Best Call Poems
Call on me when your boat is sinking,
you’re blown off course, or you’ve run aground,
call on me when you’re lost in the wilderness,
call on me when you want to be found.
Call on me when the tough decisions
you have to make are too hard to bear,
when you have doubts, when the price seems too high to pay,
call on me, and I will be there.
Call on me when the future’s daunting,
when you’ve lost hope, when the darkness won’t end,
when you’re in pain, when you grieve, when you’re scared and alone,
call on me when you need a friend.
You call me insensitive,
But I don't believe that's true;
Because, you see,
It's all about me.
It's not about you.
You say your opinion doesn’t matter,
That I’ve no respect for your point of view;
But I do if we agree,
Because it’s all about me.
It’s not about you.
You say I’ve no compassion,
No feelings for your troubles or your blues;
But none of us is issue free,
And mine are all about me;
But…not about you.
A time old adage,
“To thine own self be true.”,
Is all about choices you see.
My choices are all about me,
And, certainly, not about you.
So, when its time to make your choices
You’ll understand and know it’s true;
To decide what will or will not be,
Won’t be at all about me;
It will be all about you
But special moments confront most of us,
When what matters isn’t “Me”.
And while these moments are few,
They’re not about me, not about you.
For a time, it’s all about “We.”
Yes, “…no man is an island.”
Is a valid point of view;
But if it’s not about “We”,
Then it’s all about me.
Sorry. It’s not about you.
He left his sneakers by the shore
A backpack too, was laid aside
to pick up when the sun had died
He claimed his other gear, instead
The thrill of rapids filled his head
and sounds of water drew him in
His sneakers, backpack cast aside
would wait 'til dusk, upon the grass
when he returned to don again
They did not hear the roaring tides
They did not hear the shouts of fright
Nor did they hear, at last, the call
That came from voices through the night
Calls from those who searched the dark
While water surged and moonlight fell
And rushed instead, to grip a life
His sneakers, backpack, cast aside
assumed that he would come again
His sneakers wait, .........he kicked them off
In haste his backpack, too, was tossed
The river flows...... and all was lost
The cost was more than words explain
There's someone home who got the call
The words so wild, the last, that came
His sneakers, backpack, cast aside
assumed that he'd return again
It lies not in their province now,
to know the cost of human pain
___________________________________________________________
The night it is barren
from inland to the sea
but I am the one who loves you
you are not alone.
Tonight the sky is empty
stars fall in the sea
I am the light to guide you
do not wish to be alone.
If the world becomes deserted
all eyes you see are sad
I will smile for you
you will never be alone.
Sleeping I dreamed you
awake I keep dreaming
I dream because you love me
and I am not alone.
It is sometimes madness
a longing absentee
call it love
and we are not alone...
My art delights me, covers my walls.
Smiling, dancing, laughing magical beings.
Reminding me how much I love to choose colors.
Appreciated by no one as much as myself.
Proud neon colors saturate my house,
My artwork is in nearly every room,
Each room a challenge. Which one is the best?
Which one would I choose for painting of the week?
I am obsessed with the pure joy and excitement
I receive as I choose my colors, plowing through my paints.
I know exactly what color each bottle and squeeze tube makes.
Happily painting my whimsical creatures, I am choosy about it.
Almost every painting includes a woman, and I start with her eyes.
Every single time, drawing the two orbs first, or one if I want her
To appear to be looking sideways. Every single time. No exceptions.
I have never begun a painting that did not start with the eyes.
Pirates, dragons, unicorns, faeires, elves, and mushroom houses
Laugh at me from my covered walls. Seventy’s peace sign and hippies.
In hip-hugging bell bottoms, are burning their bras in my living room.
They make me happy, and they make me laugh. They are whimsical.
Ladybugs, peacocks, tulips, flower gardens, lily of the valley, horses too.
My art delights me, brings my mood from minus twelve to one hundred and sixty.
In a few minutes, I can take an empty canvas and turn it into an original piece
Distinctly mine, I doubt I have to sign them. They all call my name, and loudly.
In the silence; haunting echoes I can hear
A choir of angels soft and sweet,
Gently, I wipe your mournful tears.
Eternity beckons, drawing you near,
Strains of harmonious refrains that repeat,
In the silence; haunting echoes I can hear.
