Best Built To Last Poems
You sockdologizing old man-trap long decayed
where claws curl tight in dust and brittle bone
your lies are hyenas dancing in the flame
their jaws a rattle tearing flesh to stone
their laughter cracks the silence and the name
of truth that bleeds until the world has grown
as hollow as the bones they gnaw upon
each tooth a dagger that breaks the heart to dawn
beneath your skin a hunger spills and swells
its teeth are rust its eyes a fevered glow
it gnashes bone until the broken tells
of sins that fester deep where no one knows
your hollow self a wind that pulls and wells
the hunger of a lion’s endless throes
and in your voice a low and raspy cry
that cracks the earth and cracks the brittle sky
beneath the skin your hunger splits the bone
its grasp a vice that crushes what it seeks
the stars fall silent cold and overthrown
their light consumed in frantic, bloodstreaked streaks
the air is thick with death and poisoned stone
where hunger howls beneath the shadowed peaks
yet still in your trap the pulse of truth will grind
a seed that's sown then left to twist and rise
your walls of lies are dust beneath the weight
of hunger’s edge and all that once was wise
though still you chase the fading spark of fate
your fingers crushed beneath the weight of mind
from soil once cursed where hate was built to last
the truth will rise unbroken and unmasked
for lies may hunt but truth though torn and scarred
is cut deep and rips your sockdologizing heart trap apart
Mom has always loved antiques
I have never asked her why
Perhaps it's the connection to the past
Maybe the craftsmanship
The smell of ancient wood
The curves
The fact that they were built to last
She turned a passion into a business
A few small pieces in her living room
A sign on a door
Interesting how businesses are born
Bob there by her side
Together building on her dream
There once was an old sawmill
Where men had worked with their hands
Hard work had its demands
Each one did what he could
Their strength remains
Locked within the wood
Those same hands had built mom's home
Over one hundred years ago
Time dripped on it didn't slow
Mom's home became the perfect place
To celebrate the past
Her home and business
Built from things that were made to last
The business grew
Taking over the home
Visits from patrons
Calls on the phone
Busy all the time
No space for them to be alone
It became time
For them to expand
They looked to the future
The life they planned
Built on their historic land
A new addition built from old wood
Soaring ceiling
Above them stood
I remember the beams
Spectacular
From an old barn hewn from fir
Lifted on Bob's wide strong back
Formerly they had been just a stack
A one of a kind home
Filled with love
With bedrooms and landing up above
The kitchen was the centre piece
A place to gather
Filled with love and peace
Love of the past
Hope for the future
Has alway been a part of her
Together melded and celebrated
As a result I appreciate
The solid
The values
The ingenuity
Forever engrained in my blood
My respect for the old
My admiration of antiques
Remnants of the business still remain
The building sold
Mom loves going to auctions
She still sells at local Antique Markets
Sadly Bob has passed on
Thankfully mom has moved on from her sad
She too is made of stronger stuff
Not unlike
Her beloved
Antiques
An old poem and this one is about old things.
For Broken Wings' contest. Written April 13 2013
Fear has no place in
your heart my little
lioness,
for you are so
brave and strong.
I know the blame
from others will always
be so wrong and fast
but I do know that you
were built to last throughout
the storm
And you are so loving and
warm.
The serpents and their words should really not be heard;
for they are ants compared
to the elephants of ideas
in your head and the gentle strength and wisdom you
so delicately possess.
So my lovely little lioness,
with a heart of gold
and a wonderful tale
to be told some day...
Stand up and be bold
enough to blow the
sour serpents away
with a new roar they
haven’t heard before!
You are so much more.
“Dedicated To My Daughter”
On a broad street 'neath spreading sycamores sits a stately dwelling.
Its elegance and surrounding grounds are so very compelling.
Gracious gardens and towering pines enhance its wide expanse,
All girded by a charming, yet sturdy, white iron picket fence.
Gingerbread ornamentation adorns its every eave and gable.
At the rear of the house stands a horse and carriage stable.
In my minds-eye I sit upon its front porch, so very inviting,
To muse upon its past and what made life there so exciting.
I see eloquent ladies and gentlemen arriving for a gala affair,
Happily anticipating the fellowship that awaits them there.
Outside huge flakes of snow waft gently to the earth,
But inside a blazing fire welcomes them to its cozy hearth.
The grandfather clock in the hall intones its sonorous chimes.
For decades it has dwelled there, overseeing happy times.
In the parlor a grand pump organ reposes by yon wall,
If only it could speak, what special memories it might recall!
The house has weathered the ravages of time with exquisite grace,
Providing warmth and comfort, when life moved at a slower pace.
Built to last for generations, built when guild took pride;
There, generations of genteel folk, loved, laughed and cried!
Entry for Nayda Ivette Negron's "Enchanted House" Contest
Have you ever stood still in silence, to watch her cadence and graceful glide,
there is an undeniable beauty, she’s exquisite from side to side.
