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Best Poems Written by Oliver Krier

Below are the all-time best Oliver Krier poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Oliver Krier Poem

A stunning scene. Edited for our insatiable reading pleasure. High on a tight-rope.
The debutant wearing her 2-piece at one end. The isis general at the other.The plot is for them to tip-toe, slowly towards each other. Marking the point where they intervene. There is to be no inter-course ,excuse me, social intercourse whatsoever!
Of course the debutant looses her balance and drops out of sight. Don't worry though. A net hangs below to catch her. At Parade rest the isis general waves, however he has little time to celebrate. A scheduled slot on 60 minutes. Interviewed
by a noted British journalists, still wearing her girl scout uniform. His tongue is about to unleash a divine calling, the inevitable War with US! Proving there dominance, to boot. Its all about promiscuity, I hope you catch the simile's that follow. Do we even
stand a chance? Its difficult for me to picture, such a sexually pristine enemy. I tip-toe to the bathroom mirror. No new grey hairs. I'm beyond the imperative years
of youthful sacrifice. My true heroes are those involved building that "Net", which saved the young debutant. dy Caps off to you wise Gemini.
Your work upon the Land.
If I could prose a simile.
Composure assumed grand.
Could it, still somehow stand.
Without praise, Commanded.
By the unseen Helping Hand.

May I please lend my hand? If you would take time to review my "Sensuous November 25th". (perhaps your busy building a fallout shelter.) Please be careful, don't set yourself up, to my telling you, "I told you so". Or misconstrue my words. I'm a believer! I'm just searching for answers. Really!
Last night I had a dream. I was a clay pigeon flying over a taped off shot-gun range. In my shadow spins an isis postmaster general, carrying deadly attache case ,and a sack of latticed envelopes. I was locked in his sights. Wondering which side would down me first. I awoke squawking (God bless Steve Allen) Was it brought on by the boloney sandwich I eat before I went to Bed? Now I'm flying on to Las Vages, sin city, of all places. Rumors of a new wonderous fountain. Its bottom lined with a dark blue vinyl, and affixed a radiant red light. Waves dancing on the bubbly surface, and a cool spraying mist. Viewers gasping at the spectacle as though in the twilight, its held in orbit by mysterious hand. Devout , happy evangelists marching towards it, embracing their White Bibles with gold lettering. There leading a group of committed, eager patrons, and passionately declare the fountain, "A New Baptism Ground." Some are naked, one is carrying a sign. It reads "Jesus the Prince of Peace." No authorities are at the scene. There at the casino, of course. Next to the bars, next to the tattoo engraver. Its all about promiscuity, I hope you catch the simile. Nearby stands the Vages Church
Its open doors hang a sign that reads. " Absolutely free tithe dancing lessons."
"Our purpose statement: To extract the Good Milk, from the coconut, without
abusing the Shell. Let us Pray; A Prayer for Peace.
I apologize, if it appears I'm painting a too virtual picture. Trying to paint a rose a rose. We live in trying times? My constituencies, ( If I have any?), are ready to take your comments,( If you have any?). As for me, I know my mission: Pitching my tent smack dab on that fountain. Where I can lay, and sleep,and hope, and plead, and yes pray, and yes wait for Rileys Comet

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Good Ol'E Hard Garlic Salimi and Dried Prune Religion

"Dearly beloved, "We are gathered here today to witness,
The wickedness of these times."
"Blessed", fortunately, its ending soon."
To radio stations phone-it.
"Wait!, No!, Next month.
"Taking the kiddies fishing."
"Perhaps we should postpone it."
"Reminds me, of an ole story.
"My, dear neighbor, now long past away."
"Bought a two-thousand watt light bulb."
"Used it to clean the lint from his toe nail."
"Then handed it over to me."
"Which item?", he asks.
"The lint or the bulb?"
"That's for you to decide."
"For extra credit, predict when the bulb burns out."
How the truth sometimes hurts.
For he loves us, and we love Him.
Faithfully digesting a breakfast sermon
Hard garlic salami, and dried prunes.
Oh , dear Paul.
Why was Moses punished?
He loves us.
In spite of our gas masks.
Even blesses our vents.
Just look at me.
I,m sure we meet before.
I,m wearing the inspector Klusoe badge.
Hiding near the back row.
Wearing an "Eddie Haskell", smile.
No mask , though, I,m tough.
I sure would like to tattle, on that darn kid.
Carefully rolling his perfect round gum wad.
Leaving it at the front door.
Tattle on that old fogy.
Hiding a re-cycled stogy.
Near the front bush.
About anybody unannounced,
Can bounce-in, these days!
Hard-core corporate sinners.
Hard working, making this world better?
With what thanks?
To greet the other side in hell?
If we don,t get to them.
Perhaps us as well.
Without Grace.
Sure would like to tattle,
On those arriving at the last minute.
Budgeting time, to edit a grocery list.
Tattle?, to Who?
Tattle on ladies, so easily upset.
If the closing clock, past noon strikes.
They must sell powerfully minted cookies.
Serving such a needed feast.
Considering whats for  breakfast.
Dear Jesus, can you explain?
Why you cursed the fig branch?
So Our sports fans can understand?
Boy would I ever like to tattle,
On that little, freckled faced girl.
Sneaking in her kitten.
Us listening, to penetrating competitive "Meows."
"We are the cats meow."
"Not hippo-critters."
So please join Us.
123 altogether sing.
"We love Him."
"We love them."
They love Us."
"Love"," one-another."
Sounds absolutely crazy, doesn't it?

