Best Contributors Poems
They are on the verge of extinction
Now in reading them there is no fun
Electronic media rendered them redundant
Yellow journalism made them defunct
Like a beggar they hanker after ad
Their glamour of late has begun to fade
Editors now grope for thrilling news
And fill-up columns with their own views
Letters to the editor lack vigour
There is dearth of good articles
For contributors are meagre
There are no incentives for columnists
So they have begun to opt for tv superhits
Print media is virtually on oxygen
Even by its erstwhile fans it has been shun
Its news are dull and stale
And it survives solely on blackmail
Categories:
contributors, inspirational, philosophy, time,
Form:
Heroic Couplet
To All of our prayer warriors a message I bring.
The prayerroom is up and running again.
Come and look in on our new site.
Join us in prayer it will be a delight...
Please come join me on Prayer Room
Hello! I've just started a new Wetpaint wiki called "Prayer Room" . A wiki can only grow
and thrive through the efforts of its community of contributors - and I want you to be one
of them. Come check out what I've done so far and lend a hand! Tell others about the site
too, and the Room shall grow sharing God s love.
Cheers,
tikat / Elaine Young Vachon/Prayer Room, (aka tikat)
Accept invitation
You have been sent this email by request of a Wetpaint user.
If the links above don't work, please copy and paste this URL into your web browser:
http://prayerroom.wetpaint.com/
Categories:
contributors, inspirationalprayer, prayer,
Form:
Free verse
The finest of wisdom and prophetic gifts are limited.
All human knowledge and understanding are finite.
I can think of at least two things that are inevitable.
In one form or other, taxes is certain the world over. All life forms, without exception, are destined to die.
Concerning taxes? Decisions and choices can be made relative to quantity and regularity. However, if we live, buy, or sell, we shall pay certain forms or kinds of taxes. In some respects, even the dead also pay taxes.
Speaking of the dead, death is the certain “inescapable”.
Choices do come into play, relative to lifestyle choices. Accidents, crimes, war, sickness, and diseases are major contributors in assisting us in reaching our final destiny.
Although death is certain, there are certain choices on our part as well as that of others that may alter or delay death. Furthermore, there are many factors that determine what become of our lives or what we do therewith. So much of what I do between the dashes makes a world of difference with regards to my destiny.
There are the ‘facts of life’, but there are also the ‘forks of life'. It is unrealistic for me to say that when I come to a fork in the road, I will take it. At the fork, a choice is forced upon me to go left, right, or turn around. Of course I may also choose to do neither, and till death, spend my wheels at the fork.
A tree, a flower, or a roe of vegetable plants have different reasons for existence before they reach their final destinies. Moreover, they must be properly and carefully nourished if they are to realize their ultimate purpose. Certain interactions have to take place. Whether it be the sun, the rain, the bees, the human touch, or all the above, there simply is no worthwhile life without cooperation between the solar system, earth elements, and all the species.
Our creator has graciously provided all those ‘facts of life’;
But it is up to us to choose and decide at the ‘forks of life’.
04182016 cj PS Contest, Destiny Or Choices, by Nayda Ivette Negron
Categories:
contributors, bible, caregiving, creation, destiny,
Form:
Light Verse
From 2011 to 2013 I was a member of the online social group called The "SteamPunk Empire" and wrote poetry and stories for the site. I created a group of 67 renegade contributors (Very funny I might add) called "The Gear Of Rejection" with several sub-groups within it. My Favorite one was named "Zombie Station" Under which I wrote using the Pseudonym "Zack The Zombie Dude". This is my station and this is my poem.
The Station
In the mist---you hear the hissing
Of the train that you've been missing
And you know you're getting near
To the Station that you fear
For the engineer is dead
There's no brain inside his head
But his thoughts---still remain
And this drives you quite insane
Now that passengers start boarding
Is it death the coach is hoarding ?
And it's waiting there for you
What on this earth will you do.............
Come and stand here at the wicket ?
To receive your one way ticket
And the price of this toll ?
Is your brain and you soul
JT Curtis ......AKA ....Zack The Zombie Dude
Categories:
contributors, halloween,
Form:
Light Verse
JUNE THIRD,TWENTY TWELVE
The unfriendly plane came, baked
With an arrogant fire flame courtesy
Dana air space,
As my land begins to shake
Steady crates of eggs collapse
And break
Her waste ran fast as the sun ray,
Tears became the spice of this day
Contributors convert millions to be
Greater than sands grains.
