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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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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
Manned mission to Mars by Wigley, Viv
Mission Impossible by Bettridge, Rob
Dragon Visits Mission San Antonio de Valero by Wulf, John
Kahlias Mission by jimmy boom semtex, nick armbrister

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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

More great poems below...

Details | Mission Poem | |


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

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

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.


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:

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

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, 

© Drake J. Eszes

Copyright © Drake Eszes

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

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
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.


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.

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 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

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.


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop

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
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.


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.

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 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

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

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

Details | Mission Poem | |


~Woody Wood From the Hood~

Deep, inside yourself, you walk a sour way of life,
Carving my name, on every tree you see, with a hunting knife
You logs in, then logs 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 crow's 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've given you a mission."
Keep rapping and tapping the same old street sign, 
Woodstock, on demand, crap 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


Copyright © SKAT A

Details | Mission Poem | |

Old Boyfriends - A Trilogy

                Part 1

One summer in our youth group was a boy
I met.  How I would love to understand
if what he’d felt was equal to the joy
that bloomed in me when he caressed my hand.

His elfin features feminine and fine
revealed him to be prettier than me.
His legs and trunk seemed half the width of mine
and deeper than his skin his delicacy.

He fretted, changed his moods; and ulcers grew
inside him.  Once atop a ferris wheel
he vomited, and I was young and knew
that we were through. . . but how he’d made me feel!

Oh, where is John?  I ask; no one can say.
We’d never really kissed. . . Had he been gay?

     Part 2

Where I grew up, a gent was hard to find
who shared my faith, and so I launched my search
for someone who was handsome, good and kind
at monthly dances sponsored by my church.
Across the river lived a Mormon guy,
tall, blue-eyed, intelligent and sweet.
I was sort of wild; he was shy,
but at a youth event we planned to meet.
Although at every chance we kissed and cuddled,
I sensed he thought I’d bring him to perdition.
I was his “Bathsheba” left befuddled.
Then later, Alvin went and served his mission.
So what if Mr. Perfect let me go?
He drove and spoke and moved annoyingly slow!

             Part 3

Eduardo was a Spaniard from Madrid.
I met him on my study there abroad.
I won’t list all the many things he did,
but I’ll attest that some of them were odd.

Eduardo was “muy guapo,” (very cute),
But still he was concerned that he was not
some burly hulk, so jackets to a suit
he wore downtown in June when it was hot!
And once, though I could not catch every word,
he had with his own mom an argument.
His threat to take his clothes off was absurd,
but when she screamed, I knew he was indecent.

I’d closed my eyes; I should have sneaked a peek. . .
I then could give a more complete critique!

*I have entered these in the This Poem Really S##ks Contest of Jerry T. Curtis with one of my first sonnet trilogies I wrote back in 2002. I was in a poetry club at this time, and after posting each sonnet of the trilogy separately, I received a very rude message which was posted anonymously to me. The note basically rejoiced that I would not be showing any more sonnets like these and told me they stunk. What is strange is that it was a private club and it had to be somebody I knew that had hated either me or the poems so much that he made an effort to reach me by some account that was not even recognized by the club (Only I could see the message. nobody else would see it). I'll never know who sent me that email, but it was my first time to be criticized in a rude manner. I have had a few other occasions since, but this was my first one. Are the sonnets that bad? You tell ME!!

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich

Details | Mission Poem | |



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

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

Details | Mission Poem | |

Destiny's Clutch

The dawn spoke her name like a silken secret
carried carefree by the tradewinds of lust and larceny
imported from the traderoutes of paradise and pandemonium, 
sequined with violet venom she venerates the virtue of volition
her love is unlawful, unequalled in unrest, righteous in conquest,
tender in temptation, torrid your surrender, her beauty a will bender,

Queen of Empire Passion, warrior unknown to submission
her kingdom was not inherited, glory and throne ungifted,
the treasures, stables and territories, battles and crown all won,
rich in intellect, endowed with rare resources, affluent in original passion
bejeweled in natural beauty, she bewitches beasts and men alike,
Poets pen her preciously as Woman Total, Priests implore her pardon,
male servants pander to her anger and ardor, satisfaction she commands,
Sisterhood the symbol and soul of her mission,

I was just a man, a wanderer wading through her reign,
from the unsubdued North I came, a curious traveler with ancient name,
my tribe unfamiliar, underestimated, a Chieftain of steady pulse,
tresspassing towards her roots my aim was direct knowledge of her
woman of renown cunning and learning, woman of exotic ability,
seeking teaching and romance, though I would not be her Subject or victim,
this she knew, this she abhorred, a challenge to her dominance,

I agreed to meet her alone in the open morning of war,
in an abeyounce of gliding fire she comes riding out of the sun
regalia of black roses against red tears flying above her shoulder,
our horses begin a battle tromp, breaths heavy with moist mania
she has leopards in her eyes
poinsettias and death's palms painted on thighs,
scalps of exlovers and enemies slung on sadle
we acknowledge one another with ritual yell
I exclaim, Warrior Poetess, she screams Poet Warrior!
dismounting with mutual vigor our combat erupts
cutting my cheek with her blade's lip
kicking me in the ribs
I clinch her collared throat
and heel trip us to the ground
she snarls, I growl,
a glimpse of rescue in eachother's eyes -


Copyright © Justin Bordner

Details | Mission Poem | |

Scars of Love- A True Valentine Story

War leaves scars. They are emotional. They are physical. They are spiritual.

