Best Be After Poems
Met with you the first time, knowing not what I had just found.
Working days and nights beside you, walking unit’s hard ground.
Helping one another in and out of these day’s crisis.
Trust in easy comfort sharing secrets and our vices.
Blinded by your selfless nature under our same God’s eyes.
Colored hues of virtue burned into your soul it rides
Times enduring twelves in truth and depth of pasts and yet-tos.
Corners turning heads to tails in trails you doing time thru.
I have watched you suffer dating burden from his cold hand,
Wanting many times to tell you to break from that dead man.
Wisdom needing to remind me, hope was holding you still.
Losing grip, you make the change and years returning, Love will.
My prayers carry wishes for you, one day’s given good spouse.
Under Holy Ghost’s soft guidance, making your home, God’s house.
Sharing smiles and tears in keeping promise past the last day.
Into Christ’s embrace that shines you through a Heaven’s gateway.
Always just a thought away you will be after our end.
Grateful in my heart to have been given such a rare friend.
As Marion trod the old familiar path
leading to the river of her childhood,
she viewed the willow tree across the river
and recalled with clarity
the event that changed her life
half a century ago - that memory
which for all her adult life
she‘d managed to suppress . . .
She was being chased by Ellie down the path;
Ellie, the fair haired younger sister
favored by their father
and wearing the golden pendant he had given her
when she’d won a spelling bee.
Yanking the pendant from her sister’s neck,
Marion ran into the river’s icy water,
threatening to throw the pendant in.
Screaming, Ellie followed right behind.
Farther into the river’s center, the two girls moved.
Where the riverbed dipped sharply,
Ellie had caught up.
Suddenly the wind blew violently,
The chain with its beautiful pendant
slipped from Marion’s hand
into the swirling water.
Ellie tottered, falling backwards.
Then the river was carrying
Marion’s little sister to the other side.
Marion called out, but Ellie did not answer.
A strong swimmer, Marion swam
to her sister’s lifeless body
on the opposite bank where a nearby willow stood -
witness to her crime.
Marion now was standing where she once had stood
that fateful day. The river had receded with time,
but its current was still strong.
She stood recalling her parents’ bitter tears
and how she had escaped their wrath
inventing her own version of the truth -
that Ellie had run into the water by herself
when the sudden wind came up
causing her demise.
She felt bad, but in the end,
she became her father’s newfound pride and joy.
Something glittered at the water’s edge.
Marion, now heavy and clumsy with age,
moved closer to see. Could it be after all these years?
Yes, it was the pendant, shining in the river’s sludge!
She stooped to pick it up, but lost her balance,
falling forward toward the slanting floor.
As she struggled, a great gust of wind
moved her out. . .farther and farther to the middle.
Before her head vanished below the water’s surface,
she saw that old willow’s leaves flutter angrily.
She could almost swear she saw the form of Ellie,
fair sweet Ellie, beckoning her from the other side.
For Frank Herrera's POEM ENDING WITH A 'CHILLING TWIST' Poetry Contest
School days indeed such memories they are
Some stayed close to home, whilst some travelled afar
But where of my first love, where did she go
Our first dance together when I was her Beau
The lovely Olivia, long brown hair, petite
Will she be at the reunion, will we again meet
I still remember the day into the distance she went
To University,beyond, I still sense her perfumed scent
Butterflies, trepidation, after all these years
The evening is soon upon me, I'm nervous for tonight's fears
What if she is there, will she remember her first Beau
I'll only ever know, to the local hotel I now go
I take a familiar path, we walked it so many times
Retracing past moments with her, our footsteps so in rhyme
Through the doors I go, so many faces from my past I see
I don't see Olivia, but so many say hello to me
I have never forgotten your eyes, blue as the sea
Through the crowds I could see you staring at me
Could be after so many years so far away?
That a candle still flickers in our dark destiny?
You reached closer to me, amongst many friends
I wondered how it felt to be touched once again by your hands
Allured by each others silence under an ocean of stars
In the same spot where the prom boy once asked me to dance
1.
