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Best Mission Poems

Below are the all-time best Mission poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of mission poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Mission Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Mission poems are below this new poems list.

LOVE MISSION by Lembi, Kuleza John
Hold on to your confidence when called to your mission by nelson, louise
OUR MISSION TO COMPLETE by Trifiatis, Demetrios
GOOD MISSION by Dutta, Anisha
A Mission by Casquejo, Ryan Webster
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED - for contest by lawless, John
Time's Researching Mission by Dillenbeck, Gerald
The Rescue Mission by Hiatt, Colan
Mission to Mars by Ngoma, Thabang
Girl And Boy Mission by Schumacker, Earl

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The Best Mission Poems

Details | Mission Poem | |

Military Tunic

~Homeless Poet~

A lost guardian angel.
Sitting on the edge of the world.
I follow the cracks of the sidewalk, my trolley and I.
My home on the corner of every mission street.
My tin coffee cup starts off with caring heartbeats.
My only possession is the icon of war, with six buttons missing.
Navy and white my grandfathers 70-year-old military tunic.

My Jacket-
My blanket-

My Jacket from which I am inseparable. 
My Jacket goes wherever I go.

This Jacket is my home.



~A Home~:contest

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013


Details | Mission Poem | |

She read me Dr Seuss

6:35 A.M.

Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.

I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.

I needed it.

Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.

And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.

Bastards!

Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!

But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.

Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.

“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.

As she held me,
held me,
with puppy love warmth.

Even the rainbows fell to its knees.

She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.

But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.

It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
that said:
“Kid-safe”.

Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!

As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.

My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.

“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs, 
Ninja Turtle-style,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.

Boys will fear her. 
And I couldn’t be more proud.

After two moments of silence, 
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.

“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
shut.”

She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.

10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”

I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.

Mission accomplished.

And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”

But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.

For it was my inner child, 
speaking
clear.

© Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2011


Details | Mission Poem | |

A New Love Found

 
DEDICATED TO EVERY PERSON WHO QUESTIONED THEIR SELF WORTH BECAUSE SOMEONE THEY LOVED LEFT THEM Love grabbed me by the throat with both hands Choked away the doubt and hatred of broken bands Kicked me in the gut and flung me to the floor Stripped my ego and jolted my awareness at its core Cleared the cobwebs that once clouded my vision with strokes of a master nature painted my mission An oil based one of a kind classic My life written like a movie an epic Love lives in me again like a revelation amen Beauty, glows from every centimeter that is me hope hip hops in every stride as I walk briskly Music walks to my beat now I hear it everywhere and the bluest of skies high fives me bare A new love found a trust abound. for the first time in since I don’t know when my senses breathe the fresh view of now and then Blessed by the mother of all that lives Nature smiles on a union that always gives I love what I see Finally I love me! Armand

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mission Poem | |

YOU LIGHT UP MY LIFE

You are the light of my world my precious son filled my days with happiness and fun. Always smiling, never blue how quickly you grew. Pure delight you shine so bright. Strive in all you do now, and for your whole life through. Spread your wings and fly; my job is done. You are the light of my world my precious son 02~13~15 Contest – An Invented Form – Andrea Dietrich syllables checked 11,9,7,5,3,1,3,5,7,9,11 name of new form - mission almost impossible! ~awarded 3rd place~ ~awarded 1st place by Carol Eastman~

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mission Poem | |

Sunlight and Rain: The Prism of an Anarchist


These are the confessions of an Anarchist,

when I

stepped away from the light,
entered the shadows
of forbidden caverns,
the caves, tunnels 
and catacombs of Anarchy.

Here        a constant, cold caress
of moisture,
a persistent inner rain
trickling,
pooling alongside lonely thoughts.

Nothing grew that deep underground,
not even fungus, nor lichen.
I survived on sheer will and dampness,
lungs mutated into gills,
eyes became accustomed
to this ever-present night.

A Mission lost in translation and transmission,
a rogue satellite orbiting
through thin oxygen's mind-bending space,
cut-off from other agents of Anarchy.
I slithered along corridors of broken souls,
fed on regurgitated thoughts
and drowned dreams of cities burning down,
melting like hot candle wax.
How I wanted the cities above to burn!
To burn down into the ground
in waves of rolling thunder and lightning.

Not able to differentiate between night and day,
weeks gave birth to months
in a C-section of fleeting years.

Somehow        I stumbled upon a side entrance,
felt warmth pushing in,
pushing down,
and my will shattered apart,
fusing back together into Plan B.

Sunlight!

As I broke the surface,
light seared my tightly shut eyes,
breaching eyelids with ease.
The pain felt wonderful,
changing into a delirious exultation
and heated comfort,
thawing out frozen, stiff bones.

Rays of sunlight rippled across my skin,
evaporating the slimy, cavernous musk,
burning me on the outside,
cleansing me from the inside.
Eventually        I was able to keep my sore eyes open
while they felt ready to sizzle and explode from sensory overload,
globules floating through my vision.

The first thing I clearly saw  
was not close up        magnified,
but the distant horizon enveloped in a halo
of lemon haze, arching between two mountain peaks.
I wept,
skin buzzing from the sun's heat.

