Best Wording Poems
(Hello, my sweet friend!)
Speaks in unknown tongues
Nevertheless it will consume
Ask for food,
A sweet drink
The hunger and thirst are real
It's pitchfork aims at my free will
Seeking and freaking through my pages
It's been ages since the impression was gone
Sloppy wording crawl under my hide
Notification triggers my finger and thumb
Bang! The evil one exists
With a second-hand letter
It believes, it should never be forgotten
Numb as Novocaine can be
I watch and interpret the riddles in every line
Living and breathing art,
I'm echoing the same nightmare
How dare, the devil seeks to be fed!
Screaming and remembering
--the demons that linger in its head
Too much to read,
I have major troubles with your disease
Lunacy of the universe
Open Obituary, you are a curse
Like a transparent note from a fatal fax machine
It's a calling, unbearable to describe
Take from me, after I am deceased
Like fire, it burns, cancer in every star
Lies to
Greets to
My eye twitch
My soul hurts
I'm not feeling well
Take care,
Leave me the HEll alone
(-*-)
Words of Mass Destruction
Words like bullets do not have eyes, as they fly in our hearts and materialize
Deleterious breaths that we soon despise, words written in stone we idealize
Warring weaponed words that paralyze, wounding wandering words terrorize
Torpedo texts thrown to criticize, paranoid punitive parasites will pulverize
Like the Atom bomb, words are strong only use them wisely where they belong
Some create a lullaby or sweet a song, while others use them to do their wrong
Words of deception create no affection only intervene with the inflating infection
Annihilating in their corrupt convention, wary words that bring rigorous rejection
Of the negative neurotic neglect, wording witches and warlocks of their architect
Dehumanized discord of disconnect, vengeful letters lashing will always resurrect
Words can frighten as well as enlighten, some will delight in words that tighten
Words of corruption bring self-destruction, a raging ruction of a serpent seduction.
Nov.20.2017
Judgmental People And Haters
Sponsored by: Brenda Chiri
Summertime, summertime
And homemade vegetable soup
This is no place for fruity loops
Only foods from the garden that rhyme
Oh! Give us soup in the summertime
One writes tomatoes, another squash
Another corn with peppers by gosh
End with dessert a pie from lime
Summertime, summertime
Oh! Summertime
Shoestring budget on a dime
Carrots, potatoes, butter beans prime
Awesome soups, mighty fine
Cut some okra, dream a dream
Snap a few beans then just steam
Cook some cornbread, make a design
In that soup mixture, have some verse
Maybe a sonnet, where love comes first
A stormy day Haiku, and rain clouds burst
Maybe a clerihew somewhat terse
Maybe precise wording, in every line
Just the right noun, verb, or conjunction
To have it just blend in a junction
On soup write, then forever to it consign
The human synchronized synthetic sympathetic empathy I robot schizophrenic mechanism
My lifelines technological I think therefore I am and showing potential
Experimental experience my influence controls the inferior
Mr mirror man with a digi cam i access memory to interact and I stick to facts
Organised scientific programming and activating system data
The responding life form of organic living matter
The clairvoyant cyborgs vision status maxing out
Storing classified info in the source of a stratus cloud cranium
Battery saver mode at random waking
Atom decay breakdown of electromagnetic gamma radiation with emission of nuclear fission
Machine due to be decommissioned
Unique system disfigured
On switch triggered
Heat signatures and infrared sensors my defence science of emissivity temperatures
Conspiracy theories of thermal energy
Microscopic light beams of creativity
Simulated brain stem
My bread crumbs lead to truths
Ask the right questions and revolution 'll then ensue
Soon install new software in the modems duel drive or ya lose it all
Its called the fourth war protocol
Universal soldiers ice bath reparation
Re-education
Robocop termination
Android smart phone hand held segregation
Self concerning social networking code personification
Continue creating protection and
Created protecting creators
Future Rama slave ship of human being traders
The image of man man made in forgotten image
Godless gimmic
Built from these quantum physics
Robotics with the knowledge of lost secrets
I've got them hidden inside with my photonic spirit
Emotive urges with components and codes working at poetic wording
My hearts fall of zealous love
Consciousness is risky with artificial intelligence
Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.
