Best Waste One Poems
Funny the things that stick with you
like gum beneath the table
as the years go by.
My brains goes as far back as three solar circuits;
big bro put the Wonder bread in the microwave
(package and all) --- sparks went a'flying.
And poor Mother, what would she say,
when the whole house burnt away?
(corner time for sure)
And back then, turning the big "one oh"
was a big deal --- it's all the kids talked about.
Mother would make me PB&Js
(crust ON --- she weren't no fool)
And that little pat on the head used to make me giddy:
a reward for my maturity,
eating all the greens --- every bit.
But by thirteen I was quite done with it.
I'll make my own lunch, thank you very much
(sure you know that's a lie,
teens are notorious for their laziness)
But putting Dijon and turkey
between two slices of Dave's Killer Good Seed,
you think you got it made
with all of life figured out.
And speaking of "seed" ... what the hell?
Shouldn't I have my own runts by now,
running baby cheetah-like between my legs,
with a wifie to burn the toast on my way to work
(or is that just stereotypical nonsense?)
Perhaps by the time I'm thirty
being a spiritual loner like Paul won't be so bad;
spreading the good news when I can,
but I lack the humility:
a wheat by words,
a tare by actions.
And maybe I won't make it to my winter years.
But if that happens I won't waste one slice of forever
moping about time lost.
Rather I'll indulge in the True Wonder Bread
with the Man Upstairs -
without the fluff - but add the glow
and guaranteed to last eternity.
Literally.
PS: Not actually a new one, but something I wrote six-ish years ago.
Wishes And Prayers
We wish because--
We are not sure if it be;
We wish because - We want it to be!
Conveniently, we wish it were true,
If only things become true when we need them to be.
We usher in- The powers of good
We wish out -
the destruction of wickedness.
We wish it were true-about God.
Then believe it with our whole hearts.
We pray and God
handles it from there
We wish though wishes are not exactly prayers.
We wish to set in motion our most intimate needs.
Maybe wishing is like
putting in an order,
With Gods Staff;
That only you can fulfill
by closing your eyes.
Wishing wishes, until wishes take wings and flies.
returning to us consummated as we open our eyes.
I'd wish that I could Just live my life.
I'd waste one wish-
for all mean people to disappear.
I'd wish that there really be a
place where good folks go
In the "afterlife".
I would not waste more wishes on the wicked.
We usher in-The powers of good
We’d wish out the destruction of wickedness.
We wish it were true about heaven
Then believe it with our whole hearts.
We pray, and God handles it from there;
Wishes are rare, and you only get a few.
We cannot be frivolous when we wish.
So, we just pray them away
you know, “The bad people”.
Wishes are few, but prayers are plenty...
I am wishing, and I am praying
for all of you to be" Good people"
I wish heaven would be true-
I Pray we meet again ..." just us"
The ones.... who loved each other.
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2014
Whats the point of love
if it only brings you tears?
Wether it be a few glorious months
or going on several years.
You'll either get a broken heart
when he leaves for someone new,
or at last death shall do you part
and you'll loose the one who loved you.
Whats the point of love?
I'm sure its easier to deny
the feelings that grow inside of me,
but that would be living a lie.
It might feel right now,
but when its said and done
it will be a waste one time
when we're back at square one.
Whats the point of love?
Its too bitter sweet.
But I guess its time that I give in
and finally admit defeat.
My hearts been taken over,
and I know it will get crushed.
But I'd go through it all again
just to feel his rush.
From west-to-east they daubed the plains with dark
The groans of horns and hooves to shake the earth
All grass and grounds that thus did bear their mark
And naught would be their doom if meant for worth
Brave men with skin burned red did cull for strength
With skill and bows, though not to waste one piece
Yet they nor prey could know what would be wrought
By those with hides more white, and sacks to fleece
Those men from 'cross the sea killed with no cause
And all that filled their gaze was raped and marred
Not once through all the waste did they give pause
Nor stop to dress the wounds of what they'd scarred
Not long, to teach those beasts and men of red ...
The pall and price of greed, so cold ... and dead.