Mom
kept the perch
we caught in a bucket.
And when we took them home
She would clean and place them
In our twenty gallon tank
Where they bobbed in stunned silence
Eyes watching for any white movement.
Nobody cared
when they committed fishicide
on their domesticated tank-mates.
Even the little beta fish
Who had survived our six day pilgrimage from Florida, to find Mecca
was a cool whip container.
2.
Whenever we had guests for dinner,
Mom swooned they
were the smartest fish she had ever seen.
She bestowed upon them names - Jed and Lucy
tapping at the glass
with one extended finger,
feeding them fish flakes,
like porpoises fed from the teeth of a trainer in Ocean World
“You can’t keep perch in a fish tank”
the guests would say,
but
they lived for two years
bobbing and staring
in the vacant tank space.
3.
One crisp winter morning
Jed finished his breakfast of gold fish flakes, took one
last gulp of slimy tank
water
then hurled
himself off of glass
walls.
It went
over and over,
so hard
I almost thought
the glass would crack.
4.
Lucy
sat quietly and watched
him.
She too died a few days later
like aged soulmates
who often cease
to be after their amor
dies.
When someone left the lid open,
she plunged
her blue green skin shimmered
as she laid
making fish O’s in the dry air..
I often wonder
if the air that morning
smelled
like an ice floe
to a better place
somewhere Jed waited
with our beta and our angel fish
a place of worms, kelp
and dragonflies.
4.
Mom
emptied the tank of the murky filtered water.
Rinsed the ultra neon yellow fish gravel,
and placed the fake plants on a sponge.
Separating air filter, from pump
from clear plastic tubing
and put to rest
in a brown cardboard box..
She did it without a word.
Am I not human too?
You look at me in disgust.
What did I ever do to you?
Don’t you remember when it was just us?
No arguments no cheating no fuss?
You said I was beautiful, you said I was amazing and you and you said you loved me,
But since you met her I have suddenly grown ugly?
You say I’m a mess,
But who wouldn’t be after all the hurt you caused me,
Oh! So you think I’d forget?
Many nights I fell asleep on a pillow soaking wet,
I wish we didn’t end up like this.
I miss the soft touch of your lips,
I miss the feeling of butterflies in my tummy; that’s what I felt when we first kissed.
All I have are the memories and to sit around and wish,
Wish we didn’t end up like this,
Wish if we still felt the way we felt about each other when we first kissed.
We made love,
You were my first, the best!
We’d laugh and talk about anything,
While we both lay with my head on your chest.
Now I’m sitting here crying,
My pillow is soaking wet.
Falling in love with you is now my biggest regret.
These three things I have learned today,
no, not just one or two;
The lessons here I have to say
came while I Souped with you.
Real friendship gained has great value
there’s pleasure in it too;
though I expect not all of you
would want my friendship, true?
Another thing I’ve learned is that
when in doubt learn to ask -
‘Tis better to have known the fact
than make a big faux pas.
And still there’s that third lesson here:
Though one thinks he has class,
Soupers will know if not sincere
and be after his a$$.
*To all Soupers, this is not a slam, just having a blast with the gang!
21 February 2015
Singing and drinking, with little or no thinking,
Cheating and mocking, with little or no care,
Exciting and deciding, with little or no storming,
It’s a political campaign season, it will be after five, to have it again.
Bribing and buying the voters, who cares who wins?
Corrupting and misleading, the hearts of the choosers,
The job of the candidates, who cares where they loot the cash?
It’s a political campaign season, it will be after five, to have it again.
Gifting and giving, freely from the “heart,”
Who even cares, whether it’s from the heart?
Decorative and luring speeches, paint the media skies,
It’s a political campaign season, it will be after five, to have it again.
And when the voting is done, the season is gone,
The frenzy is gone, we get back to pointing fingers,
To each other’s choices, again for the next five years,
And the cycle goes on, when shall we learn?
