Best Argues Poems
Written: September 05, 2023
This or That, Vol 20 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
______________________________________________________________
In the Zen kingdom, where thoughts coincide.
Nihilism is a canopy of shade; it dares to confide.
A conflict between reason and meaninglessness.
The universe has wonders and incredible minuteness.
An all-powerful deity rules over
A cosmic dance where all is in order.
Nothing can occur without its sanction.
The omnipotent creator god is our ultimate captain.
Whispers of the divine echo through time.
Unveiling the mysteries, so sublime,
In the vast expanse of galaxies and stars,
The hand of the divine, crafting wonders afar
But amidst the grandeur, a question arises:
Does purpose exist, or are we just prizes?
In a universe so vast, can meaning be found?
Or are we simply adrift and unbound?
The nihilist argues that life is just a game.
No purpose, no meaning, just a cosmic flame,
Yet deep within our souls, a yearning remains.
For something greater, a purpose that sustains
The voices of the divine are calling to us.
To seek worth and to have faith and trust
In the pattern of an infinite power.
To discover meaning in every hour.
In the realm of Zen, we understand,
That the universe, so vast and grand,
Is not a void of chaos and despair,
But a canvas for us to discover and share.
The whispers of the Divine remind us all,
That we are not alone, destined to fall,
With faith and belief, we can find our way.
And create a purpose that will never stray.
So let us embrace the whispers divine,
And let them guide us, such a sacred shrine,
As in this enormous and magnificent universe,
We can wield our fate, for brighter or worse.
Was it a sheer accident that I became a poet?
Poetry, I didn’t pursue, rather it cropped up
As a late-night guest, quite unexpected.
A teacher’s career, I have been bent upon
And prefer to be known more as a teacher than a poet.
In my eyes, teachers are a venerable sort,
Happy that I could belong to that ‘special’ lot,
Instilling in young ones - newer insights gleaned,
Enriching their lives - with atoms of knowledge pooled,
Brightening their paths - with millions of lanterns lit,
Rowing them away - from the perilous shoals of life,
And leading them to be anchored on safer shores!
A teacher sure stands taller above,
Every other mortal who serves!!
Numerous are the guise a teacher has to put on,
And cleverer the tricks she has to play,
To tackle the wards in her all-out care,
And launch them out into a world to fare.
I have played all at once myriad roles,
More of a mentor and not just a tutor,
A physician who heals, a nurse who tends,
A parent who cares or a pal who shares,
A patron who supports or a lawyer who argues,
A scholar who learns and a master who trains.
As Christ taught his disciples - with parables many,
As Socrates instructed the youth - through endless queries,
As Sullivan led Keller - to the new dawn of light,
As Aesop enlightened kids - with countless tales,
I strove to be a TEACHER.
An erudite soul with a mission!
A sculptor who sees an angel, veiled within a rock!
An architect building an edifice to last a lifetime!
A warrior uncompromising in war,
On Ignorance – the most ignoble foe!
I don’t know where I presently stand,
Nor do I know how my students would rate me,
Though often floundered or failed to act,
In the manner I ever so longed to do,
I would rather be a TEACHER all my life,
A ‘guru’ out and out, from hilt to heel.
And I would wear that mantle with pride!
You give me the desire
a love for composing
word symphonies
yet you give me
the cross of mediocrity
to bear
day by day to know
there are others
who are prodigies
and I must hear
the thunderous applause
while at best
I get the praise
of those who seek to console
my dying soul
I must eat my heart alive
while the words burn inside
demanding expression
soul confession
unborn masterpiece extrication
I fall to my knees
and plead
While I beat my chest
in fervent heat
"Bless me...Bless me...
Make me like him
Make me like her
Make me more than all of these
Make me the best
a word genius
For this love of words will not set me free
Till it is MY name that they chant
My name on their tongues
My name branded on their minds
the Maestro of Word symphonies
Oh, Let it be ME, ME!
BLESS ME!"
Yet...
day after day
night after night
and in my dreams
I see, I see....
I see them take their bows
I see their work showcased
praised
immortalized
while I?
I sit at my desk
and try once more
to write
to...WRITE
the sublime....
Eileen
The movie Amadeus rocked my to the core. "In it, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was killed by his jealous rival, the court composer Antonio Salieri. Salieri cleverly took advantage of Mozart's fondness for drink, his financial crisis, and his obsession with pleasing his deceased father, and tricked Mozart into working himself to death."
Murry Abraham did a wonderful job of portraying Salieri. There is a scene where he argues with God about the wonderful musical talent he has gifted Mozart, who seems undeserving to him, while HE has to live with mediocrity in musical talent. I can relate. I LOVE poetry. It is my life, and yet...I have to watch as others write so effortlessly and reach the pinnacle of fame. It is hard to do. :( Some days are better than others. On the good days, I'm happy that I can write a poem now and again. On the bad days....I want to cry for not being another Shakespeare....or Donne, or Dickinson, or Gibran, or Rumi, or....and the list is endless.
