothing more."
A nerve impulse hits the wall if nothing nary, nevertheless
I sadistically, stagger a sullen movement, even so
At this moment, Edgar Whispered, "Nothing more."
Many nights, I dream of demonic demons, demanding answers for
A sad --sadder voice sits and whines, with the wind
"Merely this and nothing more!"
A notary, nauseate moment, seasick, shipwreck sensation
Secular suicide spreading like gossip, sailing through my veins
Evilly and twisted, "This it is and nothing more" - remains
Tweaking and repeating, the speeding of needing
My drugs of pain and passion, to end the delusion
Of the self-inflicted - bruising from the voices of my choices
I hear the whisper, a selfish whisper, asking for Lenore
How many nights, he comes into my room, dress like A Raven
Painted and tainted like the midnight dreary
Reciting the excitement like The Bells, of Annabel, in a rush
Never, never, nameless here forevermore, in my dreams
Under my evil-doing skin, like the sum of sin is how it seems
On the nights, my soul mate does not appear,
The anchor drowns and torments me with tears
I travel up in fear, of the fear, when my ghost is not near
Rattling and trembling, by the bedside,
On the grim side of the mental moon, when in gloom
I scrape up my room, screaming at the bleeding,
From my heart, who needs a killing,
From a feeding and the feeling of letting one, go!
There's no set list of motivational things I can name
because my inspirational impetus is never the same.
Often, I'm encouraged to pick up my pen and write
by celestial bodies glimmering upon me in the night.
What moves me to choose canvas and brush to paint
can be induced by flower, a child, there's no restraint
when it comes to what triggers my mind as inspirations.
It can be reading works of a Master Poet's compilations.
There are no bounds that hold back my impulses to act.
I'm easily prone to create from song lyrics. That's a fact.
I'm prodded to cook after coming across a good recipe,
maybe tweaking it with a bit of this or that to satisfy me.
I'm an artist at heart, finding inspiration in everything...
sunrise, butterflies, my senses honed by birds that sing.
I'm stirred by many touchstones that spur my imagination.
Remaining open-minded is a great source of stimulation.
I've been inspired by compliments and even disrespect.
They serve as catalysts, like an inspirational architect
that lead me to find new provocation; a spark to ignite
the fire of creativity within me to rise up and take flight.
In Moonlight She Came, Her Dark Hair Did Shine
Now writing, romantic poem this night
fondly bringing forth memories of youth
Just tweaking to stir far greater delight
no real harm, love lives in passionate truth.
Summoned, thrills of ravishing beauty then
flowers await that first touch of glee
No darkness, no pains of living in sin
Just love, given with romantic hearts free.
In moonlight she came, her dark hair did shine
walking a wide trail between two palm trees
Her everything cried out just to be mine
and her gentle waves foretold pleasant seas.
Beach strolling , holding hands and eager hearts
moon's melody shown for budding new love
Such innocence, so often how it starts
stars in heaven looking down from above.
Years past, my heart longed for her to marry
soon I flew around the world to return
Knowing our love was now, must not tarry
in our souls deepest passion did so burn.
My wife shares our story to one and all
romance that carried her far, far away
We, married twelve sweet years this coming Fall
Depths of joy, such that no words can relay.
Robert J. Lindley, 5-12-2016
Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10
0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 240
Note: Truth in the telling, I flew to Cebu Philippines and brought my wife to live in America twelve years ago this coming Fall..
Now with our nine year old son, we live in the arms of loving bliss.