Details | Oliver Krier Poem

Shara's Christmas Journey

Lust of the flesh is sin.
Sin is lust of the flesh.
Try repeating this one once.
What word was miss-pronounced?
Hearing is believing.
With fellowship and greeting.
Duffing our sacred billow caps.
To gifts of public speaking.
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our covetousness protects our purity.
Let the bongo and snare drums play.
Till bandaged skins wear all away.
Don't nod the other way.
There is no other way.
No need to even quiz-it.
As I plot out my exit.
An out.
Knowing to pretend.
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our covetousness protects our purity.
Outside Shara parks.
Eagerly I mount her.
Oh, How I still love her.
Her long-sleeved pointed ears.
On four legs she steers.
A steady course, slightly up hill.
Away from the Sunday fast-lane.
I so much disdain.  Such pagans.
Away some distance, her peg hoofs clear.
Where no-ones ears can hear.
My boisterous thoughts giggle.
Off Shara's back I wiggle.
"I'll partake your cookies."
" If you embrace my poem."
"How I disdain begging."
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our Covetousness protects our purity.
I re-mount Shara, looking back.
My eyes see cautious female flirts.
All dressed up in pilgrim skirts.
Watch them nod, Godly men,
Way, way up the tall steeple.
To mount our lightning-rods.
Thin ones borrow.
Plump ones lend.
Relieved, believed, we sing along in upright sincerity.
Our covetousness protects our purity.
A couple A' blocks A' yonder.
My eyes see a ghastly host.
Unshaven Greeks N' Romans,
Unwilling to yield their posts.
"Howdy", I babble.
" Would you like a poem, or almanac, or Bible?"
"To embrace".
" Not really," They stubbornly reply.
"If we encounter ill will."
"We'll visit Dr. Phil."
"His pill helps us feel better."
As they march unforgiven letters.
To grave sites.
Where they'll recite.
To dead folks.
That didn't treat them right.
" I see," I gently mutter.
Why renounce their sorry fate?
By now it seems too late.
Before I get away tho.
They bark back.
With tongues N' cheeks.
" Hand over your donkey"
" Else we'll call you a honky."
"We will."
I capitulate the leash.
No will.
Before I walk a step.
My eyes see,
Thru my yellow blind fold blanket,
Covering my snow white pirates patch.
The real world.
A world on no conscience.
Our conscience being.
Of Jesus :  Our loving savior.
Or Satan : The claw plucking-up vulture.

Details | Oliver Krier Poem

I Can Sing: But, Can'T Play An Instrument

Lives, pears, pair-ed, peered, Structured.
Leaves, fashions, untouched.
Hearts rests on-ed silvered platters.
Fingers noticed ,less, much-ed.
Then-ed
Throats and tongues!
Captures cleft-ed flowers!
String---ed audiences reasoned.
When"s
Somethings undoubted-ly"ed Borrowed!!

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Oxygen Tent

May the Lord please circumvent.
My new abode, an oxygen tent.
Of course, I won't pay any rent.
Illusions going heaven sent.
Manifest a daily toast.
Inhaling just a legal dose.
Believing its just the most.

What! you mean Depart my cave?
Don,t you know I,m well behaved?
If E>T> was humane he,d have it made.
Friends outside my tent would wave.
Inside i,d try with all my might.
To get higher than a kite.
Please wear no frown.
My feet are firmly on the tent ground.
I would work with little rest.
May these inventions please be blessed.

Deductions that fit your taxes.
City jobs not needing license.
Little pills, a cure for all.
All while causing no withdraw.
Paten-leather sandals with suction soles.
As sleep walkers up tall buildings goes.
Nite-caps with pipped hair-pins.
Protecting sleep walkers from crisp winds.
Comfort cloths pins that fit your nose.
Sprinkled with extra-strength no-dose.
Printing press that dollars churn-out.
Glowing candles that never burn-out.
Oh, You know the list is endless.
So please remember who your friend is.
Before I sign-off, may I say.
Have yourself a very, very merry day.
God Bless!

Details | Oliver Krier Poem

Beautiful Child of Godly Justice

I see her again.
This time painted,
As a semi-trailer ad.
Paying the rent.
For us staying unknown.
My head was down,
Bobbing away from darkness.
Tho, still sensing her beauty.
Grimacing at its lightness.
Still remembering, the question.
To her, I first asked.
"Please, miss beauty, well founded.
What do you think of todays kings?"
"Oh, There just wonderful."
She immediately responded.