Like a mother watching over her children, unfurled high or at half mast,
she stands tall protecting our freedom, this old girl was built to last.
She has weathered many a storm, standing watch both day and night,
a shining beacon of hope and she will never back down from a fight.
She’s been bled on, stepped on and burned by some children who just won’t behave,
but she will surely protect us all, especially the fallen, who lie in their grave.
The next time you drive by that pole, at a business or a highway rest stop,
it might be a little tattered and torn but be grateful for what you see there on top.
That flag represents our country, there are two reasons why it always will fly,
We are protected by our almighty God, and the brave who are willing to die.
For those who want war with our country and attack the red, white and blue,
someone else will raise your children, that’s a promise and a fact that is true!
Rural doctors
In quiet towns where roads are few,
Where fields stretch wide and skies are blue,
There walk the healers, brave and true,
The doctors of the rural view.
With bags in hand and hearts of gold,
Through rain and shine, through heat and cold,
They journey far where need is great,
To serve the towns that time forgot.
In simple clinics, makeshift rooms,
They fight disease, dispel the glooms,
With limited, yet mighty, tools,
They stand as pillars, patient schools.
Their knowledge vast, their skills refined,
In every touch, in every mind,
They bring a hope, a healing light,
To places often out of sight.
For every life they gently save,
In every soul they make more brave,
They build a bridge, they pave a way,
For better health with each new day.
In fields where whispers of the past,
Meet modern care that’s built to last,
These rural doctors, strong and kind,
Are heroes in the humblest find.
So let us sing their noble deeds,
Their tireless work to meet our needs,
In rural lands, they stand and serve,
With endless heart and steadfast nerve.
Written Sept 1, 2024
© Dr Upma A. Sharma
Our Ancient Prophet
In a city of steel and glass, where neon signs blaze bright,
Our prophet (PBUH) walks among the shadows of the night.
His eyes hold ancient wisdom, his steps a timeless grace,
He moves through crowds unnoticed, a relic out of place.
In alleys dark, he whispers truths that echo through the years,
His voice a soothing balm for those with modern fears.
He speaks of love and kindness, of peace in troubled times,
His words like ancient verses, unfolding sacred rhymes.
He wears the garb of ages past, a robe of woven lore,
Yet in this age of chaos, his message is the core.
He sees the hearts of people, their struggles and strife,
He offers ancient solace in the turmoil of modern life.
Our prophet (PBUH) sees the future in the city lights,
A world of endless Jihad and ever-lasting fights.
He warns of greed and anger, of paths that lead to woe,
Yet offers hope and healing for Muslims who seek to know.
In markets bustling, in subways deep, he finds the weary souls,
He guides them with a gentle hand towards their hidden goals.
A bridge between the epochs, a whisper from the past,
He stands a timeless sentinel, his wisdom built to last.
Though time has tried to hide him, his truth will never fade,
For in the heart of every Muslim, his teachings are relayed.
An ancient prophet, living in the now, his presence still so strong,
Reminding us that in our hearts, his timeless words belong.
Within the woods, stood a wall of stone
molded by hands from a distant time.
Though roughly hewn, it had endured.
What narratives could it tell of its past,
this ancient bulwark, built to last?
My fingers traced each pitted wound.
I wondered as to the tragic fate
of one missing mortared rock.
I dared to peer inside the hollow;
the scent of age overpowered me.
A sudden dizziness rattled my senses
with a brief glimpse of a long ago battle
when weapons pricked the rampart's bulk.
This bastion had served as a battlement,
a barricade between differences of opinions.
Was the victory worth the lives forsaken?
Because of it, were families torn apart?
With need to offer words of compensation.
I paid homage to the unyielding wall,
whispering, "Stand strong, brave soldier."
October 6, 2020 ~ A Wall in the Woods
Craig Cornish ~ Sponsor
Been late for the past few hours, girl get out the shower
This don't make no sense
Slow to get up hills
afraid of making spills
Don't mean that we should stop
This love was built to last
stop living in the past
And slowin' down in curves
Relationships get blurred
baby I have heard
I ain't focusing on them,
Your eyes, they make mine spin
My heartbeats feel like pitter-patter
when I'm running towards you
Chorus:
Stop running beside trains
girl just get onboard
my heart can't take much more
Don't make me miss our time,
or give up on our hope.
We're heading towards us.
Don't look at any other or wish for someone other, I got what you need. Trust in baby jesus, and georgia native peaches, I ain't asking for too much just get on board.
Tunneling through time
like the world was mine
Girl, you know I'm broke
Stop paying me in smoke
My lungs, they need your air
holding out ain't fair
Let this fire burn, I want to feel your passion, your heat is what I'm lackin'. No matter what direction, you are my reflection, introduction, no illusions
I've come to one conclusion
All I need is you
Chorus :
Stop running beside trains
girl just get onboard
Don't make me miss our time,
Love, don't be late or slowdown on our hope.