Yes, 
how sunlight changes the perspective of nightmares,
revealing reality's potential fibers,
balancing the darkness within,
bending the remaining droplets of lost hope
into a prismatic ribbon of brilliance and prayer,
always,

        always evading the deep-rooted catacombs below,
a place I will choose to forego,
only entering within memories,
until even these are burned away by sunlight,
until even these are cleansed by sunlight.




2013 Double-Rainbow Remix
December 19th, 2013





+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2013


Details | Mission Poem | |

ETERNAL RECURRENCE

ETERNAL RECURRENCE*


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 
“I am certain that I have been here as I am now a thousand times before and
 I hope to return a thousand times after.”  GOETHE 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


1.

Once upon a time, 
The Lord of spiritual consciousness was sitting peacefully on His blissful throne 
Ceaselessly contemplating upon His equilibrium
T’ was the era of no moon, no sun, no stars, no earth, no oceans, no rivers
Just a motionless, timeless and deathless entity it was happy with His existence  

2.

Suddenly the thought of sacred motion was felt deep down in his essence
Seeking the chaos to be stirred from its core outwardly
Consequently separating the light from the darkness and all the other elements 
That constitute the Cosmos
Thus giving birth immediately to old mighty time

3.

When Time: This wizard of celestial art found himself alive
His expert hands stretched in advance, wanting to create
For that the plastic energy he took, that was everywhere around
And skillfully and patiently the Cosmos carved according to the Logos
Creating thus, the nebulae, the galaxies, the stars and all the other planets

4.

Then God looked at times creation and marveled with its beauty
But as there was no life to be seen in all of this creation
The thought of desire was born in God to inhabit every place
For that out of himself he cut myriads blazing souls
Which like shooting stars he sent downwards to animate nature,

5.

In this way, to manifestation’s cosmic sphere, the souls were beamed
Radiating their luminosity to reality’s lower planes  
Bringing with them the sacred principles to denser forms of life 
As they were passing from the spiritual, the mental and the astral
And finally materializing, themselves on the physical solid plane
Where life began on earth, with God’s will and grace!

6.

Each soul an ambassador was and is of God’s will and grace
A ray of divinity, a guardian of the Holy Law 
Each with a specific mission: to learn or rather to remember
How to find the way of return throughout space and time
And with the divine, again, to be seen in perfect equilibrium

7.

The day I was born, as every man alive,
I found my immortal self bound to the wheel of time 
That around eternity’s circumference took me, in very heavy chains
Asking to follow obediently the unswerving path of fate:
This endless trip of return where the only constant thing is change

8.

Since then I have died once and many times after
But death's dark palaces to hold me were unable
As my soul’s perpetual desire to follow my destiny
Brought me back to this ephemeral world of fleeting dreams
With a new body, new hopes, new goals but always with the 
Same desire

9.

Thus I journeyed back and forth the plains of oblivion
Choosing the best conditions I could, according to my karma
Trying to find endlessly the golden middle way 
That unmistakably between the extremes is only to be found
But since from the river of forgetfulness each time I was drinking 
I was obliged, unfortunately, to start over again

10.

So, I was born once a king and another was I born a beggar
And in turns I was born a coward, a hero, a holy man, a vicious man,
A  Christian, a Muslim, an atheist, an idolater a strong man and a woman
And healthy and sick I was born and intelligent and witless
And was I born to love so much the things I once detested
And to hate passionately the things I once held dear

11.

And I was born once to laugh and another just to cry
And I drunk successively from joy’s cup and that of sorrow’s
And was born to make friends out of my enemies 
And enemies out of my brothers
And was born to realize the impossible dreams and fail the very easy  
And I was born to slay and to be slain alternatively for thousands of years

12.

Thus I lived continuously the extremes of both good and evil
Striving to find endlessly the balance in my soul
Through the wisdom that was endowed upon me by the Great Spirit
That like a beacon, luminous, to guide me waits
To my supreme destiny that GOD for me has traced

13.

So, as was passing from life unto death, from darkness unto light
With a speed determined by me, I don’t put on GOD the blame,
All my lessons have I learned through trial and error
Up to the very last reincarnation, in body’s mortal temple

14.

Now free, AT LAST, from all earthly desires and every karmic blame
Radiating with holiness and glowing with grace 
My immortal soul, HER divine wings unfolds and soars upwards the heavens
White light blazing in perfect equilibrium 
And pure now to her glorious creator returns and with 
HIM UNITES! 


©Demetrios Trifiatis
  11 DECEMBER 2013


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“A little while and my longing shall gather dust and foam for another body.
A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind and another woman shall bear me”
KAHLIL GIBRAN
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

* This poem because of its length I was unable to post it in one piece for I was not a
member for life at that time therefore I published it in two parts as: “CREATION” and as “REINCARNATION.” Here is the entire poem as it was originally written.
Now, my friends know that apart from my epigrams I write... long poems as well!    
  

Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2013


Details | Mission Poem | |

Simple Words for Simple People

If I had those pretentious brains which act faster than this heart

maybe then I would abhore this soul which spreads freely through each verse

maybe then I would impress you with my intellectual grammar and sophisticated words

maybe then I would scrutinize my each and every coma,dot and exclamationmark!

