Best Type Poems
Who was it that first said..
'the eyes are the window to the soul'..
who's eyes did they envision..
and how did they know?
And what of sweet wetted fingers that comb..
to straighten this messed heart cowlick I own.
Few well paired wanderlust seek a divine pardon..
still fancy the folly of youth's far flung travels.
Two trespass meadow lost to petal lined garden,
til intimacy's last mystery unravels.
Darting dawn awakes to write upon love's torn page..
parting drawn in true type font in spite of heart's age.
A.S.D.F……..he typed,
Retyped,
Again did it, again, again………
Tick….tick, tick….tick……minutes sicken.
Soon his nearby seat she took,
A new student with hairs black,
Just a glance,
Next day, a smile, sprouted silent roots.
She got up and turned;
Her shampoo smelling hairs patted
On his face,
By chance.
That night on red bed his,
Fancy dress contest of fancies.
In love birth pain,
He does roll, twist, turn…………
He is earlier student, day next,
In attires newest.
But she came never,
Vanished in the life clouds.
Slim…..brown…..gentle…..
Still lingers shampoo smell.
His solitude pokes the sensorium,
Recollections….tick….tick, tick….seriatim.
(Set against shy rural background)
FABIYS M V
Can I love and will I ever feel want,
Smooth skin, soft with a perfect line.
I stand in the castle upon a sheer hill,
The castle of my own confine.
It’s a chilling reflection on water at night,
From our living, breathing full moon.
You’re my eye of the storm sitting in the middle,
Of a raging swirling typhoon.
I cascade and I spiral out of control,
Inside I’m every beautiful crazy rainbow.
Floating alone not steering deep down,
Free falling through my silent grotto.
When I drown you’re my air in a bubble you live,
Floating through space in the open and blue.
My quarter past ten in the greenest of forests,
You're my timber, my perfect type of you.
late, unnatural,
and made in chicago.
city-bred all over yesterday.
an irate ashanti,
in the ducts and alleyways
of tomorrow.
awaits the god-type,
the omniscient zulu;
the stone;
the voice of america
in black english.
Hmm, yum— I come,
as a fan and chum of cheese,
I love almost all the types,
but if you're of those who don't choose cheese,
you might find this poem quite cheesy.
As for me, cheeseburger or yummy cheesecake
I can never be cheesed off by any cheese.
This poem, therefore, is for cheese sake.
Serve me the cheesiest pizza, if you please.
Ah, I'm so very fond of cheesy macaroni.
Even greens become appetizing with pecorino.
I couldn't resist a cheesy pizza with pepperoni.
I'd love to taste a Spanish zamorano.
Cook that spaghetti, or that bolognese.
Top it with red cheddar or mozzarella.
All that's far tastier with layers of cheese.
Cheese ain't merely for the mice of Cinderella.
And in my sandwich, stuff that provolone or ricotta,
for I've already tasted jibneh arabieh.
Under the crescent moon, on the menu be crescenza,
or even a candle-lit dinner for two— and a dish of brie!
Lasagne with colby or Asiago—
Melting Greensward or gooey Gruyere.
A cheesy casserole with manchego,
And Roquefort's tasty, I will swear.
Be it cottage cheese or friesian,
Greek feta cheese or french fromagefrais,
You can bet I'd enjoy a Parmesan—
anytime, anywhere, anyday!
A dollop of dunlop may not be so bad for a diet,
but cheese is a major culprit behind chubby cheeks.
The wish to forever stay slim and light,
has to compete against the desire for camembert with leeks.
Next on my menu, the popular cream cheese,
and I did not forget Indian paneer cheese curry.
Oh, try some Swiss chard, with Swiss cheese,
And you won't forget that taste in a hurry.
Say cheese, smile, and say cheese for the cam even, saying, "wow, now."
Taste a slab of halloumi or gouda, and thank God for the cow.
Judith chopped off the head of General Holofernes, saving Israel
She is a biblical type of Mother Mary
Who crushes the head of the serpent, saving the Church.
i'm up a creek
i have a paddle
but no canoe
Heavy snow falling
Trudging to railway station
Trains canceled again
all that Southern food
butter, cream, fat and sugar
look where it got y'all
My granddad was light,
But not that caramel light,
or even that peanut butter light,
but that "you sure you not white?"
yeah, that type of light.
My mama told me that back then,
when you were that light,
sometimes you wouldn't stop people
from assuming you were white.
She said Granddad was no exception.
