Best Adept Poems
Noble Souls
Noble souls arise,
build steps,
forge roads,
carry tough loads,
scale peaks,
quell fears,
dream stars which blaze,
clear those black skies.
These souls would tears erase.
Noble souls offer cheer,
avoid wrath
crush their pride,
prove their worth,
value earth,
speak sober words,
shape lives,
plant hope’s seeds,
serve other folks’ basic needs.
Noble souls rally,
never crawl,
never stall.
Their adept hands
nurse other souls’ awful aches.
Sweet roses
adorn their loved
angel faces.
Noble souls exist.
A poem using only 5-letter words
Dec. 21, 2017 for Rhoda Tripp's 'Fem Bogstaver (Danish)' Poetry Contest
An echo of lovesome passion, an inspiration of unborn theme,
A muse hypnotic, adept at composing aspirations of my dream,
Omnipresent voice of being, poetry is my love, eternal as time,
Shaping expressions of mind, embellishing moments sublime.
Strumming music enamored, resounding from tenor of heart,
Humming chorus of life, emanating tunes lauding poetic art;
Melodies I compose, musings inimitable, to her they belong,
Lyrics woven in waltzing words; she’s been a refrain of my song.
She is sunshine glinting my day, a shiny star glistening my night,
My companion on journeys opulent, she’s been my utmost delight;
Yet, the contours of her bold imagination, I cannot ever define,
Neither can I restrict her freedom, nor her notions can I confine.
Moody yet engaging, fondly she paints tapestries of my mind,
Luring me to paradise~ metaphors, simile, cogently designed,
Tiptoeing in my amorous view, enticing me with reveries anew,
Softly as sun’s crimson rays, twinkle gems from morning dew.
Poetry is my spring, she is my summer, she’s elixir for my soul,
She’s fuchsia beauty on rosy arc of dawn, doting sights extol;
Alluring, charming, she’s resplendence gold, of autumn’s show,
She’s pure, snow-covered meadows, a season of falling snow.
A soul unites with a vessel. With no preconceived notion of what lies ahead.
A soul, upon arrival is molded by senses, by experiences, by emotions.
A soul is innately adept at navigating the treacherous and tumultuous upheaval
created by conscious thought.
For if not.........
A soul becomes lost
A lost soul acts within a vessel ,yet remains unattached, unaware, and unbalanced
A lost soul can not process its own feelings, its own reality, its own existence
A lost soul has no sense of direction, no sense of reason, no sense of purpose
It clings only to the will to press onward
For if not............
A soul becomes trapped
A trapped soul is bound to its vessel. One entity caged within another.
A trapped soul dwells in circles on that which enslaves it. Unwilling, unable
A trapped soul withers, and weakens, and wonders.............and near its end it hopes
And in this hope the shackles that bind need be unbreakable
For if not..................
A soul becomes free
A free soul is independent of its vessel.Unrestricted, unencumbered and in control
A free soul molds that which lies before it, reaching beyond comprehension.
A free soul has found itself. It does not gain understanding, it is understanding. It
does not seek purpose, it is purpose. I does not fear life, It is life.
For if not...........
A soul becomes irrelevant
For good, the Druid woods claimed this girl child for its own;
nymphs named the silk-skinned, raven-black of her, Fianna.
This night, she’s hurt hunting demons in her mother’s grove.
She recalls, her fright at five, abandoned in these woods alone.
Nymphs named the silk skinned, raven-black of her, Fianna,
by-blow of a Moor, left as dross in these weird weeping;
she recalls, her fright at five, abandoned in these woods alone.
An adept now, she aids the Weird in its fight with rising hell.
By-blow of a Moor, left as dross in these weird weeping,
raised by the fey, she was taught good from evil well.
An adept now, she aids the glade in its fight with rising hell;
her blessed-onyx points, caste blackhearts from the dell.
Raised by the fey, she was taught good from evil well.
The Blood moon’s rise brings hell’s minions out in droves;
her blessed-onyx points, caste blackhearts from the dell.
Defilers die by her hand and Druid bow bespelled.
The Blood moon’s rise brings hell's minions out in droves.
Rain caught in the leaves revives; moss clots her blood.
Defilers die by her hand and Druid bow bespelled,
as she protects the oak and ash from whispering hell.
Rain caught in the leaves revives; moss clots her blood.
This night, she’s hurt hunting demons in her mother’s grove
as she protects the oak and ash from whispering hell.
For good, the Druid woods claimed this girl child for its own.
First Published by After the Pause
...inspired by 'The Salamander' by C.S. Lewis
The sun bore down with blinding rays,
the oceans boiled and came to nought,
it was withal the end of days
with every living creature caught,
when from the rocks, agile, adept,
a tiny lizard meekly crept.
With roughened skin and beady eye
he reconnoitered through the haze,
no stranger to a blazing sky
it lay in shade, at last to laze,
it raised his head, albeit weak,
and rallied, then began to speak.