But I would never let that happen,I'd rather go away.

Writing with my mind and not my heart leads only to asylum within the being of myself.

Poetry is my voice,my life,my escape,my each emotion stored,processed in a yesterday

breathing softly  in fresh air,wanting to explode in death, love,passion and romance.

Each verse, a thought I'm able to scribe of yet unable to express through spoken words.

Maybe in a tomorrow you might pass by ,tread your footstep on my verse

but maybe in a today,a broken-hearted fool stops by to find comfort in my world

Maybe a prisoner, an insane man,a tramp ,or any outcast to society 

would pick these shattered pieces and gather them as whole

and maybe through this scribbled cross-word puzzle finds God'love once again.

Maybe a little child who understands only little words

would turn the pages of silly rhymes i penned

rhymes which speak of moon and stars,angels,dreams and faries

and maybe He would smile, maybe He would laugh 

Maybe he would dream ,the way i used to dream

and maybe He would write the most eloquent sonnet

or maybe just simple words about blossoming flowers

And maybe then,my mission is accomplished,and  maybe I feel blessed.


Charma


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2012


Details | Mission Poem | |

Sunlight and Rain: The Prism of an Anarchist

These are the confessions of an Anarchist,

when I

stepped away from the light,
entered the shadows
of forbidden caverns,
the caves, tunnels 
and catacombs of anarchy.

Here        a constant, cold caress
of moisture,
a persistent inner rain
trickling,
pooling alongside lonely thoughts.

Nothing would grow that deep underground,
not even fungus, nor lichen.
I survived on sheer will and dampness,
lungs mutated into gills,
eyes became accustomed
to this ever-present night.

A Mission lost in translation and transmission,
a rogue satellite orbiting
through thin air's mind-bending space,
cut-off from other agents of Anarchy.
I slithered along corridors of broken souls,
fed on regurgitated thoughts
and drowned dreams of cities burning down,
melting like hot candle wax.
How I wanted the cities above to burn!
To burn down into the ground
in waves of rolling thunder and lightning.

Not able to differentiate between night and day,
weeks gave birth to months
in a C-section of fleeting years.

Somehow        I stumbled upon a side entrance,
felt warmth pushing in,
pushing down,
and my will shattered apart,
fusing back together into Plan B.

Sunlight!

As I broke the surface,
light seared my tightly shut eyes,
breaching eyelids with ease.
The pain felt wonderful,
changing into a delirious exultation
and heated comfort,
thawing out frozen, stiff bones.

Rays of sunlight rippled across my skin,
evaporating the slimy, cavernous musk,
burning me on the outside,
cleansing me from the inside.
Eventually        I was able to keep my sore eyes open
while they felt ready to sizzle and explode from sensory overload,
globules floating through my vision.

The first thing I clearly saw  
was not close up        magnified,
but the distant horizon enveloped in a halo
of lemon haze, arching between two mountain peaks.
I wept,
skin buzzing from the sun's heat.

Yes, 
how sunlight changes the perspective of nightmares,
revealing reality's potential fibers,
balancing the darkness within,
bending the remaining droplets of lost hope
into a prismatic ribbon of brilliance and prayer,
always,

        always evading the deep-rooted catacombs below,
a place I will choose to forego,
only entering within memories,
until even these are burned away by sunlight,
until even these are cleansed by sunlight.





2013 Double-Rainbow Remix
December 18th/19th, 2013
(originally written April 12, 2011)




+/-

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner | Year Posted 2011


Details | Mission Poem | |

RAGE

One wrong move,
a harmless comment pulled his trigger.
Calm waters became polluted, summoning a storm.
He tried to resist, but it was uncontrollable.
His ego felt insecure, defeated by negative thoughts.
Rage slowly began to set, incinerating his tongue.
With words ignited, he cremated her to ashes.
In shock, she simply turned to walk away,
attempting to escape the barrage of abuse.

Pride hurt,
monsters in his head induced his temperature
to insanity as he lashed out a demonic assault.
Blood dripped from his hands, she just laid there,
black and blue, crying her eyes out - he walked away.

Storm passed,
demons departed smiling, their mission accomplished.
His temperature dropped with regret slowly setting.
He looked in horror at the damage he had caused.
His tongue now tranquil uttering harmonious apologies,
tears rolled down his face in remorse as he repented. 

Gift after gift, promises to change - to never do it again.
Calm waters returned and finally she forgave...
Until the next time.... and the next... 
Until it was too late..

1 March 2016

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016


Details | Mission Poem | |

Chasing Pandora

Prometheus had erred and caused great ire
when stealing in stealth secrets of fire.
But Zeus could not forgive this deed.
The chieftain of gods punished his greed.
The lightning zigzagged across the sky,
in anger he let thunderbolts fly.
Instructions he gave to mould from earth
a woman endowed to prove her worth,
all humans to touch their lives and shift
the balance with her seductive gift.
Hephaestus was told what to create;
Pandora came forth through heaven’s gate.
Athena supplied her silver gown,
her head she adorned with ornate crown.
She hastened to guile the human race
her nature refined to tempt by grace
alluring deceit that knew no shame
her mission withstood distrust or blame. 