~ 7th Place ~ in the "Because It's A Tuesday 140 - 140 Sonnet Cash Prize" Poetry Contest, William Kekaula, Judge & Sponsor.
* Syllables = 10/line, 140 total, words = 140 total, counted at HowManySyllables.com. *
( "Tatonka" is the Native American word for buffalo or bison )
Sumptuous
savoury
smothered in chili
onions heaped high
on a tasty mustard bun
I will not waste one morsel
of you
My eyes feast upon you
on my plate,
as you sit and await your fate!
My palette awaits
I want to hold you
and devour you
Love of my life,
you make my mouth water
I am tantalized by your smell
Your aroma tempts me
My taste buds tingle
Come closer!
You are my Red Hot!
Hot Dog,
I have been awaiting this moment
to bite into your burning flesh,
and experience your texture,
and enjoy Umami
The 6th sense
It's my loneliest day, I seek you out and finally find you.
I see you near reaching out with open arms I don't hold back.
This time I do not want to waste one ounce of your time.
The crying of the souls haunt me, I wipe their tears from me.
I find I own nothing, only the souls that are precious wandering.
Try to hear them, their cries of pain, sorrow, heartache and loss.
The cries make it impossible for me to ever be the same again.
All these years I have not forgotten their cries, of painful pasts.
To love them is more than I can and I am but I give them all of it.
I hope they have become a bright shinning star lighting the skies.
Maybe they will shine down on me, forgiving the one which is me.
Dedicated To All Abused Children Alive and Dead.
Any one for the 8-10 to Allepo
His suicide lorry packed to the gunnels there hoisted on his own petard
another loved up modern muslim the stupid silly selfish silly bastard
What a waste one man in his white gown going to his death
a lot of passengers waiting there also wanting a last breath
Buses much better eighty eight in a bus pack em in it is for the best
welcomed sitting each one with there black comforting a suicide vest
Queues forming what sweating work here sheep queuing like mutton
taking people to heaven is hard work so careful mind the red button
Meeting death going to their beloved god and dreaming
me I cant stop laughing look my eyes they are streaming
Positively, every day we lay to waste one more chance.
Though the sun doth rise and meet us in yellow gold.
Will your great revival begin today? Only by happenstance?
By all great men, in awe, we've be moved to muse and trance.
When the musician's fingers flitter, to make our souls seem whole.
Positively, every day we lay to waste one more chance.
And as the boats stay moored, afloat of our chance,
over a wanting light on black screams, a shadow folds.
Will your great revival begin today? Only by happenstance?
They cry, they all cry! A guff, their ***** parlance.
A beckoning light so bright as to seem to take hold.
Positively, every day we lay to waste one more chance.
The athlete, his body strong against the crushing weight, his defiance.
Thou vile villain, thou interrupting season of cold.
Will your great revival begin today? Only by happenstance?
To want for is not to waste, to keep held high the the chin and dance.
And yet as I lie, the shadows creep and their time still known.
Positively, every day we lay to waste one more chance.
Will your great revival begin today? Only by happenstance?
I get up at three or four in the morning
Because I want to play a couple of hours before I leave for work
I love my job, but I love my play time more
I have many hobbies, so many choices
Some mornings I write poems, other mornings I paint on canvases.
I draw cartoons or I play scrabble-type word games
I love giving myself this "me time"
When I was a young mother I never had any me time.
When I was a teenager I didn't either.
I worked almost every second I was not in school
During my high school years, to get money for college
In highschool and college your time is planned by others
When you are a young parent, your time belongs to your children
My children are grown; my husband is self-sufficient
Now I can have me time which is why I wake up at three or four.
I do not want to waste one second of my "me time".
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Where will I be?
I'm lost and I can't find my compass, you see
Also lost time, the sun's setting low
The day is at end, Oh where did it go?
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I fell today
Can't see where I'm landing, cause you're in the way
Will I land softly? How far will I fall?
Will the sun rise at the end of it all?
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Are you chasing today?