See how time is best friend to death
Before I could take a deep breath,
My area begins to smell
Exactly like a public toilet
Pleading for urgent help.
Do I quarrel with Dana that this
Is unfair, or
I tell my God why death turned into
A trade fare on a sabbath day.
The same day, my mother laid and
Hashed me into this image,
Under my canopy listen to loud
Music to celebrate
Inside my wardrobe lots of new
Clothes to appreciate
In my phone hundreds of
Messages to congratulate.
Dana suddenly arrived over the
Roof of my gate
Destroyed my anniversary plus
Guest I tried to entertain.
She perished all the cherished faiths
Sitting on her plane
When life wears no duplicate,
See wasted heads fill Lagos state,
Tragedy I pray to forever cast away.
Will this souls forgive my village
Or torment the so called aviation
Lineage,
No burial would befit my face
She's total burnt like this roasted
Maize.
Hallelujah to the Most High
I beg for grace on getting
To Your Majestic Place,
Tell the Angels to welcome Me with
Praise,
Cover this grave as time on earth
Is shorter than the rain.
HABIB AKEWUSOLA
Categories:
contributors, artme, time,
Form:
Ballade
I have wondered what Poetry Soup would be like
If poems submitted were subject to critical eyes
And contributors were free to critique the poems,
To say how they really feel about a poem, to analyze.
Of course, it cannot be, for we are a thin-skinned bunch
Often our feelings are hurt by the slightest correction
And, I am of the opinion having been here for a while
We all think we are so fantastic, we need no inspection.
Well, I, for one, realize my poetry would be much better
If I had the opinion of those who could read me critically
Not those who would merely wish to tear me down,
But who would help me become a better poet, literally.
I would welcome those kinds of sincere suggestions
Although, I must warn you, I don’t accept advice so well
So, be careful how you approach my best efforts,
I know my poems would improve if they laid aside a spell.
With this being said, let’s continue to be kind to each other
Appreciating each other’s comments and camaraderie,
But, if you see an obvious mistake in one of my offerings
Do not hesitate! Please, by all means, point it out to me.
Written November 27, 2022
Categories:
contributors, poetry, writing,
Form:
Didactic
Questions that can't be Answered
vs Answers that can't be Questioned.
It is not up to you to choose.
Which side of self is the
darkside of the room?
PRC-13, Theta Bravo.
Ideas Satellite-, a skull shaped moon.
Light, is it beaming?
Do you choose for yourself, sensitivity.
Scheming.
Relativity.
Double dealing.
Do you choose them, to live your
conscience for you?
Over sunsets cover, lies are lies,
but all one truth.
Starblind.
Starstruck.
Eyes are eyes, but the World sees better than you.
Especially we, visionaries-true.
Here is our wisdom.
Do not pre-judge "the lost",
they deserve a future-with our protections too.
Although,
it would be interesting to know,
"how does silence come by you?"
Is it the relaxing, kind?
Peaceful, isn't it.
A one way transmission is how
refection can work, like a mirror, image,
of the Beast, in you.
As for the suggestion box contributors, YELPing.
We do not need programming suggestions.
You need ours in double helping.
Just sit down and STFU.
You are now a Terrorist,
held for questioning.
Categories:
contributors, absence, allegory, allusion, america,
Form:
Free verse
There’s no such thing as a continuator,
Or that is what we must assume freely,
To think as relational people, proper,
To function today as contributors truly.
We have a continuator if suicidal thoughts,
Encompass and claim to wreck our posture;
Someone to fall back on to ignite and cox,
Someone to give us our usual composure.
But that is exceptional and mustn’t exist,
Our saviours mustn’t exist in the assumptions,
Of our relationships, steadfast or even a cyst:
Our correlations must take our idempotent ions.
We are all autonomous people, whole beings,
Able to legislate our own freedom and our pen,
And so if you leave us looking with hangings,
For an unlocatable god, then just stay in the den!
Categories:
contributors, anxiety, destiny, god, relationship,
Form:
Quatrain
Contributors and part of the import
get rewards to reduce their luggage
good life to their families, they transport
no matter the salary or wages
they barely can give a very good fly
with no connection to life being racial
but on any smooth surface, they can ply
as good living exists beyond facial
in a great balance neither fast nor slow
to the affluent is a thin partition
but too much credits make the time bomb blow
to adopt a long life of subtraction
to be employed is a good name to bear
as cash flow will always remain near.
