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The Ladder
My 2016 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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Search My 2016 Quatrains      or show all ranked
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Rank    
#601    Each death is a million roses.
Like Cucumbers, at every grave.
Lasting me, tearless until Sunday.
Where onions make me shave.
_

#602    And, as I rotten, through my book.
The pinstripe, is my stove.
And bathing answers every nook.
That Neptune far out chose.
_

#603    Mostly in Muskoka now.
He'd like to meet, all priests in the Regina Sea.
The good news is, they-surround you.
I see what you're doing. You are saving me.
_

#604    Over-scopes as my mansion.
Buttons as a sky.
Men pretending, the uneven glen.
Could descend to such a why.
_

#605    Well yes that is kind of odd!
Like cue balls with crazy spin.
Unlike even-numbered geometries.
That always scratch without that wind.
_

#606    The beard was only mirror.
Its hand was only play.
And disgust, was just a little shadow.
Wandering through, ok.
_

#607    Hydration being the only sinew.
That Lakes can share through roads.
And because all-charcoal filters eyes.
Count men among the toads.
_

#608    As stomach is, so unheard of.
Where salt-mixes with the rain.
And magic by all circumferences.
Is still insinuating, name.
_

#609    Gleaming teaches soak the sun.
Gliding teaches run.
Upon the hindered, shelves we delve.
Where mildew teaches none.
_

#610    What we-condense we-are.
The bus safely nets-us-far.
I've been here so-much.
In Canada eh? No touch.
_

#611    I know I'm "reading" it.
Because it's engine caught on fire.
What we have here is a tropical fish.
We are in the kitchen, as-soup-mix.
_

#612    I'm never going to let that happen.
Wasting west, "I do".
His toys playing "around it".
They're in the museum with bullies too.
_

#613    On the hill-closer "look at me".
With mother but where is other.
When they go to prison Humpty.
They don't need you being Grumpy.
_

#614    I "mean" it would be "mean" (if he stayed).
To the Jackal then. (He-could if-would).
Hi I'm Hank.
To the X-rays. (as much as good).
_

#615    You would "have" to turn up the heat though.
What's beneath "you" is dust to air.
Why can't she go back to being Morse code.
A moment in heaven. Or a highway slowed.
_

#616    I can't tell you.
The day is still on the table and armies are advancing.
Forests are forest in forty years.
A spike in your Sunday. And the chanting ears.
_

#617    A park in the desert (fishing and purple baskets).
You're intense. And my luck is gray.
Answer the question boy.
There's more on the way.
_

#618    Japan right?
Hoover could use a clue.
Telling the oak wood "I understand".
I'm hurting "me". Not you.
_

#619    You know what? That-too is radio.
Where "in" "the past" do you live.
If you wanted his hands. You wanted cloth.
Sorry I'm-just standing in.
_

#620    Adjacent to my own-flashers.
Where a storm is moving through.
A very basic energy on a hook.
Modern wine wants "you" shy too.
_

#621    I have a question obviously.
Can I take my "insect" to the doctor?
I'm glad he hasn't placed-any fun.
This is going to be "bad medicine" "son".
_

#622    What's dead-in-me "is" right here.
Savings in-place. Electrocute him dear.
There are eagles "here" in this Guy!
With stilled-windows and stilled-eye.
_

#623    Hello moon. You're up next.
I tried to move "that brother".
My summer-fan is so nice.
Stand-back voice-discovered.
_

#624    Nine were Wednesday.
And leaped like gold to sand.
Antique-ing into secrecy.
Like barking is to band.
_

#625    Man never falls on his own icy driveway.
The way spiders don't stick to their web.
While we stand upon the words of history.
Please forgive the slopes I've said.
_

#626    I've got your back here. Chew on this army.
Radio hour. (time to find out).
I'll show you a "blanket".
Get the handsome out.
_

#627    Well that's impossible.
It's-residency, isn't initiated until June.
Here's a direct link to that question.
Almost right. Almost broom.
_

#628    In a place, where it ends up.
I have no idea what you're talking-about.
Why is a man so glad to see you.
Turning it into a game. Can I help.
_

#629    Woman arranging notes and graphics.
On a cork-board seen when I look up.
In the name of the game.
That's for us.
_

#630    Man-unable to disembark-back door.
Of an empty-bus dreaming-how.
In an unexpected and dangerous location.
What should he dream now.
_

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