Well Defined Poems

Art and Artifice

Delight! nothing could be more delightful
than when talent receives commendation
for effort that is one's own insightful
art with an original foundation.
...Stand and say without intimidation 
...“I create from my own heart and mind.”
...your own witness worth hearing, well-defined.
I've met those who post A-I in comments;
mere placebo, neither helpful nor kind,
so ostentatious, perceived as pretense.

No Calling Her Decrepit

"As the day ends, one is closer to heaven." By Poet

My neighbor is old,
she can be very bold.
Loving to wear lots of fancy gold,
and decrepit I am told.

You know age is just a thing,
numbers one wants to ring.

How old are you,
that number may make you blue.
They tell me I am a decrepit ninety-two,
but I can still tie each shoe.

Honey - age is all in one's mind,
seeing myself as twenty-five to all mankind.
I may not be well defined,
but I will always be kind.

Red Paint

Red Paint
 Long before my time, a group painted in red lived on the land.
 They lived with the buffalo and made weapons by hand.
 They used arrowheads at the end of their spears.
 Their homes were in tea peas planted beside the river.
 They danced at night around the fire.
 They were com and collected as their hearts desire.
 In a no man's land, they fought with bravery and hatchets.
 In red paint on horses, they had their revenge while it lasted.
 It is sad that the white man had to take it all away.
 Only skin deep, our blood is all the same.
 Through revenant they stood their ground.
 In the dark sky they survived when no one was around.
 Just reach down and touch the dirt.
 They washed off the blood in the river.
 The land is for all mankind.
 Through principles they were well defined.
 Just like a wolf, they stand alert.
 As warriors they just wanted to be free like a bird.
 They are all connected in red paint.
 Across the water shows reflections of their pain.
 No manor tribe should ever be oppressed.
 Standing towards the sun, they all came back from the dead.
 Wewere wrong to take away their lives.
 In the shadows they stood tall in the moonlight

Sculling Two-Seater

There’s something mysterious;
I hope it’s not serious:
my muse will not write when I row.

She’s no river daughter;
it’s time that I taught her
that water and words can both flow.

Bereft of her musing,
the rhymes are confusing;
ideas just don’t spring to mind.

Who cares where she’s headed?
My abs are now shredded;
my lats and my quads well defined!

Alas, to entreat her:
a sculling two-seater -
that certainly might do the trick…

Composing while oaring
would never be boring,
with meters and verse coming quick!

Life is but a Stamp in Time

Life is but a stamp in time
Daily progressing but holding back its rhyme
We travel lightly never looking inward
Until the day the past is splintered
With thoughts and regrets of time wasted
Living life to the fullest thinking it was well crafted 

But time marches on relentless and sure 
Leaving your footprints on the path obscured
Trudging ahead but looking behind
To the past thinking life was well defined

For life is but a stamp on time’s grand page
A fleeting glimpse, a fleeting stage
Let us cherish and live it to the fullest
Through the easiest times or even the cruelest

©Deborah Kelly
2025

Eternity

There's a phere in God's vast domain known as eternity.
It is the phere where I and millions more  will someday be.

Eternity.
She will not wait for us.
We will join her when we kick the dust.

Eternity.
She is outside of the zone of time where the real meaning of life is well defined.

Eternity.
Will there be any thought of history?
Or will we have a memory?

Eternity.
Some things appear to be a certainty.
There will be no sorrow or misery.

Eternity.
In a path toward eternity, I see a pierced hand extending to everyone to take us to the Father where we belong.

Reverse Psychology

A reversible poem.

Tell me not to chase the dreams I seek, 
And watch as I pursue them all the more, 
Say I’m too fragile, say that I’m too weak, 
And see me rise to prove what I’m made for. 

Dismiss my thoughts as folly, pure and vain, 
Then watch them flourish, bold and unconfined, 
Declare that all my efforts are in vain, 
And I’ll succeed with purpose well-defined. 

Say that I should walk away, give in, 
And see me stand my ground, refuse to yield, 
For every doubt you cast, I’ll find within, 
A stronger will, a greater sword to wield.

On life

Quote: “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” -- Mae West 

Life's a puzzle, quite unknown, 
With pieces lost and found anew. 
The more you force the parts to align, 
The more you see they don't quite knit. 
Get out of the tangled web,
Step back, take a broader view, 
And see life reveal its subtle aspects, 
In the gaps and twists, you'll explore, 
The art of living, 
Well defined.