I wouldn't call it a misdirection,
more like a common misconception
that he allowed to go on without correction.
And yeah it made me angry.
At least it did when I was younger,
'cause it flew way over my head
at the time when my mama said
if you weren't white, they'd turn you red
or better yet steal you up out your bed
and leave you swinging from a tree instead.
But now I'm older...
and it took me a while to grasp
that this **** really ain't close to equal,
not slavery, but it's damn near a sequel,
'cause they done locked up half my people,
then said we got there on our "free will."
But that's another story...
I was thinking of Granddad the other day,
and it made me wonder...
What if I was that light?
Not a little bit too much cream light,
or "are you mixed with anything?" light,
but that "You black? Man, you sure that's right?"
Yeah, that type of light.
Would I correct all the assumptions?
Yeah I know it's a different time but still,
maybe I'd be curious how it'd feel
to be exposed to exclusive opportunities,
included in the criminal immunities,
and roam free in the gated communities
unarmed, without fear of somebody shooting me.
So I no longer blame him
'cause we all want the same freedoms
he just happened to be light enough to catch a couple.
But don't let that fool you,
He was light but his blood was brown.
My mama said he was the proudest of black men
and taught her black is as beautiful as its ever been
a sentiment she passed down through her kin,
so I'm gonna love my beautiful skin
until I see my Granddad again.
My Favorite Type of Poem
Poetry by tradition
must be lucid and rhythmic,
but just for information
syllable count is specific.
Grammar of a poetry shouts
right rules and regulation.
Symmetry in nice lay outs
demands high admiration
Prose-poetry verses must come
in serious weighty mood.
Non rhyming style is welcome,
yet rhyming ruless are too good.
My firm views will always tell
‘Compose a poem in rhyme.
Ideas will run excel
if proper rhyming is prime
So I must conclude to say,
‘ my favorite type comes as best
with lines rhyming in array,
yet each format I respect.
Syllable count : 7 syllable each line
10/29/15
New or Old Poem 3 Contest
by Eve Roper
Does your heart still miss a beat
When you get that special smile
Do you always try for him -
Just to go that extra mile.
Do you still buy the pressies
On those very special days
And take him for an odd weekend
Of course, that's when he pays.
Have you kept that sparkle up
After very many years
Can you still make up with him
After rows and salty tears.
Would you stand behind him
If others turned their back
Compliment, assure him
If his ego took a whack.
If he was redundant
Could you stretch a loving hand
Would your love outweigh the cash
If you'r loosing twenty grand.
If you answer, yes to these
It seems to me, as though
That's you're his perfect valentine
And he really loves you so.
Go on and be outrageous
You've been really sweet and meek
Just book an online holiday
With him, of course next week
Old Santa is minus one reindeer
So he’s fitting Blitzen for headgear
Seems Rudolph has fled
But don’t be misled
He’ll come back when Fauci says, “All clear”
- - - -
This Christmas will not be the same
Pandemic must shoulder the blame
From Comet to Cupid
The deer are not stupid
“On strike” has become their last name
- - - -
The forecast for Christmas seems dreary
No snow, once again, makes me teary
The Florida heat
Won’t even make sleet
Of hot weather, I have grown weary
December 5, 2020
For Alexis Y.’s “Christmas Limerick” contest
Cheer Up!
The first time we spoke for about 30 mins I knew you were trouble
That you were gonna make me break my protocols and stumble
But not stumble to fall to the ground but to fall into your hand
Now the grip is too tight and I can't slip through like sand
But it's alright, you are the kind of trouble I want to get into
My parents say, "stay outta trouble". But this type? I'd love to lean to
My dear you are beautiful beyond compare, absolutely flawless
Your presence is eminent cos every other person turns a gray-scale or colorless
Many women do wonderful things, but you outclass them
Your beauty is too much for me, I'm way in over my head
With just a glance at me, you captured my heart and locked me in your love
Whenever you walk by, all heads turn in admiration and awe
Being with you, there is never a dull moment... I could spend forever with you and never dread any single moment
That is how much life you bring into my existence
These may just be words, but my heart makes a deeper statement
There was a woman
Today at the bookstore
On Bardstown Road
Her hair was purple
With a little green
Mixed in for class
I guess
She had glasses with
Black frames
Wearing a blue dress
Her breasts were pointy
Firm and round
I smiled at her
She smiled a fake smile
And we went
Our separate ways
Too bad I said
She was a nerd
Just a geek
Just my type