Short Hundredth Poems

my one hundredth verse
thanks you soupers everywhere
for love and support...

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I wrote
arrow
so fast
go past
Cover-
is dew
morn hung
hundredth
arrow
is cast
Blasted
night  bed.
becloud
lover
he drew.


Sponsor by Mystic Rose Rose  08-18-21....

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In formula one race
  dramatically more than in life
1 hundredth of a second
is the time between a victory
or a failure...
In between a champagne shower.
or a cold water bath...!...

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all traces of saving grace
faded away
i am on my knees
on cold wet cement
but then i saw your face
i looked into your left and right eye
only to die for the hundredth time

unsettled....

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Philosopher Carl Yung
had a theory...

Every hundredth monkey
would come up with a 
new idea which all the
other monkeys adapted
for the development of

the group's collective...
productivity....

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I was the hundredth Best poet
But the list on the Soup
Doesn't show it
They removed the last line, Listing now ninety-nine 
Trying harder won't help And I know it..................Yheaaaaa Haaaaaaaaa!...

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Why are you all snickering at me

I'm telling you for the hundredth time

Not only am I not guilty,

Damn it, you know my farts smell sublime.





Written Oct. 25 for "WIND SNOW OR RAIN ACROSTRAIN - Poetry Contest "....

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“BAKERSFIELD: 9-17-16”


it’s hot tonight,
the palm trees stand still
and
I’m stacking close to my
one hundredth poem
after my first one hundred
were taken by that
dirty whore.
the color of love dissolves 
into another
and
I can’t complain at the
moment.


By: Chicano Eddie
9-17-2016...

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Hello Everyone

I can't believe I just won my one hundredth contest.

Its a shock that I have placed in so many the little time I have been here.

I want to thank everyone for being such great friends and always leaving such
nice and sweet comments on my poetry.

Hugs and Love to Y'all.

Robin...

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A poem's not finished
    'til you've reviewed it a hundred times
  Then as you read it the hundredth and first
     you're surprised to find it's gotten worse

  As we grow, so do our poems
    Yet sometimes we look for growth
  and all we can do is swear an oath
    'Growth and Oaths' ~ poems need both...

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We take the mornings, soft
to the graveyard,
where dew lines the hedgerows
in duplicate pearls.

Patchwork backdrops and figures
lend a faint recognition;
these are my only memories
of my only love.

Meanwhile heroes bleed
for glory and riches-
to the death,
in books I haven’t read.

And as if
without a hundredth part of pity,
ours is a nightmare
too close to home....

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Our backsides don’t see the stars

  the seeds of our eyes hypnotized

mesmerized suspenser

  on the flapping sheet

etchings of a classic

  flick  moths flutter and cling

seeing shadows drawing ever nearer

  on the grassy knoll

sunflower eyes expand

  as the sea explodes

and Brody’s one hundredth pronouncement

  stunned and slow backwards tow

“We’re gonna need a bigger boat…”

7/8/2019...

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Survival we are learning from the time
we learn to crawl, to walk and then to climb.

Perhaps we’ll teeter, fall, and bash our head!
We grow, and to new struggles we are led.

Once old, we find the gift that loves to give
is sickness! We are dying while we live!

Lucky souls might live to see their hundredth.
What doesn’t kill us just postpones our death.


68 Words . Written Feb. 27, 2017 for the contest of Laura Loo...

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Stripped of paint and any varnish
Most likely off tune, but how would we know
Singing a song for the hundredth time
I’ll bet you’ve never heard it.
This is a poem for my old school’s piano
The place that was once Saint James
We’d stand on the stage
And sing our hearts away
ANd hit eachother with multi colored tubing
You think I don’t remember you
From back when you couldn’t play Bach
You’d be mistaken, my old friend
Even if you forgot...

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If Lucille Ball had lived, she'd be one hundred today.
Many people were devastated when she passed away.
She and Desi Arnaz started a studio called Desilu.
They produced Star Trek and several other shows too.

It turns out that Mrs. Ball was a Leo like me.
She was a big fan of Three's Company.
When she starred in those sitcoms, she had much appeal.
Happy one hundredth birthday, Lucille.

(DEDICATED TO LUCILLE BALL WHO DIED APRIL 26, 1989.)...

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You are the ocean,
Sparkling blue and green...serene
Wind blows east to west

You are the sky, dear,
Painted baby blue...I've seen
You...resting on clouds

You are the river,
Rapidly running...running...
Away from the hills

You are the mountains,
Crowned with snow, shining aglow
Oh, you never fail

To impress me so
You are the nature of God - 
A grand creation

A beautiful pic -
You are perfect and epic...
Eight hundredth poem!...

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Joy is found in the name of Joyce, our beloved poetess friend.

Only one who lives life well can happily reach their one-hundredth year.

Young at heart is she!  Faithful, generous, and

Charming as can be is our Joyce, dear -

Evermore to be a soul that friends and family revere. 


A Quintain for Joyce Johnson, a wonderful woman here who has experienced a very rich and full life. It's so good to know you, Joyce! May you have many other Happy Birthdays to come....

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I see the yarn and I remember 
I bought it for my mother to knit
But she went to heaven in January

Her fancy never used tropical paper napkins
Are a reminder every time I open the drawer
My mother is gone. My mother is gone.

I pick up the phone for the hundredth time
To tell her something crazy that has happened
Something she will never believe, something funny.

The yarn and the napkins smile.
Remembering what I do not
As I listen to the phone ring and ring....

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In our bubble,
We'll be together forever.
We'll slow dance to the music in our minds.
As the orange sinks into the sky,
Starting a new adventure,
We will start our new adventure.
When the sky is painted with Crimson to Violet,
With a topcoat of midnight blue,
Our lives start again,
We'll watch the kids
In the yard 
We'll read a book again for the hundredth time,
Because it'll never get old,
Unlike us,
Slowly aging,
In each others arms,
Together,
In our bubble....

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The dance.
exists
all around us.
It is within all living things.
It is the rivers flowing
arms around the earth.

Simple like mornings' dew,
but impossible at the same time.
Its name bewilders the tongue
while it breaks the mind.

This place of smoke
where thoughts become clear.
A space null of time.
Where ideas are silent and thoughts are still.

This is the space
where we write a masterpiece
the hundredth time again.
...

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