Ever find yourself getting
up on the wrong side of
the bed, knowing your
going to have one of those
days!! Guess what!
everything went wrong,
first, the letters slipped
out of the mailbox when
I went to mail
them.
The cat ate the dog food
the dog ate the cat food
The fish tanks pump
went dead, with the fish,
swimming on there sides.
I left the house, tripping
gracefully over the stepping
block, got my neck caught
on a rose thorn trying to get
the morning paper the boy
threw in the thorny rose bushes.
The dog next door came
in the yard, took a big dump
on my new planted grass, the
city gave me a ticket, for planting
flowers to close to the fire
hydrant..
I went to work, found someone
parked in my parking space, my
computer decided to stop working
and the coffee tasted like tar.
Went to the store, on my way
home, checked everything out
at the counter, realized I had
left both my wallet and charge
card in my other hand bag.
I was about to scream, when my
son came home from school wearing
a black eye, which his girlfriend gave
him for something stupid he had
said to make her upset.
Now was time for bed, and decided
to take a nice soothing bath to relax
my shattered nerves, when I realized
their was no hot water, because the
hot water tank had broken.
I just had it, got into bed, thanking
God for giving me a wonderful day to
tackle, with patience and gratitude.
I figured if thanking God for a wonderful day
my day tomorrow may be just great which I
needed so badly to be, after the stress of
today's craziness.
Should I tell you what happened on my
wonderful day, I thought would be great?
I really better say nothing about it.
(Please don't expect to always have beautiful day)
By Derena
© 2018 Derena (All rights reserved)
Hopeless world*
Hopeless world,
I sat and wonder how the world has become,
Hopeless world,
For we’re all sinners in this world,
But the only thing that set us apart from this rust dust we breathe…
It is the way we rise up through this dust filled with many dirt,
For we are all sinner in this world, in this place of so much hate,
Keep on climbing these hills of holiness,
For you might nev’r know god might be impressed?
In this world of so many wonders,
In this world of so many wonderful tears,
In this world of so many sorrows,
Keep on climbing these painful hills,
For you might nev’r know how beautiful the deck might be after the pain?
Keep on climbing and climbing these hills,
For you might nev’r see beyond the deck of this pain if you’re not trying?
In this hopeless world a mother has to die a child has to wear an image of an old,
In this hopeless world, the tomb became a mother to a child,
In this hopeless world love slips away,
Hopeless world,
For we’re all travelers in this world, invaders, intruders,
In this world of so many sorrows,
Keep on climbing and climbing these painful mountain valleys,
For you might end up feeling comfortable to stumble through the deck of this pain,
This hopeless world took my mother,
This hopeless world took my child,
And this hopeless world the critic has become my friend,
Hopeless world, hopeless world…
I’ve been here many times before,
But every time I sit in front of this world,
I often wonder why there is no door of a smile, peace and happiness,
I’ve been here many times before,
Standing and longing to see the shadows become colorless,
And every piece of breath i draw, become an art to decorate my tomb,
I’ve been here many times before standing across this hopeless world,
Watching and watching as good days become a dawn in the hell,
And every piece of breath I drew through the face of this world,
Become a history to read in tears,
And every moment that passes away,
Become a samber to a dancer filled with pain,
In this hopeless world, the love is no more,
Only stitches that art our hearts to keep us connected with our lord,
End of poem 3
If We Must Die: (Dedicated to the Memory of Claude McKay, Harlem Renaissance Poet and Jamaican Born)
If we must die:
Let it not result from, being unable to serve the cause for the betterment of humankind. Or from being denied a seat around the table, in the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
If we must die:
Let it not result from, anger and reprisal against each other, instead of sitting down in peace and love, to bring about God’s blessings, understanding, tranquility and a true quality of life.
If we must die:
Let it not result from, the thirst or want of righteousness and salvation.
Like dry bones with no voice, rotting away in a valley of condemnation without God’s grace.
