Best Uniformly Poems
Asters litter beds in rainbow colours
Berries red and black slowly growing
Clover adding bright patches of green
Daisy's dotting the rolling lawns
Enchanting us with their beauty
Fox gloves waving their wands of trumpets
Gerbera brightly show the sun their faces
Hibiscus blown by gentle hot breezes sway
Irises joining in glinting and glimmering
Jasmine flowers spreading out profusely as
Kale fish swim in the pond flashing colour
Lilies floating gracefully give them shelter
Mums giving ground cover to the rolling banks with
Narcissus poking out between them while the
Orange hues of asters are a delightful background for
Peonies some tall most very short nestle beneath
Quince flowers, still their tight buds vie with
Roses stately and wafting perfume clouds around
Snapdragons closing their petals over insects
Tansy's rarely seen now a days, here do thrive and
Uniformly line the garden paths whilst timid
Violets of deep purple shyly peek out and the
White tulips dance amid the rest under hedges of
Xylosma giving height and deep shade for plants
Zinnia's with rings of colour exploding
04/24/2014 by Shadow Hamilton
contest What's in your garden placed 1st
Hobo Walking Past Our House
He looked like man walking with rocks in his shoes,
a bit edgy, with shadows flitting about.
Dark clouds about him, sending the lonesome blues,
smiling alligator with a toothless snout.
Stopping to look back, time waving its hello's,
angry at not having what he left behind;
an old man, one of those ***** little fellows
with nothing about him speaking as refined.
A frown formed upon his dark, withering face,
as his ragged, torn hat hung on him quite low.
Started again, he walked at a limp pace,
leaving questions, answers nobody can know.
Disappearing from our sight, one of his goals.
Like an ancient furnace, with no burning coals.
R.J. Lindley
SEPT.22ND 1976
Note: Edited recently to meet the eleven syllable verse uniformly.
Syllables Per Line:
11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 154
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 111
Struck down
powerless with astonishment
as the Brocken spectre took its shape
Forming one shadow breathing out
from the misted oceans
A fierce bitter wind whispers
curling cries around the mountain
howling suffering tunes
Where an odd sound echos strangely
three times striking the spine with ice trembles
Then the crunch of lightening suddenly strikes this note
darkness causes uneasy feelings
when the shield of light is blinding
to the lost yet to be found wanting
Opposite the sun enormous magnified shadows
begging to be seen casting lots
upon the surfaces of clouds opposite
one head crowned figure emerges
surrounded by glowing halo-like rings
the formation of glory rises
from within shaping destiny
Where rings of coloured light appear
directly opposite the sun
when sunlight finally meets a cloud
of uniformly-sized water droplets
refreshing the misted vision held bathed
So thoughtfully busily going to the tomb
Were you enamored with words from the womb
Verbally gurgling did you succumb
Or did it come later in life
Likened to lightning spelling you under
Suddenly there before hearing the thunder
Rapidly vapidly words in your head
Were ringing and clamoring yet to be said
At work in your garden editing hedge
Trimming unwanted excess
It smacks of sedition this growing ambition
To put plants in orderly rowed inhibition
Sun reaching in silent distress
The beauty of discipline held up to view
In close captivated submission
In ranks and in rows uniformly disposed
Earthbound and holding attention
Yet openly Stubbornly free
They continue to grow.
To Flander's field poppies
And crosses akin
They are harvests of memory to reap
Promises planted to keep
Locusts and crickets rub their legs like mad
Their summer night symphonies uniformly bad
Yet when chill breezes still these musicians' strings
I long for the return of their discordant wings
“For I have seen you from far places
Shinning in bold light because you are made
Of Copper and tellurium; CuTe,
You are like the transition metals
You display love of many colours,
You are the sunshine that speeds up the release of
Oxygen I breathe in gears of photosynthesis,
How cute?
Periodic table of my love,
May we physically bond?
And be like the ionic bond
To display our love like graphs on the Cartesian plane
May our love be hard to fuse like
Like ions with the intra-molecular forces of attraction
Be like an equal sign,
And you call me “Lo” and I’ll call you “Ve”
So we can produce a product called LOVE when we fuse?
Damsel you are like a sensory neurone to me,
You act like an enzyme on my happiness,
You duplicate my happiness to its level best,
You become a protractor when I’m down there,
My oxygen,
My love gene,
My star akin
That shines my goal scene
How?