My brother had proposed to my sister-in-law on Valentine's Day, and so it was on that fateful day, 12 years later that his and her lives would change forever.

My brother had invited his wife to the posh Phonecia Hotel in Beirut for a cosy romantic lunch date while their three kids were in school. They decided to sit at a table facing the window so they could see the beautiful view outside. They could see the azure sky touching the Mediterranean in the distance.

At first, they sat opposite each other, but feeling amorous, my brother asked Pam to sit next to him. She was facing the glass window. 

During the meal, as they chatted, little did they know that a very important government official was passing on a street close by and that this event would mark them forever. 

"On 14 February 2005, Rafic Hariri, the former Prime Minister of Lebanon, was killed, along with 21 others, when explosives equivalent of around 1,000 kilograms of TNT (2,200 pounds) were detonated as his motorcade drove near the St. George Hotel in Beirut."

This was only a short distance from where my brother and his wife were having their Valentine meal. The glass window imploded when the car bombs detonated, and my brother and his wife were thrown off their chairs.  They were soaked in blood and for a while, found it hard to see or know what had happened. They were in a daze. The extensive bleeding was caused by the shards of glass they had been peppered with as the floor to ceiling glass imploded. They looked at each other and the ghastly sight was more than they could take. 

In the mayhem that ensued, they were able to make their way outside the building with other injured people. Eventually, an ambulance rushed then to the nearby American University Hospital. It was nearby because my brother taught in the Business Department of the American University of Beirut, so they had decided to have a quick lunch in the nearby vicinity.

Extensive work was done on both their faces. My sister-in-aw had a tooth knocked out from the force of the impact as she was thrown to the ground. Her injuries were more obvious as she had been sitting facing the glass. Up to this day, my brother sometimes has pieces of glass make their way to the surface of the skin on his face, and he has to pull them out. That's how deeply they became embedded.

When later asked if they wanted cosmetic surgery done to cover up the zig zag scars on their faces, my spunky Canadian sister-in-law replied, "Why should we? This is part of our history, of what we have been through, and it gives us a great story to tell."

I wish I were as brave as she is. The three children had a hard time seeing their parents in this state. Pam had to stay in intensive care for a while and when the kids finally did get to see her, Dylan, the middle child, burst out crying and said, "Mama, I don't like what's happened to your face."

This is life in Lebanon. We have lived through the war. We have survived. We have scars that tell the stories. I have written a full article on this, and will post a few excerpts later. 

We live in a spiritual battlefield. Christ came to rescue us, the wounded and the dying. He CHOSE to walk into the war zone. Jesus carries the scars in his hands and in his side of that rescue mission. He carries these marks for eternity, a sign of His great love and passion for us and for our salvation. He came to rescue the hostages of war....and "by His stripes, we are healed."

Isaiah 53: 5- 

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
    he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
    and by his wounds we are healed

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

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I AM YOUR SERVANT I adore You Oh God, my King and my God, The Most Powerful among all... I am Your servant Father God I want nothing but to follow You Tomorrow Oh Father God Coat us with the Holy Blood of Your Son Jesus Christ Father God, I acknowledge that You alone is the greatest source of wisdom, strength and guidance. Tomorrow Father God, me and my brothers and sisters in Christ will walk and try in every way to win souls as one Father God, we will try to seek for the lost, empty and sick as one Father God, we will share our life testimony this the life changing experience we have had since the day we accepted You as our God as one Oh Father God, we will be united in one will and one mission this is to widen Your kingdom We will do this by sharing Your gift of salvation and healing Oh Father God, I ask You humbly to fill us Cleanse and purify our hearts and minds Allow us to be worthy in partaking this task Sent unto us Your Holy Spirit to empower us I believe oh Father God that if one or two is gathered under Your Name You are in the midst of them I invite Your presence to engulf our beings Open our spiritual eyes to see those who needs you most Open our ears to be sensitive to Your living words--our bread of life Open our hands to give the best of what we have to serve You and I believe anything we will do for Your greater glory You will refill You said to Your words You will provide us everything Open our hearts and minds so that we may fully understand the preaching Oh Father God, Your servant is not a good speaker but I believe Father God, thru Your Divine POWER You will anoint me and so the words that will come out from my mouth are the words You want us to know Oh Father God, Your servant is not a singer but I believe Father God You will lead me. You will not much care on how my voice is. The most You will care about is the voice of my heart. You will care on the purity of my intentions for You know that I am singing a song to lift Your Name on high, To give You praise, To bring You glory and to bless Your Holy Name. I sing songs to thank You and to express my love on You. Oh Father God, Your servant is not "somebody" but I believe Father God You will make a "somebody" or "nobody" be "someone" under Your Name Like King David in the Holy Bible the youngest, the shepherd but You made Him the man closest to Your Heart Like Paul and Peter whom scared you turned them as two of Your greatest apostles. Oh Father God we rely on You, We seek Your presence in us Allow us to wear Your armour: a helmet that is Your salvation a belt that is the truth a breastplate that is righteousness a shield that is a fortified faith a pair of shoes that is Your living Words a sword that is Your Holy Spirit dwelling in us. I am thirsty and hungry for Your presence in my life. I know You alone can fill the holes still present in me. I offer myself as Your servant Father God speak to me, speak to me reveal to me, reveal to me tell me more, tell me more... Amen. ___________________________________________________________ O.E. Guillermo 10:01 pm, April 16, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo

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   "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

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A Past Life - The Mayan Warrior Princess

A Past Life – The Mayan Warrior Princess
In eerie recurring dreams, like things seen dimly before dawn, Blurred snapshots of memories at a temple pyramid resurface from a time long gone. My ancient soul trapped between two strikingly different worlds, One new - the other centuries old, Reminding me that I have been here before, And of that I am absolutely sure. Familiar faces, smells, sounds, and scenes from a past life I see, Persistent recollections of my life at Piedras Negras continue to endlessly haunt me, Conjuring up images of the Lady K’abel, Mayan warrior princess, I used to be. I am time’s reluctant prisoner, and I sense it will never ever set me free.
In a foggy haze, like a sleepwalker in sluggish slow motion, Body painted cobalt blue, I am made ready for my heavenly redeeming mission. Midnight velvet hair flowing, I lie on an already red bloodstained stone altar, As temple priests prepare me for the sacred sacrificial slaughter. Piously chanting their practiced prayers in unison, They adulate the gracious gods for a new divine king’s ascension. The sharp knife swiftly pierces my sweating feverish virgin skin, But reliving this scene countless times before, I no longer feel pain or anything. And as the universe greedily grasps my restless soul, I float into welcomed oblivion, Knowing that the harvest will be renewed, and ultimately, I will be reborn.
Please Note: This poem is dedicated to my maternal great grandmother who was Mayan. The Piedras Negras, mentioned above, was a thriving Mayan city-state in Guatemala, Central America, from about mid-7th century BC to about 850 AD. While this site is considered remote, during my childhood, I visited frequently with family who still live in this fascinating region. When I visit, I am completely at home and the experiences are amazingly mystical. Piedras Negras means "black stones" in Spanish. The name in the language of the Classic Maya has been read in Maya inscriptions as Yo'k'ib', meaning "great gateway" or "entrance." Entered in contest, "Past Lives" sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire (6-25-2014)

Copyright © Pandita Sanchez

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“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 


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  


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


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


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,


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!


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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 

©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”

* 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

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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

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The Ballad of Goodie-Two-Shoes

My mother went to heaven on the day that I was born
My father raised me up before my mother he would join
He said, “Son, to get to heaven you must live a good, clean life
So you can go to meet your mother and see me with my wife.”

So, I tried to be good and I followed the golden rule
I did what I should and I was obedient all through school
I shared what I could and I read my bible every day
I tried to avoid evil thoughts and never a hurtful thing I’d say

The kids picked on me and “goodie-two-shoes” became my name
But, because I had a mission my actions always were the same
The road to meet my mother was a path to be kept clear
So bullies had their way with me – no retaliation need they fear

After my father passed away I met a beautiful young girl
She was everything to me; she was the rock in my empty world
We got married in the Summer; she was carrying my child in the Spring
I was looking forward to being a father to this miracle she would bring

I was working at a charity when they broke into my house
My wife tried to hide from them, being quiet as a mouse
They said, “Oh look, its goodie-two-shoes’ home, lets burn it to the ground”
When she yelled at them to stop this act, my wife was finally found

I won’t say what they did to her – the details I will spare
When she said, “My husband will soon be back”, they said, “What do we care”
“Goodie-two-shoes shares everything, of course he’d share his wife
Besides, that man’s a coward; we can do just what we like.”