If we must die:
Let it not result from, the lack of beautiful songs stimulating our souls with God’s love. Radiating from the magnificent choral voices of our children, and grandchildren, immersing themselves in our great cultural heritage of wisdom, knowledge, spirituality and understanding.
If we must die:
Let it not result from, the agony of an unscrupulous person ripping off our safety deposit boxes, and cleaning out our bank accounts, while we are tucked away in an old-folks home somewhere.
Alas, my brothers and sisters, if we must die:
Let it be after, and only after, our souls have passed on the renaissance knowledge of God’s grace to all humankind.
Like a shining star created by God gliding across the universe. From the East to West. One which raises aspiring heads and beaming eyes.
Opening up wondering minds, and joy filled hearts molded from God's hand. Leaving on the tongue of all who seek to reach for it…
Words of everlasting hope— “I wish!
Then, and only then, if we must die, only God in Heaven awaits us!
© Joseph S. Spence, Sr., (Epulaeryu Master) 8/21/19
All Rights Reserved
My will not to break down brought me here ...
Impatience is becoming stronger,
My mind becoming so unsorted.
Can't wait till He walks along with me,
The feeling that hes by me.
When the sky's dark,
All dogs come to bark.
When the stars are out,
Or when the clouds create a blackout.
Raising freshness through air,
No one is to despair.
Atmosphere abundance ,
Till next morning leaves come to dance.
By that time me and him will be after trance,
Of being together,
Possibly in romance.
A new commence.
Being together,
I wish not to rush,
All I need is him next to me.
The rest will sort itself.
I have no doughs to knowing if it's worth,
It's an opportunity ...
To make best of it I need confidentiality.
I must although be myself,
Without stress without planning.
Just letting the beauty of moments go flying.
Smile if any awkwardness..
Stick to his Lovely Sweetness.
I'm going crazy,
Without him I'm hazy.
Often covered in thoughts,
I end up being called lazy.
It's not his bad influence,
But my feeling of loneliness...
Once I meet in a couple of days,
I will realise if he got the keys,
To unlock the futures beauty rays.
See if me and him can stand up tall,
Be there for each other every call.
Although this all needs time to form.
No matter how easy or how much storm.
I don't lose strength in hope,
Brought me here to him.
Will keep guiding,
And I hope to keep on Thanking.
Walking along the Tiber's River walls,
one discovers hieroglyphics
depicting images of Romans
engaging in battles; they seem
mythical warriors so appealing.
As legend goes, Romulus
became the first roman king,
he founded Rome once
an insignificant rural village;
in the shortest time,
it grew into a powerful city
that ruled the ancient world
with intimidation and atrocity.
Each hieroglyphic tells
a story of victory,
of defeat, of conquest,
of cruelty and dominion:
hear Julius Caesar
speak against his enemy
in the Roman Forum!
It's such a sorrowful echo of distrust;
hear the shouts of proud citizens
overtaken by anger and disgust...
even louder they would be after
his premeditated assassination!
Every empire old or new
has known its glory in full;
and Rome more than any
empire has excelled them all.
If those hieroglyphics tell
of its greatness and superiority,
they also should expose
the evil minds of some emperors:
like Caligula, Nero and Diocletian
who ruled with a steady iron hand.
Constantine's conversion
to Christianity brought harmony,
the inhumane slaughtering
of innocent Christians was halted.
Would this empire have survived
without its legions of mighty stronghold?
Hieroglyphics itched in triumphal arches,
temples and monuments attest:
that the rise to power takes
an ingenuity which begins
with a strategic concept.
Today a world government
is in its raw state, other
hieroglyphics will be carved,
and along with holograms,
one sees images beyond
imagination and belief.
Will humans leave
a testament of their
existence with
a science so brief?
Everyone has seen a rainbow, no doubt,
at its end, you had best keep an eye out:
for fairy folk may be lurking about.
Leprechauns can be grumpy, funny folks;
that some say love to play mischievous jokes
on naysayers who label them a hoax.