I see her again.
Dressed way in advanced for her age.
Wrapped in a fox fur shawl.
Robes that failed to blot out her beauty.
Eager to answer the same question.
How are todays kings?
Oh, there just wonderful.
She, sings.

Oh, women barring children.
Please do not despise us.
Thinking were out of season.
Were from the same Creator.
Tho, He left out our tear ducts.
He must of had a reason.
A time of hope.
Reserved with thanks.
Maybe we just misplaced them.

I see her again.
This time in a Church basement.
A picture too beautiful for words.
Me, be-halved,
Like a black & white photo negative.
More,Truth, to be developed.
 Oh, that this bliss could last,
No longer than a moment.
Dear Jesus, now I know, 
I cannot envy You.
Although I really wish I could.
Please Vanish, from them, their frowns.

Alas, time has passed.
I can jot this down.
She yet, still answers.
"Kings, there just wonderful."
I don't mind if you take her side.
Against unjust portrayals of the other side.
Their rights "unfrocked."
For I have never been oversensitive.
I swear.
Still can't bare to find myself a liar.

Oh, beautiful Child of God.
Yes, many of us shed tears.
Whenever us can.
The hopeful ones, are tears most understood.
Now.
I have a brave young nephew.
I'd love to introduce.
Bet he would share his answers with hers.
When the time comes.

I see her again.
This time.
On a label of packaged tomatoes.
More beautiful than ever.
What shall I do? When the package empties.
Throw her in the garbage?
Oh No.
Put her on the sill?
Too cold.
Let her float in my bathtub?
Not allowed. 
If I hold her in my arms,
Then let her go.
Would she fly to safety?

You, please don't raise suspicions bout me.
I have prayed for and received,
My golden eye-brows, unplucked.
My dearer friends and kindest Earls.
This beautiful child of God.
Always answers back to Us.
Kings, There just wonderful.
Your honor, stay here!
Should you disagree, for her sake, 
With those staying unknown.
Dear Monks, ect.

Details | Oliver Krier Poem

My Latentest Latest Confession

It was I.
IT! WAS! I!
2000th year was rolling by.
Who concocted this chrism mix?
Who altered my course to dip?
Then,
Into Murky Lake Michigan.
Who orchestrated my first baptism?
There.
Then commanded a second.
Truth to tell ,really, no kidding.
I pray, now.
"Will anyone ever go fishing there again."

Truth, Father!
Yes, Truth to tell!
Looking above.
I saw no Dove.
Just a wanton mistress.
At the Eiffel Tower, atop.
Waving champagne cork and mop.
Please stop!
To shop.

Truth Father.
What's happened in fifteen years?  (2015)
You Say Just ask!
I'd really like to know.
Why all the acumen, "Doom & Gloom?"
Mops changed to a vacuum broom; bro.
Will He be coming soon? 

Let the Light shine inward.
I'll hide my silly grin, Nerd.
That I was. 
Will the Bad doggie roll over?
Let the Good doggie in, Cause.
Brothers & Sisters.
Please don't frown,
At my blatant history Lesson.
Or, be intent.
Towards the wrong impression.
Its very wise to bark.
My latest, latent-est confession.

What,s happened in fifteen years?  (2015)
The full moon last night.
Shinning, like a hallow Bulb.
Is Doom & Gloom, to wallow in?
Whitening out all tomorrow?
Yesterday is past.
Just ask.
Present moons drip waxing soil,
Inward.
Glowing maidens lamps chocked.
With precious oil.
What's happened in fifteen years.   Psalms 19, Proverbs 11,14: 12,15

Details | Oliver Krier Poem

Albino Hawk

Above a crimson sun-raise.
Albino Hawk can soon fly.
He spots its prey, from miles away.
I'd dare say.
His swooping,swift, and sudden,
Entrance is frightening.
We squint with inferior eyes.
Upwards towards brilliant sky.
Grasping His awesome feats.
So enlightening.
I'd dare say! Dumbfounded!
His weakness builds His strengths,
Compounded!
I'd dare ask.
If this progression lasts,
Will some day Hawk-eye, overcome us?
Somewhere  from the third row.
Sits Darwin's eyes aglow.
Saying, "I told you so."
Just God Who says , "Not So."
And Id' dare ask.
"Does Hawk-eye own a soul? 
You should very well know.
The nature of His game.
His assent more mundane.
We should very well say.
If truth we could grasp.
Just ask.

Details | Oliver Krier Poem

Beautiful Child of Godly Justice, Encore

There is a Carol King.
Sung a beautiful tune.
Others too composed.
Listen to her song.
Spun by Gods truth.
Enriched so thru and thru.
So who is who?
Avoid  "catch 22".
"Child Of Mine".
Kings are wonderful.
Birth to death.
End to beginning.
Dear God some more.