Best Very Poems
Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Bread
( First of Three Poem Trilogy )
I
I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.
Nor do I fancy to become a bichon frise,
beholding to those with comminatory ways.
Finding some will cut you off at the knees
as a criticaster dariole for fugacious pay.
Floccinaucinihilipilification,
judged by Flews that chatter in morbid tune.
Give me saudade and a sandy beach vacation
with very little scrippage in the month of June.
Aye, no snollygoster soucouyant will do,
for my heart and soul begs sun-grazing songs.
Not a superbious umbriferous critic or two,
with the poet's soul this body truly belongs.
Seeking no uroboros legacy my ink doth stain
as a soulcatcher with a selkie as a muse.
Alone, in this rawky terrain my life will remain
for solitude and honor my poet's heart doth choose.
I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit,
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.
Robert J. Lindley, 3-21-2018
Rhyme
Note:
Make of this what you will,
I give thus and surely shall send no bill
Yet in my poet's heart my soul oft grieves
for the Autumn colors not the decaying leaves
For the heart that yearns to write and truly give
and the mortal soul that writes to live
With inked symbols and a mind tired of toil
wading through worlds filled with pride and hidden turmoil
I write with purpose to give to others, not to take
tho' oft my poet's heart over burning coals some gladly rake.
He
may
not have
the perfect
face and body,
but I can see into a soul
radiant like the omniscient sun in azure skies.
In indigo nights, I press against his heart, longing to possess his perpetual light.
for Brian Strand's the 'COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (27)any form any theme' Poetry Contest
I have just discovered the real definition
of irony
The word Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia
What a lengthy word to describe the fear of long
words - how ironic!
A Birthday Poem For My Very Special Friend
(This is also composed for my dear friend, PD)
Your birthday is indeed a great time of gaiety,
It calls for a celebration, a Grand Poetic Party
But, what I have just said is only a secondary
Most importantly, your life is great and healthy.
I am writing this poem first and foremost,
To send my love and best wishes to the most
For all the dreams of yours, let’s make a toast
May they all be fulfilled without any cost.
Since, I don’t have here your complete address,
I cannot send you chocolates, cakes or roses
So, I’ll just send my fervent prayer for success
To God, He may protect you, guide you and bless.
I will also enclose in these lines of my poem,
My songs of bliss for you and your family at home,
May you be free from all worries and gloom
Age added but, you’re a gal who incessantly bloom.
My dearest friend Linda, have a very happy birthday,
If you are only here, I’ll dance with you today,
Like a lady on her debut on the 18th Natal Day
You’re our Grand Celebrity in ‘tis Land of Poetry.
Note:
(Reposting)
This will be my advance Happy, Happy Birthday Poem to my DEAREST friend and CO-LIBRAN on the Soup, LINDA or PD. Three days from now will already be her BIRTHDAY MONTH. I AM SO EXCITED AND I AM LOOKING FORWARD FOR THE DATE, OCT. 7. Honestly, THIS POEM WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FOR HER BECAUSE I KNOW HER MORE AND SHE ACTUALLY HAS GIVEN ME THE INSPIRATION TO WRITE A BIRTHDAY POEM FOR THE CONTEST !!ADVANCE HAPPY, HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DEAREST FRIEND!!! Love yah!
Written: Sept. 25,2012
I
jerked it
out to place
it back in and
it seems as though I can't get any out.
I
jerked it
out again
to place it back
in, yet, no luck in getting any out.
So,
I tried
ANOTHER
form of Pleasure,
taking off the lid and using plastic.
I
simply
just wanted
to drink my milk-
shake using a straw but a spoon will do.
Pace, G
04-20-2012
Winter is approaching.
I feel it in my floorboards; in my baseboards;
in every nook and cranny.
I wait to be filled again at this time of Thanksgiving, and
As I wait, sounds of the past linger in my consciousness:
The excited moans of the men and of the women (some of whose
first introduction to me came from being carried across my threshold)
as they lay close together in their bed late at night;
The strange incessant wailing of babies that later arrived -
wailing that later changed, more often than not, into squeals of glee.
Some of the families I sheltered engulfed me with heaviness.
In those years, I was assaulted by loud shouting,
much like the barking of dogs from outside.
Those shouts were often met by shrill hysterical screams
or even by the sad sobs of children.
One sound stays with me like a ghost: the quiet weeping
of one lone occupant who held a gun to his head.
In an instant I felt his blood splatter against my walls.
I prefer to remember the touch of the children:
their small smudged fingers exploring my kitchen cupboards;
their tiny warm bodies scooting across my tiles.
On one unusual occasion, a child scribbled happily
on my bathroom walls with bright Crayola colors.
After the explosion of his mother’s angry words,
the bathroom was transformed, and with magic paper
a small part of me was wearing the figures of gold and purple fish.
Forty times or more I’ve been left; then re-inhabited.
Several times I’ve been overhauled: my carpet torn out, a new one laid;
my doors and my fixtures changed for modern ones;
my furnace and my pipes (even once a ceiling) - all replaced.
But lately, I’ve felt so weary, and even renovated, I’m feeling out of place.
Just last month as I was emptied and cleaned for the umpteenth time,
I heard the newest landlord tell his wife:
We won’t have to put up with this crap anymore -
not after we get the offer from those guys who want to build a mall.
