Best Yardstick Poems
Just An Old Man
Just an old man I came to know
his mind still busy, feet were slow.
Tired feet lounged in old, worn shoes
he had lived, lived and paid his dues!
An old man, one I always loved
one who taught me to fight when shoved.
Showed me to be kind when one could
how to work hard and saw firewood!
An old man, long ago I knew
taught me to say, yes sir on cue.
Suffered to give more than he had
to raise good sons, not to be bad!
An old man, one God took away
taught me true love and how to pray.
Gave his kind heart and gave his all
to teach me to stand proud and tall!
An old man, that never forgot
to aid me, were I on the spot.
Old man that gave, not being asked
in that bright light, this soul once basked!
Just an old man, so brave and true
wore the old, to buy me the new.
An old man, one I so cherish
I pray to meet, when I perish!
An old man, one I hope to see
that good son, he raised me to be.
Just an old man, one that loved me
pray I, to one day be as he!
Robert J. Lindley, 9-24-2017
Rhyme( A Tribute To My Father)
NOTE: Greatest blessing in my life was to know, love and be loved by this brave and kind man. He passed away in his sleep on the morning of his 68th birthday.
I have labored on writing this tribute poem for about 9 weeks now. Leaving it, coming back,making changes.
Always trying to improve it, as nothing seemed good enough.
Then I finally saw the light, my father tho' extremely intelligent was still a simple man. One that believed good triumphs over evil, that people are only human and thus they should not be judged against a perfection yardstick.
For weeks I sought perfection to honor him, one I so dearly love.
Then he seemed to say to me this morn-- " son, when love is true it is already perfection, regardless of how its presented."
With that in mind, I finished this poem today. And hope you may enjoy it and think beautiful and loving thoughts/memories of your
father, be he now living or passed on as is mine..
Categories:
yardstick, dedication, father, longing, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Time
Nothingness in it belies
A continuum, uncanny
In all lives it defines
Love, hate, rage and litany
A motion on its own
Sweeping, inescapable
A yardstick mankind bemoans
Perpetual journey, irreversible
It’s life’s anathema
Yet it counts life
It’s a thing of enigma
That heaven had contrived
To it the mind ascribes
Its values and permanence
From these, it proscribes
Denying life’s resistance
Our minds’ affixed
To it we subordinate
Subservience afflicts
Our minds it subrogates
It obfuscates reality
Yet mortal minds believe
Its power and ability
We could not, but receive
In truth, it exists
Only in our minds
Its dwelling crevice
From where it unwinds
In consciousness, it’s framed
Weaved to life, togetherness
For all excuses, it’s claimed
Indistinguishable, oneness
But for consciousness
It would not exist
Nothingness, meaningless
Like a vanquished beast
What is this thing of enigma?
Given life by consciousness
Unfathomable, life’s anathema
Yet, treated with utmost seriousness
What is this thing of enigma?
Ephemeral, elusive
Ethereal like an Avatar
Too convoluted to perceive
It’s life’s inexplicable debt
But to consciousness it owes
Payable only by death
Yet its interest never grows
You and I we share this thing
Only in consciousness it’s sublime
But in death there would be nothing
Of this enigmatic thing called “Time”
Jit H. Lim
12 March 2012
12:36am
Singapore
Categories:
yardstick, imagination,
Form:
Imagism
Contrary to popular myth, Einstein did NOT reject the existence of Time, but he did reject the differences of its elements, stating that "the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion" ...
TIME ...
Is a phantom with many faces
It drifts, a blotchy mist from our early years
The cognizance of self-awareness like a patchwork quilt
Most memorable moments shining like warm sunlight
Mundane and everyday, a foggy swirl, as we slowly become ... ourselves
Memories splicing together like a movie in our mind ...