When I came home and saw her, my mother spoke into my ear,
“Don’t worry about heaven, son, I’ve always been right here.”
I took my wife to the hospital, where they said she’d be okay
Then I went to find those bastards and wipe my life of good away

When they saw me approaching they laughed right into my face
With the first swing of the baseball bat I fell from heavens’ grace
Two men were unconscious before the third knew what to do
The bullet that he shot at me, my shoulder it passed right through

Justifiable homicide – on probation for ten years
My wife and son at my side, there is happiness in my tears
My mother and father visit me every night in my bedtime dreams
I didn’t need to take that path to heaven – or so, at least, it seems

Copyright © Joe Flach

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Open season
the games have begun
We be target practice
Shoot randomly 
no penalty

Kill at will
...if you will
Lives don't
matter to the people
you're chanting to

Kill for thrill  
new sport
Kill at will
...if you think
Lives matter 
watch the gavel...
justice not served

Makes no difference
if they get sacked
Big money got their backs
Now who has that kind if cash ?

Thumb twiddlers, sitting down
eyes watching God's moves
"God's gonna get them people"
That is what God said: He also
 said: "faith without works is dead'

Earth disturbers in combat boots
Serial killers with badges in blue suits
commissioned for this mission
rewarded with loot.

The makers of tragedies  on 9/11
twin towers. Afghanistan and 
the embassy in Kenya ..World Trade
Center and the list goes on..
By the way who's funding BOko Haram?
They have better weapons than the whole
Naja Militia.

Desensitized people, frightened and numb
Worldwide genocide irrespective of person
religion or gender.
When bombs go off, bodies drop 
buildings fall down.
What if the grid breaks?
What if he does not re-create 
anyone smart enough to fix it.?

Those people who one day 
gets paid, to kill those people, 
Who pays you to kill them people
and them people to kill you....

Somebody is paying people, 
to make less people
and paying people - 
to make less people etc...
until there is less people. 
Only the people on the left, 
are left.
And the leftover people. 

Then no more people left.
and the green grass grew all aroun all aroun ....
and the green grass grew all aroun

IF God Gives Up ON US...

What might he do, send us back into the 
black hole.Take the power back from the Sun?

Reverse the magnetic magnitude of the moon
There'll be no separation of day from
night, there'd be no more chances to get life right. 

If God gives up on us it would
serve us deserving. No intercession
for your transgressions.

Just send us back into oblivion;
Erase us like we had never come.?
Dauntless disobedience, and foul
acts mocking his earthly domain
Diverging from Gods plan
Ignoring truth, man abusing man.

What if God would wait
one million years before 
he launched another plan
and like the dinosaurs
we'd be - Just another species 
from ancient times and lands.

What if God gave up on us....

and sent us back into the 
dust, and the only memories 
left, would be the writings
in ancient books..
Ancient books no-one could decipher.

...and the green grass grew all aroun all aroun
and the green 


Copyright © Vicki Acquah

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Bawdy Limerick II

Her lady garden needed a mowing
His love juices were readily flowing 
He made it his mission
To get in position
Now his seed he is happily sowing

Written for Roy Jerden's bawdy Limerick II Contest
19th June 2014

Copyright © JAN ALLISON

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Rhythm and Rhyme


                             Rhythm and Rhyme
When rhythm and rhyme... join together,
Crafted are dynamic… poems and songs.
By blending the beat with harmonious words.
Creative works of art emerge, that never sound wrong!
Masters way back in time, used this technique,
As they set in motion, their feelings to song.
Rogers and Hammerstein eternally knew,
Precisely where the rhythm belonged.

They created legendary masterpieces, 
That caroled out to the world in song.
Forever… their tunes are often hummed, 
By fans as they walk along.

Eternally the music masters live,
Commencing from ….rhythm and rhyme.
Music and poetry lovers, savored their rich gifts,
That never faded with time!

Works of art …were created with words of love,
Happiness and kisses expressed. 
The suns morning message…for all to envision,
Through a tune created…is always its mission.

Yes… rhythm and rhyme 
Has brought happiness and tears
Erased sad days, wiped away fears.

For the expert of knowing, where to place the beat
Joined with a nuptial of words,
Have….earned masterpieces, a permanent seat.

It was and now is an art… that few pass the test,
Of, where the rhythm and rhyme belong
And why their creations…eternally lead over the rest

Yes… the gift of these masters,
Remain in books and on stage today.
And is reason… 
Theatre and music will never go away
For when the rhythm and rhyme are in sink 
An aura for the listening audience is created 
And places them in the pink!!!

It brings romance to dance,
With its message and beat.
 Like the well-known single,
 “When we’re dancing cheek to cheek”

And hopefully as you read this poem
You sense, the rhythm and rhyme 
With a smile on your face
And added pleasure… to life’s hectic pace.

So please… if ever you are sad,
Pick a favorite tune, and hum it along
As life also carries its own beat 
Akin… to a beautiful poem or song!!!!
Claudiaswords copy writes 2014


Copyright © Claudia Ainsley