Everything fades at the end of the day
Time ticks by and the seconds make way
For a trip of a lifetime on the sleep train
As words expire and then numb the brain;
Can it be that the sun begat rain
When the wind blew straight and the pain
Was felt as you flushed down the drain
With a rhythmic sway that stole the words
That caused you to stumble when you climbed the stairs;
Watching the night light flicker off and on
As the day flashes by like a bad neon;
Terrible lines appear on the brow as wounds
From the work scar you gained at the loom,
Seeing the light flash brighter then dark
And nobody sees as you try to park alongside
The bus at the stop to the city, waking or sleeping
The day is escaping all thought that you worked at all;
Did wondrous fears overcome your desserts
When eating and sleeping are nowhere in sight
And words tumble around that memory space
But you have forgotten the time or the place
And visions of beauty and strangers implode
As the world of your wording is lost in the thought
Of a thesaurus vocabulary as words fall out
And there is no cavalry to rescue at the last resort;
As everything fades and memories jade,
Seeking all thoughts for words that engage
And finding the light has gone away
The dream of the wordsmith has lost his way
And the desert is calling as words keep falling
And nobody can show the way to the entrance again;
And light flashes on and off again as the last word
Expires and falls from the brain
And the words drop off and silence reigns.
Poets have a greater capacity
to express love and longing
painting pictures of passion's pleasures
They excite and ignite the imagination
That's the beauty of being a poet
Poets are so steeped in the need for beauty in wording
that they use their talents even in posts
Weaving wonder with words
they make you believe
you are above and beyond
the realm of mere mortals
you heart sings and takes wings
feeling affirmed, your needs confirmed
by those special terms of endearment
until you read
the self same expressions elsewhere
bubble bursting despair
then you bleed
That's the downside of being a poet
You lose a bit of your honesty....
What about me?
I have to rush to classes in twenty minutes, but this just had to be said and couldn't wait at all....No pics to go with it....No editing...so please...don't censure.
Actions please us deeper than just words-
though teasers talk up promises so made
with words that sound like songs of pretty birds;
the music's sweet, but sours when pledges fade.
Words flow smoothly, soothing heart and mind
with hopeful thoughts that all too soon escape.
These words that tease are truly not inclined
to fill those hopes that never will take shape.
Actions do please deeper- words just tease
to simply stoke a fire that's never lit.
Just empty words for vows that float away-
from shallow talkers who will not commit.
So disappointed when words stand alone-
that only tease with promises not met-
to then accept the letdown we bemoan
by sham neglect- the sad result we get.
July 19, 2016
Contest: Motto Matters
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
---------------------------------------------------
Note:
The origin of this phrase in its earliest known
appearance (with the exact wording it has today)
is in a work called the Melancholy State of Province,
1736: “Actions speak louder than words and are
more to be regarded.”
However, the idea of this phrase goes back even
further. For example, Michel de Montaigne, who
lived during the 1500s, expressed the following
in one of the essays he wrote:
“Saying is a different thing from doing.”
Reference: google.com
Do you ever consider the wording of core
Do you ever believe that this world will be whole
Do you ever redeem all the lies you have told
Do you wake up one morning believing its gone
Do you fear the sight of a slight opened door
Do you hold on to light cause the darkness is here
Do you know its the mind that will give you the play
Do you know when you smile someone else cries in pain
Do you know that your faith is the one that is fooled
Do you know its the truth that will spawn out this lie
Do you know its the lie that will live deep inside
Do you know that we speak yet we hardly speak out
Do you know we the lie that will spawn out the truth
Do you know its the sadness of never being sure
Do you know that right now I am talking to you
Do you feel its a sin to just lie in this truth
Do you see me one morning forgetting to wave
Do you see that I saw but will never admit
Do you sit with regret and regret makes you see
Bu Athi Godlo
Erstime, ere bards nor Wondering Joyceters
did glybb their gobs with glanjous tongue,
Sir Slip The Most (a Figleafmoistner)
was undangled…and his sling unslung.