We learn and experience, as the images from memory clarify
All flowing like a rill to who and what and where we are
It is an invisible, ghostly yardstick
Chopped up into segments that we build actuality around
An ethereal inchworm, crawling at the pace we allow it
We watch it, breathless, wondering what branch it will take
What it will make or show of the now or then or later
It is beastly wraith that controls and objectifies all we do
We are powerless before it, yet we worship it with our every heartbeat
It is a monster in the dark
A horrid creature under the bed, waiting to grab our ankles
And pull us into the bleak, oily black of oblivion
It dances in the dark of night
Wearing the skin of our hopes, and the mask of our dreams
Laughing at promise like a mad moon laughs at the tides
It is a demon, immutable and brazen
The unchangeable mirror of our mistakes and pains and decisions
Thumbing its nose at our cold conscience
And yet, it is an angel, too
That carries on its wings the brightest of thoughts
The joys and loves and friendships that sustain us
Bright sparkles on the wave tops of what was, treasured and golden
And though we strain with all our might and marrow
We can never touch those many faces
For no sooner have we gazed on its visage than it has turned away
No sooner do we see it approach - smiling, waving, affirming
Than it has flashed by us in a swirl
It is our god and our devil
Our hope and our despair
Our villain and our lover
The keeper of our consciousness, moments and prospects
Our precise measure of what can NEVER be measured
And the universal spirit of existence
That will never, ever ... exist.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
yardstick, analogy, metaphor, time, wisdom,
Form:
List
If man is the measure of all,
Our world immediately shrinks.
There can be no moral compass
Just the yardstick of failure and success
Drunkenly refracted by o'er heated ambition
Or chilling revenge
Without the overarching Architect,
The Prime Mover that once was.
Man lives in a festering swamp
Where reason plays handmaiden to naked power
And words mean what the speaker wants.
It is now man needs a Voltaire
To bring him back into the light of the sun.
If there is no God, man must invent one.
Categories:
yardstick, inspirational, sad, visionary,
Form:
Sonnet
WAR
Senseless killings
Barbaric and animalistic desires
Necrophilia and sadomasochism
Blinded by nationalistic pride
All out war
So babies have no where to hide
Drone attacks on hospitals and nurseries
They bury their corpses
In cheap boxes
Bombs and guided missiles
Strike targets from the sky
The innocent are murdered
So I ask why
Technology is pushed to its very limit
Seals fire shots with laser that beam it
With accuracy and precision
But what is yardstick to politicians’ decision?
Resources are channel to produce victory
The masses are slaughtered
So again we repeat history
Both sides of the wall commit atrocities
The resurrection of man’s innate beastiality
Collateral damage caused in every surgical strike
And then we face reprisal
Explosives on trucks and even on a bike
IEDs!
So watch where you are stepping
Women are foes too
So be careful with who you re helping
Suicide bombers looking for soft hits
Same was the 1960s and the 21st century is a repeat
Nukes and ICBMs
Delivery is eminent
Annihilation of the subhuman race
And to put our names in history’s place
Dooms day arrives
See the markings of World War III
Orbital bombardment from attack satellites
But all you see is
Red light
Blue light
Then we are consumed by fire
I shall live beyond this day
So the devil is a liar
A million boots put in harms way
And with their blood they shall pay
Love ones wish they could stay
And pray not for that day
Torpedoes launched from submarines
Tomahawks fired from cruisers
The battle for oil and land
But we are all losers
War!
Categories:
yardstick, war
Form:
Haiku
Impact Your World!
World gives birth to worlds
Planet interacting with other planets
Knowledge acquisition that makes no impact
Is like a stagnant water that will soon be full of shits
Impact your world!
Many talents lying unused
I can do this , do that , yet no action
Living in isolation, helping no others
Family, friends not having a feel of your world
Surely such world without impact will soon go rust
Impact your world!
Course mates recognize you not
Or you are simply known making trouble
Roomies praying that you should never come back home
Yet you raised your shoulders high saying "they are scared of me"
Is this how your world will die in isolation?
With your pride, can you rule your world?
Self esteem, being egocentric will surely limit you
If you are offline for two days and no one care to ask you "why"
Maybe you are yet to impact your worlds
Leaders are born, leaders are made
Let your world be bigger than the rest
Let your impacts be felt every where you go
Will your course mates ever miss you for good?
Or would they jubilate with the joy of not being in class with you anymore after graduation?
Impact your world
Be an entrepreneur, businesses rule the world
Work on your talent, it will take you to the top
Your certificate should be a prestige and not a yardstick for riches
Be realistic, you are very unique
No limitations, impact your world!
In your work place, church or mosque
Are you a pest, liabilities or an asset?
Be a boss that employ not the one seeking to be employed
Create opportunities don't fight on those available so little
You need to dare, believe me, your world could be larger than that of Dangote
Impact, help, teach, learn , take risk and never stop
Live not in the shadow of others
Be yourself, be responsible for your action
Courageous , selfless, humble and outshine not your masters
For your world shouldn't be in for rivalry but uniqueness , standing out
Impact your world!
