Yardstick Poems | Examples

walrus tusks

Walrus tusks are longer than I thought
Length of a yardstick, new and store bought
Females' tusks are much longer; they serve as teeth
Sharper than a copper dagger in a leather sheaf

reality check

what is the way we look at other forms
do we feel God’s presence in each soul
or is gender, colour or age the yardstick
have we imbibed agape love scriptures extol

To which image should we cling?

Trailing clouds of glory do we come
The magical moments of childhood
When we felt at one with the universe
Spinning dizzily with delight

Or with more of horrible and awful
That even to name is sorrowful
Bound helplessly with flu in bed 
Unable from the pillow  to raise my head
And wishing the world would just go away
Paralysed by the loss of power to move

Maybe it is not so much
The image to which we should cling
Rather that the images should  cling
To us
Providing our distinct identities
The yardstick of our recollections
The holding of our first born close
Those bedtime stories where
The kids cling on to every word

Just before into euphoric sleep they drift
When we slip softly from the room
Switching off the bedroom light
With their  minds now deep in dreams bright

Choosing one image is far beyond me
I much prefer the whole family tree.

Standards

Double standards is a thing 
Judge all the judgments you’ve been judging 
And you who calls others “unfair”
Will find it hard to bear
That you are perpetrating victims
Whose thoughts clash with your very dreams

Going and coming around is a real event 
And in the wake of the latter you term it “different.”
Scampering for whatever grace you could find
Arguing to the farthest beacon of your mind
It’s a hard and large bite to chew
When you yardstick comes back to haunt you 

But also sacred law is too a thing 
If a cord be a cord don’t accord it to be a string
Going once, going twice will only go under
Let what goes for the goose go for the gander 
Speak it in the air 
And act so just and fair

K. Muitherero

Roots

I am younger in words than Shelly or Wordsworth
not as old as Shakespear's sonnets,
should I care?
I never did read a sonnet, that I could bare
to eat whole.

Those carefully quilted works of yore speak less and less -
so forced, so fed to the very last tooth.
Poetic perfection has a shelf life.
A fresh salad gobbles up itself.

Don't be annoyed, I did not invent the wooden ruler,
or the yardstick that inches along the page.
I go just words; I got words like roots
for tumbleweeds, and dandelions.

I Rose

Several years ago today
They reckoned me unbefitting for their ears
Per the yardstick of the day
Their percipience was disparaging
But still I rose

By their clairvoyance I was infecund
Plainly no reason to cogitate about me
For they could not glimpse any merit in me
Fate was for me to be unremembered
But still I rose

Like a seed that sprouts and becomes a big tree
I rose
Like a prolific plant that bears great fruits
I rose
Now with relish they can eat my fruits
And realize the mistake that they did
For in spite of all that, I rose.

Judgement Day

If I'm to judge my own character,
    What do I use as a just yardstick ?
Can I rely on simple reflection, 
    Or use another gauge, that's just as quick ?

Will this evaluation be considered fair,
    If the answer returns with only praise ?
Or does it prove to be detrimental,
    Leaving my self-esteem to a foggy haze ?

This introspection is necessary,
    And even common among those to care.
Only to realize that others must weigh-in,
    For the scales to compare.

The Rulers

Following the first thwack
we deduced that distance was
limited primarily
to unpredictable bursts of anger,
arbitrary chastisement factors.

The rule, all of its dozen commandments
plus the extra uncalibrated ends -
a fixed length, extended sufficiently
to bruise well beyond
its mere twelve inch reach.

Wood or Perspex the fractions stung,
minds began to compute escape
in eighths and sixteenths,

we understood that the rod, the yardstick,
probably the world,
had been measured to the umpteenth
by sadistic inchworms.

Magnolia In Mongolia

MAGNOLIA  IN  MONGOLIA


Floral gem  in  a street  market 
Beautiful  by any yardstick

Offered by  flower vendor
In crowded street of Ulan Bator

I did a  circuit of the market
Searching for another nugget

But only ever saw  - one,
With such beauty to stun

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

NOTE     Often thought of as  semi-subtropical  flowering plants, magnolias are actually native to central and east  Asia, including Mongolia. Ulan Bator is the capital city of Mongolia.