"The Future of Mankind is sealed,
the devil's bell has tolled and won,
no recompense, no last appeal,
eclipsed before you have begun
to fight disease and lawlessness,
the hallmarks of your wickedness.
No light will break from yonder stars
to help you in your hour of need,
your destiny these blighted scars
that seal your folly and your greed,
alone with your predicament,
God's only live experiment.
To mess with Nature to your shame,
to disregard His Holy Name,
to vilify the Golden Rule
will label you the Biggest Fool,
death comes quick as you will see,
the bell has tolled, and tolled for thee."
It’s Jubilee tea at my auntie’s care home
Aunt Phyllis’s hair could do with a comb
But she doesn’t mind and puts on her hat
The queen won’t be there’s no need to flap
The table is laden with all sorts of food
Ada burps loudly she’s so blinking rude
The cucumber sandwich crusts are cut off
My hair won’t stay curly I hear Mable scoff!
Gerald’s secreted cream scones on his lap
I’d not touch them now he’s a dirty old chap
There’s a heated debate is it scone or scon
I do not comment as they have all gone!
Old Edgar demands jelly and ice cream
It’s not on the menu he begins to scream
So he gets everyone to bang their tea cups
They’re acting like kids and not like grown ups
Along comes the matron she says ‘Dearie me,
You are spoiling our Platinum jubilee tea’
Edgar gives her some lip - he’s adept at verbals
He shout’s ‘Matron you just remind me of Goebbels’
Matron is livid, she turns puce in the face
Edgar’s sent to his room, as he’s in disgrace
He is reprimanded for causing such a scene
At the jubilee party for our wonderful Queen.
06/02/22
She is not defined by poetry alone
born a dreamer in a realist family of drones
they made her adept, at many things ;
Patchwork designs of beauty she did make
with quilted fingers of youth and vigorous eye
Lattice thoughts that mounted to the sky
were crushed by patriarchal smudges
still, she balanced the beam and walked
on a tightrope everyday singing out her song
of sweet belong ;
Dipping her tears in the quiet lake of solitude.
she heard the soul quake "Bring it home girl "
and so she did. Picking up her favorite pen
she hid in her room and practiced her
signature until it flourished without grit.
No she is not defined by poetry alone
but, she sure knows how to bring it home.
Dec. 23, 2018
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Contest: you are not defined by
You have written and submitted poems galore.
Your work gathers comments from others by the score.
Carolyn, you have acquired so much popularity.
I can see you are quite adept at poetry.
It’s amazing how you have made so many friends.
Your fabulous writing seemingly never ends.
I enjoy reading your wonderful presentations on this site.
May you continue to be here every day and night.
I was strolling through Evergreen Cemetery the other day,
Glancing at epitaphs etched upon various stones along the way.
Some flowing verse was out of this world but I can only assume,
That the authors were forthcoming in how they met their doom!
"Should an inconsiderate bird upon my stone alight,
Please do me a favor and remove the blight!"
"Here reposes a dude who tried to rob a lady teller,
But she was a keener shot than this unlucky feller!"
"Here sleeps ace pilot Captain Cletus Cole;
His wings were clipped attempting a barrel roll!"
"Here reclines butcher Clyde who cheated on his wife.
Unknown to him she was also adept at wielding a butcher knife!"
"Here lies Hank his mortal shell riddled with lead.
He was nabbed rustlin' steers and the sheriff shot him dead!"
"Here is deposited the corpus of Eddie a top-notch baker.
He is now serving assorted donuts to his beloved Maker!"
"Please relay your regards as by this way you pass,
But for heavens sake, keep off the cottin' pickin' grass!"
"On a banana peel the dear departed slipped and fell.
We pray he landed in paradise and not in hell!"
"He didn't know his Volkswagen had all that power.
He met his doom head-on doing 90 miles per hour!"
"Fer nigh on 40 years old Hank rode this earthly range;
Now he rides in that final roundup on that heavenly grange!"
"Gambler Jim has left very few friends behind to grieve;
He was caught with a couple of aces up his sleeve!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Poetess she is, whose magic is cast with great ease
Opulent in words, charming to the utmost degrees,
Engraving hisses, silhouettes, images of natures surreal
Trespassing horizons never stretched out to an ideal
Destroyer as known for, although she's here to compose
Enchating poems and songs her beautiful soul bestows
Such a fusion encourages poets to hold their inks and quills
To write 'bout nymphs in seas or orchards filled with daffodils
Rampantly defeated by her as what often happens, except
Of all practiced skilled writers she's definitely the most adept
Yielded in a words-battle having a single acknowledged end
Efficacious "She" is by far a star who can simply transcend,
Reproductions of literary stylistic forms in her magnificent way
A lady I know as Linda with a pseudonym Poet Destroyer A!
© Guru Jad 2013
Dedicated with Admiration! :)
Apart from our nice 3 piece suite the cat has clawed and shredded
it's knocked over a figurine that lies there prone, beheaded.
I'm quite adept and nimble fingered-
Have I got the knack
to use a tube of superglue and stick her noggin back?
