Best Adaptability Poems
Mother Nature Cries
Mother Nature cries now her deep tears of true sadness,
For all the years of Man’s sad shame and utter madness.
Man has brought this lovely lady quite often to tears,
By his poor and pathetic care of our Earth over the years.
Mother Nature’s been with Man now it seems forever,
And he does nothing at all and always tells her never!
Man’s climate sins are so tragic and always most telling,
And all he does is ***** and moan, and keeps on yelling!
Man’s span of existence is short in our Earth’s long life,
And all he’s done is corrupt, pollute and caused her strife!
Mother Nature cries at this sad tragedy Man has thus wrought;
She knows his life on Earth may be short, and learn he’ll Not!
Mother Nature will adapt and evolve over time with no problem,
And she knows Man’s adaptability to change may be a problem.
Perhaps Man will learn this sad lesson here before all is too late,
And seek climate harmony in all he does and make positive his Fate!
Mother Nature cries—yet this can change with Man’s redemption,
If Man becomes Earth’s Good Steward and lives by God’s direction!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - May 3, 2015
(Rhymed Couplet)
*Originally completed for my new book on February 12, 2015.
Deck of cards
Aces, Kings, Queens, Jacks, tens to twos, Jokers
Can society not be balanced as deck with equal no of Haves and Have nots ?
I love 53rd and 54th card, Joker
As it does not belong to any Suit - Spade, Club, Diamond or Heart
Can society be not classless, casteless akin to Joker, part of deck but not any suit?
Joker just two in deck
As against four of each rank in deck
Can the flexibility to include / remove Joker not extended to Politicians in real game
of life?
Rested in pro-games, permitted in fun games
Playing Joker mixes with card of any rank or any Suit
With Joker’s adaptability, can society’s all Suits not live in harmony?
Joker, colourful card favourite with kids
Placed atop house of cards
Like child, Joker ever smiles back; can we not ape Joker? Or child?
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For Members contest : Pick A Card, any card by Paula Swanson
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Desiring to know the totem guiding me,
I fell to sleep and dreamed, and in my dream,
a creature brightly painted crept its way toward me.
It spoke in the voice of a female,
but the voice I heard was coming from its soul as
it spoke to my heart, blinking at me with large yellow eyes:
I am your spirit guide, dear.
From whence did you think had come
your peaceful, patient nature?
You strive for success with constancy and determination.
Grounded to this earth -
you are, in fact, in tune with all its elements and its creatures,
for your energy is one of innocence and harmony.
Did you think I would appear to you as the speedy tiger
with big bold stripes of black and yellow-orange?
No, I come to you as the lowly turtle
with lovely olive skin, smooth shell, and beautiful pattern underneath.
However, like the tiger, I have stripes too - yellow, black, and orange -
and I too am a survivor!
You rarely react with anger like the tiger, which shows long sharp claws.
No, you are like me, mild-mannered, and you have adaptability.
If you get turned over, you are able to right yourself.
Like me, you get right back up and simply move along.
You make peace whenever you can, so your foes are few!
Also like me, you withdraw into your own protective shell.
That beautiful shell is the world that you carry on your back.
You accept what is and still you keep going,
ever - ever going, for wisely you know what wins the race!
Finally, like me, you love the water and the sun as well as land.
This is because you are at home in any place.
Spread your arms and fly through crystal ripples.
You can be faster and more carefree in the fluidity of water.
You may not be a tiger, but your stripes are just as beautiful and vibrant.
Blessings on you, dear, and last of all,
always remember to take the time to bask, as I do,
in the light of the radiant sun!
Written June 16, 2017 for White Wolf's Spirit Guide Animal Poetry contest
Red ribbed tank top and panties.
Drawing and writing’s to earn commissary.
Rugged colored jumpsuits delivered daily through the bars.
A few women foaming at the mouth from drug withdrawals.
Smells of jailed prostitutes.
Some for murder or Robbing for loot.
Three toilet seats lined up, One shower curtain hung by one Rod.
Boxed alone ,dropped by family and friends,No squad
Kites passed by the male inmates through the line
Like clockwork,Under my tray Every-time
A few fights, Kept my body tight.