Worries and regrets no longer will appear,
Heaven has prepared an eternal royal seat,
Gently, I wipe your mournful tears.
Rest my dear, put aside your doubt and fear,
Though shadows fall, you rise and claim your feat,
In the silence; haunting echoes I can hear.
Regret no more, the lonely years,
You will be home, an eternal place, replete,
Gently, I wipe your mournful tears.
A vision shrouds the room and it appears
There is a table being prepared, a blessed fete,
In the silence; haunting echoes I can hear,
Gently, I wipe your mournful tears.
Date: March 1, 2022
For: Original Villanelle Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L. Milton Hankins
Placed 10th in contest
Was the Poem of the Day (POTD)on March 3rd, 2022
And We Call It……
Sprinkles, drizzles,
Mists and downpours;
Torrents, cloudbursts
Liquid sunshine;
Showers, deluge,
Mists and squalls,
Gully washers -
Thunder showers.
Pelting, pounding,
Soaking, drenching;
Dancing, pouring
Cats and dogs;
Bursting, drifting
Floating, falling,
Coming down
In buckets.
Comes in summer
Rides on thunder,
Comes in autumn
Twirls on whirlwinds;
Comes in winter
Plays with blizzards;
Comes in springtime
Floats on breezes.
Puddles, pools
Of standing water;
Dripping eaves –
Filling gutters;
Celebration
For umbrellas
And we call it…..
RAIN!!!
You must strive to find your own voice because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all.
Robin Williams - Dead poets society
Poets are born,
not manufactured.
The moment when life said:
"Recite a poem for me."
Verses began to flow,
like moonlight shimmering
upon tides rushing to the shore.
Tongue spoke in silent tones,
in a language forgotten in time.
Emotions that had been internally burning
bled a scripted sadness of sentimental scents. .
A perpetual periodical anthology of adversity,
hidden behind an enigmatic encrypted haiku,
about a lost soul's suffering in chains,
caged within the nonsense of syllables.
An unmetered sonnet,
where the world saw common rhymes,
as unforgivable idiotic crimes.
Not all metaphors make sense.
Still the quill yearned for meaning.
To write in evergreen sanguine blessings,
creating a vocabulary reminiscent
of blossoming phraseology -
but words can be misinterpreted.
When eyes lie with fake flattery,
this gifted madness you call poetry,
is like a curse for a wordsmith.
The mind becomes bewildered,
drifting in heavy hues of longing lavenders,
wondering where the spring flowers are.
Some remain content with withering thoughts,
but my ink is immortal in sowing perennial seeds.
Regarded as a warrior
this is true
Respect shown her a
definite must
Depth in knowledge
always knew
Not one to be flattered
by the lust
The fool she had played
long ago
Life's experience gave
her an edge
Not what's said but what
you show
Her shield she had taken
a pledged
Her words came natural
as I breathe
Those words only I can
understand
Warrior yet a voice that
could weave
When she fell, on her
feet she'd land
Ability to be seductive
or even fight
Either way she knew each
she'd win
Could be fearful yet a
stunning sight
Having loved only once
being her sin
Basic life she had left
so far behind
To rise above higher and
give her all
Was the best way once
she did find
So she could answer a
warriors call
They call to me
These poems
Lost minstrels
Singing in a silent
Wilderness
A sunrise
Gently awakening
A forest
Soft rain
Tickling flowers
Fall winds
Whispering
In the pines
Chipmunks
A moonlight kiss
Remembered
The circles
Of a lazy hawk
The scent
Of her pillow
The angst
Of a sorrow
Recalling a tear
These words
These poems
Calling me
To the keyboard
Enticing me
To write
These poems
Forever will I long for you
Remembering your love each day
Enabled me to make it through
Each time I shipped away
Do not be afraid," I said,
Oblige me in this task I take
Many people depend on me
Soldier's love do not forsake
Come to me in the dark of night
And I shall know you believe
Let me hear your silent prayer
Let your love help me achieve
6/27/15
I envy those living as part of the wild
For I too, once heeded its call
A smoldering ember since I was a child
Urge, and belonging all part of the thrall.
I’ve enjoyed the fresh taste of a sparkling stream
Felt the tremble as you push through your fear
Stood high on a peak admiring Gods scheme
Felt both delight and remorse for taking a deer.
