"catagory" poems - Hello Poetry

"Here Made of Gone" for Isabella Stewart Gardner Lyrics By Randy Vera Music By: Randy Vera and Anthony J. Resta http://bopnique.com/anthony-j-resta-and-randall-vera-finalists-john-lennon LYRICS : Vermeer, Rembrandt, Manet, Degas, from my three thousand year old Chinese KU, I toast you. Mrs. Jack, I am your Bronze Eagle. I cut the painting at the frame – thieves by any other name. Mrs. Jack with handcuffs and ***** I overcame your walls. Your collection’s complete. Titian's Europa still hangs. The mirror to my: Piece de la resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert. Here, made of gone. Mrs Jack, I’m your new William James. Through your kindness, you support me, in Dutch Room empty frames. Like John Singer Sargent, I toil between your walls. I am Vermeer’s "corn flower blue," indescribable. The metaphysical: Known unknown! St Patrick’s Day 1990, I’m in Boston in the Fenway. For my penance, I’ll go to Saint John’s, drop to my knees, and like you, scrub the tiles clean. Titian's Europa still hangs, the mirror to my: piece de La resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert. Here made of gone. Where language fails that where art triumphs. The interloper between camps of reason and dreams. I’m an event not cognition. Like any event stored in canvas, paper, pen ,or ink. Oh Mrs Jack I so love your "Head Band." I’m also a Redsox fan. I loved the Champagne and donuts, and thank you for the paintings.

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Dec 29, 2013

Dec 29, 2013 at 6:22 AM UTC

randy-vera

"Here Made Of Gone" for Isabella Stewart Gardner, by Randy Vera (BMI) finalist, 2012 John Lennon Award (Jazz Catagory)

"Here Made of Gone" for Isabella Stewart Gardner Lyrics By Randy Vera Music By: Randy Vera and Anthony J. Resta http://bopnique.com/anthony-j-resta-and-randall-vera-finalists-john-lennon LYRICS : Vermeer, Rembrandt, Manet, Degas, from my three thousand year old Chinese KU, I toast you. Mrs. Jack, I am your Bronze Eagle. I cut the painting at the frame – thieves by any other name. Mrs. Jack with handcuffs and ***** I overcame your walls. Your collection’s complete. Titian's Europa still hangs. The mirror to my: Piece de la resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert. Here, made of gone. Mrs Jack, I’m your new William James. Through your kindness, you support me, in Dutch Room empty frames. Like John Singer Sargent, I toil between your walls. I am Vermeer’s "corn flower blue," indescribable. The metaphysical: Known unknown! St Patrick’s Day 1990, I’m in Boston in the Fenway. For my penance, I’ll go to Saint John’s, drop to my knees, and like you, scrub the tiles clean. Titian's Europa still hangs, the mirror to my: piece de La resistance. I’m your creme de la creme. I’m the John with the Procures on the wall in Vermeer’s concert. Here made of gone. Where language fails that where art triumphs. The interloper between camps of reason and dreams. I’m an event not cognition. Like any event stored in canvas, paper, pen ,or ink. Oh Mrs Jack I so love your "Head Band." I’m also a Redsox fan. I loved the Champagne and donuts, and thank you for the paintings.

18

The worest pain of all pains The unreasonable hatred of persons The blined conclusion of a grudge That eats you in and outside The ailment that weakness the strong And weights a person by the color of the skin The insolent behavioral catagory of human The foreboding labeling that robes person's greatness Which I call this 'RACISM.'

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Jan 1, 2019

Jan 1, 2019 at 4:16 PM UTC

biniam-z-demoz

SAY NO TO RACISM

The worest pain of all pains The unreasonable hatred of persons The blined conclusion of a grudge That eats you in and outside The ailment that weakness the strong And weights a person by the color of the skin The insolent behavioral catagory of human The foreboding labeling that robes person's greatness Which I call this 'RACISM.'

10

I'm walking away from you With all the scars from what you put me through Told myself I would never fall for you But yet I did Now look at us Spitting images of our parents No trust Told you it would never be like that We weren't our parents We were us Our love was strong Even though the miles seperated us We got through it all Pushed aside our fears And jumped But we let insecurites run our lives Listened to every rumor Every lie We just couldn't hold on Like our parents Not as strong As we wanted to be Now we are both free But still see our parents Horrible history Now that's us But we tried so hard To not fall into that catagory

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Mar 7, 2013

Mar 7, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC

jackie-harrington

Horrible History

I'm walking away from you With all the scars from what you put me through Told myself I would never fall for you But yet I did Now look at us Spitting images of our parents No trust Told you it would never be like that We weren't our parents We were us Our love was strong Even though the miles seperated us We got through it all Pushed aside our fears And jumped But we let insecurites run our lives Listened to every rumor Every lie We just couldn't hold on Like our parents Not as strong As we wanted to be Now we are both free But still see our parents Horrible history Now that's us But we tried so hard To not fall into that catagory

28

Its like a big brick wall that you just can't climb. You gaze up and see its height, then you give up before you try. Its like the ticking of a clock, but not as easily defined. Because you can track it as much as you want, but you can't change back time. It's the feeling you get right before you let go. It's the butterflies you get when you jump off love's thin tight rope. It's the thoughts you can't block out when you look in the mirror. It's almost like the brother, to anger and fear. It's the feeling you get when you're not sure. It's everything that falls under the catagory of insecure.

