Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

See and share Beautiful Nature Photos and amazing photos of interesting places


Best Woodrow Lucas Poems

Below are the all-time best Woodrow Lucas poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Woodrow Lucas Poems

123
Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

Cry the Beloved Country

There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm.
Men United in the hunt,
Women united in the spiritual sounds of songs of the Shaman,
And ships from the east,
Came with the Glory of God,
And between gunsmoke and gangrene,
Destroyed scenes of queens and kings,
And reaped heaps of unfulfilled dreams,
Busting at seems of disaster,
Cry the Beloved Country,
My master, is it truly that my father Ham,
Saw Noah Naked,
Cause my great, great, great, grandfather fought off dreams of death to endure.
And ensure that I would spend my life in this struggle.
There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm,
And ships came to the horn of riches adorned,
And raped a land of many a man,
And built liberty on the shackles of freedom,
Cry the beloved country,
There was a brave,
A sage of his age,
And there was rhythm,
And ships came to the horn of riches adorned,
And raped a land of many a man,
And built liberty on the shackles of freedom,
Cry the Beloved Country,
But there was rhythm,
Among mothers’, mothers’ , sisters and brothers,
There was rhythm I tell you, 
And they prayed for my daughter to know a better day,
Every day in this struggle, I pray for my daughter to know a better day,
Where her soul is free, and she can be a light unto the nations,
Perspiration surrounds me, on this gethsemene mountain,
Where day after day, I watch my manhood muffled by the sound of bitterness,
Cry the Beloved Country,
But I tell you, there is Rhythm,
And so I say cry, my beloved country,
For the day of judgment is upon us,
And renaissance awaits,
I don’t care what mountain tries to destroy my sight,
My daughter will know a better day,
White supremacy, mental illness, multiple sclerosis,
Myopic minions of monstrous greed driven savages,
Ravaging urban centers and fatherless widows,
Like Caleb, spoke to the sun, I will not run,
God gave me this mountain,
And my daughter will know a better day,
Cry my beloved country,
Cry not tears of sorrow,
Cry not tears of lament, 
But cry the sound of triumph,
For we will not stop,
Until every thought has become captive to the sound of liberation,
 And all nations, bow to righteous sensations,
Celebrations’ elations, and dancing to the rhythm of the Savanna,
And I will not stop,
We will not stop, 
We must not stop,
There are braves,
Sages of this age,
And there is rhythm.
Amen.


Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

My Orion

Last night I awoke to the sign of Orion, and the big dipper pouring beauty into her
countenance.

Though the stars say she is a Capricorn, a meager goat, I see Orion’s majesty every time I
stare into here full lips and wide Sophia Lauren Smile.

Her sleek and slender body bodes of Spartan stubbornness.

A stubbornness that’s had me fuming on the wrong kind of sides, of the wrong kinds of days.

Most days, we spend our lives like firefighters, putting out 101 degree fevers, cars
breaking down, and trying to make ends meet on a student’s stipend,

And as days pass, we see separation as an impossibility for how could we possibly survive
without each other?

But last night, I was freed from the stress of overfilled garbage cans and overdue
research projects,

To see her high and lifted up in the unconditional light which she shines for so many,

So many children, to whom she’s been a second mother, screaming, “Ms. Lucas!!!, Ms.
Lucas!!!,” as we see them in the mall.

The countless times that she’s saved me form suicide with a hope unfettered and sincere,

You see last night, I got a quick glimpse into my life as heaven sees it, and I saw my
wife for the first time, lifted high into the deep night, shining for the world.

Oh don’t get me wrong, I truly see her everywhere,

Every where there is courage, I see her wringing the neck of the crack head that almost
kidnapped our oldest in Chicago,

Every time I see kindness, I see her soothing voice in my ear saying, “Keep going baby,
you’re almost out of the tunnel.”

Whenever I see pain, I see her face when she looked down at her dead father’s body, stoic
and resolved that his tragedy would not mar her memory of his greatness.

Every time I see strength, I see a woman who buried her brother in the same summer of her
honeymoon and still smiled wide with sincerity.

But last night, God removed the veil, and I saw her through heaven’s eyes,
Glorious and heroic,

And in that moment I realized that nothing can stop me, because I sleep next to Orion.

Machel, the hero of old.


Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

If I had the words

If I had the words to speak of a new beginning,
I would crawl inside that inspiration and cry the tears that elude me,
I sometimes wonder if my daughter will know the horror of a soul that won’t cry,
I hope not, I hope she knows nothing but sadness and joy,
I once dreamed of a Christmas morning adorned with all of my friends and family laughing
to the sounds of Earth, Wind, and Fire.
And soon that may come.
But now, I see dreams just beyond my reach,
And hopes that look impossible,
This sorrow is a wondrous antidote to the horror of my refracted consciousness screaming
that I am hell bound,
For I may never know the joy of dreams fulfilled,
But in the meantime, I feel God’s tears pitter patting on my window sill,
And I leave my window open, so that he knows I’m listening.


Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

One by One

Days Work is Done,
They See the Rising Sun,
No Doubt more trials are sure to come,
And together they'll tackle them one by one.


Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

Noonday Sun

Noonday Sun

Suffering, so much suffering astounds,
Suffering brings us to our very knees,
And cries out to us in sleepless nights,
In the morning, fatigued and wrenched,
Begging for a reprieve from the day,
The sun is blocked by the sound of our own doubt,
“Where is the end of all this?”
“To what end is this, Lord Buddha?”
And he points to the clouds,
And says, “Wait”
And in that moments waiting,
We think to our children,
And we look to their faces, smiling faces though still starving in tattered rags,
And we understand, that there is a brighter day for them,
For someone made the Sun I tell you,
For someone made the Sun,
And as the Son heats the clouds,
We feel the wind on our heat scorched faces,
And we say, “Allah, what is the meaning of this?”
And she says, “Wait!”
And in that moments waiting,
We think of Mother Jones pleading for her people as she speaks truth to power.
And as droplets of rain begin to fall into our sordid subconscious,
We begin to grasp the nature of a Grace that suffers with us,
And as droplets of rain begin to fall into our sordid subconscious,
We look to each other,
And feel the warmth of a Noonday sun.


Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

War

From the beginning of this life,
Man somehow knows that he is at war.
From childhood games, to stories of the imagination.
We are aware of a conflict, a glorious conflict.
Long ago, a dragon was cast down from light.
And his fall upset the fabric of the universe.
What once lived eternal now stood imprisoned in cycles of death and decay and 
all of creation mourned.
But from the darkness, God’s champion.
The Holy One of light, Made man in his image.
Chosen from the beginning of time, to fight for our Creator and return peace to 
the cosmos.
We were grafted as warriors and it was our destiny to ride victorious.
In the bosom of God, we were created by the expert hands of the Maestro and 
were given all things.
But the snake deceived us, and we fell.
Yet the Snake himself was fooled, for in our weakness God would find strength.
In the fall of man, so too would he find his destiny.
To ride with God victorious and set creation back in light.
We God’s glorious symphony, Ordained in Eternity to reign with him forever.
For many years we wandered in darkness, longing to regain our birthright.
The snake had made us his slaves, and perverted our hearts to death.
We, God’s warriors of light, were turned to darkness.
And for millennia we warred against each other for scraps of pleasure,
Like dogs we served the Dragon, all the time blind to our Destiny.
But our Champion, the Lion of Judah, Saw us and had pity.
He came to suffer at his own hand, and take on his own wrath so that we once 
again might rise.
And now the truth is ours, for he has already claimed the victory.
We, God’s anointed, chosen in light yet deceived into warring against one 
another.
The Lamb has saved us, and it is time for us to take our rightful place in 
Celebration of his crowning.
Jews, Muslims, Siks, Suphis, Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Atheists, and 
Agnostics too.
It is our time for the Lamb prepared a place for us in his army of victory ever 
lasting.
The time is now.
The time is ours.
So grab your sword and ride to victory!




Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

I am that I am

My savior was born a man,
He came from heaven, but a man is what he became.
Ordinary, fallen, vulnerable, weak, and confused.
He became all of this and more,
For he knew that only in the form of a servant,
Could he save the lost, and set the captives free.
But there came a time,
I tell you, there came a time,
When he rose up and claimed his former self,
And knew his nature,
I am that I am, He said.
I am that I am.
I was born a boy.
Ordinary, fallen, vulnerable, weak, and confused.
Almost worthy of the condemnation that this world has shamed upon me and 
mine,
Almost worthy of the epistemological inferiority, that the world complexly imputes 
to me,
I was born a boy,
Full of rage and anger, when they called me “boy” out of their own confusion.
But I came to a man, who is a God, but was a man,
And said, “Lord transform me, my God, transform me into what you will for me to 
be”
And he showed me pain.
And he showed me sorrow.
But there came a time,
When I rose up, and claimed the impossible,
To be a child and man simultaneously,
I was born a boy,
But I came to a man, who is a God, but was a man,
And said, “Lord transform me, my God, transform me into what you will for me to 
be”
And he showed me pain.
And he showed me sorrow.
But there came a time,
When I rose up, and claimed the impossible,
To be a child and man simultaneously,
And now I can look American hypocrisy in the face, and say “God Bless You”
And now I can look klu Klux klan firemen in the eye and say I love you.
Black, beautiful, strong, fearless, and resolute to endure,
Black, beautiful, strong, fearless, and resolute to right this world’s wrong and still 
retain my childlike disposition.
I am a man, I tell you.
And that is more than enough!
For once I strived to rise above, but now I seek to rise in love.
For once I strived to get revenge, but now I seek that hatred end.
And men and boys and women to, would claim the light of victory.
Not because of me, I see, but because of a man, who was a God.
And became fallen, vulnerable, weak, and feeble,
As I felt in a time of trial,
Not because of me, I see, but because of a man, who claimed his former self 
and rose to set me free.
And now, I am true.
Not perfect but a man nonetheless.
I was born a boy,
But I reached to the sky, and said, “God help me”
And now, I AM THAT I AM, I AM MAN!


Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

The Secret

There is an enemy, who keeps herself hidden to some.
There is an enemy, who with his mighty lies torments others.
But it is only one enemy.
And this enemy destroys the blood of brotherhood by convincing all that God is 
one.
By convincing all that God is one and that she is many, this enemy convinces all 
that we are outnumbered.
But God was many from the very beginning.
And so we are many, the forces of light.
It is the enemy who is outnumbered.
For we are a kingdom which cannot be divided for we are of the same substance.
For in the beginning was the Word, and the word was the light of humanity.
The Word is the light of humanity.
And the Word is many.
Amen.


Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

Oh Death Where Is Thy Sting

Born into tragic reckoning,
We understand that all the bliss we have is but a moment in Creation,
Elation and tragedy come to nothing beneath the last breath our body takes,
And death opens wide to swallow us into that great mystery.
Born into tragic reckoning,
We try and create a memory that lives beyond our countenance,
But that memory is hollow compared to the touch of loved ones,
We grow and live knowing that someday we will lose our parents and friends to that dark dominion,
And yet does death still sting as before?
Born into tragic reckoning,
A man lived in sorrow, hoping and reaching for a better tomorrow,
Born into poverty and oppression,
A man refused to accept the limitations of his age and grew to become like no manner of man that has ever existed.
Born into tragic reckoning, a man grabbed the hand of God and demanded life,
And when it was his time to die he embraced the abyss,
Three days later he rose from death’s clutches and said, “I am that I am.”
The great dream of tomorrow beyond the sting of loss is real and it is rather the sensation that things end which is mistaken.
For there was and is a man, who will ensure that tragedies are transformed into triumphant reconciliation.
For there was and is a man, who guarantees that even in the height of despair there really is no end and all mysteries give way to beginnings of blessing.
Oh Death, because of a man who was, who is, and who will be where is your sting?
Or sorrow where is your victory?
For death can rule no soul.
So into the great beyond, go with courage dear sister, go with courage.


Details | Woodrow Lucas Poem

Free Verse Nonsense

Warning!!
This is a free verse poem.
It may not meet the high standards of poetry soup.
It is also highly controversial.
The writer of this poem realizes that poetry is supposed to be light and fluffy!
Just like TV sitcoms.
But hear it is anyway, (oops hear, I mean here, is spelled wrong, automatically
disqualifying this poem as reflecting any beauty or talent at all.)
Hope it does not wound anyone too badly.

I Wonder what the headlines would be like if Fox News existed in the early 1800's? 
Perhaps something like, "Despite minor slave trade infractions this month, such as 10,000
pieces of human chattel suffocating on their own defecation, 5000 female slaves being
raped by their masters, and 9,000 male slaves beat to death for smiling at their master's
wives, ABOLITIONISTS CONTINUE TO PURSUE THEIR OPPRESSIVE, SOCIALIST AGENDA!!!!" 

Wow, how badly I long for the good old days of "American Morality!" 
When the American Spirit was "Strong and Virile!!!" 
Before all these bleeding heart abolitionists freed the slaves and destroyed the Southern
Economy!!!!! 
Ah, just brings a tear to a brotha's eye. 
Thank God for Fox News!!!! 
Who else do we have to keep us honest?!!!!


123