Devises Poems | Examples

A Double-Sided Coin: Playoffs

The roar of the crowd fills the air
The whistle blows, my heart pumping
Bucket for Bucket, foul for foul
A free shot soon to be coming

A needed break for the fans and players
As the game comes to a pause 
The team devises their next move
A new perfect plan without flaws

A tense feeling overtakes the room
As the game is nearing a close
As every viewer is on the edge of their seat
A team’s grit and clutch begin to show

The end of a tied game, the tension rises
One chance and one shot each team owns
The suspense, sharp in this one moment
As both team’s fate still unknown

As the ball drops through the net
The crowd arises in loud cheers
One team is left with joy and victory
While the other is left in sorrowing tears

I will not write a poem today

I will not write a poem today
I won’t – I won’t – I won’t
I’ll defy the metered merriment
Declare the thymes – all crimes
My challenge to the metaphor
An inky gauntlet on the floor

I wlll count no syllables
As I ride the “silly” bus
Nor sound the drum roll of
Repetitive alliteration
For words, like pizza slices
Are the best of poetry’s devises

And yet, it seems, a single phrase
Emerges from the dark through greys
Of lifting fog and dancing haze
Revealing fields where poets graze

I will not write a poem today
The poem will write itself…

7 Things The Lord Hates

Haughty eyes,
A lying tongue,
Hands that shed innocent blood.

A heart that devises wicked schemes,
A mind that pursues wicked dreams

A false witness who pours out lies
And any man who stirs up strife.

Bring In

Bring in the din of children's cries
    the kin of family ties
    the chagrin of forgiven woe betides.
Let in the breeze of summer skies
    the wherein where laughter resides
    the grin of warm welcoming smiles.
Dial in the joys of compromises
    that the peacemaker devises
    to hide all conflicts with disguises.
Ring in the calls to claim the prizes.

'All In' for all is the call, 
which harmonizes.

Night of the Moth

Its fluttering wings as it flits round the lamp
That glows in the street that is misty and damp
Clack like a skeletal vampire in flight
And cast evil shadows like bats in the night

Tonight in the alleyways, flea ridden rats
Reach an accord with the street dogs and cats
To prowl with joint purpose this All Hallows’ eve
And follow the scent of the breath people breathe

But only when slicing the jugular vein
Do they find the humans are manic again
The rats lose their heads to a single quick bite
And street dogs and feral cats whimper in fright

And this night a full moon brings other surprises
No creature is safe from what Satan devises
The bat that thought moths could negate hunger pangs
Was wrong because moths aren’t supposed to have fangs

And so on the ground beneath that ailing lamp
The moth flails its victims, it’s fangs red and damp
And there, where they crash down, with thud after thud
A fast growing pile of bats drained of blood

The moth seeks a new lamp; a new hunting ground
Those bloodless bats rise up and stumble around
But somewhere a clock strikes a new midnight hour
And demons give way to a more saintly power

He Reimagines

He records the works of his life, the ephemera
he once scrawled onto the tissue thin,
thinking them indelible blueprints.
Most were fables told to a dying legend,
Pastimes, that were chariot wheels
for his little red wagon.

He is an inventor of sorts, an engineer
of impossibilities.
He accumulates metallurgical oddments
for mechanical artifacts
that have no purpose or point;
contrivances with strange gears.
attachments that bolt on to
only missing parts.

They are pieces of an assemblage
made to represent an unknowable idea.
He structures these devises
on the leeched rims of endless visions.

His minds darkened workshops
flicker with the light of kerosene lamps.
He needs shadows and the gleam of
yet undreamed dreams,
he needs gaslight eyes
while shaping the formless.
Nuts, bolts, levers, and steam driven
small brass sprockets
for the calibration of improbable elements
are his articles of faith.

A life he once constructed
falls apart little by little.
He now searches for stronger,
less breakable mechanisms
to put together, no matter that they
serve no purpose, other than
to girder and frame
featherweight straws in the wind.

Gang of Astrophysicists

gang of astrophysicists
figuring it out
utilizing hundreds of devises
standing on the shoulders of pioneers

gang of astrophysicists
understanding what must be done
allowing astronomers to see invisible objects
we are small, but we are mighty

gang of astrophysicists
working miracles
tackling the cosmos
explaining horse shoe Einstein ring

gang of astrophysicists
maneuvering around hundreds of millions of objects
Making the universe
feel a little less huge for the rest of us

Don John

There is one concrete fact nobody can deny:
In every great story, there has to be a bad guy.
This is one unscrupulous character everybody must know:
He is Don John, the half-brother of Don Pedro.
Don John is a soldier in Don Pedro's army.
They have arrived in a town called Messina in Italy.
This legion has come from winning a great victory.
Don John despises another soldier named Claudio.
He's especially angry when he learns Claudio loves Hero.
To stop the wedding is what Don John must do.
He devises a plan to separate those two.

Based on the play "Much Ado About Nothing" by William Shakespeare

Liberty Reign-

Literally independence sovereignty

Independent autonomy license in free rein

Being just let be

Everywhere surroundings freed

Reaching for the separate devises

The State of being free within a society



Reign freedom, rings

Everywhere there's air

Indenpenant and by one's self

Gone on into unlatched mode

Never to be confined again

12/7/19

Written words by James E. Lee Sr. 2019©

The Poet

He accumulates oddments and curios,
contrivances with strange gears,
attachments that bolt unlikely parts together.

Pieces of something he is structuring or
assembling, a mechanism
too intricate to be entirely recalled.

He discovers these devises
on the leeched rim of vision.
Part of his mind
burns with the light of a kerosene lamp.
He does not want to waste much light
on impossible projects,
yet slowly he feels the inconceivable
taking shape.

He imagines stumbling across
the last piece of a construct.
Fingers search for connections.

He realizes that his whole life
has been spent building something
once seen.

Killing Me

Letting the games begin
Her cold broken heart lets her win
Once beating with passion 
Now turned to stone
Stripped completely of love
Left all alone
Willing not wanting
She devises her plan
Her prey all to easy
He is only a man
She is poised for the kill 
No one can survive
This is not a life 
She is merely alive

Sure Yo' Right

YET TO BE RECOGNIZED AS BEST
CONTESTED, IN THIS OUTING SEEN THE WORLD
ABROAD AS NUMBER ONE
BEST OVERALL, IN THE MIST
OF THE STIFFEST COMPETION
CONTENDED AND CHAMPIONED.
THAT ALL IN ATTENDANCE
CAN LOOK TO THIS MAN AND SPEAK HIS
NAME AS THE BEST IN THE WORLD, UNIVERSE,
AND GALAXY !
CAUSE THERE'S ASLEINS LOOKING AT US, THEY FOUND AWAY TO
SEE WHAT WE'RE DOING.
THEY WIRED UP DEVISE TO MAKE TELEVISIONS
LISTENING DEVISES.
WE KNOW AND ALL OF YOU KNOW IT.
MAYBE HE ONLY RECOGNIZES HIMSELF AS BEST.
AND WHEN YOU SAY SOMETHING ABOUT SOMETHING
THAT HE DOESN'T BELEIVE IN HE CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU.

Two Different Sizes

********
That lady from the town of Devises
Yes the one with two different sizes
A Great Dane and a Yorky
Honest it's no porky
Twas the big one that won all the prizes
********


4/22/18

A limerick contest sponsored by Robert Haigh

Stories From the Pages of History

a kid, me,
devises clever tricks.

a rope,
    a wagon,
        a two-wheeler,

and a kid inside,

like a horse and wagon, romanticized.

of course, the carriage
     turns over,
on its side,

and i’d like the horse to kick me,
as i make a child cry.

just like my mother,
but her drive was
in Winter. a kid,

caring for her sister,
tucked in warm,
cosy on a wooden sleigh.

mom drove those sled dogs (in my head)
several feet,

without realizing
her occupant,
was missing,

and then she chucked a snowball
into the wind, like spit,
losing the grocery money
her mom had thrown her way.

sure, kids lose things —
keys, coins,
their dignity,

but stories make great kindling
and burnt marshmallows
taste refined.*

3/19/2018

*In other words, stories are great retold
around the proverbial campfire.

The Hermits Request

in a far off place
 gone from all known accepted civilization
 lived a man caught in his own world
 had a hut with green moss
 In the evening he prepared a table with a goose & port
 was a hunter and gatherer to the outdoors
 captured his imaginative thoughts on a scroll
 day and night he would often pray to God
 alone in his silence he had a quaint encounter with a visitation
 an angel appeared at the edge of his bed
 thoughts were swirling inside his head
 the angel said, "God has heard your prayers".
 one word from his lips and his world turned around
 left to his own devises he would fail
 yet with the help of God he would set sail
 the hermit decided to go into town
 to see if there were others like him around
 there is a barren hill lived a nice lady named lily
 she was nice but awfully silly
 fir it was there he had made his match
 was yhis to much to ask
 the pair fell deeply in love together
 the hermits' request was answered
 They lived happily ever after

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