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The Ladder
My 2056 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 2056 Quatrains      or show all ranked
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Rank    
#661    I'm assuming there are back-stories.
At least I think there are.
We'll have to start counting what-becomes.
Apologies attempting far.
_

#662    Have you read any magazines.
This time we'll need much more.
One fingerprint.
When I'm down to house good ore.
_

#663    Nice bathroom. Clean kitchen.
Moratoriums are made this way.
Rising above the tractor.
With hinterland in the way.
_

#664    Like a cueball scratches. After being mentioned.
By advertisements on the table.
That's cue speed fifty three.
The speed a shadow finds a mansion.
_

#665    A woman searching cupboards.
Her house And vast loved land.
Shadow "of man cloud" holding coffee.
Overcast moving bland.
_

#666    Ha! It was a laugh at seven.
That meanness, mountains crane.
Constructing nodes of valuation.
That, altitudes disdain.
_

#667    Breathe again and live again.
The shortcut to the fin.
Dark-towards hunter-nights.
The Savannah pushed within.
_

#668    Shoe the cobra. Cue the din.
That, lobsters never meet.
Bubbles like the sands of time.
Dreaming angels to a street.
_

#669    Torment bay, my little friend.
So small as look outside.
Where, lightning on one finger tip.
Has more within than shy.
_

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

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

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

#673    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.
_

#674    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.
_

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

#676    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.
_

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

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

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

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

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

#682    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.
_

#683    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.
_

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

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

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

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

#688    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.
_

#689    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.
_

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

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