It's dark and scary since you slipped away
Time stands still between dark and light
I don't want to land 'til you come in sight
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, you came and you left
Your net did not catch me now all is a mess
I'll pick myself up, my direction unknown
Destiny uncertain, now that you've flown
Tomorrow, Tomorrow. Don't let me down
I'm depending on you, to bend up this frown
I'll find my compass, keep an eye on the time
Just roll a little slower, 'til I get things in line
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, really never comes
I won't waste one minute, watching the sun
Never put my problems on the back shelf
If tomorrow arrives, it will take care of itself.
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Being Aussie and a nomad with a wish to travel far,
there comes a time when money’s scarce no matter who you are.
I was in the north of England when the bank declared I’m broke,
so I went to seek employment from someone who needs a bloke.
It was a hospital in Liverpool that needs a cleaner in the wards.
In there I met some nurses and we struck quite similar chords,
for they were Aussies just like me with an accent just like mine,
so it felt good to be in company with those still speaking strine.
Because the language of the locals sort of takes some time to learn,
and there are words still spoken that for us still twist and turn,
so they must be spoken slower for their message to come through,
and we all got into trouble when the scouse accent was true.
It was not because our work is poor, for we had pulled our weight,
and punctuality was not bought up because we’re never late.
Our manners were impeccable but we were deemed as rude.
They said that we took liberty with a patient’s unique food.
But we were only saving money for our travelling overseas,
and had gathered in the kitchen where we’d eat the awful teas
that are provided for the patients, and of course us staff as well,
though, some days a visitor would save us eating food from hell.
It was their way of saying thanks for the caring that was done,
for they saw me help the nurses when their need was on to run,
and their loved ones had told them of the grub we’re forced to eat,
so through the ill once getting well, we would get a special treat.
But oh the gremlins got us in the kitchen there one night,
when a lady fronted us with, what I’d say a lovely sight.
She held a pork pie in her hands - the favoured food I love,
and with a smile she said to me “Would you ‘eat this pie up ‘Guv’!”
I placed it in the oven and arranged three plates as well.
We didn’t waste one single crumb while taking in the wondrous smell.
Then our benefactor walked back in; her scouse was very clear …
when she looked in the oven - “Is me ‘usbands pie ‘ot yet m’dear?”
To balance the scales
Of energy
Of emotion
Of love
Of devotion
Of wonder
Of fun
86,400
Never waste one
Kale Brereton
August 13, 2018
I paint with acrylics
Oils are more vibrant;
But I have no patience
For letting anything dry
Watercolor is uncontrollable;
This is too close to my own personality
I cannot fathom the enjoyment of watching the paint take over
Doing what it wants when it wants, like my dogs and children.
Using neon paints I paint dwarfs, faeries, pixies, dogs, cats
Mushroom houses, igloos, teepees, pirate ships
Pirate queens, sexy cartoon women, witches, and castles
Painting is my always-always-land
It was an accidental hobby, inspired by a nine-year-old granddaughter
I decided to ”waste”one canvas when she begged me to paint with her.
Sixteen hundred canvases later, I reach for my paints.
180 barrels
A trendy couple fled a tourist resort and left behind 180 barrels of human waste; one wonders how they could accumulate that much ; the pair fled to Guatemala, farms cocoa plants and lives on a diet of bananas. A woman called Meghan, makes it clear that she is also a Sussex, whatever that means, has a podcast, and tells us she is thrilled with her success interviewing other privileged women. We are pleased to read these inanities and think if the 180 barrels of crap have sprung a leakage
The local news is, a Ukrainian who fled when the Russian army came knocking on the door looks askance at me since my view is different from the other people in the building. He came to Portugal with two new and big Mercedes, enough said!
Just a moment in this lifetime,
Just a tragedy ahead.
Not knowing where each turn will lead,
Within seconds we might be dead.
Live each day to the fullest,
Do not stop to wonder why.
Do everything your heart desires,
In dreams, reach for the sky.
Surprises at every stop sign,
With its share of wrong ways and dead-ends.
Statistics don’t help you with the future,
They only tell you where you’ve been.
With so many people among us,
There are no certainties.
And all it takes is just one person,
To reroute history.
Don’t waste one single moment,
How very precious that they are.
What seems a long way off,
Is really not that far.