One eye stayed on guard all night.
Didn’t get any sleep absolutely no rest.
Until the night I earned each inmates respect
No outside letters.
No Love or a sight of light that life ahead is gonna get any better.
Held on to my dignity.
Versatility Adaptability.
oh, ladybug, beloved insect
gentle, colorful beetles
with sweet red-and-black spots
delightful winged wonders
omens of good things to come
with spiritual messages if you believe
wish fulfillment
protection
renewal and transformation
adaptability
love
and positive things
and if you don't believe
ladybugs will eradicate your garden pests
An aura of ease I carry with me.
A river, I’m rolling, just rolling along.
I move with an adaptability.
An aura of ease I carry with me.
Close to the ground, yet with fluidity,
and my heart often swells with glad song.
An aura of ease I carry with me;
a river, I’m rolling, just rolling along.
I’ll move with that naturalness called ease
on the pathway to my final sea.
Should waves arise from an extra strong breeze;
I’ll move with that naturalness called ease!
When I see sky blaze a last time cerise
and feel eternity beckoning me,
I’ll move with that naturalness called ease
on the pathway to my final sea.
For Paula Swanson's Contest: "I Carry With Me"
The moon dripped like wax through
the canopy of the pines, light and
shadow were scattered across the
ground like playing cards.
The air was still, the scent of danger
there but difficult to locate, yet the
nostrils still twitched in mistrust.
In knowing that this is their time,
time to forage, snout and graze this
fertile floor, it is also realized that
this is the hour of the hunter, he
who walks with feet shod in death.
In the absence of scent sound is the
ally the startled bird a friend and the
passing cloud a closet in which to
hide.
Cloven feet tread the fern, in this
tranquillity all is fostering, caring,
the procedure of life has no pace
but always achieves its aim, natural
progression achieved by time and
adaptation, little gained by the ever
presence of man, more so the rigid
adaptability to the elements given.
Yes I walk the forest at night, not
with rifle or bow, but with my dogs,
dreams and respect.
Reason is a tool,
it can not escape the boundries of calculation as oxygen departs from blood,
logic operates on the body of algorhythems thumping along trails of faceless fates,
reason is a scavenger of possibilities matured into conclusions born from imagination,
without formulas to navigate the maze of Life's elasticity reason becomes music unplayed,
reason needs it's parent of the playground so to construct a kingdom worth caring for,
provided with an objective it can flourish as seed to stem, highlight the heroics of heaven,
Love is a hope,
confidence to dream is what it encourages, to orchestrate talent into the physical dimension,
love is the currency paying the mercenary of reason for a fort captured or erected properly,
schematics of soul lust, blueprints of God's sandbox gives direction to the 'chain reaction' of destinies,
where would purpose go to if denied sojourn in the mansions of love's capacious creativity,
love is the roadway feeding the logistics of our egocentric reason, the part of us seething for results,
tragedy is when love fails to convince reason to trust in adaptability, when smiles fail to persuade tears -
J.A.B.
I am getting older now and live alone but for the company of a blue and gold macaw named Sweetheart who inspired me to write the poem 'The Box' for her birthday.
I raised this happy bird from a baby and in spite of my shortcomings, she has grown in size and virtues of vigilance, honesty, bravery, tenacity, adaptability, forgiveness and the skill of flight.
Now as she greets me each morning I am humbled by her vigorous love of life and as we stand at the window and she calls out, I cant help but wonder if the sound reaches beyond the distant hills to a place where it is still the morning of life. A place where the macaws of the Amazon come together in a cacophony of living rainbows with voices that echo as if nature had intended to speak. It must be there in these wild cathedrals that the sights and sounds arrest the mind in silent invocation, and hold transfixed in wonder, all who witness.
The wild macaws are still with us as we nightly visit them in sleep, but they are somewhere off in the distance now, traveling toward an empty horizon as are she and I.
