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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    
#781    Plastic chips in goldman sacs.
Only hearts can hell.
Petty standings have heard the wishing.
Down with inner tells.
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#782    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.
_

#783    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.
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#784    With headboards for such dreaming.
Such a climb it said.
Wakening for one moment.
That's radical screamed a thread.
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#785    Gentlemen "man" your teacups.
Awesomeness must be fed.
And no one enters such a club.
Whom coffee burns instead.
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#786    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.
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#787    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.
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#788    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.
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#789    Waiting, listening and freezing.
For Gotcha Gotcha. Mouse.
Tonight the air is telling stories.
It's paradigm devout.
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#790    Take a day like Tuesday for instance.
Strange how the clouds roll in.
Beach Restrictions bumping my nose.
Till Friday knights' her friend.
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#791    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.
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#792    Yes "beyond" the "clock" is the giant door.
That I came back to see.
Elliptographs "in all directions".
Where do "they" sell such greed.
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#793    Gentlemen awaken.
We "absolute" of name.
As-sane as hardly any left.
Salute "dog bowls" hold all same.
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#794    Dilute belief there are scientists here.
I think Recklessness is here again.
Nine or One, also make good pets.
Just the rain old-fun.
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#795    There are "signs" that "all" are equal sir.
Rover, Rover, Run.
I have the coordinates memorized sir.
Do we dare "define" what's fun.
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#796    Discouragement.
Within the morning-pour.
Where avenues spell the words "one cup".
To those who read rain more.
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#797    Bishop.
In the factory brain.
The longest commute to-make such art.
And poems so glad you came.
_

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

#799    Have you ever seen come-hithers?
Were-they paintings? Or inner thoughts?
Did they quote their own-commas.
Did rain ever-fill such pots.
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#800    Ragu.
Rises to the melting-spot.
And listens to the neuron fires.
And cooks a river's thought.
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#801    Time to hit the brown stone then.
Spinning is almost art.
Forgive the mess. I'm cleaning up.
The engine parts that start.
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#802    And Falconry.
Apartments in the dark.
And curtains.
With talons for-missed such-heart.
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#803    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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#804    Here she comes now resting too.
Landing on the winters.
Holding out an arm for two.
Returned keys for beginners.
_

#805    Victorians never feared that mist.
But why did they save on moss.
Like the search for treasured gold.
I guess I'll need such loss.
_

#806    We sing on cats and stranger toes.
A little to the right.
With all organic means to do so.
Toe's-friend is sand at-night.
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#807    You're too silly on a dock.
Tip-generously tippy-toe.
Anger-nests near being-sure.
There are Women. Report their glow.
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#808    I dreamed that you took my picture.
With a one pixel camera gleam.
I became the average of all I've done.
I wonder what that means.
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#809    Anyone can copy.
A daughter and a show.
High uplifting Samsonite.
Please visit away the "stow".
_

#810    Five feet in any direction.
Your mysteries await.
To hold a riddle in your hand.
The bottomless kind you hate.
_

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