This women in my home argues why I leave her so-much along.
Together she say, the two of us should make the weakest link in
the chain strong (relationship). "but she's all along". The bird's
chirping as the sun awaken and stretch forth its arm as another day
creeps through the curtains and not one word is spoken. "This stran-
ger in my home". Whoe, I guest - I-guest silent is the proper thing
to do, don't say nothing to me, and I want say nothing to you.
But I break's the ice and reach for her hand, she stubborni-
ily pull-away and storms out of the room, I'm confuse and now I'm
angry, "You men's just don't understand", is the response she say's
to me, cann't talk to this stranger in my home, "but she's all along".
I head-out the door for work, not to be such a jerk. I leave her a
note to meet me after work. at a nice cozy lil restaurant secluded so
we can talk. I arrive there first, then she walk's in looking so sexxy,
my whole head spins, (she's) looking this good can not be a sin.
We rap and we talk, this stranger (my wife) were once there were
danger of never seeing her again-now after a few drinks and the pro-
blem becomes vaguily clear, we toast to communicating, and sometimes
two people will not alway's agree on the same thing. Touching each
other's hands-looking into her eye's, she's wearing a very provocative
dress that clearily has awaken this man. Talking is refreshing and I tell
her, your perfume smells aahhh soooo--sweet, now at home we stop and
began Kissing, and together we floats-on to heaven. "With Wing's be-
neath my feet's".
You frolic with playful abandon
Oblivious to obligation
Such wobbly legs prove hard to stand on
Chameleon charmed by temptation
I don't know why your halo's all bent
Your soul's complaint argues so brassy
Can't pay rent when your money gets spent
Once vibrant jewels bloodshot and glassy
Butterfly flapping with tart contempt
Degenerate goals rot away hope
Your daughter grieves with each failed attempt
She cries each time you roll down that slope
Cheap glutton for wanton attention
That hot spotlight withers your pert face
The clock chimes with mortal dissension
Until there's nothing left to erase
Snuffing your fire while quenching your thirst
You disconnect from honest matters
The mirror displays why you've been cursed
Indolence shreds your core to tatters
I will tell the truth:
love is not always kind,
and it is rarely fair.
It does not arrive on cue
with music swelling behind it.
Sometimes it comes limping,
late, unsure, smelling faintly of regret.
Love does not fix you.
It finds you mid-sentence,
mid-failure,
mid-life—
and listens anyway.
I tell the truth:
love is not the absence of loneliness.
It is loneliness
sitting beside another loneliness,
agreeing not to leave first.
Love forgets anniversaries
and remembers the sound of your cough
at three in the morning.
It argues about nothing
and forgives something enormous
without ever naming it.
Here is the hardest truth:
love does not promise forever.
It promises now—
this cup of tea going cold,
this hand still reaching
even when it knows how easily
hands let go.
And yet—
I swear this too:
when love is real,
it teaches the heart
how to stand in the witness box
and still say,
without rehearsing,
“Yes.
I was afraid.
Yes.
I stayed.”
POTD 02/10/2026
Take death back
The doctor's objective
review
Argues and
life skills
Take death back
Death involves a loss
Essential treatment,
whatever price?
The ballad of life
Take death back
One last act
on one's existence
overwhelming
The vulnerable situation
always an uncertainty
Take death back
Life's rowing boat, without oars
Free entrance
Not today, not tomorrow
not this month
Life ...
- with death on hold
Take death back
I'm not ready
to say goodbye
... dad
The doctor's last answer :
... "Sorry
... there's no more we can do"
03/12/2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
...dedicated to W.B. Yeats, in response
to his poem 'When You Are Old'
When you are young sweet innocence abounds,
your step is gentle, all your dreams are free
of grim disquietude, such joy you see
as gaily you discharge your daily rounds.
Your heart is light, bereft of grave concern
that troubles him whose purity is lost,
who argues and contends at any cost,
who complicates and twists at every turn.
Simplicity must be your cornerstone,
strengthen your heart against all sorts of strife
that undermine a childlike view of life,
strive and prevail, lest innocence be gone!
She know she's putting her heart in danger,
As she asks for the love of a beautiful stranger.
The elusive inhabitant of her heart and soul,
You're the one and only who can make her feel whole.
Masked by the distance of a thousand miles,
But still unyielding to inevitable smiles.
Amazed by your loveliness to which none can compare,
But of your weak grasp of apathy, she's also aware.
With great diligence does a relationship bloom,
Saving you both from your anguish and gloom.
Yet from deep inside her a hunger lurks on,
Yearning for more of your heart, brain, and brawn.
In the back of her mind she argues and quarrels,
She questions herself and she questions her morals.
Is this desire to love, something she really feels?
Or is it her own remedy for her heart to heal?
You're the only one for which her heart sings,
Should she be allured by such fairytale things?
Can she really feel love or that kind of care,
For an intangible being who's not even there?
She'll build you a bridge to make one of two hearts,
And you'll both take the roll of a less foreign part.