We're heading towards us.
Don't look at any other or wish for someone other, I got what you need. Trust in baby jesus, and georgia native peaches,
I ain't asking for too much
just get on board...
Outro:
Girl let's make a baby and
drive ourselves crazy
Outside looking in
You are my best friend
our love was meant to last
on or off tracks
I love your kinda crazy
You need me sort of foolish
Girl just get onboard
All those memories you haunt
seem to make you hurt the most
yet you linger in the past
like a sad and lonely ghost
There is an eerie silence
in your melancholy mood
You've retreated to the darkness
from the dreams you once pursued
Many prizes never claimed
many treasures never found
for you thought yourself unworthy
of the love that was around
If you'd only take a chance
just one step beyond your fear
to the symphonies of sadness
you might turn a deafened ear
Oh, the battles never fought
Oh, the victories never won
From the challenges of life
often times you chose to run
So you stay inside your mind
in a prison built to last
like a sad and lonely ghost
with the relics of the past
Tears stream like water, rain in the night
A heart that still hungers for all to be right
Stoned by a circle, mocked while on stage
Emotions grow heavy from pain into rage
Scabs that were healing I picked them apart
All to uncover, I had to restart.
Purity, The essence of the soul
Security, Only in your arms
For the ship is overtaken by rough waves
I know that You’re the one who saves
Hear me while I sit
In the dark.
Carelessness, comes from movie clips inside my mind
Walls built to last start to unwind
And I can’t take the ache within the knots
It’s as if all I’ve learned I just forgot
For the flames of bitter yesterdays just ignite
Restless with this walk, I lose my sight
Purity, the essence of the soul,
Security, only in your arms,
For this ship is overtaken by rough waves
I know that You're the One who saves
Hear me while I sit
In the dark.
But, I’m not alone
No, I’m not alone
I'm Going to the other side
I must resist this fear,
And
Come alive!
By: Sabina Nicole
Written: 4-8-12
Song written for the piano
It was simply an old rusty tractor
An eyesore for passers by
A graveyard, at the back, of a pasture
All covered with weeds and vines
Curiously, on slow approach,
I wanted a closer look
Carefully climbed the barbed wire fence
Hopping over a weed wild brook
What once had been paint was flaked and gray
Oxidized and turning brown
Left to die, to bake in the sun
And weather back into the ground
Some of it's parts were stripped away
Others hanging by wires
The steering wheel and seat had strayed
Yet four worn out flattened tires
Days of use had long since passed
The weather had taken it's toll
A necessity which was built to last
Still standing and left alone
But to me it stood for something more
It stood for time and growth
Shiny and new a dream of yore
Some family's lives and hopes
How times have changed lives been sustained
The wind and dust have swirled
With growth of crops, growth of a country
The growth of a starving world
Though time had been unkind to it
Now a tombstone out in the clear
As I rubbed the rust from the relic's side
Engraved was the name John Deere
An original poem by "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Walls built on walls,
Temple over temple,
Cities built to last,
Read about their past.
Crumbling stones
Mingled with the ashes
Tell their story . . .
Civilization ended.
. . . Now . . .
A sign on a cathedral,
“YOUR DONATIONS ARE NEEDED
FOR THE RESTORATION
OF THIS TEMPLE.”
Plans built on plans,
Life built for success,
Achievement after achievement;
Shattered dreams
Mingled with despair;
Lost on that journey,
See the fallen star;
Future suspended.
. . . Now . . .
A sign on my heart, for God,
“YOUR PRESENCE IS NEEDED
FOR THE RESTORATION
OF MY SOUL.”
Ideas for improvement.
No one has bothered to listen.
Winter of discontent.
Slacker employees?
They work hard. Push with Square Wheels.
A Spring awakening?
The landscape. No blame.
Should have planned downhill journey.
Thumping could be fixed.
Are Bosses unaware?
Square Wheels are always thumping.
Listen. Small Improvements here.
Wasting time you say.
Boss will not make any improvement.
Kick his butt downhill.
Praise from boss for efforts.
Way too much wasted energy.
Push with more effort?
With praise of boss for efforts.
But too much wasted energy.
Tender resignation…
Dreams of improvement.
Shattered by reality of being ignored.
Square Wheels always thump.
Things all built to last.
Wagon is quite nicely made.
Wheels must be improved.
A wagon not empty.
Round wheels are most abundant.
Implement some now.
Make her easy to handle and well upholstererd.
With an option to update to a newer model .
Classic lines with that touch of class.
A sporting body but built to last.
Looks really good when clad in leather.
But cheap to run and low maintence .
Pleasing to the eye and starts first time.
And definitely no voice controls.
These are the specs of the perfect wife.
comp entry 02/10/2016