The bottled glue is near opaque, unseen and so I doubt
if any glue is left inside, then all of it squirts out.
I'll grab the phone, dial 101 and get help if I'm able
to prise my thumb and forefinger from off the kitchen table.
Should I get free then this might be the chance to commit crime
since two of my poor fingerprints won't grow back for some time.
I've scraped and polished tirelessly but the table's still got glue on.
Should one more figurine get smashed-
I'll just go buy a new one.
I write of two-edged swords (that tired clichè)
as though this modern boy knew hilt from blade;
as if I had been taught of true swordplay,
not learned from movies Errol Flynn had made.
But plainly put, things work more than one way:
the lake that offers joy can also drown,
the sun that melts the wax can harden clay,
the fire that heats the meal burns houses down.
A hammer is adept at building things,
though hammer's claw might tear the same apart.
The kiss that first gave freedom to love's wings,
when given to another, broke my heart.
Two-edged clichès may give the reader pause -
I know firsthand the damage they can cause.
written 30 Apr 2022
"When The Snow Melts",
When "Spring Is In The Air"
When "Tears Of The Sky" shower blessings
When"Zephyr's Silky Tendrils" caresses us
When "A Nightingale Sings Of Dawn's Glory"
When basking in "Sunset Silence"
When "Night Sky's Party" is splendid...
We thank our "Saviour"
for the"The Luxury Of Breathing"
for "Bottomless Love"
We are "On Cloud Nine"!
When we are filled with "A Sense Of Emptiness",
"Lost In The Fragility Of Dreams"
While living "A LIFE JUXTAPOSED"
Full of "TEARS", "depression"
While offering "A Painful Prayer","Forgiveness Prayer"
When we "Cry Out To God"
We experience "God's Goodness", "His Sufficient Grace"
Understand he is our "Refuge And Strength"
We are filled with "Eternal Hope"
"Why forbear when He is near"!
We feel like "A Blessed Bud" with
"No More Worries For Tomorrow"
We understand "Life Of Trust - A Must"
"Attitude Of Gratitude" helps
"Happiness Is In Small Things"
We offer "Thanks" to "God's Goodness" his " Graciousness"
"HE Is" "Giving Godly Grace" " Every Time"
We experience "Agape Love"
We sing "A Song Of Praise"
"Keep On Singing"
"Lord Jesus Christ, My Joy"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Note: Whole poem is made of titles of poems written by Jo. I have merely added few words here and there.
I choose Jo as I love her poetry, I find her poems, beautiful, and profound. Her poems on Jesus always fills me with faith, love and joy. She is adept in all types of poetry. For this contest, I searched all her past poems and found many poetic gems. I need to take time out to read all her past poems.
I attribute this wonderful poem to her superb titles. As I wrote this, I experienced how much God loves us.
Thank you Jo from the bottom of my heart
16.06.2021
Poet Chosen : Jo Daniel
Submitted to Title Wave, Richard Lamoureux
Untouched by the caress of a bow,
The instrument lies mute, voiceless
A song slumbers on the strings, will the player show?
An adept touch is what is sought
Until then, silence is the only tune.
Who will take it over that lilting bridge,
Over deep waters in rhythmic flow
The silence must be broken...
Then, as she approaches, the strings tremble,
Her caress is what it longed for
Bow meets strings, and a concerto begins
A melody drifts across the water,
The long awaited caress is magical
4-19-2023
Writing Challenge - 'V' Words Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
In England’s pleasant pastures amid the free wild flowers
Lie pagan ways the wise ones do not mock
And one adept at harnessing these ancient rural powers
Was Oggwool Fleece, the black sheep of the flock
Oggwool was old, much older than the old oak it was said
Beneath whose boughs the dark sheep’s plans are sealed
‘Twas said the sheep had come back from the other side of dead
With the darkness in that corner of the field.
The farm hands better knew to venture in the oak’s strange shade
Or to the long grass that the darkness gripped
Where Oggwool lurked amid the spells and potions he had made
A sheep unshorn and magically undipped.
Not limited by four hooves in working his deft skill
Unhindered in ambitious sheepish plans
Harnessing the dark elves to do his dark sheep will
Dexterously with little dark elf hands.
From that darkened corner of that English country field
His influence extends itself outside
His arcane woolly web through which his mystic powers wield
Reaching parts and persons spread worldwide
He has extensive vineyards in Italy and Spain,
He has mining operations in Peru
He owns a flock of ostriches down in the Ukraine
(Although he never quite intended to)
He’s engineering world events on scales beyond the ken
He has his hooves in business of all kinds
He interferes remorselessly in world affairs of men
With night-time thoughts drip-fed to human minds
Little green men fly through space in saucers flat and round
On interstellar missions without cease
But on their furthest journey yet, their enterprise is bound
To the ever growing plans of Oggwool Fleece
The politicians spin their words and armies shoulder arms
And yet do not beyond their small acts see
But Oggwool Fleece with thistle skills and other sheepwise charms
Is planning how to rule a galaxy!