Sorry For the Wait

Written on August 14, 2017 10:16 PM

In the echoes of time, your words reverberate,
'Later, I'll reply,' you say, in a deliberate state.
'I'll read it later,' your commitment in the air,
Amongst my heartfelt lines, you handle with care.

A list I've compiled, each 'later' well-defined,
A thousand messages, a tale that's intertwined
'Unread confessions,' the title it might claim,
Of love professed, a digital love's sweet game.

A thousand times you vowed, 'I'll reply without fail,'
'I'll read it later,' your promise set like a sail.
Yet I hold on, steadfast in my belief,
That someday you'll respond;

In the dance of time, where 'later' meets 'now,'
I hope to hear you say, with love's eternal vow,

'I've replied, my love,' 
'Sorry for the wait,'

Sally Jo

A drab forty something,
mother of six snotty noses,
tie dyed shirt two sizes too small.
Nipples poking through the thin cloth.

Fuzzy pink slippers and yoga pants,
ass like the surface of the moon,
with mountains and craters well defined.
Dirt blond hair with three-inch black roots.

Lights the joint stuck between caked lips,
blows smoke into the space,
separating her from reality.
Out of breath she waddles to the bed. 

When he tells of the goddess,
that took his immaturity,
there’s one thing he never mentions.
The twenty he left on the table.

Reflecting Back

Beauty beyond what words can say
I saw you differently today

Striking is what comes to mind
All in black, so well defined

I could watch you all day long
Fold myself into your song

So incredibly beautiful
You have this way, you have this pull

That draws me in, makes me want more
You're so attractive, the way you are

I keep it in, I don't say much
Well yeah I do but it's not such

A thing that I can't sleep
But wow I like you, it runs deep

I think of you throughout the day
And if you ask, to you I'll say

What's down inside my heart's desire
There lives and breathes a little fire

That flickers, always burns for you
It keeps me warm and leads me to

Write you words that tell you such
Please don't think that it's too much

It's been a long time that I knew
I had something unique for you

Just look into my eyes and stare
Look behind them, it's right there

They Milk the Aphids

From deep inside her complex nest
She rules her colony
And sees that all the others there
Her orders they obey.

Hundreds of her daughters there live.
Her strict rules they all fear.
Their fathers now all of them dead.
Only females live here.

Each one has well defined duties
And daily they must work,
Cleaning and fettling this huge nest.
But beware those who shirk.

A long evolved social structure
And all know where they stand,
To keep the colony as one
Accepting queen’s command.

Those daughters can’t attract the males   
For she made each sterile
So that they have no distractions
And to queen stay servile.

Wingless, they cannot fly away
But may crawl from the nest
To milk honeydew from aphids.
Taste fresh juice at its best.

Each springtime the queen will grow wings
To fly and find the males
And so becomes fertile again,
Producing more females. 
 
The queen ant lives for some decades.
Every spring, eggs she lays.
Each daughter worn out within months       
And males last but two days.

Another Great Find

I am duty-bound to compliment a poet whose book I am reading.
I'm saying that it's as if from a dining table I am feasting.

I thought to myself as I was reading, "Why, he has a right to know".
His words are like seeds being planted in me, helping me to grow.

He must be made aware that he is like rare air so smooth, non-toxic,
pure, and very inspirational. Presently, each morning, he is a part

of my devotional. His lines are touching and enthralling, tuned and
well-defined. Just now, I am saying to myself, "What a great find".

021323PS

The Yellow Brick Road

happy new year to one all all
may the new year bring peace happiness and more
thank you


"the yellow brick road"

some say the yellow brick road is a state of mind
others say it is a place to be and follow
I say the yellow brick road is both well defined

all who seek home a brain a heart or courage
know this path towards light and victory unveil
kept safely within munchkinland's magical storage

strength and beauty soar beyond color or care
imaginative rainbow shades shine and guide
those of munchkinland are committed to share

some say the yellow brick road starts at the beginning
others say it ends when the wizardly journey concludes
I say the yellow brick road forever lies within breathing

SkyWatcher
12-31-22

A Gift

The rose of summer has no nose
Only releases it scent for mankind
As its fragrant blossoms grow
Releasing their scent well defined

Only available to insects and man
Those are enjoyed through nose and eyes
God gave to highest creation of His plan
Man has won the gift of God's prize 

Thank you, God, for a sense of smell
The gift of good vision
Five senses God has given as well 
So merciful His decision    

Having trouble again with stuffiness, breathing and sense of smell. I know the pollen's scent draws insects in to pollinate the flowers.

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