Pandora’s torment flowed wide and far.
She carried with her an earthen jar.*
Instructions were laid to be obeyed
to keep it enclosed and so it stayed
till yearning became hard to resist
temptation knew well how to insist.
Alone by herself beside a brook
she lifted the lid, a glancing look
that opened the flood to evil force
unhindered it spread and took its course.
She panicked and pushed with all her might;
the damage was done – eternal plight.
A trickle of hope was left inside
but hardly enough to turn the tide.

When laws are defied they cause much grief;
the pleasure derived is false and brief.
Temptation is what destroys the weak;
redemption is there for all to seek. 
Forever in life it’s hard to cope.
Pandora we chase in search of hope.**

--------------------------------------------------------------------
*   Pandora’s jar is often mistakenly referred to as a ‘box’.
** Pandora is chased for the only thing left in her jar – hope.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Men Only #2
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placed 1st

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mission Poem | |

Vagabond vacation

My heart is a vagabond, yearning to see the unseen, wayfarer wandering, wanting to witness the worlds wonders. My soul has a mission to explore, seeking adventures, one day, to pick up my back pack and travel the planet. To venture to the zenith of mount Everest, feeling the crisp cool breeze against my face. Walk among the ghosts of Machu Picchu, to feel how the Incas lived in their sacred valley. Maybe, I can touch the clouds from Mount Roraima, made famous by Sir Walter Raleigh in 1596. From Venezuela, travel to the Amazon rainforest in Brazil, live among exotic animals and dangerous predators. Travel the USA, from the Antelope Canyon to Niagra Falls, trek the Zion and Glacier national parks, full of natural beauty. Visit my friends scattered all over the states, from Florida to Texas, New York to West Virginia, Missouri to Louisiana and then finally to Hawaii! Visit the different islands, relax on the beautiful beaches, tour all the different national parks, especially the volcanoes! Then to China, to visit that wall and Mount Emei, next to the wonders of my favourite place - Vietnam. Breathtaking beauty in Da Nang, Da Lat, Sa Pa and Phu Quoc, to the haunting memories of the past war that remain on view. The Phi Phi islands, Bora Bora and the Maldives await, serene natural beauty bringing peace to the mind. Finally, to the ancient city of Petra in Jordan, to see the magnificence of its enchantment. Living the life of a traveller, will mean eating lots of exotic food, authentic mansaf, noodles, curries, spring rolls and creole dishes, will make my taste buds explode with culinary delight. But, for now, I can only dream about what adventures lie ahead, for, in my heart, I am a vagabond waiting to start my journey. 10 February 2016 Vacation contest by Lin Lane

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016


Details | Mission Poem | |

Woodstock

~Woody Wood From the Hood~

Deep, inside yourself, you walk a sour way of life,
Carving my name, on every tree with a hunting knife
You log in, then log out
A Birdman So Fickle, he Stinks of doubt!

Blind today, bald tomorrow, 
Big Bird, will be your only friend
I can't seem to forget the day, you shed your final skin
Revealing a darker snake, than the one in my garden
Leaving the word betrayal, up to the imagination 

Trust not the fool, who thinks his halo is heaven sent
Using a fake ballpoint pen dietary supplement
Thinning out his wings, and losing the symbolic meaning

Aging in a way, that spreads crows feet from top to bottom
Sapsucker revolving yellow as if it was always autumn
Pecking Hard Wood, MR Pecker of all woodpeckers 
Forgetting who's the real Home-wrecker

Your dragging pants are no bother, Mr Woodpecker!
I've gotten used to the tree talking and your creative vision
Let's just say, "Gangster to Gangster, I gave you a mission."
Keep rapping and tapping the same old street sign, 
Woodstock, on demand, crap out the peanut punch
Whatever suits you for breakfast and lunch
Don't forget dinner's also about me

Go ahead!
Peck away with deception, reveal your sullen evil feathers  
A disease urine Birdman, doing it snoopy style
A flightless, lightless liar, nothing about him's worthwhile
Keep manipulating the weak, whatever turns you on
I'm not ready to shoot you down with my shotgun

~SKAT~

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mission Poem | |

Star Trek and Captain Kirk's Final Frontier

Kirk: ‘Lt. Uhura, come to my quarters at 1800 hours’
Uhura: ‘Yes captain, might I ask what’s up?’
Kirk: ‘Nothing now but something WILL be at 1800 hours’
Bones: ‘Jim, is this a medical issue?’
Kirk: ‘You bet your boner it is, Bones’
Sulu: ‘Captain, a Klingon ship is approaching’
Kirk:  ‘Blast that sucker to smithereens, I got a date’
Chekov: ‘Captain, you’ll need protection on this mission’
Kirk: No problem Ensign, got a few here in my wallet’

Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘May the force be with you’
Kirk:’ Thanks Obi, but you’re in the wrong contest’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘This isn’t PD’s contest?’
Kirk: ‘HELL no, now SKAT will probably disqualify us’
Obi-Wan Kenobi: ‘Well, may the force be with you anyway’
Kirk: ‘Look Kenobi, nobody’s forcing ANYBODY here’

Spock: ‘Captain, I’m receiving a message from SKATfleet Command’
Kirk: ‘What Mr. Spock? And why do you always talk like that?’
Spock: ‘To qualify for the contest, the writer has to command the ship’
Kirk: ‘Damn it all! What the…FRONT AND CENTER WRITER!’
Writer: ‘Um…All hands on deck?...Anchors away?’

