Upper Poems - Poems about Upper

Suspicious Upper

     Planned a pretty picnic, yet didn’t predict 
     Pigs begged - please eat us
     Allocated table had laid out a feisty feast
     Mince never been seen since 

     Rolled in crackling casing, their fatty

No one has the upper hand

I hold the power in my hand
to harness light across the land
there's beauty in love's synchronicity
when sharing happens with reciprocity



AP: Honorable Mention 2025

Submitted on April 14, 2025 to contest YOUR CHOICE O sponsored by BRIAN STRAND  -  Honorable Mention

Buddy 5

My buddy will always be
like poetry.

But sadly,
the poetry itself caused suddenly
an emotional rift.

And I thought
she will be standing firmly
at her stand
and I would remain feeling
stupidly upper hand and silently drift.

But she
proved herself to be the better one
just to make me realise graciously
a real buddy bond does not ever 
break or shift

and showed me thawing my

Life Picker Upper

Kicking stones is one way to pass time 
Other times will be riding the bike
There are many ways that you can find 
Take a walk through town and see the signs 
Then going out on some friendly hike

Hanging with friends after the bell ring
Then playing some sports shortly after
And go to see the newest showing
Having

The Upper Crust

A part of the upper crust of society
I have never been
Methinks “down to earth” more accurately
Describes this old homosapien
No airs, no talking big, no flamboyant flair
Just little old simple me
Now that word “simple” can be misleading
I don't think I've ever been considered simple
In terms of brain power
But at the other end of the scale
Certainly never

Waker-Upper

A butterfly, aliferous,
of subtle slights, soniferous,
common spirits, days just went by,
aliferous . . . a butterfly.

Low pinnacles alight sought rest
forgiving sun favors spread best
microscope's trial . . . clinical's
nigh shipyard trash, few binnacles.

A game of chess, castling sleight clouds,
floating iced-pawn, a seaboard crowds,
Queen waves her move, column King, guess,
castling sleight clouds, a game of chess.

A

Upper Echelon

Level up my friend 
Increase in potential 
You have succeeded

The Upper Crust

Where learned men converse
On college grounds traverse
Those lads debonair and debutantes fair
With diamonds in their purse

By limousine conveyed
Their education's paid
A most common tale of Harvard and Yale
Where seeds of affluence laid

When privileged young voyeurs
Become doctors and lawyers
From arrogant perch they snub and besmirch
Sneering at Tom Sawyers

Under thumb of those knaves
We become but their slaves
Placed in

The Upper Crust

The upper crust
     folks do not trust
   they bite into the lower

   Beer and pretzels just five bucks
     chew on life much slower

The Last Supper Upper Supper

Rumination.
Too long an elongation
Oblivion
Too easy a high five to see in freedom, in scope of Pentagon
The eternal fire, chest of drawer and homeland security
Almost a climax toward  Bermuda triangle
A selfless supplication in the third act
Without writing how will you find meaning too , through abstraction?
I am an assonance
To odd a pain
In revision of torn

Mary Smith, a Famous Knocker-Upper

Mary Smith, a famous knocker-upper
in London's East End,
Shot dried peas with her pea shooter.
At workers windows
to wake them up
to get to work on time
Every morning
Mary walks up and down
the east end with her pea shooter
Shooting dried peas at the shattered windows
waking everybody up to that familiar tune
of tap tap tapping dried peas
on my window.

Keeping a Stiff Upper Lip

Now we have been released from the EU, and its cheap cost of livingWe are now going British with prices that are more than unforgiving

Fixer Upper

Having lived in multiple ports
Comingling with people of various sorts

Living in luxury or existing in squalor
Coffers full or down to last dollar

In town after town one constant remained
Perhaps unnoticed to the eyes less trained

In areas it seemed that inherited blight
With hardly the cash to keep on a light

  An Abode a stiff breeze from

Let Him Drink More Punches

A time you must exploit
To have things for him spoilt;
To stop The Cynical,
His knockout ‘Technical’…

Let him drink more punches
And keep making bunches;
Soon, The guy you would waste
And His Hopeless Case rest…

More jabs to his soft head
To soon help him see Red…
He’d be hating himself
And you laughing yourself

You take the Center Stage
And he shall be All

Upper Room

From the internal of the internal,
to the throne of the Eternal,
the bitter turns sweeter
scening eternity to the sigher,
soothing and solacing the sinner ,
and O! silencing the sneaky serpent.
Like an eagle it causes the drooping sobbing spirit 
to rise over salty storms.

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