Why, why, why? Is all I ask
Do you send these folk my way
They're not the ones I'd choose myself
But I attract within hooray
You must have plans to work me Lord
Have I really gone astray
I try so hard to be polite
You send me those who groan
From trials of life
Crying painful body drones
But I face a war continually Lord
Spine crumbling pained bones
I questioned much over the years
Of those you sent my way
But each one has had effect on me
What will I have learned today
I want to tell of things you've done
And why I've learnt to pray
You sent me counseling to help
Through things wrong in my youth
Then church fellowship did help me through
When marriage went down sluice
A teacher friend taught me much
In assertiveness and truth
You sent me someone kind and true
When I'd thought life was gone
A friend of a friend a neighbors brother
Turned out to be the one
Who'd bring me home and settle again
Protect me and my two sons
You showed me work where I did learn
The skills to pull me through
In kitchens I did learn to cook
In schools help my children too
The staff within were pillars and rocks
In illness helped me do
You send others now to my house
Now I can't go out all alone
I used to sit and ponder sorry
I couldn't do things on my own
But now I have found new waters
I can swim and write a poem
I help others through my charity support
When I can get to phone
I can help in ways that others cant
And control load with able zone
I listen to those there struggling
Look at positives not moan
So I'm thankful for those folk you sent
Though I don't understand your process
But each time one has helped me to
Understand and cope it's noticed
So send someone to help I'll pray
And I'll listen as perfect hostess
Author's notes
Okay, so I realize as it stands it needs tweaking, but at the time the pen flowed and now it
needs some TLC... any ideas welcome, although I do not want to detract from the
meaning/depth. Any idea of rhyme was not originally intentional so please forgive I know at
present its dreadful!! Help please?
So strange.
On the tuning board I'm an F
and yet I feel quite sharp somehow.
Perhaps I need an adjustment.
Here.
or there.
A tweaking of metal wires
wrapped a little too tightly
and then I'll hit the perfect C.
So strange.
for somehow sharp still feels like me,
looks like me,
is like me.
Hmph.
I guess it's better to be sharp than flat,
and while I'm at it, better yet,
full with chords and rhythm too...
Maybe I should synchronize
and be a little more like you.
“Sorry I Never Knew You”
Written: by Tom Wright
7-23-2016
At point of conception each is assigned a date,
Some dates happen quickly some remain until late.
Clock moves, through our wake hours and slumber,
Always tweaking, our originally assigned number;
At time of expiration a final judgment we’ll face,
To give account for our tracks, and confess our case;
Before a Jehovah God on that day each will bow,
Where called to remembrance is each word and vow.
Not only to answer for the things that we’ve done,
But if we’ve accepted Jesus, God’s only begotten son;
Did we fail to accept Him as our Lord and Master,
Or were we engaged with life as time continued faster.
He’ll open the Book seeking our date of rebirth,
During the time that He assigned us here on earth.
If we’ve lived a moral life, and to Him was true,
His response won’t be “sorry I never knew you”.
The words that many will consider most daunting,
You’re “weighed in the balance and found wanting”.
MY heart rate raced as I sat and marveled at
this machine. A Cervelo S-5 carbon Bicycle.
This must be a dream!
So Aerodynamic and efficient with a stream
lined design. With a DI-2 shifter that shifts
precisely and is so divine.
I'm sitting here for several hours on my new
racing bike. They're tweaking it perfectly, and
making it right.
A true masterpiece that is designed for speed.
Which every adrenaline junkie definitely needs.
I quickly fall in love with the way that it feels.
At ten thousand dollars, its quality revealed.
As I get on it, it fits like a glove. I shift it quickly
as I start to take off.
I race with an accelerating rhythm, at maximum
speed. What an experience, a euphoric feeling
that overtakes me!
My heart pounds with excitement and my thighs
start to burn, as lactic acid builds up, rounding an
apex of a treacherous turn.
I glanced at my Garmin , peddling quickly in this
competitive race. Twenty-six miles an hour, I
average, pushing myself, at a grueling pace!
My heart pumps as I spin up this hill, anticipating
the descent, oh my what a thrill!
I try catching my breath as my lungs cry out for air.
Reaching a pinnacle point of exhaustion, and
borderline despair!
I'm pushing my cadence with everything I got.
Failure is not an option, like it or not!
I'm shooting for King of the Mountain, in this heart
stopping mile. Thank God it's all over, as I stop and
relax, for a while!
It's all finished now, as I check out the Strava on line.
And much to my amazement, I am the fastest, of all
time!!
I wish I could take credit, and be solely responsible
for this great feat, but I know in my heart, it was a
great effort, made by My Bicycle and Me.
Hopscotch playing
Dragon slaying
Home alone staying
Child of a broken home
Liquor sneaking
***** peaking
Experimental tweaking
Adolescent always stoned
Cigarette smoking
Eating then choking
Closet toking
Average American whore
Cake baking
Zoloft taking
Dinner making
Wife and mother of 4
Empty nest
Did your best
Cheers to the rest
Menopause is the answer
Constantly prying
Endless crying
Slowly dying
Widowed grandmother with cancer
tweaking
and nitpicking
computer bugs
there was a young girl from Surrey
whose love life was all of a hurry
so went for sex advice
from a madam of vice
now can tease and tempt without worry
she has learnt the art of foreplay
hope he has the libido to stay
her tweaking and kisses
sure has no misses
has a smile on his face all day
his friends ask was it more than a kiss
said he can't disclose what it is
that has made his day
in a wonderful way
said his trembles and thrills were just bliss
penned Nov 3 2015
I must confess, my poem appears a mess!