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Mar 17, 2015

Mar 17, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC

stfuitsjordan

Insecure.

Its like a big brick wall that you just can't climb. You gaze up and see its height, then you give up before you try. Its like the ticking of a clock, but not as easily defined. Because you can track it as much as you want, but you can't change back time. It's the feeling you get right before you let go. It's the butterflies you get when you jump off love's thin tight rope. It's the thoughts you can't block out when you look in the mirror. It's almost like the brother, to anger and fear. It's the feeling you get when you're not sure. It's everything that falls under the catagory of insecure.

18

Getting to know my poet friends Is more then just the means to an end I’m learning to navagate this site What each catagory mean in its own right Clues to poets you can find If you only take the time Since many have no bio to reveal Through their poems learned crumbs one can feel Also who have they chosen as the poet’s they like Following the clues is like riding a bike Favorites is a good place to start These clues are more then a stab in the dark You can read poetry that has touched them in some special way While also reading what a new voice has to say It’s a win win if you ask me Because I’m rather an open book you see There are many times when I too hide in plane sight Those are poems for another night Inspired song 1) Watch the detectives by Elvis Costello YouTube

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Feb 21, 2018

Feb 21, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC

cj-sutherland

Favorites

Getting to know my poet friends Is more then just the means to an end I’m learning to navagate this site What each catagory mean in its own right Clues to poets you can find If you only take the time Since many have no bio to reveal Through their poems learned crumbs one can feel Also who have they chosen as the poet’s they like Following the clues is like riding a bike Favorites is a good place to start These clues are more then a stab in the dark You can read poetry that has touched them in some special way While also reading what a new voice has to say It’s a win win if you ask me Because I’m rather an open book you see There are many times when I too hide in plane sight Those are poems for another night Inspired song 1) Watch the detectives by Elvis Costello YouTube

21

How does one measure quality. Through merits. Deeds done well. Maybe even smiles extracted from sour hearts. Should there be requirements. Standards.. Beyond those most impose anyway. Whatever may be the case. Specific or not. There wasn't a catagory that was left unexplored. No wound to small. Insignificance. Had no home here. So many gestures.. Went unnoticed. But never chastised for. The world began and ended at our doorstep. To be shown what form a true blessing takes. Is a present. Gifted in both terms. I would be hard pressed to compare. The night sky has lost a light this day. Society goes on. But a single family mourns. Dominoes cascade.. Rippling actions and consequence into one... Validation is key. While others hinder all else. And Distractions only work so well.. Even sulking seems so frivolous. On this day. Beauty is redefined. As is bravery. One can only hope to leave.. With half the grace demonstrated today.

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Jul 1, 2016

Jul 1, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC

spikeharper

Here and gone.

How does one measure quality. Through merits. Deeds done well. Maybe even smiles extracted from sour hearts. Should there be requirements. Standards.. Beyond those most impose anyway. Whatever may be the case. Specific or not. There wasn't a catagory that was left unexplored. No wound to small. Insignificance. Had no home here. So many gestures.. Went unnoticed. But never chastised for. The world began and ended at our doorstep. To be shown what form a true blessing takes. Is a present. Gifted in both terms. I would be hard pressed to compare. The night sky has lost a light this day. Society goes on. But a single family mourns. Dominoes cascade.. Rippling actions and consequence into one... Validation is key. While others hinder all else. And Distractions only work so well.. Even sulking seems so frivolous. On this day. Beauty is redefined. As is bravery. One can only hope to leave.. With half the grace demonstrated today.

35

My wife, Karen, often stated, "You inherited your family's B S genes." I suppose there is a "bit of truth" in that. Okay, maybe a little more than "a bit." Most would probably take that kind of statement as an insult. However, I would rather consider it as a complement. I like, for the most part, being placed in the catagory of being a "storyteller." Throughout my childhood, yes, I was a child at one time, I was fascinated with poets in the genre of the storytellers like Robert W. Service, a master of poetic storytelling(verse) who could grab you by the seat of your pants with his tales of the Yukon Territory. Hugh Antoine d'Arcy's The Face Upon the Floor", another classic of verse. And many other poets trying to emulate those writing styles, and having their works instead attributed to those "grand masters." It is my opinion that most of the newcomers, to this site anyway, have little or no knowledge of these writer's whom I consider the "true raconteurs." Someone will comment that Edgar Allan Poe was a great storyteller. Yes, he was, but he died in 1849, long before the arrival of those that I mentioned in the period(late 19th century to early 20th) . Over the next day, or two, or three, I plan to post a couple of these early works, and hope you enjoy them as much as I have. Sincerely, Richard

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Jun 9, 2015

Jun 9, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC

richard-riddle

Here I go Again

My wife, Karen, often stated, "You inherited your family's B S genes." I suppose there is a "bit of truth" in that. Okay, maybe a little more than "a bit." Most would probably take that kind of statement as an insult. However, I would rather consider it as a complement. I like, for the most part, being placed in the catagory of being a "storyteller." Throughout my childhood, yes, I was a child at one time, I was fascinated with poets in the genre of the storytellers like Robert W. Service, a master of poetic storytelling(verse) who could grab you by the seat of your pants with his tales of the Yukon Territory. Hugh Antoine d'Arcy's The Face Upon the Floor", another classic of verse. And many other poets trying to emulate those writing styles, and having their works instead attributed to those "grand masters." It is my opinion that most of the newcomers, to this site anyway, have little or no knowledge of these writer's whom I consider the "true raconteurs." Someone will comment that Edgar Allan Poe was a great storyteller. Yes, he was, but he died in 1849, long before the arrival of those that I mentioned in the period(late 19th century to early 20th) . Over the next day, or two, or three, I plan to post a couple of these early works, and hope you enjoy them as much as I have. Sincerely, Richard

6

ya cook a mean oatmeal with vanilla & cinnamon & nutmeg (come to me) make us laugh while ya slice onions.. which could be a catagory in some desperate contest but more importantly tho ya let me have Peace... baby i can whip up my own all alone tasty sumthins but to not be alone & still have Peace makes me stand in the hallway where ya can't see me & stare at the side of ya face & set my clock to watch ya sleep

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Apr 21, 2023

Apr 21, 2023 at 9:57 PM UTC

carla-marie

THE BIG LITTLE THINGS

ya cook a mean oatmeal with vanilla & cinnamon & nutmeg (come to me) make us laugh while ya slice onions.. which could be a catagory in some desperate contest but more importantly tho ya let me have Peace... baby i can whip up my own all alone tasty sumthins but to not be alone & still have Peace makes me stand in the hallway where ya can't see me & stare at the side of ya face & set my clock to watch ya sleep

24

Can I have your attention,Excuse me please I ve got a question to ask & need to see who agrees May I borrow a second?...A piece of your time To lend me an ear while I bust out a rhyme -------- While I have your attention its best that we start..... Forget the introduction.... lets just skip that part Ever notice how many people...you meet in a day..... that absolutely blow your mind, make you shake your head & walk away........... They're the people you see... they're all over the place.... The slower kind of the human race -------- Let me give some examples.... I have quite a few They fall into this catagory with the stupid **** that they do You're driving your car through the center of town... one steps out onto the crosswalk...eyes pointed down No checkin both both ways before crossing the street..... Seem to forget cars still hurt despite white lines under their feet ..... Somehow these idiots manage to survive My guess is pure luck has kept em alive You constantly see them on the evening news when horrible things happens & they interview fools Grown *** adults who live without care..... they say things like " I never thought it could happen around here" This is usually followed with a "we dont even lock our front door"........ Their town is too pretty & crime only happens to the poor? Really? Come on, your kidding me right? Don't they watch themselves on the news at night...... ------------- How could one think with all that happens today that living so blindly is truly okay? Maybe they don't listen to themselves speak. Maybe being too sheltered has made them weak? We're different for sure...our worlds too far apart They wouldnt last a day around here.... They lack the streetsmart I think I've made my point can anybody else agree? was it decriptive enough, were you able to see? Have you seen these people? Do I need to say more........ they're the ones that I can honestly say that I FEEL BAD FOR!!

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Apr 17, 2019

Apr 17, 2019 at 1:34 PM UTC

kim-mccarthy

Those I Feel Bad For

Can I have your attention,Excuse me please I ve got a question to ask & need to see who agrees May I borrow a second?...A piece of your time To lend me an ear while I bust out a rhyme -------- While I have your attention its best that we start..... Forget the introduction.... lets just skip that part Ever notice how many people...you meet in a day..... that absolutely blow your mind, make you shake your head & walk away........... They're the people you see... they're all over the place.... The slower kind of the human race -------- Let me give some examples.... I have quite a few They fall into this catagory with the stupid **** that they do You're driving your car through the center of town... one steps out onto the crosswalk...eyes pointed down No checkin both both ways before crossing the street..... Seem to forget cars still hurt despite white lines under their feet ..... Somehow these idiots manage to survive My guess is pure luck has kept em alive You constantly see them on the evening news when horrible things happens & they interview fools Grown *** adults who live without care..... they say things like " I never thought it could happen around here" This is usually followed with a "we dont even lock our front door"........ Their town is too pretty & crime only happens to the poor? Really? Come on, your kidding me right? Don't they watch themselves on the news at night...... ------------- How could one think with all that happens today that living so blindly is truly okay? Maybe they don't listen to themselves speak. Maybe being too sheltered has made them weak? We're different for sure...our worlds too far apart They wouldnt last a day around here.... They lack the streetsmart I think I've made my point can anybody else agree? was it decriptive enough, were you able to see? Have you seen these people? Do I need to say more........ they're the ones that I can honestly say that I FEEL BAD FOR!!

39