I wonder what he meant. My heat and water both have been cut off for so long.
Usually a couple is here by now. But only silence echoes through my halls,
and I’m growing so very cold.
DEDICATION TO TWO VERY SPECIAL WOMEN
I'm writing this poem with pure dedication
To two very special women upon this fine day,
Andrea Dietrich and Anne Lise Andresen your beauty
is like a quaint fascination of pure devotion.
If it weren't for people like you, I would have left long ago,
Andrea you showed me great strength comes internally
I know,
Anne Lise you have a graceful flair with an inner honesty so rare
You showed me and talked to me when I needed someone to
really care.
Weeks ago it seems, thought I was at a real time, time, low, low.
But in realities view, knew deep in my heart of this you do know
You're two very beautiful women who made me face up to my
inner demons.
Now I truly know, I'm still in love with my Grizzly Adams,
Andrea and Anne Lise, hope we'll always be friends
For I'm dedicating this poem to two very intelligent beautiful women.
I no longer have had no inner bad vibrations.
I'm writing this poem with pure happiness and true heartfelt dedication
To two of the very best and special women upon this glorious day,
Andrea and Anne Lise your beauty is like a flowering devotion
I'm really counting my blessings for I'm utterly thankful beyond my emotions.
Written: Sept. 2, 2014
Theresa
The power within you is unique
if you are true to yourself
Today closer to fine
Navigating your inner self
changing landscapes
shadow pages and the imprint of the past
fear fake investors
The word had a different meaning
than expected
Today closer to fine
It is possible
to rise again after a fall
Today closer to fine
Trauma and mental disorders
let go of your expectations
hidden patterns and habits
One step forward and two to the side
move slowly and regularly from side to side
Nobody cares if you can't dance well
Reward yourself with positive affirmations
Today closer to fine
20.02.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Poem of the Day 21.02.2023
Phwoaarh! Anne-Lise really is hot
‘Old woman’ she really is not
With lovely blonde hair
Men ogle and stare
Her husband has hit the jackpot!
Yesterday a vitriolic comment was made and Anne-Lise was called 'old woman' I hope this tribute and picture prove the exact opposite
6/7/19
Five fingers of joy
slyly, coyly burgles; he's
absconding with koi.
As you like it, as you wish;
carpe carpum: seize the fish!
—————-
POTD 0/28/2022
There is a very cunning ham named Tom
Pens side-splitting limericks with aplomb
When Soupers are down
Tom removes their frowns
And their funny bones explode like a bomb
We love you, Tom!
The pains of those ailments that grab us at will
Once better, like stalkers, can linger on still
But it’s patently true that life’s bitterest pill
Is the pain when it’s someone you love that is ill
When struck down, bedridden, we try to be brave
Though we feel our survival might be a close shave
But we’d gladly accept our God’s beckoning wave
If that keeps our loved one away from their grave
*
And so when I hear that slight tremor of fear
No hug and no words for the one I hold dear
Can bring forth a smile full of genuine cheer
And that forehead kiss… conceals my own tear
At night, to the God in whom I don’t believe
I sheepishly say, “I don’t want her to leave.”
I snuggle up close, I’m not ready to grieve
And I smile in the morning as I hear her breathe
The doctors I’ve trusted I must trust in still
For they’ll mend her again; I’m sure that they will
But it’s patently true that life’s bitterest pill
Is the pain when it’s someone you love that is ill
I was one of many that had the priviledge
to live with my Grandparents. The lessons
I learned from them will remain with me for
the rest of my life. My Grandmother was a
very wise woman and her way of thinking
and explaining things made me listen.
I remember when one of my so called friends
set me up with with a blind date. A horrible
evening for me. When I got home and told
the story my Grandmother just laughed. Finally she ask me
"are you sure she is your friend", then she told me
the story of the rattlesnake.
Once there was a rattlesnake that got caught
in the freezing weather. A kindhearted man
found him and the snake said "please help me".
The man freed the snake and brought him into his
warm home and put him by the fire to warm.
The snake bit him and the kindhearted man
asked him "why did you bite me, I just saved your
life". The snake told the man, "you knew I was a
snake when you brought me in". I realized then
what she was talking about, choose your friends wisely.
One day I was helping this lady with some chores.
She was a very unfriendly woman and expected you
to work till you dropped. I told my Grandmother about it
and she said, "always remember, there are some people
that will work a willing horse to death". I remember
that lesson very well. My life was touched by this wonderful
woman in a way that I now tell these stories to my children.
Everyone must learn lessons, I pray you can learn them
from someone that lived during times that were hard, they
knew the meaning of hard times. The depression taught them well.
So I have been told
by a drunk
does he own a pair of shoes?
has he ever walked in another's?
mean and grouchy
unkind to falling leaves
what dreams were stolen
was he the thief or victim robbed?
or does whiskey make him dumb?
and numb
narrow is the hateful mind
who sold his dignity
a silver coin for naught
Scrooge counting compliments like gold ingots
stealing orphans smiles, scotch with spite
the elevator though goes only down
fury and fires and poetic justices
he will burn in hell
listening forever to the angels voices
reciting for eternity
my
very bad poetry
Do you see my wrists?
They cry blood when I do this;
Push the blade deeper.