Uhura: ‘Ohh Captain KIRRK, it’s 1800 hours’…
Kirk: ‘Not now Uhura, I’m not in the mood!’
Uhura: Ohh Captain WRITERRR, it’s 1800 hours’…
Writer: ‘Kirk, you have the helm. I’ll be in my quarters’ 
Spock: ‘Fascinating’
Kirk: ‘Shut-up Spock’…

Tim Ryerson
Theme: Sexual harassment in the workplace
For SKAT’s contest

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013


Details | Mission Poem | |

Angelica

Angelica

curiously peering over a cloud
   Angelica stepped a bit too far
      wings fluttered and disappeared
         stolen by jealous demons below 

angel flying too close to the ground
   leaving the harmony of heaven
      sensing a need to save a ravaged planet
         landing gracefully on soft soil
 
Angelica hears the bulldozers
   weapons of environmental destruction
      sauntering through Earth’s rainforests
         curiosity beckons as water reflects her image

her lost wings still reflect in the pond
   seen as ripples from her pink, silk gown
      orchid floral tiara crowns her long auburn hair
         even water lilies envy her beauty

captivated by this pool lit with filtered sun
   immersed in an image of herself
      in God’s light all angels appear the same
         bright beams to welcome new souls

fly again she will
   bubbles of hope spring forth
      Earthbound for but a brief time
         cherished cherub sent as nature’s guardian

halo of comfort surrounds
   Angelica leans forth to feel the coolness
      sparkling water caresses warm lips
         her kiss renews Earth’s freshness

other angels transparent in sunlight
   bestow a new set of wings
      mission accomplished, they escort her home
         once again she revels in heaven’s light


For the “Reflection” contest, sponsored by Constance La France ~ a Rambling Poet ~
By Carolyn Devonshire

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011


Details | Mission Poem | |

LADY DEATH

   "LADY  DEATH" ------Chaos!!!

Craving life was all of 'HOPE' desire.
Torturing her into the odyssey of Hells fire.
Ending her in heartbreak by her own insane,
cruel father Matthias.
A demon so obsessed with dark power.
Head demon to all hells devour.

Matthias allowing his beloved 'HOPE' to be burned.
In a hellish death as a witch.
Pleading for her life.
All 'HOPE' is lost,
 in a pit of endless broken bones.
The supernatural appeared in front of 'HOPE'.
'HOPE' complied and renounce to give up humanity.
Tricked by demons who lied.
Manipulated that this would save her sanity.

A power bestowed with a creation so rare.
A Demi Goddess of destruction.
Chaos soon will inflict every hour.
With death in her place, she turns into,
a cold blooded Diva of Death.

Reliving in the plague of dark ages.
Angels and Demons flow through her blood.
With contradiction of many stages.
Many evil forces out to end her existence.
Betrayed by all she knew.
Now she is locked in a demonic resistance.
Defeating Lucifer herself.
Blading the neck of the prince
Death lusting for power in an epic battle.
Lost forever in the era of judgment.
Revenge she claims on her throne.
Making Lucifer's power her own.
A forever endless graveyard.
Restoring into the blood of her new home.

Making hell tremble, many slay to death's assault.
Death arising to all her faults.
Declaring the lost of 'HOPE'
A man's worst nightmare in the sweetest form.
Overthrowing her one time dream.

Obsessed with his Lady'''
 Evil Earnie.
Rides by her side.
A  domino of all killers.
In a blood bath stream.
Killing everyone in his & her path.
Killing for her love, his Lady Death love.

Pondering about her lifeless soul.
"All HOPE is gone!"
all that is left is death.
"Lady Death"
  Lord of hell
On a mission of Mega Death.
To conquer all of earth.
Men killing for her demonic way.
Evil Earnie matching to the depth of her Odyssey.

With the belief.
That behind every good man, (EVIL EARNIE)
is a good women..                  (LADY  DEATH)


((Lady Death is a character in her own CHAOS ))

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010


Details | Mission Poem | |

We are the Children

We are the Children

Bombs fall from the sky
The little children wonder why?
The night is mixed with blood and tears
Screams that deafen the little ones ears

In the name of what God or religion?
Is this killing seen to serve a mission?
In the name of what Tribe or Country?
We the children ask you humbly

We used to play and run all day
Now we hide fearing bombs come our way
The days we wander in search of foods
Hiding from soldiers intent on blood feuds

Bombs still falling from the sky
The pain and terror, when shall we die?
There is a gun on top a dead soldier there
I myself ended this pain that I could not bear

The bullet saved me from more despair   

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016


Details | Mission Poem | |

My African Sister

I am a white, middle class, American male; raised in a white, middle class American home.  I would not say that my upbringing included a lot of diversity.