You'll have no need or desire to change her,
And to her you'll be beautiful, but no longer a stranger.
I yelled and flung the empty whiskey bottle through the air
The marching high school band is getting closer
Children running, playing with the pygmy bear
The carny selling snake oil, argues with the grocer
Soldiers marching past the fountain try hard to hide their stares
as ladies of the night walk by and boldly strut their wares
The preacher turns the other cheek, and quickly looks away
As mothers hide their children’s eyes, on such a dreadful day
The hunchback and the midget playing baseball on the grass
run off the growling rabid dog that almost bit their ass
The fishermen pull up their anchors in the dark and tranquil bay
and sail off to their secret place, where mermaids swim and play
The doctors and the lawyers and their limo drivers too
lay drunk across their tables in the dimly lit saloon
The one eyed hooker sings aloud her favorite Country tune
As the village idiot runs in circles, howling at the moon
And me I’m just here sitting, watching from the bleachers
As children on their outing, yell profanities at their teachers
The firemen turn their hoses on the salesmen trying to sell
Direct TV subscriptions, as the crowds yell “go to hell”.
City lights come alive, the cats desert the streets
The silence of the falling leaves, are gathering at my feet
As I walk past the working men, erecting circus tents
To bring tomorrow’s curious here, to offer new events
an old ripped tarp argues with the wind
the NO TRESPASSING sign trembles
an underdressed scare crow ‘crazy dances”
mocking a city dweller manically hailing a cab
the warmth of the red barn lies to the field mice
offers only the emptiness of progress
sad hollow hope of grain-less silos
silent feathers watch as hunger preys
upon the return of every sunrise
an old ripped tarp argues with the wind
©1/20/2019
Embraced by unfortunate solitude consumed within a bitter aftertaste, despair. Eyes seeing through everything with frustrated wonder minus awe.
The ground holds still yet barely, hopeless-a heartbeat whispers hardly loud enough to choose. Gasping for purpose.
Love's dying.
Reason fades.
Eyes close open.
Hope begins to perish.
Grief, loss, shame-so much heavier than every fabric of gravity
which pulls never giving yet always taking. Taking.
Feet want nothing more than just to run.
Afraid of shadow and reflection.
The heart argues as the mind complains, refusing to use their inside voices.
It's declared "crazy" by lips attached to those who laugh in the illusion of secret unable to understand admitting the inability offers less than more.
Love's dying.
Reason fades.
Eyes close open.
Hope begins to perish.
Breathing hurts still, never brought on by the pressure of touch yet by what remains locked behind the smallest door with the largest locks-the "skeletons" knock and scream angrily refusing to be ignored any longer.
100,000,000 feet up and....
Fall.
The gift "up" came without receipt so it cannot be returned or given away.
No one will take it. Yet.
Love dies. CLEAR!
Reason fades. LIGHTS!!
Eyes close open. BREATHE!!!
Hope wants to begin again. RESURRECTION?!!!!
My Good Friend never argues,
and at all times displays the truth;
My Good Friend has been with me now,
since early in my youth.
My Good Friend listens to my stories'
and never judges me;
My Good Friend lets me be myself,
just as I am supposed to be.
My Good Friend has witnessed my turmoil,
and watched me shed my tears;
My Good Friend has let me express myself,
when no one else would hear.
My Good Friend listens to my rants and raves,
and in my outbursts has consoled me;
My Good Friend I will cherish always,
for my good friend lets me be me.
My Good Friend has been my therapist,
and my savior now and then;
My Good Friend does'nt speak at all,
for my Good Friend is my pen.
Whose normal – your normal or my normal I ask her.
She is shocked.
Believing we all have the same normal.
My children roller skated in the house, I tell her.
They had swings in the basement. We had pink goats.
My normal might not be your normal.
But that does not make sense! She argues. That is a lie.
I burned down my treehouse when I was smoking, I told her.
I was eight. A pyromaniac. I set fires in the neighborhood.
That’s not normal! She argues.
It is normal if you are me, I tell her.
I am a cannibalistic killer.
She left screaming.
The Little Things She Doesn’t do.
.
It’s not so much the things she does
But the things she doesn’t do
That always amazes me
That would make anyone love her too
.
For she never questions me
For our relationship is built
By faith and trust
She never pushes me to do anything
And never a judge
.
She never shouts at me or argues
As we always talk things through
She never thinks about just herself
But of us two
She rarely does the same thing twice
And keeps our relationship fresh and new
.
She has no sense of greed
As long as we can pay the bills
And have enough to feed
.
She doesn’t complain
When I leave the toilet seat up yet again
Or leave crumbs to tidy up
And when I am thirsty
She offers me her cup
.
She never minds when I need my space
And never wears a frown
But a smile upon her face
She never wears makeup
But still looks like a dream
The house is never dirty
Always spotless clean
.
We are of the same mold
The same in so many ways
And I love her as much as I first did
Sixty five magic years ago
Still very much in love
But now
Old and grey.
.
Peter Dome©2020.