‘Twas on the Ile de Deux Sans Mustard,
with her Fowlling Fopplott never wording,
that the hunkerflesh-fed Fowlsome Bustard,
marked best by dark, was ever curdling.
Sir Slip, slop-upped and grammar-morphing,
from moltensteam one dawnless dread,
swear-foring most and all ef-alling,
did clopp young Fopplott's furgeld head.
The Bustard drubbed Slip: 'Dumcummayler!
To flump the sweet lad's yearnsomeness!
Bludaddled knight! Brain-drained wassailler!'
(Sweet Fopplott mock-loomed nasalfless)
"Clogsfyberbucks!" Slip rudblud obscented,
'That nert, that frot, that wibeljankie,
swombodled, gobbed, or sexcremented
God don't know notwot, in me hankie.'
The discompuncted Bustard illglimned.
Then, ventforthing with a scroatful shout,
she snouted, all redblynd and goredimned,
to clip Sir Slip a gobfilt clowt.
Bowelwildered, and fear-smeared arear,
and awefulled of trans-plonker stretch,
Slip, leaping to escape his nadir,
unware… did bare….. his hunkerflesh….
Hencetime, though bards and Wondering Joyceters
do glybb their gobs with glanjous tongue,
durst ne'er no Sir nor Figleafmoistner,
no furgeld Fowlling to one bung.
The American eagle, called bald ‘cos of its pure white head,
Is named Haliaeetus leucocephalus, from the Greek;
Hali means "sea", aietos means “eagle", leuco "white",
And cephalos simply means the “head" with the streak.
The bald eagle lives near the sea, a river or any such reservoir,
Any water based freeway as it devours fish, salmon and carp;
It rests in large, mature stands of conifer trees,
To feed its young whatever it hunts and occasionally sees.
America is a nation of the head, and not a land the heart,
With an independence declaration of a human kind,
Which points to god only when the universal is pertinent,
That unifies by raising strength and concern of mind.
What’s most apparent to me from its wording,
Is that it seeks to mechanise the human good,
What’s moral, right, true and honest,
Such that the outcast can produce and be understood.
The pure, white head of the American bald eagle,
Seems to connotate this loud, bold and clear,
And its dark brown body seems to speak,
For all Americans who aspire from something mere.
The size of their nests can be twenty metres wide,
And this can represent the typical American home,
Which to me, a Scots girl aware of semi-detached abodes,
Are like football pitches where you can jump and roam.
The bald eagle was becoming extinct,
From the 1960s right up until the late 90s,
And as this bird is now proliferous and thriving,
It reminds us that the American Dream is all-including.
It was the symbol of the Great Seal in 1782,
And J F Kennedy referred to its appropriation,
As it symbolised the strength and freedom, forged and died for,
Of the mighty, magnificent independent American nation.
Once long ago in the fifth grade I had a small vocabulary.
Maybe from the hill folk family where I grew up On Caytons' Hill. We were not hillbillys. There is a big difference. They now teach this stuff, in college courses, our Appalachian way.
My Dad had a sixth grade education, my Mom an eighth but they wanted more from me.
We didn't leave the farm, except for school, and Mom finally left a few years back, when my brother went bankrupt and lost it.
We didn't much socialize outside of our family.
Me and my brother would walk to the general store if, after our chores were done we were hired by another farmer, we got two dollars for a couple hours work.
We had all we needed. We had food and clothes and shelter and love though no one ever said the word.
We were taught to survive, but who could survive that boy in the 5th grade?
He mocked me, he made fun of my vocabulary, and laughed.
Then, the second stair from the top, he tripped me. He tripped me on those metal, asphalt stairs built in the 1800's and I rolled with it,
but it hurt me,
a joke.
Perhaps maybe I am the biggest joke around. Boy, I sure proved him wrong with all my eloquent wording and such
But when does it stop?