I remember talking to my brother, Jimmy, just before he told my father he was gay.  Jimmy told me about the inner struggle he wrestled with in first admitting to himself that he was homosexual.  He said he thought it was wrong; it was sinful and something he must avoid being.  Once he realized that being homosexual was not a fault but an innate sexual preference, he decided that he would not live a life of lies.  He, therefore, decided to tell his family about his sexual inclination.  It took a lot of courage to tell my ex-marine father.

Afi is a beautiful, strong, black African woman; raised in a black, African home.  Afi will admit that she is not overly charitable and not likely to do volunteer work.  When she first came to the U.S., however, she was appalled with how our society treated its AIDS victims.  In Africa, Afi would tell us, AIDS patients were embraced and cared for, not shunned and outcaste like here in the U.S.

Jimmy was not a promiscuous man.  He only knew a few sexual partners in his too short life.  Jimmy was a very intelligent and artistically gifted man.  He was doing post–doctorate research in Iraklion, Greece when he first started showing symptoms of having AIDS.

When Afi volunteered to be an AIDS Buddy she made it clear that she did not want to be paired with someone who had full-blown AIDS.  The organization was so hard pressed to find someone with a profile to match Jimmy’s intellect and interests that they begged Afi to just meet him, just once.

Afi says that within an hour she was no longer on a volunteer mission; she and Jimmy 
would be friends regardless of a commitment to the Buddy system.  Jimmy and Afi 
remained best of friends for the two remaining years we were blessed with his presence.

It has been 15 years since Jimmy passed away.  I am still a white, middle class, American male; from a white, middle class American family – only now, we have a beautiful, strong, black, African sister in our family.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2010


Details | Mission Poem | |

Elicit Illicit Lucid Dreams -contains nudity-

~JSLambert does not (currently:) use, or encourage hallucinogenic drug use.

    Telepathic psilocybin prescription erasing elastic depression. Competition 
wanes, just when nocturnal emission drains. Lifted poetic wing clipping. This 
party only makes sense to those encrypted with unconsciousness. Scalpel in 
hand, methodical break and entering, break dancing meninges remove 
portions of brain doin' the bitchin'. Ah, this immaculate incision! 

    Lucid dreams vacating turnstile vibrations, deteriorating horrific screams 
douching eardrums. Ultraviolet eyes fortified by THREES---Mind-Body-Soul, 
rolled up into one huge trinity. 
    
    I'm moving asses fantastic. Call me the "Proctologist of Poetry". 

    Electrify words, regurgitate, choke and vomit the crock of crap-ola. Venture 
down butter slides until the sky goes red. 

    Still too uptight to listen? (don't pretend in comments that you read this 
entire poem if ya' didn't) glisten, be kind, rewind, let liquid swords chop away 
fat weighing upon your forces. Once doors of perception swing eyes wide 
open. Devour the false to magnify hate. I love you the same. I love you, never 
in vain. Hearing your verse lifts a heavy curse carried in shame. 
    
    As a child, I had no fear of apocalypse, or world hunger. No, phobia meant 
running out of words to give, to receive, from lips. It haunts me to this day. 
Tho' the bliss of poetic language's kiss, soothes the cries. Altruistic sighs! Now 
we dance! Dancing Harmony times three equals harmonize! Tour your Third 
Eye, yir' Karma-eyes!

    To the heads that said, "NO CAN DO!"- We've weaved advice for you. File 
illicit deeds away, for in dreams we are connected, Siamese twins, at the 
wrist, spellbound paradise! Let go of doubt, negativity= below zero. Work it 
out! Crash whiplash angles 'till friggin' rectangles dangle through 
kaleidoscopes of style. Poet trees smear the cosmos. Let go! THREE will never 
be alone. Bestow the glow, thorazine vapors escape secret tombs where 
peroxide cleans wounds. Fusing two Toots in common with Nefertiti. THREES. 
    
    Elicit illicit lucid dreams gushing ejaculatory melodic screams. Orgasmic 
spasms...vas deferens between actual sacks and Staff of Ra polluted sticky 
streams. Peddle the bicycle high, annihilate attrition, like motivated Mormons, 
door to door men, on a worldwide mission. I love you, I miss you...witness the 
vision...alive in the schism!

*credit A.Horovitz, A.Yauch, M.Diamond, Billy Corgan

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mission Poem | |

Fortune And Fame

I look out my window at the sun setting fast
Leaving all my worries, back in the past
The red glowing light, sparking a flame
Dreaming of fortune, dreaming of fame

My blinds have been opened, the window unlocked
The world is my oyster, be ready to be shocked
There's no stopping me now, I'm on my way
I'm heading for stardom, starting today

I will be grounded, I won't get a big head
I'll remember you all, my love will be spread
All the riches I gain, will be used for good
Giving to needy, down trodden, misunderstood

My mission is simple, my goals are set high
I am looking to soar, I'm looking to fly
Come along for the ride, we won't be defeated
Chugging along until our goals are completed




Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mission Poem | |

Joan of Arc

The Medieval era
was filled with wars and strife
between the French and English
at cost of limb and life.

The French became disheartened;
their victories were rare,
a humbling situation
which was too hard to bear.

A peasant girl heard voices 
and visions she could see.
A maid who had a mission,
young Joan from Domrémy.

