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Best Poems Written by John Anderson

Below are the all-time best John Anderson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Mister Joe Jangles

Mister Joe, poet, jangles loose change in his pocket,
Jogging memories and garnering thoughts as he walks.
For Mr. Joe's brain washes, tumbles and dries,
his gems of thoughts in hourly cycles, with riddles, jingles and rhymes.
Each wash-up, extracted, pegged, and hung up to dry,
To taunt and flap jangles for him, his readers and strangers near by.

Mister Joe's charm icons are processed, mulled over, distilled and wrung out for meaning within.
His jangles find meaning in bumps on smooth paper, read as Braille.
His jangles arise from stones skipped over calm smooth waters,
yielding meaning in the creases and ripples created.
His jangles rattle his sleep awake each night, with sky rockets of images and flashes bursting.
His jangles are a empowering, rewarding, revealing, enlightening,
and sometimes troubling and haunting, but can't be undone.
His jangles are his rhyme and reason, his friend and confidant, his mater and aether
His jangles are really what he's all about as a poet,
as a miner and peddler of ideas, and as a prophet and revealer.

Mister Joe's charms jangles the minds of his readers
His words cast nets to trawl up memories and concepts,
lured within the reader's mind with word play and twists.
Seas of dreams and memories are netted, prodded and poked
To yield twinkles, sparkles, hums, grunts, and nods of appreciation and delight.
His jangles finding meaning and echoes with links and associations, never before conceived nor considered.

Mister Joe's catch of memories once jangled, are returned to reader with care
Embellished and enthralled by meaning, relevance, word play and twists.
The reader now has new jangles to add to charm bracelet on wrist, or to jingle with loose change in pocket.
Mister Joe, the poet, and his reader, now walk and dance with jangles, jingling echoes within.

Details | John Anderson Poem

Shodden Down-Trodden

My shoes lie prone like dogs waiting for a new adventure
Will it be a soft seashore shuffle?
A jaunt through the mall, all dusty with grime
A plunge to tippy-toe into mud and puddles
A climb up a tree or hike up mountain slopes
A skip through playgrounds with the kids
A ride up an escalator, what a relief!
All polished and shined, a first date in mind
A twirl around dance floor, avoiding soft toes
Laced up tightly and properly for business date, late
Or pounding the pavement for shopping walk jaunt
A stroll through the park on soft green grass, fresh mown.
Finally to relax off-feet, in lounge room, at last we're home,
Before shoes shed, get bedded in closet with friends,
Who share tales and tongue wags with the shodden down-trodden.

Details | John Anderson Poem

Shooting Stars


Why
are there
stars in heaven above
annoying pinpricks in the firmament?
No need for black holes if all stars were shot on sight.
The reach for the stars is hopeless they are so far away we can never visit them.
Knowing the vastness of the universe belittles and demeans us to insignificance.
We would all feel a lot better, sleep a lot better, if stars were switched off.
Like city lights, stars glare, twinkle, flash so bright all night
that we cannot sleep, and shut shutters are so stifling.
If no stars shone, we could leave the curtains open.
Better not to know what may be out there
when aliens may be coming to get us
Celestial abstinence and solitude
is what we all cherish.
Let us hold a vote.
Raise your hands
if you want
all the stars
switched
to off;
stars
shot.

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Ripples

ripples on the lake
quietly spreading outward 
nature's vibrato

softly falling rain
builds ripples to crescendo 
shimmering sparkles

water, calm and still
until stone skips across it 
splish splash stepping stones

ripples dance and play
in verse with meter and rhyme 
nature's poetry

reverberation
rippling sensation

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The Wordsmiths Muse a Craft


Wordsmith
dour, drab <> embellished
don't recite <> read out loud
stop for a pause <> never stop writing
be difficult, obscure <> be clear express self
ignore other poets <> read many good poems
procrastinate, delay <> expedite, keep on track
wait till words come <> search for words till done
writing is a task, adopted <> writing is a pleasure, a calling
never be intiminated by editors <> believe in yourself and your abilities
write when you have  opportunity <> write to a schedule in planned sessions

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Facebook - An Album of Tarnished Reflections

Every image and text we post on Facebook
is selected and air-brushed,
to present our lives as we would like it to be,
sharing images for self congratulation and gloating.

We are both the viewer and the viewed, 
the audience and the actor
mutually disclosing tarnished, 
filtered and selected images and impressions
to create a make-believe social world.

Now we learn that our private data 
and that of our friends
has been leaked to those that
can analyse and create a profile
or our weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

Advertisements and fake news stories
are fed to our in-boxes 
to change the way we think.

A chest-full of tarnished reflections
left on our 'Welcome' mats.

Facebook faces front and rear, 
are all tarnished reflections.

Details | John Anderson Poem

Your Love Is Actually Boring To Outsiders

If you look deeply and madly in the soup
You'll find the Love Poem Generator.
Just insert your loved one's name,
Flowers, colors, nouns and verbs.
Up will pop your own love poem
Personalized and made just for you.

Actually, love as a topic is done to death.
Who really wants to hear about your intimate love story?
Surely that is private and personal.
OK we want to share our thoughts and notes on love
Which is the greatest human feeling and emotion,
But what more can be said?

Details | John Anderson Poem

The Terror of Threes

Three celestial bodies 'tis a crowd.
A trinity, a tussle kerfuffle if you please!
The 'three body problem' in space
made Sir Isaac Newton's head ache.
He couldn't sleep at night.
For its easy to see how two bodies interact.
They're a couple
Adding the third one
makes a terrible three, a triad triumvirate.
No one can predict how they will interact
with each other.
Can three tango?
Can you ever really know what
the other one is doing while
you are watching the other one at the time?
It's sneaky what the un-watched
can do behind your back,
in the corner of your eye!
For when three converge,
each longing for an equal share,
on the stage, under the bright lights,
all sense of unity fades into a fractured affair
and a terrible selfish chaotic fight.
But nevertheless, despite all this,
a threesome can be kinky!

Details | John Anderson Poem

Lamb Brains For Breakfast

Old heads know more,
but can't explore anymore.
Justly, they exploit experience,
adroitly squishing creativity.
Too old to play,
with naivety.

Details | John Anderson Poem

Poem To Self In Passing

Bury me not to rot deep in the bowels of earth,
all alone in the cold, silent, dank wetness of dirt.
For the very first day I awoke before birth
I was floating in the warm sea of the womb, so alert
to my mother's warm body fluid, soothing and supporting.
Bobbing and rocking, caressed by her comforting
touching of me, and her soft muffled words and lullabies,
I was carried in her womb until my birth's surprise and cries.

At my demise, burn my body, scatter my ashes far out to sea
so they can bob and rock, floating in sheer delight and glee
at being back in a womb, back in the sea, where I want to be.