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Best Poems Written by Paul Keenan

Below are the all-time best Paul Keenan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Change At Hand

The fallen snow procured 
Itself with the earth all winter
As spring enters its warm winds,
The snow-transformed-from its frozen home
Begins its path of deviance carving the weak soil
Conveying the grieving trusting earth down river
Where the surmounting horror ends;
Only after a twisted ride does the soil find refuge
In the bottom of a lake;
Where momentarily is thought of as unimportant
By its self and others; 
But, a change is at hand; a change is at hand.

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Melting

This country began, with the melody of an orange rhythm,
Then lady liberty showed her beacon light
Giving in the twilight,
A hope for a new, beginning.
And as these people escaped
A less understanding place,
By God’s grace; we accepted them
And with this understanding came.
Eventually, a hybrid land named, America.
Turmoil of the civil war, but that soon past,
Giving a race, freedom at last.
We fight for the weak, weary and the sick,And usually win.
But one thing has always been practiced;
Uncle Sam is an activist.
With people of different walks of life;Passing in the middle of the night.
Americans, we call ourselves, and since the beginning it has been true.
That a piece of paper called The Declaration of Independence;
Was written, signed and sings true,
That certain rights are bestowed by God;
Like life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

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Melting Out of Slavery

In the beginning, there was little hope
working the slaves, and they had to cope
without rights.
That was their plight.

Freedom for them was not real
Until after the civil war, then they received a deal.
they thought freedom was in sight.
That was their plight.

The civil rights activist, did it in a passive manner
with a collective effort, by the raising of a banner,
And they never gave up the fight
That was their plight.

They melted with the rest
and proved they could do their best.
By letting others see the light
That was their plight.

Next they become totally freed
because they fought, and made a plead.
That the sky is the limit, so now they can take flight.
That is their plight.

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Peace

Peace to one on an evening jaunt
Across the street; a house of haunt
Rests ones soul of armies fallen
For peace, many are a calling’
In days of old, peace meant hate
Keep persons down and they will not proliferate
But now those very persons procreate
Peace is a fountain full of quarters
And not one coveted by mid-night persons crossing borders
Peace is a place; a Utopia in fact
A place of ones wildest dreams that makes an impact-
But not to step on some ones back
One thing is clear, peace is true
Because, if it wasn’t this plant would not be blue.
With a world at stake, peace is not a fake
And wounded soldiers and pedestrians alike
Never wonder why peace is a plight.

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Queen Bee

Close to what will be?
Choose the beginning and than the end
If true to his words, she will call on thee.

The beacon shows where to find the queen bee
And flowers full of nectar, blossoming on an orange tree 
Close to what will be?

The workers span out to retrieve
What miles they cover
If true to his words, she will call on thee.

Alfalfa pollen and wildflower dust
Returning and leaving and doing the same
Close to what will be?

The pollen from a spring time delight on an orchard tree
The off-spring virtually never ending
If true to his words, she will call on thee.

In a bees life it is the king-not the queen-that takes a knee
He repents and worships her 
Close to what will be? 
If true to his words, she will call on thee.

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Dreams

Wonderment, under the shade of the leaves
Close to where the rivers breath
As the mountains snow replenishes the liquid, 
Like a drop of rain,
It is done without being thought of in vain
It gathers; the droplets do, filling a void.
That is not to be destroyed,
With nourishment and sustenance giving life to many,
It starts with a morsel of water,
Then modified and multiplied,
Soon the swelling of the creeks,
Turning a stream into a river 
Oh, how the gallantry will deliver,
Planting a droplet in the watershed
Giving hope; freedom, and brilliance said
Daring countless dreamers, to become visionaries.
Believing in themselves as part of the river,
And refusing to wither.
Flowing, the water moves the stones
Paving the path to where the sweet breeze blows
And like a play on its final scene,
The curtain will close, and it will be known,
That the river, once in flux, is pristine.

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Ominous Cries

Ominous cries from the valley below
As the crow flies, he knows
Of yelling, beckoning, of another time
Of when he was too young to be in his prime
The temptation to stray is overwhelming
So he decided to begin; his trip to the valley beneath him,
Declining slowly he maps out a spot
Too land on a river rock
Which was beveled down, by the rivers mighty current
And the river masks the dreadful ominous cries
As the crow finds out the demise; 
He landed and took an empathic glance
And what he saw was a toxic lance
Driven deep into nature’s heart. 
Nature is screaming for it to be saved
So the crow called up his cronies and they did not play
It took some time but they were victorious
Now the crow is old and withered at clean-ups end
All he can do is bow and bend
The cries are gone and nature is mended
The crow sacrificed is life, an unselfish act
Now he is a legend, for he made quite an impact.

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Football and Life

Just like football I’m a team player
But In the game of life; one could get a dagger
In ones back; if one is not careful.
Even if one adheres to the rules; it may seem like one big hassle
One could get blamed for being a fool;
All the while, trying to play it cool

As one climbs to the top
While riding the coattails of some boy genius
Defended him on the spot
By brown nosing and yes man grinning
Shaking hands puts one spinning,
Out of control and a bit confused.

One thing I should say is-
“Stay true to you!”
So one does not look like a buffoon.
On ones gallop to the peek
Then the rat race will not seem so bleak

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Ruminate On This

She has a proclivity in being jaunty
As she looks down the asphalt way
With stunted growth of apple orchards
That blossom in the spring
They begin; they begin

A carefree end 
To what was swollen, bloated, and rotten
And wickedness emitting the fragrance
Of decaying smells of worthlessness
Across the waters, floating and wet

She catches the why and emulates the peacefulness
On cargo ships at heaven’s gate
And longing for the weight to be lifted,
And longing for the weight to be lifted.

This heavy clumsy mess
This heavy clumsy mess
Ruminate on this 
And ruminate on this

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The Beauty of Fortitude

A two toned rose 
Of white cream and red-
Bestowed,
Reflexes beauty of the truest of hearts
A wildflower found-
Of purple and yellow,
Is beloved,
Reflexing passionate strength of a surviving will
When one combines the two-
One may find a sight to behold
Of a creature with a will of such fortitude
To endure battles of small and large
And have the tenderness 
As that of a brush of air- blown against one’s arm
Yet having asperity- 
Like that of a sharp leaf cut to the skin-
And the strength of ten bears-
Yet be nimble and sure-footed as that of an athlete