"A man without an impact, is worse than a valueless object"
Make a good impact!
Faniyi James is a writer , a poet and a career trainer. Mr Legend......#impactyourworld.
Categories:
yardstick, beautiful,
Form:
Concrete
That’s what she calls herself
who boasts of the longest reigning monarchy in the world,
producing a short of one to twenty Nobel Prize winners
as only two colleagues beat her to global wealth.
Her buttocks sit on the red hot coal
of the deadly pacific ring of fire.
Her cultural and innovative influence,
already clinging on global corners with their webs.
The sushi, sashimi and the tempura;
the karate, judo, sumo and ninjutsa;
the Toyota, Sony, Nintendo, canon and Panasonic,
all testaments of her hands of influence.
She’s a home to over six thousand pieces
resting on large waters to stay as one.
Three-fourth of her landscape is forests or mountains
and so industrious to make possible the Asimo.
Her short poems have been globally popularized
with almost every of her citizens literate,
while some of her streets still remain nameless.
She must have acquired lots of black cats
to reach such a height of civilization and power;
Beauty comes with teeth not quite regular,
visiting the vending machine to satisfy ones need for a beer,
possessing the largest trade center for fish in the world
but publicly blowing the nose and tearing off a gift’s wrap
converts her cool countenance into a bad mood.
She has centers for drinking and taking alcoholic shots
so also for enjoying the fluid of lactation for adults.
Ironing a shirt with a speed of light
is her special craft and yardstick for a serious competition.
Population of pets outweigh that of children;
her appetite for Basashi and expenses for the melons
invite controversy to any form of human reasoning.
Immigration then is highly regulated
to give continuity to such traditional and economic history.
Categories:
yardstick, earth, education, environment, nature,
Form:
Ode
The constitution of ‘behind closed doors’ has been ripped apart
wild and adventurous, the silent additions to personalities
while morality is shredded in the offices of humanistic views
giving character an explosiveness
for goodness to break the boundaries of its definition.
Exposure of flesh in the industry of sex marketing
sets the yardstick to the society’s acceptance of beauty.
Virginity is a worn out cloth eaten by the moth of self expression
while simple things have turned difficult
for the complex ones to be the easy way out.
Societal embrace occurs with its hands enclosing from behind.
Blending pride with a lack of talent
blossoms the height of uncommon skills.
Far from arts, creativity, music and dancing
one can still attract ‘die-hards’ with absolute magnetic power.
Family values have lost their unbelievable stamina
as the cabins of cultures are demarcated into mere routines.
The slogan of the 21st century centers on self protection alone
thereby pumping rights with ten times more gasoline to responsibilities.
Categories:
yardstick, character, passion, people, philosophy,
Form:
Chant Royal
Knocking on success’ door, irrespective of its intensity
is worthy of a response and an attention.
When life smiles and nature is happy, the one who passes their estate
is embraced by favour to take luck home.
Showcased by a tale
of two counterparts of same platform but different worlds.
He’s serious, but she’s playful,
a test defining their progress into another phase is the huddle.
From book to book, knowledge he accumulates
even sweat’s discomfort is no match
for such a determination which scares both life and death.
His living is subjected into a miserable triangle;
lectures, canteen and home is all he knows
even his dreams have been converted to a library for research
and a single spoken word from his lips
pours out a barrage of wisdom.
His understanding then gives an entire jungle
the salvation of great civilization.
Her time for merry is never taken for a joke,
her schedules are tabulated by the inventors of fun,
leisure and study share the spoil of her engagements,
pleasure tops the yardstick for all her toiling
and her indifference to progress in life
makes the demons of failure lust after her course.
Nineteen weeks of play and a week of work is her formula
on the eleventh hour, before the day of reckoning
she reads in compartments,
choosing her focus through random selection.
He commands the justification to succeed
while she queues in the long line of fate.
Passing through this is a decorated corridor to his success
raising her hands in pathetic surrender is her bullet-less gun.
He’s sure, she’s not; he’s ready, she’s frightened,
he walks confidently; she does it in a gait-like manner,
the heat of such examination he absorbs, but she gets burnt.
What next, is the short incubation period of truth
when several hearts await a straight forward judgement
and comfortable minds anticipate a glorious confirmation
with all efforts well deserving of the medal
and a prosperous finding, a worthy result of true seekers……
She passed!..................... He did not!
