"criterion" poems
285
The Robin’s my Criterion for Tune—
Because I grow—where Robins do—
But, were I Cuckoo born—
I’d swear by him—
The ode familiar—rules the Noon—
The Buttercup’s, my Whim for Bloom—
Because, we’re Orchard sprung—
But, were I Britain born,
I’d Daisies spurn—
None but the Nut—October fit—
Because, through dropping it,
The Seasons flit—I’m taught—
Without the Snow’s Tableau
Winter, were lie—to me—
Because I see—New Englandly—
The Queen, discerns like me—
Provincially—
3.8k
1070
To undertake is to achieve
Be Undertaking blent
With fortitude of obstacle
And toward encouragement
That fine Suspicion, Natures must
Permitted to revere
Departed Standards and the few
Criterion Sources here
3.5k
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Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
Them bastardized youths fell outside, dizzied by a reality unsolved.
Their maws scowled judgment and drooled Pabst down improbable bodies each of them lay in the stink of subtle conformity.
Fiercely unique culture beasts starved away in suburbs; Wikidrifting, those drugged litterbugs scampered.
Dropout fish fast against the current of their time, tired from dancing through desperate crowded nights and disparate lonely dawns, dangling degrees and the specters of success burning incessant their pride.
They were the ******** made so over time contracted by blind parents to nine-to-blithes in which quiet desperation, credit nooses, and irony were the small print.
They were carpenters afraid of their hands. With chisel to headstone, they lied on the hoods of used Japanese cars, panning the radio for a real connection and gazing up at vanishing constellations.
They were their poison and they their elixir, but a cold cigarette was a much quicker fixer of Helplessness Blues and the back of a Bible where a brief intellectual wrote “I am suicidal.”
For how does the turn of the epigram read to those who care less with every new beat of a drummed-up society so high off its piety that seeing stars vanish is simply a shame?
Those ******** dropouts tragically remiss, those Supertramps, Kerouacs, Cohens, and wits.
They were the alternative, urbanite fools that littered alleys with Greek fables and Tibetan tattoos.
Criterion flash cards and the literary canon allowed them to flirt with god in verse and art clues until Pollock’s canvas did rip off their eyelids which left them to know only Socrates knew.
They danced and they writhed, then ****** to pass time, and kept on their passions till lost were their minds. Then they all died, those blasphemous ********
But at least they washed on the back of their crimes.
At least they danced.
At least they were.
And there may be something to movement in chaos.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:06 PM UTC
The page asked and wanted to know
where are my screeds, my verses of to and fro?
The page is not insistent, it doesn't make demands
The blankness merely beckons you a clever use of hands
The page ask's are you bashful, timid, scared, or irresolute?
Does my vast emptiness request your feelings be bared?
Oh that's it, isn't it, the heavy hand of truth is what I seek
Such a criterion for a page long is not for the meek
You can be honest, its all right with me
Hell I'm not perfect, I'm the remnant of a tree
You can wax sonnets, or you can wrap fish,
A blank page is a delight, the poet's ultimate wish
But when rhyming's a necessity the words take different shape
They conform to the metered scheme of a phonetic gait
Then sound becomes as important as the meaning of a word
And cadence takes a beating and flies off like a bird
by: The reluctant rhyming of a laconic lexicon
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
407
If What we could—were what we would—
Criterion—be small—
It is the Ultimate of Talk—
The Impotence to Tell—
1.1k
“English is a beautiful language,
a remarkably precise language
with a million words to choose from to deliver
your exact shade of meaning.”
- Laura Fraser
How clear, varied
and accurate.
How appropriate:
the choice of register,
style and terminology.
(Register: the use of elements such as
vocabulary, tone, sentence structure and terminology
appropriate
to the commentary.)
Language is clear, effective,
carefully chosen and precise,
with a high degree
of accuracy
in grammar, vocabulary and sentence construction;
register and style are effective and
appropriate
to the commentary.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 5:45 AM UTC
Click to make a gift
My Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,
Click to make a gift
My sadness, anger, and shame concrete plan
I will travel to Rome third-party reporting
Mechanisms examining specific
Options advocate concrete proposals
Click to make a gift
Expertise relevant disciplines need
Such tools already exist our structures
Must preclude criterion zero tolerance
Outreach psychological development
Click to make a gift
This is the church house, this is the steeple
Where the Bishop dumps words upon the people
Click to make a gift
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
Reverence regress.
