Best Workwords Poems
There were two poets I use to know
One upon words would blow
Like an abeng, and tell of battles
In the heart, where history rattles
Us still, driving destiny like a cart
From the speech's freedom in the art.
This man, this Christopher Higgins
Does come again in the polar winds?
The other's words were long telescopes
Dissecting the distant galaxies of desire
A man whose life formed the tropes
For existential certitude in ancient fire
This man made me walk strange cities
In smoky bars, at the shadowy edge of men
This Williams, Colin Mitchel that defies
The paradigm of same, will he come again?
He wore his badge with honor and respect,
For twenty two years on the streets his duty he would never neglect.
Many a poor soul he gave a warning and a break,
And many had listened to the words that he spake.
He was given the nickname Chance by those who ran the streets,
For wanting everyone to get an even break especially on his beat.
He would not tolerate excuses from those who would not learn,
And second chances from him were hard to earn.
Mommas would tell him of bad things their kids would do,
In hopes that he could help them through the troubled times they all go through.
And chances are he'd set them straight,
And sometimes he would show them the consequences, and say it's up to you to change your fate.
Then one day tragedy struck and his life that day it took,
And this little community now torn apart, forever shook.
They tracked him down and brought him in,
To let the courts decide the fate of this mans sin.
Just a teen who got scared and had a gun,
Was now at the mercy of the court for the crime he had done.
A plea of guilty with tears in his eyes, he said I'm sorry, I just got scared,
He poured out his heart, his soul he bared.
He said I found the gun it wasn't even mine,
I was showing it to a friend when Officer Chance walked up behind.
I remember seeing his badge that is all I know,
And hearing the blast as I was handing it to Chance, all I did was let it go.
I ran out of fear and the sight of his blood really made me scared,
I never intended no harm and this is one person I wish God would have spared.
The jury returned nearly as quick as they had gone,
Not Guilty, let this be a hard lesson you've learned, and another chance for a new future,
Chances' last words “grant this child a new dawn.”
(And other steam of consciousness writers)
Trying to read this BBbbbllllizzard of words on the page
of this damned author who posed as sage
Who mystifies the simplest songs
and amorphousises way to long
for the rational mind to make a
connection with the gist
the pace the race
the common place.
The form so deformed as to be un analyzable
to be un surmisable
even for the daft.
The contrite are right
when they refuse to take a bite
in fright for to read such a Bliizardddddddd
of words on the page
does nothing but
put one
in a
daze.
The Gloating Poet
There once was a poet remote
Who got stuck on some words that he wrote.
And try as he might,
No new words came to light.
So since thence he no longer can gloat.
(Alternate last line; He had no luck in the alphabet soup!)
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 18, 2010
Poetic form: Limerick
March 19th...alternate last line added. I LOVE YOUR COMMENT DORIS! I changed my last
line. Is
this okay? Please say yes. I guess that makes it a collaboration.
put down your pen, and have a little rest,
as to much writing, can ruin the best,
if it takes to long, to write a little song,
all the best bits, will soon be gone,
think of the words you want to say,
then write them down, write them straight away,
these words of mind come into my head,
and when i get tired i just go to bed,
i hope you like the poems i like to write,
i will think of more, more again tonight,
i think its time to have a little rest,
as working to much can ruin the best
Practice Takes Mind
I planned to write so many poems
Some long and some one line.
The purpose was for betterment.
But now, my heart does pine.
I love the words that reach and shine.
Sent to some friendly minds.
Oh, fragrant words of brighter days.
True friendship love refines.
So, as I sit and write today.
Searching this heart of mine.
I wonder if the Lord above
Has seen the words I rhyme.
Has He found love in one cinqku?
Or dodoitsu? Or haiku?
Has He read my monuku, rhymes?
Or the love sent to you(s)…
Alliteration, sifts through lines.
Some rhyme and others don’t.
Tetractys are not dinosaurs…
Will they roar? No, they won’t.
ABCs, blank verse, kimos, lists…
Have their poetic frames.
From the heart of emotions’ mists…
A poet holds word’s reins.
Some practice poems are, now online:
crysalline, clerihew, quatrain.
Chastushka, cinquain, monorhyme.
(I am NOT on moonshine!)
The rest, in thoughts remain.
I shall review my older poems.
And post a few online.
And hope to share a part of me.
Before I lose my mind.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
January 23, 2010
Poetic form: Lyrical-Quatrain
SO full of words that they are not coming out right...
....all my ideas merge with others and I'm left boggled
by my own force of will to save my work...
...it then gets entangled all together...
and Now, I'm here knotted with concepts to share....
....Do I write more about a friendship rekindled....
...I'm so moved by the loneliness in my heart,
Maybe I should speak on this? I had to borrow money,
that would be an interesting topic....
I spend so much time on chances for poetry
that I waste the time I have to write it.... I think
when all I want to do is share, and bridge gaps within
our fellowship of artists....
... I just want you to know how every little happening
touches me and can go into words to help us connect
and infuse connection that often all there is are divides...
...I just want us all to be as one....
....and instead.... all my ideas are meshed into one...
Will this work? Will this be my Poem? Either way
its time move on with the rest of my day....