I live in a bubble
where prom queens have pull
and men worship three pointers
wrong number conversations
last for an hour
the mayor mows his own lawn
and people remember
generations past
each time
my youngest son smiles

my home floats
above and beyond
any embellished horizon
cyclical and circular
a perfect lustrous sphere
of continuous beginnings
perpetual endings
untouchable moments
that I can hold
in the palm of my hand

looking over
the hard angle
of my strong
brown shoulder
I feel like
I could wave
to the girl
I used to be
she seems
close enough
to touch but
               still
                     just out of reach

sudoku puzzles done in ink
wearing cashmere around puppies
     and white denim to a picnic
walking barefoot on Broadway
feeding fugu to a child
mothers in miniskirts
drinking with strangers
unlocked doors
kissing with open eyes
tempting fate
pushing good luck
and telling the truth

This is an example of catalog verse, which is a poem comprised of a list of persons, places, things, or abstract ideas which share a common denominator.  Some people prefer to call it a 'list poem.'  Whatever you want to call it, it is an ancient form and it was originally a type of didactic poetry, meant to teach rather than entertain.

I don't write many list poems.  If I remember correctly, paison_de_moot is the reader who doesn't consider this form to be poetry.  What do you think?  Is this a poem or just a list?

stranger than fiction
this smooth friction
virtuous eviction
whispered conviction
ambiguous diction
juicy affliction
without restriction
my lipstick benediction
one suggestive prediction
and I'm his new addiction

watching
little boys
serve and volley
volley and serve
strong backhand answers
to dropshot questions

corralled tennis balls
look like a
basket full of
fuzzy light
fluorescent chances
each sphere a promise

I smell
sweet children
sunshine,
sunblock
and the start
of a poem