I couldn't care less.
Less care more yes.
Liberation of lust but yet I lest
To deepen your detest.
Put your criterion at rest
Just live in the moment.
Let your worst be your best
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 4:17 PM UTC
Old Communist Movie Director
From the Criterion Collection
The object now of film-school interviews
His gravelling, decades-gone voice echoing
Into a recorder his decades-gone news
How wonderful he was, and all-knowing
About Thuh Fascists, Thuh Workers, and Thuh Jews
Hugging his resentments, and loudly crowing
About the Blacklist through his smokes and *****
How bravely he defied the Rightists, going
In exile to England on a luxury cruise.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
Fussily he figures, that’s not good enough for him
Excessively high standards got his best, and then
Contempt for average qualities; things he had abhorred
Became almost everything, as he always needed more
His code of behavior, to one, might seem ideal
Criterion of excellence would show at every meal
Fork, knife and spoon oh-so polished, and set precisely
All a fanciful show, and done so ever nicely
Particular attention to each and every detail
In acquisition of mate, indisputably he’d fail
For who could ever live up to these extreme conventions?
Or be it prissy of me, to mention these intensions?
Mr. Fastidious to some, might seem the status quo
A state in which display, is an always-complex show
Fail not to follow all rules, as they are set to be
Or you might dine alone, a wordy one like me
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
Fussily he figures, that’s not good enough for him
Excessively high standards got his best, and then
Contempt for average qualities; things he had abhorred
Became almost everything, as he always needed more
His code of behavior, to one, might seem ideal
Criterion of excellence would show at every meal
Fork, knife and spoon oh-so polished, and set precisely
All a fanciful show, and done so ever nicely
Particular attention to each and every detail
In acquisition of mate, indisputably he’d fail
For who could ever live up to these extreme conventions?
Or be it prissy of me, to mention these intensions?
Mr. Fastidious to some, might seem the status quo
A state in which display, is an always-complex show
Fail not to follow all rules, as they are set to be
Or you might dine alone, a wordy one like me
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
Poetry flows from the heart,
revealing ones soul.
If one has neither of these criterion.
Fake it.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 1:30 PM UTC
Love has no criterion love can no be judged
It is a set of sentiments in a flowers wreath
It is a sign of beauty that makes love nudged
Love is like sharp sword,beauty is a sheath
Burning fire needs water, water is a symbol
Water is life but at times it is cause of death
Beauty is to baffle and has the wings of angel
Embrace me with love but don't stop breath
Love is love till it is polluted with dishonesty
Beauty remains beauty till it is ***** by touch
Cleanliness of eyes and heart make us just free
Things not as they are they do not look as such
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 11:51 AM UTC
I am a qualified post-graduate engineering degree holder from NDRI Karnal now and I am trying to complete a PhD program. I completed my Bachelor of Technology degree in Biotechnology from MDU in spite of a terrible road accident that imposed a partial physically challenged state on my life. I already wrote one inspired by my life till the 4th semester of my B.Tech degree and imagining the extreme consequences of the unfortunate caste-based (instead of the only economic criterion) reservation fiasco which are about to take place now.
I am guilty of wasting my precious time in the untimely search for love. I wrote about it in a creative form.
It also has some situational poetry in English and Hindi apart from few dialogues in languages other than English.
You will be surprised to know how accurately I predicted the fuel crisis and the protagonist named Akshant Kautilya Sharma does his research towards developing better supplementary fuel to help the economy.
Akshant’s search for love ends in a girl who loves him since their childhood days.
Akshant Kautilya Sharma teams up with an unlikely ally to defeat the hijack attempt by the currently only-fictitious anti-caste based reservation system terrorist organisation named Shuddh Rakt.
Amazon.com: 7 Seconds: A Typical Guy, Atypical Life eBook: Atul Kaushal: Kindle Store
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 9:31 PM UTC
I don’t ask for sanction
seek imprimatur
live by criterion
I’ve made it this far
wearing my scars
as a badge
for living a hard life
in the face of jeers
through soaked filled tears
I’ve cried an ocean
riding in a river of pain
I rise as the sun
after the rain
none can stop me
I’ll stand unchaperoned
in the face of the crowd
holding my voice
steady and loud
Jun 24, 2021
Jun 24, 2021 at 7:36 AM UTC
My best friend says that I’m “high maintenance,”
but I maintain that I have above average standards and
a slight tendency to whine.
