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The Ladder
My 2001 Quatrains Ranked by Your Votes (the results)

This is a dynamic ranking ladder of my poems that changes in real time as
votes are contributed. A poem migrates up the ladder in rank one step if it
wins a vote, and migrates down the ladder in rank one step if it looses a vote.

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#541    With practicing license.
And a desert known as place.
Emily, for the heaven.
And Byron for the waste.

#542    Dandelion are still alive!
And forgetful as repose.
Making up, such a heaven.
I know! I know! I know!

#543    Count them, six more givings!
The songs that living chose.
No one ever, invents a light bulb.
That doesn't know what shows.

#544    The spiders dance in Neptune's horror.
Where passwords forget their pain.
Excuse me do you accept Visa here?
Earth is-my home again.

#545    For love of time or money.
A river should be, so bold.
Ticker tape, or funny.
And suggestion, just as old.

#546    After grabbing the nearest vest or cloak.
On the way to the test of steam.
On behalf of all the best use for hopes.
Can you tell me what each career cleans.

#547    An imagined slow leak in an air mattress.
Feels the same as a real one theres.
Exactly the same way falling in love.
Knows that real time disappears.

#548    With wrong for heavy, and light for rain.
Who knows where dancing goes?
Perhaps. The very first hiding spot?
Beneath the yellow rose!

#549    But I'm a statue! Hear me not.
Demure has no disclose.
Except to say, just one thought.
Five broom sweeps, and one pose.

#550    If we spoke by colors only.
Oh what things we'd say.
But our world is hurt by thrown glee.
So my favorite color is gray.

#551    Tangles be my corner shop.
Her hair, the yellow rose.
To stare forever into the mop.
And never banter prose.

#552    I Imagine we are authors of our own lives.
But we are never allowed to curb.
With only enough time to think "what word comes next".
During the second we urged last world.

#553    A universe with so much to learn.
But oh I'm crushed by gloom.
For all I know are simple things.
And you just left the room.

#554    Now I understand poker.
To aim one must not stray.
To make the sound of thunder.
Some dreams must be thrown away.

#555    I'm in love with Normalcy.
I seen her twice near Perfect Lake.
She had no reason to make a choice.
But there's no such way to hesidate.

#556    I recently painted a blank hole in a painting.
By removing a superman with boxing gloves.
And then in the streets I saw men unfighting.
Just like the way unbacking does.

#557    A man with an unblockable view of the moon.
By duplicating himself like a robot.
Odd floppy airplane that will never fly.
At bottom of lake facing hill top.

#558    My cat sees continents in the corners.
And constellations in the jars.
And though I never say good morning.
I see near things in the fars.

#559    Let me raise a toast to artists.
Dreams and atoms are just lots of dots.
With the only way to be or see things.
They connect the dots with thoughts.

#560    I saw an amazing thing today.
A choice was right or wrong.
Inner judgment was weak as may.
So atoms were quite strong.

#561    Do it yourself. Suit yourself.
Have a nice time and fun.
Too bad for me, I'm like a person.
Stronger when I was young.

#562    The larger the lesson the less fine the teacher.
The Force can crush submarines or wine.
With hope abandon I ping my trust.
You get one chance every dine.

#563    Kindle wood is very fairly.
Ready. But I don't need that nup.
Whining is very very rarely.
In tune with science coming up.

#564    Where does mind hide high fidelities.
And level thoughts of my favourite melodies.
Songs so stung by such tall keepers.
And played so wrong, on each life's small speakers.

#565    If a teacher is mad at a student.
And a large red bird flies in through totality.
If it lands on that student's finger.
Is that the nature of reality?

#566    Until the announcements, are completely different.
I will hear these yesterdays at nine.
I'm alone, and where's the party.
Say it say it. Say these words like crime.

#567    Because I want to stay informed.
I read newspapers of our world at play.
But in my mind I see their real mastheads.
The Plague of Thin Skins Today.

#568    Many white boats docked working hard.
At achieving perfect singled positioning.
Long before the history of sand.
The more of man was listening.

#569    It is not dust that I would harvest.
My work to be done like chandeliers.
So often when I look to artists.
I don't bring my can of years.

#570    If and when a song is cost.
A recital hears a note wean.
Know it was a gentle loss.
If when and soft a tone gleams.

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