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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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Search My 2001 Quatrains      or show all ranked
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Rank    
#631    Torment bay, my little friend.
So small as look outside.
Where, lightning on one finger tip.
Has more within than shy.
_

#632    Framework, looks good on you.
Though, do-not forget the rains.
For deserts only never knock.
Until a light switch gains.
_

#633    Crumple up, all years be friends.
Across one-page of climb.
FedEx in-betweens the mountains.
And mere decimals are only fine.
_

#634    A single playing card in a void.
Illustrating favorite things.
A mind missing fifty one cards.
And the wisdom that game brings.
_

#635    People holding paintings stolen from people beside them.
Showing what they would like to be.
On that grid where all good art lives.
You can phone the less of me.
_

#636    But reciprocations are just as steep.
For two who sound like rhyme.
Have you ever tried to be so deep.
No thrill found you to climb.
_

#637    The greatest gift to give yourself.
Is nondysfunctionality.
What you say is your finest wealth.
I'm in love with your polarity.
_

#638    You should know I fear fast words like static.
So we should probably speak like storms.
The same way mammals discussing their feeling.
Honk their moan two horns.
_

#639    Gold and yellow and Whittaker sir.
And not less than a perfect ten.
Ouch a friend.
The hanging upside down boxer's den.
_

#640    A few dark clothes and beverages.
For the experimental king.
Trying to mine for mind again-
Some space, and resign to pen.
_

#641    Bold as even writing sins.
As much as heaven has no eyes.
And statement onward delivers "light".
Afterwards the meanest prize.
_

#642    And including all our muscles.
Please visitor do come in.
Wild-blueberries and the hush inside.
Onward let the trusts begin.
_

#643    And underlings.
Let's re-coast the shore.
To em-pass, the decadence.
And remind the floor.
_

#644    And an empty Sudan from your mother.
From her Serengeti tray.
How many fingers are on the numbers.
That can lift the March that way.
_

#645    And how-has your music deserved such wine.
The big guy at your work defines.
Occasionally de-boarding, without stopping.
To begin the slips on time.
_

#646    And even if a statue warms.
No sooner than we grave.
It is the wait through smitten winters.
That windows and nights have saved.
_

#647    And so begins such a story.
Because kinships contain no spare.
I heard that rockets run on money.
That lift your beverage there.
_

#648    Like Harper as a diligent.
Tired beyond all the escapees.
Unaware of skeletons-below.
While sleeping under trees.
_

#649    Where slow-alarm clocks never planed.
And deserving showers must rust "unmanned".
Waiting for gold's asbestus-sorrow.
Ingesting instead a fused-tomorrow.
_

#650    Ask me About That sand-flow!
I'll know with some simple luck.
Both the talk show, and the banjo.
Mere strings no man should pluck.
_

#651    Bob Dylan and the entrance.
Let's begin the true exam.
Is that all, "the next line is"?
Let's begin the test of sand.
_

#652    Then eagerness came down the stairs.
Like laundry within the clothes.
But I only saw her inside face.
And adjectives in my froze.
_

#653    To push or to shove.
And then, news one way to watch.
And then forgive my atomic number.
That bullied up one notch.
_

#654    Shut up and bring the Sargent in.
To shut me up until she's mellow.
It's some kind of damp sugar.
Outside, you become that fellow.
_

#655    This will be, like last time right.
No one needs to carry this around.
Imagine knowing how to hush.
The extremes below a cloud.
_

#656    In town there is a stranger life.
Barbie's diamond-wealth.
It's like a tank. Here's shampoo.
Where water came from drank.
_

#657    That's a "hair" dresser's missiles.
They blinded two-thousand sterns.
Collecting noone has two dollars.
When they hear she never perms.
_

#658    Still in diapers, sees a trend.
Its-about transportation all within.
Woman forced to transcribe her own "Psychiatric-visits".
Says to reporters "it was like Hell's un-end".
_

#659    You won't get away at the end.
Money has those talons.
And you've got this job to do.
When you seek, a sense of balance.
_

#660    Do you want to go home.
Runway "Past" has springs for capture.
Now with ginger "be nice to me".
A "migraine" region asked her.
_

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