You become a kinetic energy
When I’m drowned by poverty
Caused by long struggle of loneliness,
My love,
My heart,
You are the love in the oxygenated blood
That enters my double pump
Through the pulmonary vein,
You are like a scientific calculator that smoothens
My number struggle,
May I say?
May I play with you like letters of algebra?
May I be the gradient in that steep slope
That will take us to the home of our love?
I mean the periodic table of our need
Let’s heed through like a linear sequence
And be like…
Periodic table of my love.
Let’s make love and shine like crystals obtained
After crystallisation,
Accelerate uniformly like a pair of ethanol as it slangs
Between bonds of chlorophyll,
Let’s chill and make our love our quadratic homework,
So you will tell me when I’m wrong like when it reads Error 1,
2 or 3,
My periodic table of love,
I want to watch your curves that reminds me of the brackets in
Mathematics,
Touch your majestic body that makes me to cry when I’m about
To slice an onion,
May our love be like the mitochondrion?
May you be my nucleus?
And guide me like equations of motion,
Drive my innocent mind into your bosom akin to
That of an angel,
Periodic table of my love,
Be my love,
Be my time,
Be my tickler,
Be my world,
Be the periodic table of my love.”
An arbitrary woman on the street
Going the opposite way. Her amber eyes
Meet mine as she approaches
Bright and penetrating
We smile as we ...
Uniformly glance at each other
No words exchanged between us
As she walks past me, into oblivion...
She's a beautiful woman with a giraffesque grace
Alas! She'll forever remain a mystery
And we'll never cross paths again
Though I'll always remember...
Her cheshire cat smile!
Date written: 03/28/2016
Alone in the night gazing at the beauty
of a celestial masterpiece yet untouched by the cover of cloud,
an unrelenting silence is interrupted by the insistent ticking
of an old grandfather clock in the parlor.
A candle with a dual wick,
rests upon a table made of knotty pine
roughly chiseled to add a rustic touch;
providing my only light,
intensifies a floor of polished oak.
I sit watching shadows flicker across plaster walls;
mimic eerie phantoms slithering throughout the room
refusing to take recognizable shape, cause unwanted distraction.
The work before me suffers, in stark contrast,
pitifully begs text be laid to cover the nudity of the page before me.
The accomplishments of my life pale in contrast what keeps me awake this night;
the plight of a nation will rest on the passion of my words,
my friends and patriots rely on a text
that will take them from anarchy, to democracy.
Shadows appearing to take shape play tricks upon my vision,
reveal a sight resembling a picture of a united
uniformly defined crowd, cheering and waving as one voice,
one sound.
Suddenly, it becomes clear, the page before me fills with pronouncement,
my chest swells with pride, what is written this night becomes page after page,
until finally,
to carry a nation desiring riddance,
a Declaration Of Independence.
The original draft of the Declaration was written by Thomas Jefferson from 11 June 1776 to
28 June 1776. It was finalized and approved by the Congress and printed on the evening of
July 4th.
The original document was signed by only John Hancock as President of the Congress and
Charles Thompson, as the Secretary of the Congress. Other signatories were added
beginning in August and weren't completed for several months.
White Eagle sat in silence, cross-legged;
his eyes were closed,
as the mountains wind blew against his feathered
headdress. He breathed in and out uniformly,
as though he was breathing together
with Mother Earth.
His brothers were preparing for a battle;
they were fighting for their birth-right as chief elder.
White Eagle wasn't interested in power. He was focused
on the whispers of the Chief Spirit between the cedar trees
in the woods, and seeing his ancestors' omens.
"Both of you have two wolves fighting inside you;
inside everyone!" he once told his brothers. "One wolf is good.
He feeds on hope, love, charity, kindness, honesty, patience....
The other wolf is evil. He feeds on death, hate, anger, envy,
greed, pride..... The one that wins is the one you feed most!!"
Sadly they dressed up for a battle -
faces decorated with dark rainbow stripes,
backs loaded with bows and arrows,
a hand ax,
and moccasins for the snow.
That winter took both of his brothers' lives that night.
The wolves howled in unison until dawn,
though there wasn't any full moon. Trees shed their leaves,
though it wasn't autumn. The Chief Spirit
was mourning for the deaths of great men,
who would do greater good,
if they let their little brother, White Eagle, rule;
they didn't know the Chief Spirit was speaking inside him.....
(The story "Two Wolves" is a Cherokee Indian Folklore)
Date: 13/02/2017
I watched the days pass uniformly,
Nothing special or exciting.
The monotone bleakness expresses
A lack of things enticing.
While some people caused dull interest
None were especially noted, no,
Like you were when you smiled
And my color spectrum exploded.
The rosy pink and emerald green
That colored your lips and eyes
Were as striking as the beauty created
By every bright sunrise,
Which could only be compared
To the brilliantly-spun gold
That is your hair
Each and every time the sun grows old.
The feeling that filled me
As I memorized your colors
Could never have prepared me
For being memorized by others.
This bright sensation overwhelms me,
As my cheeks turn glowing red,
When you tell me that you love me
And rest your chin upon my head.
I lean against you, shining yellow,
And I understand how it feels
To have felt each emotion
On the color wheel.
( Coming home from the mill. )
Air full of smog from dirty factory chimney
people walking around square quite nimbly,
grey clouds above small terraces workers abodes
typical northern town with narrow cobbled roads,
Local shop owners struggle to make both ends meet
children with no socks or shoes on their feet,
family men hope for a day's work to pay rent
to feed all his children that to him were god sent,
wives with baskets looking for bargain goods
so poor though happy with their neighborhoods,
men hope to earn extra money for a small bet
women on hands and knees cleaning door step,
clean clothes pegged out uniformly on washing line
smell of fresh linen, carbolic or fragrant pine,
sparse food deliveries are made by horse and carts
factory workers full of hope and bleeding hearts,
communities of northern England full of respect
where life was so hard and would never be perfect.
Composed 25th April 2017.
Contest:-celebration of art.
Nature skips and dances like a clown
Nature looks upon us with a frown
Hats on our heads boots on our feet
Colorful banners parading in the street.
The splendor of the morning heightened
And exhale the wrath of nature’s fears
The earth opens its bleeding gut
And whisper words of comfort in our ears
Words of solace brought us to tears.
We set out on a buoyant journey
Armed with strength and valor
Saddled with faith and bold action
A thousand strong, courage in our hands
We marched and sing a victory song.
We marched into municipality and towns
We paraded inner cities and strong garrison
We advance through beautiful homes
Striding upon rough spots and stumbling upon
fraudulent properties with ghastly surprise.
We tread upon down a slow running stream
With rocks embedded uniformly in river beds,
Rocks staring at us reading their own eulogy
Lay still with water running slowly over
their battered heads.
Nature brought us to a specific lot
with signs pointing to unusual spots
Each place has a trace that leads to nowhere
barren land and dead end spot it was only a plot.
Signs hang miserable on trees,
Signs planted in-between broken fences
Deceiving weary travelers and busy hikers.
Signs pointing to a grand exhibition on a farm land
Took us in a round about through the busy town
but no exhibition was found.
We followed another sign but it leads us to a
dilapidated house surrounded by beautiful homes
And a signs that says "park" landed us in the dark
We stormed through the suburbs pulling out deceptive signs
Piecing our own design and finally we seized the brutal mastermind.
©2014 Christine Phillips
Life’s equilibrium hanging on force of gravity
Rotating day and night uniformly in parity
In mystique of universe ceaselessly expanding;
Will vagaries of time tip the balance of being?
October 1, 2021
He lounges behind a desk in a late night vacant foyer
Answering calls, making log entries, and filing papers
The dark hours slowly leaking from his tenuous life
The phone rings and he repeats the same weary greeting
He issues information to faceless enquirers
Hanging up, sipping his coffee, he makes notations
Outside, the empty parking lot is speckled with light
Emanating from lonesome uniformly spaced poles
Illuminating the white lines of vacant parking
The sound of rushing steam, clanging metal, and cold rain drops
Echo upon the plate glass windowed empty cocoon
That bares the reflection of his tired, lost in thought face
Anticipating the next abandoned grave yard shift
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
It was yesterday when you died
At the horizon far west
And your blood smothered
The touching edges
Of the sky and the mountain
While you sank in its redness
Your funeral was fairly attended
By multitudes of mourning stars
Uniformly dressed in black
Today you resurrected
At the touching edges
Of the sky and the mountain far east
And like a child
Fresh from its mother’s womb
You were covered in blood
Which turned golden as you rose
Your resurrection comes as a sign
Of the birth of a new life
It turns our darkening dreams gold
It illuminates our paths
And makes us see the future
Awaiting beyond the horizon
Yet again you will
In the evening die
And sink in a pool of blood
At the touching edges
Of the sky and the mountain far west
And leave us longing
For another golden rise