Categories:
yardstick, education, environment, life, race,
Form:
Epic
The world where once I was born has changed a lot;
Some people may believe it, and others may not.
In the world today, each and every day just to survive, we need to fight;
While fighting, we are forgetting what is wrong and what is right.
Peaceful religions are being changed into fanaticism.
People are becoming more restless, and one can hardly see any humanism.
Everyone seems to run after a mirage of money to win his own race
But forget that a mirage can never give him true solace.
People prefer to meet each other through social networks rather than face to face,
And to prove oneself superior, one doesn’t mind to put others in disgrace.
Honesty today is on the verge of extinction
As wealth becomes the only yardstick to determine one’s reputation.
We need to change this changed world once again;
Otherwise, opulence will put mankind in a prison with a chain.
Categories:
yardstick, change, life,
Form:
Rhyme
Those trademark circular elements of style in vogue every four years
When the crème de la crème of the athleticism
presents itself on the world stage
Suspending and transcending any present day internecine conflict
Allowing, enabling, and proffering the five continents
And gathering of top-notch mental, physical and spiritual prowess
Extant with adroit prolific curved arabesques on one corner of the globe
That (like Noah with his Ark kit) human techno wizardry
Bedazzles viewers charting unparalleled feats
Whereby the human body defies the laws of physics and challenges gravity
Fielding a hypnotic colorful tapestry
Whereby the woof and warp of any melancholy moody blue, mellow yellow
Gunmetal green, roman a clef real time red doth white out
The dark knight, temporarily sequestered in a bishopric
Of faux queenly royalty, where a pawn
out the parapet of her castle keep
She imbibes requiem toward protesting the limits of *****sapiens
Inherent parameters, where fluid dynamics
of each most supreme contestant
Sans his/her specialized arena
Further the prior leg holds with free from arm-twisting head lock
And make a mockery of invisible manacles
Purportedly and formerly believed to tether man/woman kind
With unbreakable hidebound genetic/ chromosomal restraints
But nay to those who professed impossibility against the reins
Boxed and fenced in by bow rings set by Mother Nature
Well nigh obsolete and superfluous
What with evident burlesque stellar performances
Leaving the spectators starry eyed with collective mouths agape
As polished prominent performers blithely offset previous milestone
Setting a new yardstick to measure the Olympian capacity
That Heracles and Zeus would most likely deem
as some sort of magic trick
Yet lo, the sensational and majestic pageantry absolutely serious
Lying to rest what used to be merely amateur games
Whereby most any novice could coax a charade, façade, travesty et cetera
Without fear of getting flagged, but phenomenal exhibitors of today
Can nearly bank on netting a truckload of worldly wide wealth
Whereby a hand-made Scottish tartan Harris Tweed welcome mat
Ushers August men and exuding mettle and iron clad dedication
With pomp and circumstance into pantheon of future legends!
Categories:
yardstick, adventure, america, appreciation, body,
Form:
Leather, rubber, PVC
Synched waists, stiletto heels
Chicken cutlets shoved in bras
Body stocking, pantyhose
Sitting around, TV on
Laptops open
Googling...
Waiting
For a sleaze bag
To book a session
Half hour, maybe more
Fingers crossed
The bell rings
Door’s buzzed open
Short, fat, ugly, hairy, thing
You would think he was Brad Pit
The hussy's hover like flies
His cash burns a hole
‘I want to talk to her…
And her’
All of them Yes Girls
‘I’d love that, Sir!’
‘Are you a bad girl?’
‘Oh yes, Sir, absolutely!’
Slim blond, flavor of the month
Big breast, slim waist, round bum
All boxes ticked
He gets a rush
Deal struck
Half an hour
Over the knee
No wood
He pays in cash
Then leads the way
Into a mock school room
CLICK, doors secure
Hands tied behind back
Ankles roped together
Thrown over his lap
Punishment begins
He slaps with much gusto
Dying to see crimson,
Speckles and welts
And sweet cherry tears
‘You’ve been a very bad girl,
You need be punished’
He whacks her with a paddle
She sees bolts of lightning
‘Please, Sir, I don’t…’
‘You do as I say!’
He beat her much harder
“Please, Sir!’
‘Can you have another?
Sure, that’s what I’m here for’
‘It’s not what I agreed to’
‘Well that’s just tough ****.’
‘Now be a smart girl
And listen very carefully
Do exactly as I tell you
And you’ll be okay
‘Open up…wider
Pop this gag in your mouth
Bite down it will help
See how I care?’
She knows not to argue
Struggle equals pain
With the ease of a stealth bomber
Her mind exits backstage
He has a jolly old time
Bombs over Bagdad
An onslaught of slaps
Wood, hand and yardstick
The intercom buzzes
‘Sir, your 30 is up’
‘Thank you, I’m finished’
He works to untie her
‘Here’s a tip, for your markings’
She smiles and says thank you
Truth be told
She has a penchant for pain
Back in the waiting room
She sits on the sofa
The fire from her backside
Warms up her soul
She opens Facebook
Updating her status:
“Interesting day @ the dungeon,
I really heart my job!”
Categories:
yardstick, people, pain,
Form:
Several years ago today
They reckoned me unbefitting for their ears
Per the yardstick of the day
Their percipience was disparaging
But still I rose
By their clairvoyance I was infecund
Plainly no reason to cogitate about me
For they could not glimpse any merit in me
Fate was for me to be unremembered
But still I rose
Like a seed that sprouts and becomes a big tree
I rose
Like a prolific plant that bears great fruits
I rose
Now with relish they can eat my fruits
And realize the mistake that they did
For in spite of all that, I rose.
Categories:
yardstick, discrimination, inspiration, motivation,
Form:
Free verse
Leather, rubber, PVC
Synched waists, stiletto heels
Padded bras, chicken cutlets
Body stocking, pantyhose
Sitting around, TV on
Laptops open
Googling...
Waiting
For a sleaze bag
To book a session
Half hour, maybe more
Fingers crossed
The bell rings
Door’s buzzed open
Short, fat, ugly, hairy, thing
You would think he was Brad Pit
The girl hover like flies
His cash burns a hole
‘I want to talk to her…
And her’
All of them Yes Girls
‘I’d love that, Sir!’
‘Are you a bad girl?’
‘Oh yes, Sir, absolutely!’
Slim blond, flavor of the month
Big breast, slim waist, round bum
All boxes ticked
He gets a rush
Deal struck
Half an hour
Over the knee
No wood
He pays in cash
Then leads the way
Into a mock school room
CLICK, doors secure
Hands tied behind back
Ankles roped together
Thrown over his lap
Punishment begins
He slaps with much gusto
Dying to see crimson,
Speckles and welts
And sweet cherry tears
‘You’ve been a very bad girl,
You need be punished’
He whacks her with a paddle
She sees bolts of lightning
‘Please, Sir, I don’t…’
‘You do as I say!’
He beat her much harder
“Please, Sir!’
‘Can you have another?
Sure, that’s what I’m here for’
‘It’s not what I agreed to’
‘Well that’s just tough ****.’
‘Now be a smart girl
And listen very carefully
Do exactly as I tell you
And you’ll be okay
‘Open up…wider
Pop this gag in your mouth
Bite down it will help
See how I care?’
She knows not to argue
Struggle equals pain
With the ease of a stealth bomber
Her mind exits backstage
He has a jolly old time
Bombs over Bagdad
An onslaught of slaps
Wood, hand and yardstick
The intercom buzzes
‘Sir, your 30 is up’
‘Thank you, I’m finished’
He works to untie her
‘Here’s a tip, for your markings’
She smiles and says thank you
Truth be told
She has a penchant for pain
Back in the waiting room
She sits on the sofa
The fire from her backside
Warms up her soul
She opens Facebook
Updating her status:
“Interesting day @ the dungeon,
I really heart my job!”
Categories:
yardstick, people, pain, girl,
Form:
TRUE LOVE EXIST
Let’s love each other as humans….
Not like the one we see in our societies these days…
Where people show love to the able, ignoring the disable…
Where able people are used as the yardstick to measure normal life…
Let’s love truEly like our ancestors….
Where people treated each other with respect and understood each other’s value…
Be my friend, and I will be your guardian…
We argue, we make up but not like the one derailed by ego…
Let’s love each other, not by the standard of USIES on INSTAGRAM…
But a sweet love that goes beyond words or sight…
This love exists, let’s find it…
Inspired by peace
Categories:
yardstick, love, , sweet love,
Form:
Free verse