Topped Poems | Examples

Our Walk Today

When Sara and I take our walk each day,
We usually go the same old way.
Today we decided to make a change,
We decided to make our walk free range.

We went to a park named Natural Springs.
It had a dog park and playground with swings.
We chose a trail with overhanging trees,
We had a full sun, but also a breeze.

I saw a small path that led to a stream,
But Sara said, “the path’s too extreme.”
I gave her my, I really want to look,
And she said, “I’ll sit here and read my book.”

I walked a few minutes, looking about,
Then thought, I’m not sure just how to get out.
It wasn’t long ‘til I found the right path.
I crossed the stream without taking a bath.

There was my Sara, as I topped the hill,
She told her new squirrel friend, “here comes my Bill.”
We shared my adventure as we walked away,
We were glad we tried a different way.

She Knows Me

Yes, she knows me, she’s known me from the start
Soulmates throughout eternity, she knows me in her heart

She knows the words my heart would say
And knows the thoughts I think each day

She sees my smile and knows its cause
And feels my love without a pause

She knows the joy that we feel
When once again we’ve topped a hill

And all the love when we embrace
When we have finished a 5K race

She knows I love her for her mind
Unique, intelligent, the creative kind

I promised a life of love and adventure
But that first kiss of her hand was the heart-melding clincher

Courage is Custard

Wit sharp as a sword,
nerves soft as pudding.
I slice with charm,
but melt at the sound of risk.
Courage is custard
Topped with bravado sprinkles
Served boiling hot
I just take a teaspoon
and let it scald.

crispy salad for lunch

crispy salad greens
topped with fresh red tomatoes
a colorful feast

slivers of carrots
taste buds are quick to waken
whispers of blue cheese

add some radishes
and strips of shaved honey ham
a marvelous lunch

IN REALITY OF THE DREAM

IN REALITY OF THE DREAM

All living in peace;
All injustice uprooted:
Justice’s mountain topped:-

Which Hill Will You Climb

If your choice is to climb the higher hill
You’ll need more supplies and a stronger will
For as you climb supplies will diminish
And some will be needed when you finish

If you’re looking for fun and a small thrill
You’ll find it better to choose a small hill
Choose one you can top in just a short span
With several trails up you won’t need a plan

Remember to stop if you need a rest
It isn’t a race and sure not a test
Also remember to take you a snack
Or you will get hungry when you start back

For those that went higher you paid your due
You topped the high hill you get the best view

Yeasty

Yeasty with a cornmealed bottom
The sun-dried tomato's and sundried
Red bell peppers called me 
The parmesaned and garlic crust
topped with olives, anchovies, and
Onions
the queint essential of elegance 
refined by the knead of belonging
Bacon wrapped artichokes 
With a hint of lemon
Mozzarella browned to create a
delicate longing of satisfaction. 
Basil, oregano, and olive oil
 Enough to tease. Just enough 
 to taunt. Pleasing and exciting
 the palettes and taste buds!

Music Box Pops

Baby blue balloon,
     looks like a globe,
          topped
with a girly, pink bow.
       It’s floating up
   with pop music;
          with key tines,
     our hearts dropped.
The dulcet drum spins;
     the lyrics heat up.

Concetta Franconero

This beautiful vocalist who gained huge popularity,
entered this world in Newark, New Jersey.
She was born in 1937 to an Italian-American family.
"Connie Francis" was a name suggested by Arthur Godfrey.

From there, her career went high and far.
Nobody could dispute her status as a star.
Connie not only recorded her songs in English,
she sang in Italian, Spanish, German, and Yiddish.
Songs like "Everyone's Somebody's Fool" topped the charts.
Connie won over millions of fans' hearts.

Suffering numerous personal tragedies through the years,
she displayed great resilience and overcame the tears.
The curtain came down on her life at eighty-seven.
Her spirit will perform forever in Rock and Roll Heaven.

Connie Francis
(1937-2025)

I thank wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for information I obtained to write this poem.

Fungi

I like my fungi
sauteed in butter 
in a pan with a chopped clove
of garlic, parsley and plenty
of salt and pepper.
Or sliced and simmered
in chicken stock
with arborio rice
and topped with parmesan
cheese in a creamy
mushroom risotto.

I like the musty,
earthy smell
that some fungi have,
the exquisite delicacy
of the gills, 
the soft, spongy feel,
the variety of shapes 
and colours that range 
across a pallet
of grays, yellows,
pinks and purples
through to a bleed
of vibrant reds.
Fungi feed
the senses.

But most spectacular 
of all is the fungi
that hides beneath my feet
in a buried network 
of fibres thinner 
than a human hair, 
connecting a forest
in one enormous web
carrying nutrients 
to hungry roots 
and the secret language
of trees. Poetry
is like fungi.

The Grief I Feel is of Another Kind

The grief I feel is of another kind
Sweeter than holy water
A deeper breath than moorland air to find
The black of midnight, not—
Of monstrous seas, but—
Of restful night, donated cloak 
From a kindly gentleman to wear 
Wrapped in coolest starlight, safe
Astride a destrier — galloping to water 
Molted feather — fortuitously found 
New flight, gentle wind in gossamer sail.
Creeping tendrils — nettles wind around 
Sentries of roses — silken petal rounds
Shower the lily casket — topped by pearly crown.

I know my grief is not the universal kind 
But something softer than the norm 
Welcome as a friend, I usher in my grief 
And death, his brother, dressed in angel white 
Scythe to call its sleepers — lowered in greeting bow.
Farewell, Annie
Newcomer to the under-realm.
With no card of sympathy 
Or hearse to see you off 
In lonely grief you leave your final hurt. 
But, relief of death follows me, ebony puppy
Nipping at my heels, my little black dog
Helps my heart to heal.

poesy curse of hanging fruit strings

poesy curse of hanging fruit strings

a pool topped up to the brim
will spill over 
to
endless 
drips 
of 
drivel 
slops

Breathless, I can't Breathe

Breathe in, Breathe out.
Breathe in, Breathe out.
Help Me! I can't breathe!
I can't catch my breath! I'm gonna die!
Luckily a friend close by, 
gently caught my arm and said:
Calm Down! Calm Down! You're panicking!
It's not the in, It's the out!
You're brimming breathless!
You've forgotten to breathe out, 
desperately clutching on, to what you have.
You're holding on, too scared to let it go. 
Your lungs are topped up, chock-a-block full!
You've gotta let it out, let it go, to begin again.
The tides gotta run out before the tide comes in.
Be brave my friend and exhale, exhale,
exhale, again, vacate the void, feel it fully empty.
Let it go, Let it go, Let it go.
Breathe Out! Breathe in.
Breathe Out! Breathe in.

Eat not the pizza on Holidays in Italy

In Rome do not do as the Romans do.
For you'll lose out in many ways.
The pizza you loved at home
will an alien be,
a fake, a fraud,
with no authentic
flavor and razzmatazz.
For such compliance, 
expected in advance on holidays
begs a baseless bewilderment,
topped off with a lasting 
legacy of disappointment,
when your holiday is over.
For ignorance, indeed, is bliss!

Penelope's Tea Party

Sounds a little bourgeoisie
to put on a formal sit-down tea
all dressed up with a bumblebee

As she sets up under the willow tree
it's the perfect antidote to a bout of ennui
for sweet little adorable Penelope

A couple of cookies fresh from the bakery
a french custard that's sublimely velvety
topped with a garnish of floral scented potpourri

Oh how charming and delightful to be
blessed with a child's spontaneity
and find pleasure in such simplicity



AP: 2nd place 2025

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