The King and other nobles
put all their faith in her.
This maid of calm composure
had dreams which they could share.

Entrusted with an army
she rode the horse she had
with banner and sword wielding,
in shining armour clad.

The English looked in wonder;
there were bewildered scenes
as Joan and soldiers entered
the city of Orleans.

With rousing words and courage
her men to battle led.
The English were defeated;
in disarray they fled.

More victories then followed,
her fame spread far and wide,
but when the voices ended
she lost the gift to guide.

In battle she was captured,
for sorcery was tried.
Condemned to death by burning
to wooden stake was tied.

The hungry flames devoured
the maid’s unblemished skin.
She called the name of Jesus;
found strength from deep within.

She died. It was all over
this heroine’s ordeal.
She was proclaimed not guilty
years later, on appeal.

A martyr, now respected, 
who paid a costly price.
A victim of politics;
a saint in people’s eyes.

-------------------------------------
Contest: Joan of Arc
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst

*Joan of Arc admitted that she never used her sword to kill anyone.
  To her, strategy was more important than the sword.

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mission Poem | |

Destiny and Beyond



A fierce wind howls as dark clouds race across the horizon,
     and beneath the hood draped over his face the man thinks;
of a vast land with wild clear waters, of streaking sunrises and sunsets,
               and woodlands in a thousand glorious shades of greens.

This man from the past has heard her prayers calling him,
     past time and destiny and beyond her tears have beckoned;
his mission to find her and together they will dwell in his ancient world,
               she has waited for him all her life, never seeing his face.

Yet, she loves him with all her heart and soul, this she knows,
     over mountain peaks and rivers wild, through jungles lush, he has come;
now, he stands in the shadows of her room, in the mist of dawn,
               her long hair in tangles, her skin so pale, it takes his breath away.

He steps forward and reaches out a hand to touch her falling tears,
     and in the moment he fades as if dust in the morning light;
a bird sings in the cool air and her room smells of the forests as she rises,
               a soft touch has awakened her, a lover's caress so gentle.

All that day she is haunted with unknown feelings of loneliness,
     wandering the garden, she silently walks, lost in dreamy thoughts;
he watches from the foliage, the hood still covers his face, the time soon,
               she hesitates, moments pass and he fades in the dappled light.

That night candlelight flickers on the walls of her bedroom,
     it casts shadows in the corners, a soft breeze fills the silence;
she sits at her dressing table brushing her hair until it is shining in waves,
               suddenly a wind catches the long strands and billows them about.

He stands behind her watching and slowly he removes his hood,
     she is not afraid as she stares into the mirror, she has been waiting;
waiting for his man, as he twines his fingers in her hair and whispers,
               taking her by the hand to the bed, they finally kiss.

They find her in the morning, she is peaceful and deathly still,
     her face pale against the white pillow, her lips lush and purple;
her eyes closed to this world, she looks asleep perhaps about to rise,
               dark clouds drift in the sky and thunder rolls in the distance.

Raindrops begin to fall as the casket is lowered into the ground,
    the small gathering bow their heads stepping forward to lay a flower;
and although, she had been old, she had been buried in a beautiful gown,
              of ivory lace and beads, as she had requested in her Will.

                            

_________________________________
July 21, 2013


Epic


Written by Broken Wings


Submitted to the contest, Epic Only, sponsor, Skat

Third Place
               

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015


Details | Mission Poem | |

The Alien Worm


Suddenly it was alive. It did not know 
for how many eons of time it had lain dormant, 
nor did it really care. It just knew it existed. 
It lay in a small hollow in a dark low cavern 
on an unknown world. Its world! It did not dispute life, 
nor query how it came to be there. It just belonged. 

There was no light, nor did it need any. 
It knew instantly and instinctively what it had to do. 
It did just that, complete its mission.
It began its long voyage, moving slowly 
in the tunnels ahead. It ate the dirt of the ground it moved on, 
left behind it a sickly stench and in that slime was its spawn.

So it continued, eat, crawl, stench, spawn; 
eat, crawl, stench, spawn, 
over and over and over again. 
Its purpose was to increase and multiply.
After eons of time, it sensed 
that some of its spawn had come  alive.
Its stench increased, 
A sort of sickly, sweet, fetid-smelling stench. 
Its mission was being accomplished. 

It was populating the planet it was born on.
Then disaster struck. It fell into a river. 
It did not care nor experience any fear. 
It simply allowed the sticky liquid to carry it 
wherever destiny had foretold. 
It knew it was getting old, but never paused. 

It felt no elation, nor satisfaction for work done. 
It just wanted to be, to travel through the dark corridors 
in the sub terrain of the planet it was born on. 
It just went on and on and on, never questioning 
its purpose, its why and wherefore. 
It was oblivious of everything except to crawl, 
leave its slime, its stench, and its spore, 
to eat the dirt of the tunnels it traversed. 

And so in this new place it began all over again. 
Increase and multiply. Multiply what? 
It did not even have a name. It did not care.
It knew that time might come when it would die.
then it might be told all. Or it maybe not. It did not care.
Time passed. Spores came into being. 
Its world was being populated. Yet it knew not what light was. 
Until one day, the tunnel opened. And light poured in. 
And all those spores that lay unborn came into being.
And from far above, it heard a voice 
booming and saying: “That's a terrible incurable cancer.”