'Incapability,
has often been termed to as
probability;
irresponsibility,
is responsible for
the unavailability
of the knowledge
of invisibility,
Adaptability,
has its benefits,
but in this world
of artists,
a capable human
is one,
who want to become
the favorite son,
get all things done,
with a feeling of
love, affection
& compassion,
keeping his eyes wide open,
while realizing the fact that,
he's neither a ruler or a king
in this creation, which continuously
sings the songs of glory
& supremacy
of the Almighty,
working to make work,
all the lives,
theories
& stories.'
Everything is depicted from a seed planted in the ground
Flourished to adapt in weather all around
Unrealized of the storms in which lies ahead
Rooted ability its roots to spread
Despite drought leaving wilted leaves
Upon rain drench new leaves conceived
The greenery of a green house
Controlled environment discouraging plant louse
When transported risk taking elements
Experience outside normal developments
Shocking induced climate change
Adaptability measured through being sustained
Beneath the embroidered mesh of nature
Continued cycles of elements outside of its favor
It is what it is:
or is it?
Change is as inevitable as death.
Today, we can fly across oceans on metal wings:
when not too long ago, we were burning witches.
Some changes bode for the better
while some bring out the worst:
nonetheless, there is always change.
The Chinese elite have stopped binding a young girl's feet
to make her look dainty.
And wars once fought on battlefields,
devastate civilians in towns and cities.
It is what it is,
reflects a fleeting moment in time
before reality morphs
into something else:
something new.
Change, progress, and adaptability
form the foundational pillars of life.
Baby steps lead the way to giant leaps
given sufficient time:
people can adapt to any change.
Despair and manipulation
fuel feelings of helplessness;
that often delays, but cannot stop change.
Faith, hope, blood, sweat, tears, and time
are all essential components
that comprise the social papier-mache,
from which change derives its shape.
poet Louis A. BorgoPoet's PagePoemsQuotesCommentsStatsBiographySend MessageShare on FacebookShare on Twitter
Poems by Louis A. Borgo : 10 / 217 « prev. poem next poem »
A Sunday Afternoon On The Island Of La Grande Jatte - Poem by Louis A. Borgo
If a moment of rest is under a tree of a hat
Hat's off under an umbrella,
How sometime tile of the hat is a gesture fair well of catch,
Parting one language why is true romance between lover of lovers,
I' am in love with love with the idea of being in love,
Maintains look of appears shadow no mistake as of age,
Looks and colors to appease shelter the attain of a admire,
Flirt or a bit of a hick up gentlemen attire hold true.
The beach the sea scenery as it finest,
Night out days in does it hold true?
The beauty if a captivated of image would have to be,
In the portrait,
Living understand is not,
Of the moment.
Life evolve technology enhance do we adapt,
Or is Adaptability,
That hold concern.
Take for instinct blood fusion or cell respiration,
Adaptability and adaptation suit the character?
Yet develop true gentlemen,
Gentlemen Attire.
Eyes stare from all sides
Exposed, raw emotions displayed for fickle masses
Fury flashes...conscience clashes
Consticting fish bowl rubs fins raw
Distorted faces with bulbous center features
stare through glass...tapping...laughing
This habitat's trapping and energy sapping
Nitrogen diffuses
bubbles rise to the freedom I seek
breathing weak, reminds of that I want most
A living ghost, despising half dead apparitions
dimming disposition....displaying adaptability
Feigning futility....useless utility
allowing for a graceless grace period
The tone is serious
Yet they're laughing
Resilience springs from well
established perseverance
Resistance of determined energy
associated with courage adherence
Your dedicated sense of
responsibility would evaporate
Through nourishing yourself on
ancient virtue you saturate
Corridors of memories
disjointed but with purpose
Provoked images delicate
features so smooth yet nervous
Having my senses marred by
instances from my recent past
Forever dreams just don’t exist,
oceans of feelings never last
Upon breaking free from
your inspirational confines
I do not need to destroy you
to prove I exist by my design
One’s sole dignity adaptability
with staggering evidence
Spun left with a dogged revolt
against negativity and arrogance
Exposing insight into the
depths of your true meaning
Taunting words unspoken
were insulting plus demeaning
Efforts based on your assumptions
override your many lies
Only enhancing my boundaries
of perception, alas was your demise