A forty- nine line poem (which is rated no 19 in PS top 100 love poems listing) that is visually improved in those versions thereof that drop the stanza breaks & leave off the quirky numerical side numbering ( in this version presented here by PS) which merely disrupts both reading & reciting ..as does the traditional first word line capitalisation of what otherwise is a valiant poetic attempt to capture the fundamentals of the key human life aspiration
Pat Garrett sent Billy to heaven -
plugged 'im with slugs, numbering seven.
How he got to heaven, I don't know -
that lowdown, no-count so and so.
The Kid grew wings, said, "Glory hallelujah -
up here, bullets go straight through ya."
Mount Rushmore -
stone presidents, numbering four;
do you care one iota
for this monument in South Dakota?
I raced down the stairs and went on my way,
balancing dishes, numbering trey:
A charcuterie board with neatly sliced ham,
some dainty crackers and strawberry jam -
and delectable cookies on a tray.
Should I have brought something else instead?
I didn't want to appear ill-bred.
I tripped as I thought,
but balanced to save what I bought,
and broke an arm, a leg, and my head.
Stars stud the skies as diamonds might adorn
the hand of a lady with more wealth than a king.
They cling to the heavens with splendor,
more numerous than grains of sand,
holding more beauty than the fairest maid.
On a cold clear night they shine to the world,
a sign that beauty is not lost after all.
Galaxies and worlds beyond our longest reach
Our world gazes out, reaches out,
we all hope for what it is we cannot own.
Look to the heavens and look to the skies;
they hold the key to beauty unimaginable.
On a still night you can see new worlds,
wonder at what lies beyond our sight,
that which we may never see.
Stars stud the skies as diamonds could never.
They cling to the heavens with splendor,
numbering more than all the grains of sand;
holding more beauty than the fairest maid,
more beauty than all the world.
for Darkside Of Aquarius Poetry Contest-Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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darkness rides out of brimstones flames,
upon wild horses numbering four,
bringing forth the horrors of their war,
the golden path all theirs to exploit and claim.
the promises rode in chariots of fears,
as the archer shot his arrows of ills and pain,
so man cried with a flood of acid tears,
burning his lost soul-strangled in a binding chain.
poison rained down on the angel's land,
as man's sins grow from embryos,
the dragon breathes his lustful demand,
from his mountain top-high plateau.
from the east-a cooling wind will blow,
and a lotus will grow out of the burning sands,
thus starting a change inside the embryo,
casting all from the darkness covering the angels' lands.
the dragon's breath will hold no fear,
when you open the recesses of your mind,
the wizard becomes the inner seer,
as you listen to the silence-and the kind.
darkness strength weakens as it heals,
when you turn the ancient-wheels.
The day is solemn
time to reflect
a thankfulness for sacrifice
Flags placed to honor
Names carved on stone
Dates of lives gone
Grace and silent prayers
No need for spoken words
shed a few tears
White crosses far to many
numbering those lost
who gain us this day of remembrance
The Quiet screams louder than a thousand bombs
rapid screech of gun fire
explosion of a grenade
the agony cry of a bayonet piercing life
hand to hand combat as the knife stabs through the heart
the dead lying silent on a bloody battlefield
Deafening sound of war.
We are here for the few that go
our way of life lives by the lost of their souls
we speak through their silence
Scripture read, prayer said, Taps bugle calls
tears flow
The Quiet.
Pink squid woman hopped out of her ship.
She swam the ocean, then headed toward shore.
Albino woman asked, “how was your trip?”
They counted their seashells; there were thirty-four.
Pink squid woman thanked Albino woman for the good time.
Her friend gave her a hug and seashells numbering nine.
Hope to see you again in the next century, she said.
But alas, by then both of these creatures were dead.
Groupie saw Droopie and was amazed once again.
He looks like my twin! He yelled. He looks like my twin!
They were blowfish in a fishbowl, altogether numbering two.
One was light green, the other one was a lovely light blue.
How do I know which one I am? Groupie asked his mother.
Do you feel like yourself? Or grandma or your brother?
I feel like Droopie, maybe I am him, Groupie said.
“No, I am Droopie,” Droopies said, swimming fast, overhead.
Breaking The Law
Miracle Man
November 12, 2023
Illegals swarm like locusts to our southern edge,
numbering thousands they have taken no pledge.
Because of sheer numbers they flex their might,
but not coming legally they’re creating disquiet.
We house them in hotels while at their beck and call,
all could be avoided if we’d just finish that wall.
If those we’ve elected started earning their pay,
there’d be a place for all when it came their day.
They were pushed by the October winds
Ghosts on a fine swing, numbering three.
Singing a ditty they had learned
With a wee ditty, wee ditty, wee ditty, wee
One of them with a glass eye
Another with a head that was swollen
Then there was the boss, named Cy
He was the one who thought he was golden
Their ditty took on a happy mind of its own
They sang long and hard, and super loud
Loving it that it was like a song and a poem
Best of all, they were super Halloween proud.
Wee ditty wee ditty wee ditty wee,
We swing and we swing, we are the Halloween three
Wee ditty bee bitty, cee city she,
The trees ring with witches, how happy are we!
They were in disagreement about the basketball foul line.
Soon yelling and screaming, boys numbering eight or nine.
Some of them ran off, but two became rebelliously loud.
Sportsmanship tested, said their fathers, feeling proud.
in 1978 just trying to survive
newly-released pumas numbering five
attacked livestock in Cornwell
terrorizing remote farms where cattle dwell
labeled murderous beasts of Bodmin Moor
devouring animals, this was no folklore
pets released upon an unknowing countryside
when these cats were hungry, there was no place to hide
Homey Domey Gomey Loamy Foamy Stoamy Roamy Doo
Delighted mice are dancing, around the kitty fiddler’s shoe
an hour ago I counted happy rodents numbering up to sixty-two
None of them realizing they are being led to a pot of tasty mousey stew
Goofy clock tower town at base of the Russian sea,
You are pretty weird, and how unusual you be ….
With your plump wavy houses and shops, you amuse me
I wonder who lives there, are they wild and free?
Do they design interesting things in their sleep for you and me?
Your uncommon designs are fascinating, don’t you agree?
Who gave you your spectacular-ness, who would that be?
I am coming to visit you, I am already traveling by sea.
When I get there, you had better be as great as your fee
For your admission is pretty steep, and none of your events are free.
I am impressed by your literature, numbering twenty-three
See you soon clock tower town; my name is Shirley McGee.
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