29  August   2021

A Plea With Nature

The blizzard is gaining strength,
the frozen pond is turning white,
trees bend and frightened shallows hide;
I put a yardstick into the freezing snow,
bend forward and measure its length:
ah, it reaches up to my knees, what a stride
to be buried into tons of snow...
while blizzardous winds blow!

I shout, " I don't wish for snow on my birthday,
it'll fall on the sixth of February! " But the weather
is inclement, should I make a plea
with Nature trading my gifts for no snow? Has anybody
ever asked for this and got rejected? I would surely
get mad if she didn't listen or agree,
I might be even trickier than her: 
get a snowblower and send it away!

Art of Negotiation

An opportunity comes our way
in as related to the external
We look at it in detached nonchalance 
viewing it with cognition spherical 

We do not leap to seize our chance
for implications arising from it remain
Positioning ourself at the other end
we review it for potential karmic stain

In the daily game of worldly negotiations 
we no longer are the astute negotiator
Throb of love our ever present orientation 
we are the humble & surrendered placater 

Thus neither giving nor taking as a trade
the yardstick we employ is balance
Allowing right of way to the other
in joyful and empathetic playful parlance

13-September-2020

Y Words-

Y
 Yggdrasil
 younglings
 yobbishly
 yohimbine
 yammering yardsticks
 year-round
 yuppifying
 yuppifies
 yokefellow
 yarborough
 yellowtail Ypsilanti
 yearningly
 yellowback
 yarmulkas
 Yevtushenko
 Yellowstone yachtswoman
 yellowfin
 yellowing
 yearlings
 yodellers
 yearnings
 yachtsmen yesterdays
 yearbooks
 yachtsman
 youngberry
 yarramans
 yellowhead
 yeastiest yardstick
 yieldingly
 youngling
 yogyakarta
 yoghourts
 Yugoslavia yodelling
 Youngstown
 yarmulkes
 yataghans
 yawningly
 yellowish
 youthfully cowardly
 yellowness
 youngsters
 yeastlike
 youngness
 Yiddish
 yardmaster
 yuppiedom youngster
 Yaroslavl
 Yellowknife
 yellowcake
 Yugoslavian
 yuppified
 Yorkshire
 yellowest
 yattering
 yellowlegs
 yesterdays
 yeastiness
 ytterbium
 yesteryear
 yardbirds
 YouTubing
 yellowwood
 yellow-belly
 Yucatan
 yourselves
yabbering 
Y words?


8/11/20
written word by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©

Double Standard

Double Standard?
Tom’s Opinion
4/29/2020

She makes charges, He denies.
Fair minded people report the facts,
but the national media is disingenuous,
spinning everything to fit a narrative 
that often portrays their own viewpoint.
Listening to the accuser has now become dependent
upon what network is asking the question.
Each person should be measured with the same yardstick!

My Sister's Dog

Love for my sis makes me like her own Bolshevik
so though I would rather swallow a stranger's lipstick,
I babysat her ground-dweller - her dog - named Limerick.

Once - outside while his wiz-biz defied arithmetic,
I noticed he had one gross fully plump black tick.
All that was nearby were pliers and a yardstick.
When he suddenly rolled over, my reaction was slick -
I grabbed up the pliers and I surely grabbed quick
before thoughts of bloody surgery made me sick.
Limerick was still while I pinched at my gross vic.
I pulled but that slimy tic bugger was too slick.
Over and over, I failed at click, pull and then flick.
When limerick cried out and gave me a tender lick
I called for my husband to join our happy picnic.

He examined Limerick who whined long and thick
then laughed, Honey, he said, you funny lunatic -
You have been pulling at a mole, poor dog has no tick

Why Are We Such Willing Slaves To the Clock

Why Are We Such Willing Slaves To The Clock

Back when slow pace was considered prudent
humans lived off nature and fertile land
If history is read a good student,
will find that modern life is not that grand

Yet we now are ruled by slaves to the clock
not just work but in all our daily life
Here to tell you, we oft make our hard knocks
with self-made rushing pressures causing strife.

Slow down to enjoy life and its treasures
relax and enjoy blessings when given
Adopt a better yardstick that measures
true wealth by pure joys in simply liven'

We may think life is better time-racing
such an error, we should not be facing.

Robert J. Lindley, 4-25-1997
Sonnet , Subject - 
(We willingly make ourselves into slaves to the clock)

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