All jokes aside, he
claims that there’s not
enough time in the world for
me to find a guy to keep by my side
long enough to get a ring.
But my fingers are just skin covered bone,
and they weren’t born to be adorned in
gems, in ores; Because Baby,
I am an ore.
“But maybe you should tone it down,”
he says.
Tone it down? See I don’t like the sound
of that suggestion, or the inflection in his voice
as if the choice to love and be loved
doesn’t belong to me.
Because it’s mine
and I keep it inside, cradled up in a box
guarded by eye rolls and locks;
For better or worse, if you
find the key I’ve been told that loving me
feels like drinking from a glacier while hot coals
blister your feet.
He whispers,
“I think you need to be realistic.”
But where does realism separate itself
from pessimism because right here
they feel one in the same,
and I find it strange that someone who
claims to care about me and my well-being
would plant this seed of despair. It’s unfair because
I’m not insisting on perfection, just someone
who believes in me, flexion,
and can value longevity and a wildfire-life
dotted with strife and mended
with 3am kisses.
I persist, why is it so much to ask
to find someone who can love me and all of my quarks?
Someone who knows me and how
I only bite into a PB&J sandwich jelly side down
because it tastes ****** up when
you flip it around. And how I love
the sound of marbles rolling on
glass table tops; Or that cyclops
eye that appears as the space between you and your
lover’s nose dis-appears.
All I want is someone to dance with,
every day.
I want to sway in the sun
with bare feet and ***** toes gliding
over the soil on my ****** front lawn. I want Bluegrass and
shot glass afternoons, with coffee breath mornings.
“You okay?” He’ll say, before I’ll wink and smile,
all the while screaming into the
unoccupied corners of my mind.
All jokes aside,
I thought this was feasible, real,
and reachable.
But my best friend says that I’m “high maintenance.”
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 4:05 PM UTC
Our woodland was filled with beggars, maniacs and perverts
But we never had to seek help or find protection
Haven’t known any god or demon to blame
So I embraced their congenital malfunctions,
And mine too
We were surrounded by piles of innocent propagandas
Assorted with some grossly exaggerated honesty
Fortunately enough –
Cleanliness would be the beggars’ top criterion
And mine too
A tiny venomous needle was always the maniac’s favourite weapon
He whispered in the ear,
“Run! Run!! Run!!!
Through the narrowest alleys of your dumb mind!”
The perverts took pauses, often and peculiarly
From the run, from the salacious dances, from their thirst
We’d know we were in the wrong time again
I’d know I had to close my eyes to feel the pain, again
Unfortunately enough –
They liberate your soul
Only to suffocate it with their bare hands
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC
“This scorched land has a proteus yet correlate intimacy,
Could it have been I was once before thee in the aft?
Maybe when I was on the abscond of tortuous criterion,
In search of something imminent that is decisive coeval,
Scurry beams of spirit would be like a noxious gallimaufry,
Oh vault of slags bitterness where feathered creatures ****
Remote land that is before me in lieu of the love I have lost,
The quietude air whisks flower chorale refrains of melancholy,
I am a lost pioneer on an unending expedition for melioration,
Deep blue brine in the vastly distance awaits an archipelago,
To not have her in my arms would be like a blade of dread,
As the fiery sun blazes brightly with a sky of blue as am I,
I can only say at the endow of this journey I hope for her,
Scorching this barren land is nihility compared to her loss,
It is her love that keeps me live as I thrive forward,
As eventide arrives frigid cold that was aft scorched land,
As I ponder exordium with the thought of oppressed feelings,
Yearning as my love has befallen with my present anguish,
For I now am that oppressed suitor on Scorched Lands”
By Andrew Guzaldo © 11/07/2019 #172
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 3:10 PM UTC
All men are the same,
Girls put on a claim.
My dear please stop crame,
Men aren't the same.
Maybe same eyes with different criterion.
Don't be lame!
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC