Best Burning The Midnight Oil Poems
Success never depends on
The way you dress or speak
What it demands for
Is your happiness at its peak!
It never comes to a person
Who thinks of himself to be the best
Life instead proves to him that
Over confidence has made him an unwanted pest
Success never chases the one who gets
The literal meaning of dedication
And the one ehose hardwork
Never takes a vacation
Burning the midnight oil
Is the first lesson for success
Hardwork is the only thing
Ehich does not harm
Even in excess
The second mantra to succeed
Is to build self confidence
But if built in over
Can prove to be an interferance
Following the four D's
Dedication discipline devotion determination
Will lead you best to dream completion
And will givevyou power
To overcome fear of tough competition
These mantras, if accomplished
Can cause you to succeed
But only if you don't let
Pride to breed
This will destrot your future with a thrive
And may cause you to strive
Otherwise, noone can block your way
Even oroblrms will tend to stay away!!
Take the time to glance all around you
And to let yourself warm up
At the joy that you can see lighting up
Everyone's faces
When you all glow with the freshness
Of youth
While still in your adolescent days!
Take the time to breathe in exaltation
When burning the midnight oil
For your final university exams
In your twenties,
Aware that if you succeed,
You shall have the world at your feet!
And when marriage comes,
Let your partner paint poetry all over you,
Poetry enouncing of his love for you
And rhyming with how he feels
At the love that you thrust back!
Let your children tamper with your moods,
With your time, with your schedule,
Let them be the centre of your universe
For,
They are naught but the fruits
That your fate has prepared for you!
And then,
When old age settles in,
Along with painful knees, bidding you
To slower your pace,
Smile at the memories
That dance across your mind,
Regardless of what remained, or what
Was lost, regardless of who stands still
By your side or who left you walking alone
For,
The life that has been given
To you is a token of love
And it becomes your duty
To live it according to the rules
That have been laid down for us all!
Greed is for the weak
Greed is for the weak.
Those who fail to act but speak
Because talk is cheap.
They tend to hate those on success trip,
Forgetting whiles those on success trip were burning the midnight oil, they were asleep.
When you are strong, you live your dream
If you live your dream, time won't permit you to accept greed.
Drop the greed, take up your dream and be on stream.
Because Greed is for the weak.
Greed is for the weak
Greed is for the weak.
Those who fail to act but speak
Because talk is cheap.
They tend to hate those on success trip,
Forgetting whiles those on success trip were burning the midnight oil, they were asleep.
When you are strong, you live your dream
If you live your dream, time won't permit you to accept greed.
Drop the greed, take up your dream and be on stream.
Because Greed is for the weak.
I live in a city that never sleeps!
Notice people moving here and there…
Engaged in their routine activities…
Minding not their surroundings!
Those who love burning the midnight oil…
Found busy working night shifts.
Those who are pleasure loving…
Found visiting pubs, nightclubs and theatres.
At night they don’t sleep;
In the morning they don’t wake up.
Aren’t they the creatures of the night?
Creatures of the Night Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Date: 18-06-2022
place: 3rd
an inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax
(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting icecaps or igloos,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget
Old McDonald with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
to appease ghost oh Rachel Carson
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu)
or poor ole Whinny The Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue
doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
mien hating solution
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...
I'm up before you,
I'm up after you,
Burning the midnight oil
As if I didn't toil.
Burning the wick
On both ends,
No wonder I'm
Always sick.
Roy's very silly
Always "willy-nilly"
Playing with no
Rhyme or reason.
He bull-dozes us
'Til we want to cuss,
Then they're both
Up at two,
So what do you do?
The blueprint marked the plan of her life.
Just like an architect she was, she constructed it perfectly
Drawing it to the very detail she wanted it to be.
Ink dripping, paper raffling, on to work she was.
As others slept, she kept burning the midnight oil in the attic where the sound was below ten decibels.
The blueprint contained segments and blocks. Each segment was partitioned by a pathway, demystifying a phase of life she had.
Armed with a compass she placed it on top perhaps a clear signal the direction she wanted her life to take.
Shapes were drawn, lines crossed and figures inserted between columns and rows.
To her advantage, she wasn’t in the 70s for she would have to wait for the canvas to dry up.
A peculiar picture struck my mind upon seeing her work, "a bridge “was it a message or a phrase “we’ll cross the bridge when we get there?
Don't Give A Flying Fart
you get pulled over and have no seat belt on don't give a flying fart
you wake up late for school and you don't want to go
you ask your mom please but she still says no
miss two classes and no homework
teacher teaches class like your some kind of jerk
can't even wink to dismiss this earthly bliss
when there's a dozen of pots in my sink
we dream of better days yet get lost in some purple haze
yet year after year we are as mice getting stuck in a maze
go to bathroom in your pants yet you hide it away in a secret place
don't give a flying fart about politics and the newest trend
we all must keep it in check lest I inspect a newer way of living
bask in the vast expanse of sex, drugs & rock and roll
like Johnny Paycheck sang, "Take this job and shove it ain't working here no more".