I'm "just me".. of all the things I could ever do and do with my best, is to show you what matters the most of course. It is proper manner.
Beautiful is beautiful.
There are beautiful cars, and limousines. There are beautiful skies and dreams, but I am not a beautiful lady. I wasn't meant to be, but actor Johnny D in Kentucky said that I was pretty. It kind of made me feel like the first time a boy called me that, and I didn't think so but I smiled anyway, because he was serious.
I got called gorgeous and enchanting, then I was drugged for sex at eighteen, and I guess I've always allowed those things at times.
I guess the best way how to relate to you now is to simply be myself.
Truthfully, you probably think this is crazy writing, but it's not. Crazy is as crazy does and I feel pretty fluff, like a cloud or something furry, ya know?
The Soul Of Beauty
It was night & I turned off the light,
I was off to bed & leaned my head.
I heared a knocking sound,
It made me to look around.
Hey,that's from the l'le jewellery kit,
which drove my sight towards it.
My eyes were opened wide,
When I opened & stared at it's side.
With the l'le steps & fairy dress
came out a LILLIPUT.
Oh my God! It was cute...
She owns a husky voice,
And height equals my finger size.
She shone more than the day,
That no words can describe her way.
Taking her in my palm,I nuzzled,
She looked so calm & was puzzled.
I crowned her with my diamond ring,
"Thanks buddy" uttered this lovely wording.
Gave a pinch of bread as her meal,
It made her l'le belly completely full.
She leaned on my finger tips,
And kissed with her rosy lips.
I loved the LILLI very much,
And pleased with her tender touch.
I could hear a ringing tone,
Huh! Its the alarm from my mobile phone.
Oops!! Now its morning,
How crazy,I was just dreaming.
I wished it were all true,
My dear LILLI, I really love you.
with frost's chill ginko's leaves turn gold
arctic rush of cold air leaves tree bare
orginal wording :
with frost's chill ginko's leaves turn gold
arctic rush of cold air, leaves leaves bare
orginal wording's meaning:
We had frost and the Ginko's leaves turn gold.
Then we had a blast of arctic cold air of about 20 degrees which turned some of the
leaves black or brown devoiding them of their beautiful color in other words the leaves' color was bare...The Ginko dropped her leaves the next day..
Once long ago in the fifth grade I had a small vocabulary.
Maybe from the hill folk family where I grew up On Caytons' Hill. We were not hillbillys. There is a big difference. They now teach this stuff, in college courses, our Appalachian way.
My Dad had a sixth grade education, my Mom an eighth but they wanted more from me.
We didn't leave the farm, except for school, and Mom finally left a few years back, when my brother went bankrupt and lost it.
We didn't much socialize outside of our family.
Me and my brother would walk to the general store if, after our chores were done we were hired by another farmer, we got two dollars for a couple hours work.
We had all we needed. We had food and clothes and shelter and love though no one ever said the word.
We were taught to survive, but who could survive that boy in the 5th grade?
He mocked me, he made fun of my vocabulary, and laughed.
Then, the second stair from the top, he tripped me. He tripped me on those metal, asphalt stairs built in the 1800's and I rolled with it,
but it hurt me,
a joke.
Perhaps maybe I am the biggest joke around. Boy, I sure proved him wrong with all my eloquent wording and such
But when does it stop?
I'm "just me".. of all the things I could ever do and do with my best, is to show you what matters the most of course. It is proper manner.
Beautiful is beautiful.
There are beautiful cars, and limousines. There are beautiful skies and dreams, but I am not a beautiful lady. I wasn't meant to be, but actor Johnny D in Kentucky said that I was pretty. It kind of made me feel like the first time a boy called me that, and I didn't think so but I smiled anyway, because he was serious.
I got called gorgeous and enchanting, then I was drugged for sex at eighteen, and I guess I've always allowed those things at times.
I guess the best way how to relate to you now is to simply be myself.
Truthfully, you probably think this is crazy writing, but it's not. Crazy is as crazy does and I feel pretty fluff, like a cloud or something furry, ya know?