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016


Details | Mission Poem | |

The God Machine

I really have outdone myself this time!
My ‘God Machine’ is finally in place!
I’ll never have to fret about a rhyme,
Or stop for a red light that changed from green 
As if it sought to put me in my place
A random hiccup clearly quite obscene.

I really am quite clever I must say
My ‘subtle knife’ (1) allowing me to splice
My ‘God Machine’ into time’s tawdry day
The true God left completely unaware
That He is now controlled by my device
And just another victim of malware.

It seems there’s quite a lot that ‘God’ screwed up
That I intend to change now I’m in charge
I think that its bad form to cover-up!
So what’s the deal with dying anyway?
Let no one die will be my countercharge
And life is just a breeze on my freeway!
 
All pain mere nuisance, manna heaven sent
And sin gives you enormous facial zits
While love and kindness clear up all your rent.
Though talents differ, jealousies dissolve
As differences bring none real benefits
And non-destructive social moves evolve.

All birth defects, parental wealth passé
Genetic weakness gone with dodo bird
No accident of birth gives worth per se
Sins of the parent cannot taint the child
That God might favor one is just absurd
The color of one’s skin no more reviled.

But now I find my plans have gone awry
My God Machine decided I’m a flaw
It seems that I’m outdated samurai
Humanity endangering MY plan
Just plankton in the future’s yawning maw
Machine judged only advocate for man! (2)

Brian Johnston
November 5, 2014

Poet's Notes:
(1) subtle knife - A reference to a magical knife that can open windows in time in one of the 3 books in the Phillip Pullman trilogy 'His Dark Materials' including The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass.

(2) My poetic version of the lesson of the book and movie 2001 (written by Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke) where HAL, a computer so smart that it becomes sentient, decides that that only way to really protect a manned mission of a spaceship to the planet Jupiter is to kill all the humans on board the spaceship. The crew's humanity HAL decides is just too big a risk to the mission that HAL is charged (by its human programmers) to protect.

Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014


Details | Mission Poem | |

Maybe it's Time

Maybe it's time we said a prayer
Maybe it's time we started to care
Maybe it's time we started looking for the truth.

Maybe it's time we began to listen
Maybe it's time we completed our mission
Maybe it's time we began to teach our youth.

Maybe it's time we ended the violence
Maybe it's time we broke the silence
Maybe it's time we eliminated the fears,

Maybe it's time we minded our business
Maybe it's time we showed forgiveness
Maybe it's time we stopped the flow of tears.

Maybe it's time we saw our brother
Maybe it's time we loved one another 
Maybe it's time we wished upon that distant star.

Maybe it's time we answered the call
Maybe it's time we stood proud and tall
Maybe it's time we accepted people as they are.

Maybe it's time we stood up and screamed
Maybe it's time we lied down and dreamed
Maybe it's time we enjoyed the fruits of our labor.

Maybe it's time we showed some remorse
Maybe it's time we set a new course
Maybe it's time we acted like a neighbor.

Maybe it's time we forgot the sorrow
Maybe it's time we planned for tomorrow
Maybe it's time we looked for a Resurrection.

Maybe it's time we had a little fun
Maybe it's time we walked in the sun
Maybe it's time we headed in a different direction.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2007


Details | Mission Poem | |

Victim

I never wanted it to be this way, I never wanted to feel the pain. Bruises all over me. 
Invisible but I can see them.

You hurt me everywhere. My heart is shattered and the blood has frozen. But I won't be 
your victim.

Stare at me like this all you want. Try and hurt me with your words just as long as you 
don't use fists.

I don't ever want to be your victim. I refuse to be one of those few girls who end up 
losing their whole world.

Love isn't supposed to hurt, but maybe I was just naive because the moment I loved you my 
heart never stopped bleeding. 

I won't be your victim, I won't run away. If you have something to say I won't avoid it. 
I'm not scared I can take whatever you try to throw.

Don't hold back I promise you I will not cry. The moon is shining just like all the 
diamonds that you called pretend love I can't even imagine why I fell so hard.

It's never clear until the glass of water is gone. But now that you've gulped me to the 
last I want you to know I won't be your victim.

I kissed vulnerability goodbye the very last time I cried over you and I won't be your 
victim your not even worth it.

If you feel like you must shove a door in my butt but don't make me afraid because I 
don't want to be I don't want to be your victim. 

Let go of my hand so I can peacefully drive away if you want me to I can drive over you 
as well. But don't make it seem like i'm causing you pain because it's obvious to see 
that I've been a victim and it's a shame.

But I don't want to be it anymore then you so just let me go and I won't have to run. I 
promised you forever I laugh at this now you were never eternity love in my mind.

 I kept counting until the madness in ourselves would corrupt. Tears flash down my eyes 
as I speed down the lanes. Two bottles of Gin and I think i'm going insane.

It wasn't until I crashed into a tree that I realized I was never your victim I was 
merely your suicide mission. 

Copyright © Shahana Jackson | Year Posted 2005