like spaghetti without the sauce or toast without butter
is it any wonder we got too much time on our hands
let the reader understand you can't keep sticking it to the man
don't give a flying fart on your critical mindset of fire blown in its fullest desire
don't care in what you say or did that's why i put an M80 under a garbage can lid
ever since I was a kid I did what was best for me that's how i studied my history
life is busy when you are making other plans i hope you all someday will understand
don't give a flying fart when your out burning the midnight oil
have to wait far to long watching water to boil
got Trump in his ivory the know it all for president
don't give a flying fart on who will take up residence
in the changing of the season everyhting happens for a reason
A swarm of bees
insects, butterfly's & snakes
Left helpless again down on my knees
To digest hate into loves reality
It all started with an apple in the garden
the Eve was suddenly deceived
Blinded by the fatal cost of sin
now where do I even begin
A seed was dropped out of a farmer's bag
in time the roots spring forth out of the fertile soil
For the birds of the air flocked overhead
look at the swan in the pond
Searching for food in it's beak
start to turn over a brand new leaf
We can learn a lot from nature's beckoning call
a shadow of sweet decorum
We lie in silence burning the midnight oil
sometimes it takes to long for water to boil
Today there's lines being drawn in the sand
we will be ready to live & understand
The beginning of the end
try to turn around and understand
Be captivated by the way that you feel
perhaps a love embrace will seal the deal
Life is spent when your busy making other plans
look above to the heavenly love
Hopefully everyone will understand
They found the smoking dagger
Happiness is a loving family in another city
True friends stab you in the front
He’s a wolf in cheap clothing
He received a decease and desist order
I shot the wind out of his saddle
He’s not the one with his ass in a noose
I’m watching everything you do with a fine-tuned comb
It’s as easy as falling off a piece of pie
Robbing Peter to pay the piper
It’s time to grab the bull by the tail and look him in the eye
You can’t change the spots on an old dog
Step up to the plate and lay your cards on the table
He’s a little green behind the ears
We have to get all our ducks on the same page
The fan is gonna hit the roof
Wake up and smell the coffee on the wall
People are dying like hotcakes
It's as easy as falling off a piece of cake
A stitch in time gathers no moss
He was burning the midnight oil at both ends
It sticks out like a sore throat
It's not exactly rocket surgery
I wouldn’t be caught dead with a ten-foot pole
The sweater was all moth-eared
A loose tongue spoils the broth
You're not the brightest bulb in the knife drawer
I shot the wind out of his saddle
I have a lot of black sheep in my closet
And my all time favourite...
She’s suffering from a detached rectum
I wonder what it could be
The glowing merry marble
Curve of my masculine hands and legs
That draws them to me like bees to honey.
I stand here for their eyes to drink up
Like a mirror hanging on the wall
Yet all that they will see is me
Have they no pleasure in their own reflection.
I am the birth of Michelangelo's chisel and hammer
Hours upon hours he spent
Burning the midnight oil for me to stand
As I glow in alabaster-white
There here I stand in sculpted glory
Frozen in time for all man to see
The miracle of the chisel and hammer
Stand here forever in The City of Lilies
(Inspired by Michelangelo's David)
Fire
Dramatic much? One would think you were
the flame of Passion.
Shall I re-introduce you so that you can make
your entrance again?!
In your flashy clothes, that you
wisk down your runway, whoosh.
Are you gonna tell it once more, how the fuel feeds.
Your ego, burnt offerings consuming everything.
Burning the midnight oil,
by tripping the light-fantastic.
Shining. Me! I am the quest you seek and also the Bard
that shines light on the tail, the tale and your tailor.
Don't throw a hissy if you burn in the pit, out of prides-
travails.
Although the lines have blurred.
(Leos. Don't stare too long or hard.)
(You may get blinded by a dance of the seven veils)
( I love Leos. My Momma was a Leo, my main pride)
Copyright © Jude Herrick | Year Posted 2019
There is a line being drawn in the sand
try to understand
Many equate logic for fear
I shed a single tear to numb the pain
We each are given a voice with a choice
many insist on lust instead of love
Other's just push things under the rug
eyes, faces & traces
Burning the midnight oil
when will this harvest begin to boil
Shadows break apart upon the morning dew
we have bitten off far more then we could chew
solace, humility & sullen brevity
Marching orders have been given
Satan's laughing spreads his wings
Trump is in office a new political swing
As the eagle fly's throughout the sky
to send a tender wish or a soft reply
Let us look above to the heavenly love
shelter lies dormant onto it's beckoning plow
The time for change is now
a call is going out onto the nation
Hearts to unfold their dream episode
become a beacon of light to a hurting world in need
Words like Sanskrit curses,
Verses to burn the paper,
As their eyes burning the midnight oil.
Darkness sculpted into poetry.
Of broken dreams and living nightmares.
Poems for the rebels and skeptics.
Poems that say everything about a life that means nothing.
Verses that undress reality and seduce fiction.
Power from the inside of an empty soul.
That's why they'll kill my footsteps but live in the horror of my echoes through the hall of fame.
That's why
Am not those poets who make selling headlines of poetry journals.
Am those poets with a dark corner in a bright magazine,
Or with quotes written on walls with scraping paint in bars or asylums.
Am those poets whose poems live in cracks of broken souls and the shatter of broken dreams.
My poems will substitute Bible verses on heretic tombstones.
History will keep me as a secret, But mad men will still whisper my name.
They won't quote me in literature lessons,
But the rogue students will scribble my name onto the bathroom doors.
No monuments for me,
But the graffiti on the streets will live on.
I might never be in libraries ,
But a broken teenager will stumble upon me as they search for a way to escape reality.
I'll be next to the blue pills or whatever colour suicide will come in then.
And then,
I shall live again.
There!
Ofcourse there's an afterlife for me.
Elliepoet