Wonder if I’ve lost my touch?
Though it seemed all right, when I began to write,
Did I edit a smidgen too much?
Having honed my rhymes, so many times,
Results are looking somewhat tragic!
Should I take a rest, having done my best
To make my poems seem magic?
A poet thought great, surely can create,
A poem regarded a leader,
But when words fall flat, after changing this and that,
They’ll seldom excite the reader.
Furthermore, I’m no star, so doubt I’ll go far,
Though with rhyming I’m rather smitten.
Some ideas may well please, but without expertise,
The results are poorly written.
After poetry is writ, I’ll tweak it a bit,
Hoping to make it read more sweetly.
Now should I not stop, the poem ends as a flop,
I’m forced to dump it discretely!
I’d best face up to fact, and leave lines intact,
Let lines be left as first read.
Yes, lines I hone, I should let alone,
To give inspiration its head.
Like those of a Ham, they’re not worth a damn,
If the metre is ragged or weak,
So I’ll sit myself down, check adverb and noun;
Then throw out the lines I can’t tweak!
For they’ll mean not a thing, if the rhyme does not ring,
Or becomes detached from the theme.
If by my tweaking, I lose sight of my seeking?
It’s a waste of time it will seem!
Back in days when I wrote, some poetry of note,
Editing was never intended,
But today I’m feared, the results seem weird,
Euphoria has finally ended!
Better stick to my guns, write more rhymes and puns,
Until my inspiration has fled,
Should you see a deficiency, or lack of proficiency?
You’d better say nowt till I’m dead!
Rhymer. August 27th, 2009.
SLIPPERY WHEN WET
Like The Bermuda Triangle trips, with disappearing blips,
my heart stops beating, is fleeting, or else is gone.
No Black Hole deeper, steeper, my heart is not a keeper,
of the light sucked in by stellar wind, and played the pawn.
A Double Slit Experiment, arranged for our endearment,
cannot decide to stay, or play, or leave before the dawn.
I'm left holding Quicksilver, unsung song, that never lasts longer,
and always seeking, tweaking, what's gone wrong in moving on.
Like trying to find my car keys, I've left inside the deep freeze,
this nebulous thing, a fling and sting, will insist I don't belong.
Contest:Dancing with Discription
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Placed: HONORABLE MENTION
By Edlynn Nau
© October 29, 2015
Tweaking
Spinning faster
Forever speed seeking
Constantly lost to disaster
Master
Slurp sunshine
Burp the redefined
Superb ceremonial herbs
Munched on at lunchtime
Feeling the shaman smoke
Flood the mind
Speaking with feathered rogue serpents
I guess it's due to my
Tweaking lost treasured Mayan bloodline
Streaking stars
And
Screaming hearts
Waiting to be found and aligned and
Intertwined within the art of my rhyme
Reanimated Aztec Frankenstein
Looking for a bride to be my valentine
And take a space ride cruise on the
Solar system super highway divine
High on Milky Way juice soy sublime
Tired of being lonely with moonshine
We should do this again sometime
Within a land of Virgin forest wonders flourish
Trembles the pulsing heart of heavenly laden body at night
Ghostly figures shadows churn and nourish
Harmonious reflection green-mist awaiting daylight
*
~ *
*
Pits and mounds of decaying fallen trees below
Persuasive lace lichen and mats of moss embrace nature’s seasons
Improbable flickering amber windows aglow
Amongst high-tower contorted trees bestow reasons
*
~ *
*
Verdure of mystical creatures lie low
*
~ *
*
As brownies are busy all night tweaking chores
Alicorn, centaurs, fairies, dwarf stir leaves of trees
High overhead night creaks, cries, and laughter flow
Sailing passage through moist earthy scent breeze
*
~ *
*
Verdure of mystical creatures lie low euphoric
Within a land of Virgin forest
9/22/2016