I’ve walked for weeks through valleys and trees
Traversed mountains with lush native grass
Felt the warmth and the cold of high country breeze
Navigated tussock, forests and high country pass.
I’ve smelt autumn rain as it mingles with dirt
Enjoyed the isolation of me and my views
Valued crude shelter while nature unleashes its hurt
Watched forest birds doing their best to amuse
But I’m now destined to be one of societies slaves
In a world where worth is measured by cash
Where worry and stress are delivered in waves
Where those without are regarded as trash.
I felt most alive in the middle of nowhere
Now dead when hemmed by city and streets
Nothing compares with fresh mountain air
Living free, no money, bills, or receipts.
Call Your Mother
Pick up the phone...
do it now.
If you can.
Later if you must,
I trust that you,
know the difference.
She never put you off
or told you "later" on.
She was there,
when the world,
was not.
Not everyone has one,
"someone" like her.
You are ungrateful,
and a prick.
That is thick from me,
as I hate my own,
don't you see.
Some moms are not kind,
they do not make cookies,
or serve you wine.
They have other ways,
of making their
presence known.
That does not mean,
that yours is less,
or undeserving.
You decide,
Clyde,
but don't hide,
take pride,
in the manner you say,
that is "my mom..."
over there,
to share,
stories about the good times,
prayers about the bad,
and hugs,
for all the days
in the middle.
With fifty-nine tears, I stare at the phone, wanting to
understand. I had your voice in my hand. Intense pain now
washes through our decade’s bones. I must be able to rinse it,
cleanse it and restart with a stable heart. Always layers of hurt
from you. Now there is another, my lost Brother.
We may never meet again, not as siblings or as friends, yet you
chose to bring our last call to a painful end! Distance and age
whisper chilly to me of a certain possibility, this call could be the
last call of all. I wonder, do you feel that, too? Does this sad truth
also shadow you?
In life’s darkness, two stars shine on; one is our Dad, the other,
our Mom. Dad could not take your constant rift of frightening dread
or bear your street life, so he mentally buried you in his head. Mom
could not handle her first born living so forlorn, her maternal heart
and head were torn. She could not sever the bond, so her enabling
continued on. Neither parent was right or wrong. Unbearable pain
made them desperate to survive your heartbreaking song.
I never knew what to do, but I sought and fought to do it right.
I would help, I would insist, but true help, you would resist. Each
approach to coax you towards a healthy life ended with me tripping
through your dark light. I’ve abandoned my hopeful persistence
by accepting that I’ll never have brother-relief, not in this existence.
For years my insides have churned as I daily pray for some informative
word about your wellbeing. I've even called morgues in your state
to learn if you were still among the living but no news ever shaped.
I’ve had a lifetime of watching you fill your own spaces by selfishly
passing thru daylight. Rather than climbing up to achieve a healthy
need, you've always sat aground and caused yourself to bleed.
Whether you’re in jail or living drugged on the streets, loving you has
never known relief. I gave you my all, walked all your dark halls.
Can’t we now have peace?
Please bro, on some near tomorrow, borrow another phone. Call me
and let us be the best of us, let us share love to enhance what is
left of us. Look to your heart and grant what I want, one more, last
call that love may be shown when next your voice is in my phone.
The Bewitching Call of the Siren
She ululates a forlorn desire for a human love;
She’s pure evil, not from God’s Heaven above.
This siren’s seductive melody is heard on all seas,
And even on the largest lakes and flowing rivers;
Bringing even seafarers near Die Lorelei to shivers!
Beguiling young sailors to such a ghastly death;
This vile creature’s venom is felt with each breath!
Her visage is one of true love and blessed pulchritude,
Yet Lucifer’s mask is dark with great evil certitude!
Her perfumed scent enlivens her victims’ senses,
Whilst her dark green eyes and deep wet kisses;
Mesmerize her prey, oblivious now to all consequences;
Now feeling her fatal bites and hearing her hideous hisses!
She taketh all pleasure in her world of this evil measure,
Enthralling all her sad victims to a most horrible death;
Now Lucifer counts with joy the lost souls’ treasure!
Always sans merci this siren be to those in her grot,
As her victims find their souls lost to Hell’s dark rot!
Beware say I to all good seafarers, do heed this tale well;
Be deaf to this siren’s call or your life shall end in Hell!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
July 4, 2016 (Canzone)