If it's their pot of gold, you'd be after,
try searching behind an attic rafter;
where kids readily swear they've heard laughter.
The Irish like to bribe them with some food,
thinking a free meal will keep them subdued:
but the wee folks are amazingly shrewd.
They love whiskey, and they'll steal it from you:
if you forget to leave a drop or two:
spilling a little on the floor will do.
Wherever a rainbow touches the ground,
keep your eyes open; have a look around:
some folks say a pot of gold might be found.
__uPON her shoes__
The best I could do
Is to sit upon her shoes.
The show is still on,
So don't judge me now...move on!
She is still sleeping
And she wants no awakening.
She loves me and wants me idle
And sit upon her shoes.
One hour gone,
Two hours gone...
Now five hours are gone.
But she loves me
And wants me
Wholeheartedly.
I mustn't stand idle
But sit upon her shoes.
Thank God she's awake.
Now to take a break.
"Can I stand up" I inquired
"Not now" she replied.
"Won't you take me for lunch" she required.
"I will... Of course let's go" I replied.
At least now I don't stand idle.
May be after lunch, I won't fuddle.
"Waiter, I’ll like you to serve me a plate of rice and chicken.
Listen waiter, serve him 'Eba'. He loves that thing."
I admitted to what I don't like
And still will pay for what she likes.
Again to sit upon her shoes.
Another round I must do.
>>>>>>>>
*** Eba: Is one of Nigeria solid food (a product of cassava flour), usually known with the Yoruba people of Nigeria. It can be taken with local soup like "Ewedu", "Efo", "Gbegiri" and so on.
Note: This poem is honest lied situation put up for fun of the contest. However, I have feelings that it possesses (some) qualities that could be related to real life situation.
18/5/2013
For: "Silly (FUNNY) Poems Only old/new' Contest
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
It was quite an adventure. I never had sailed.
Appearances looked like the last trip had failed.
“That rickety old thing? Ya’ sure it will float?”
Nodding my friend said, “Don’t call it a boat.”
We sat in the back as his Dad came up top.
He was dressed like a pirate. I felt my jaw drop.
Wielding a sword, his clothes were so cool.
He was twisting and jabbing as if in a duel.
“What’s going on?” I asked with concern.
My buddy said, “Watch, pay attention and learn.
He thinks he’s the Captain, that this is his ship.
Listen-up, or it could be a very long trip.”
My eyes were wide open as he tucked in his sword.
This might be a journey I could not afford.
“Arrrr…, fresh blood,” he said pointing at me.
“Are ye brave enough, boy, to sail the high sea?”
I cautiously nodded responding, “Yes sir!”
He then threw me a coat, why I’m not sure.
He leaped towards the cabin taking hold of the wheel.
His eye-patch and peg-leg looked pretty darn real.
“Shiver me timbers and spindle me toes.
Nubs to the wind, which way dar she blows?
You’ll swab up them decks and dust off them planks.
Ahoy ye scoundrels now scrub out ‘dem tanks.”
“Clean out the gallows and hoist up that mast,
I feel a storm brewing, It’s coming in fast.
We seek buried treasure, medallions and pearls,
cast off this island and straighten them curls.
Avast ye mates, ye stench of the earth,
we’ll fight to the death whatever it’s worth.
Keep an eye out for crocs. Be ready to shoot.
Be wary of pirates, they be after our loot.”
Crashing through waves like butter through steel,
the seduction of danger was casting appeal.
When this incredible journey was finally done,
I said, “Thanks for the ride in your boat, it was fun.”
Suddenly the veins in his eyes turned to red.
My friend shook his head exclaiming, “You’re dead.”
He wielded his sword like a Samurai Knight.
I said, “Captain, I don’t think you heard me just right.
If you thought I said boat, you misunderstood.
I said … thanks for the coat, it fit me real good.”
He then patted my head, put his weapon away.
My friend said, “Nice save, you can live one more day.”