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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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Rank    
#751    That is just my way Howard.
I can finish the toys from lore.
It really is something big I can't let you study.
Two honey mints might war.
_

#752    I'm sorry we need more city timing.
Think months and months of that.
Happy go strange what is she wearing.
Listen and mention hat.
_

#753    With shadows from the pages between us.
I'm sorry about your ear.
I'll page myself often from the dance.
And just think about you there.
_

#754    I will almost "the almost start".
And trolley the almost wind.
My station is, whatever you've bought.
Much hope for when you grin.
_

#755    I used to love this stuff.
I mean "when oxygen is friendle-ing".
To hear it make the sound of thistles.
Babies in our jostle-ing.
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#756    In the comfort zone this afternoon.
It always returns myself.
And sac's my freedom.
Sending it to someone else.
_

#757    Because there is a scholar.
As mission'd as the Queen's.
A prisoner.
To whom I "writhe" the seams.
_

#758    Plastic chips in goldman sacs.
Only hearts can hell.
Petty standings have heard the wishing.
Down with inner tells.
_

#759    Extra extra read "All about it Fears".
Sound will not yield a matching star.
Lint can vary news by up to 3 years.
A man is trying to grow moonbeams in a jar.
_

#760    Have you found the socks yet.
Yeah. Those band-aids for the soul.
In that river called the-washer.
A "lust" that strong I know.
_

#761    With headboards for such dreaming.
Such a climb it said.
Wakening for one moment.
That's radical screamed a thread.
_

#762    Gentlemen "man" your teacups.
Awesomeness must be fed.
And no one enters such a club.
Whom coffee burns instead.
_

#763    This man is genius. About things I want to know.
Like Cemetery fishing.
Big destinies. Dark Mittens. My corner. My kitchen.
flies within my bowl.
_

#764    Or some times a dog carrier.
Like so many things attached to horses.
So many arguments. And so much talking.
I want to thank all kitchen forces.
_

#765    And a vast machine, that the penny hogs.
Sleeping while I'm awake.
Is it a dance machine? Or a passion machine?
No one will see me wait.
_

#766    Waiting, listening and freezing.
For Gotcha Gotcha. Mouse.
Tonight the air is telling stories.
It's paradigm devout.
_

#767    Take a day like Tuesday for instance.
Strange how the clouds roll in.
Beach Restrictions bumping my nose.
Till Friday knights' her friend.
_

#768    Dogs have it home so long.
Tired in the gym as if that's the function of meat.
But I'm too old for exercise.
How I miss remembered heat.
_

#769    Yes "beyond" the "clock" is the giant door.
That I came back to see.
Elliptographs "in all directions".
Where do "they" sell such greed.
_

#770    Gentlemen awaken.
We "absolute" of name.
As-sane as hardly any left.
Salute "dog bowls" hold all same.
_

#771    Dilute belief there are scientists here.
I think Recklessness is here again.
Nine or One, also make good pets.
Just the rain old-fun.
_

#772    There are "signs" that "all" are equal sir.
Rover, Rover, Run.
I have the coordinates memorized sir.
Do we dare "define" what's fun.
_

#773    Discouragement.
Within the morning-pour.
Where avenues spell the words "one cup".
To those who read rain more.
_

#774    Bishop.
In the factory brain.
The longest commute to-make such art.
And poems so glad you came.
_

#775    Society.
Now that's a heavy clock.
If anyone ever finds it.
Lord knows it's dust will not.
_

#776    Have you ever seen come-hithers?
Were-they paintings? Or inner thoughts?
Did they quote their own-commas.
Did rain ever-fill such pots.
_

#777    Ragu.
Rises to the melting-spot.
And listens to the neuron fires.
And cooks a river's thought.
_

#778    Time to hit the brown stone then.
Spinning is almost art.
Forgive the mess. I'm cleaning up.
The engine parts that start.
_

#779    And Falconry.
Apartments in the dark.
And curtains.
With talons for-missed such-heart.
_

#780    Searching for a better-snow.
An alphabet that's for livings.
A disabled wind that keyboards-know.
The installer left for Lemmings.
_

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