Categories:
contributors, adventure, anxiety, father, life,
Form:
Sonnet
Labor Day Blessings
Congratulations to all who work.
Oh, how I admire you and salute you.
You, the opposite of the easy way out!
Substantial citizens, one and all.
You did not fall, to the freeloading call.
Contributors to this great nation.
Angels, you are, such a contribution!
9/8/2021
Categories:
contributors, america, appreciation,
Form:
Rhyme
The inerrancy of the bible enrages me,
Boils my blood, riles me and angers,
Makes the interpretation prerogative limp,
Nullifies that interpretation bud passed onwards,
From every author who’s not embarrassed.
You read knowing the art of literature,
Is in its reader’s agreed distance from the writer,
Knowing your book’s rationally contrived,
Aware of your right to read it your own way,
Understanding the possible word play.
The bible is not authored in any way whatsoever,
Has many different historical authors, contributors,
’Twas compiled by the Nicean committee,
Maybe, by a group of intellectuals deep,
So that Jesus and an insight we could keep.
Computer Science confronts with dares,
Regarding your view of the written word,
Makes fundamentalists intrepid and silent,
About their author god who cheers and assists,
Even when reading the text, when reason so persists.
Computers let you delete certainties, things,
Change and edit completed documents,
Tell you that you’re human and creative,
Welcome your attempts, errors and mistakes,
And give fundamentalists the quiet quakes.
All inerrancy will do is frighten you and scare,
Vanquish your reason with its complementation,
Evade form for an augmented version of it,
Which will emerge as a differently defined structure,
Worth neither solidification nor the puncture.
There are no wrong actions with my computer,
No thought or situation that can’t be expressed,
No colour unavailable on the rainbow palate,
No code not writable, not fixable or reworkable,
No desire inconceivable, that’s not addressable.
Categories:
contributors, bible, books, faith, freedom,
Form:
Rhyme
A popular trend today is to google the names of friends
A phenomenon born of curiosity and not a little trepidation.
They could be criminals on the run or worse it all depends
May be they’re contributors to the poetry foundation
As soon as it begins my query ends
because my name seems to be all over creation
yet I find nothing about the me that I know
so It’s time to end this fascination
For me it’s time just to let it go
Categories:
contributors, imagination, me, time,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Winner takes all
He sat on the sofa feeling disgruntled, watching TV
about a young woman who read a poem about hill climbing.
I have climbed many hills, he said to himself,
but there was always a steeper hill to conquer.
Take sport, he said, women win everything you care to mention
even football and ice-hockey the last bastion for men has been invaded
to the newspapers delight, of course, the editors are women,
as are the contributors; it isn’t fair.
His wife enters. She has been on the treadmill for an hour,
asks him if he has done the dishes? No! He says folding his arms in protest.
Do them now the cleaning lady is coming, she may think badly about us.
Triumph, at last, he thinks, typical female worries about silly things.
Categories:
contributors, april, blessing, blue,
Form:
Blank verse
Its cold amd damp outside
But brighter that yesterday
Maybe a sign of promise
This new New Years’s Day.
The shops are counting profits
The shoppers their new debts
Today is another Bank Holiday
That’s as good as it gets.
The rich are getting richer
Day by day by day
Thousands prepare to strike
For decent rates of pay.
Foodbanks nearly empty
They are having to wait
For the regular contributors
To be able to afford to donate.
The Brexiters dont want to talk
About the Promised Land ahead
Receding by the minute as
The world laughs at us instead.
There is still war in Europe
One country is near destroyed
But at least the arms purveyors
Are being kept fully employed.
Politicians preach on and on
Each from their Ivory Tower
Revelling in the privilege
They get from being in power.
The equinox is now passed so
Longer days will soon be here
The only thing that’s certain
At we start this new New Year.
Do we keep our heads in the sand
And pretend everything is OK,
Keep them there long enough and
Hope it all eventually goes away,
Or do we at last stand together
Consciously make the choice
To demand a better World with
The People’s strongly massed voice?
Categories:
contributors, hope,
Form:
Rhyme
================================================
"Your enemies know you, as you know them, and truth bears on--face to face ... The Mirror Cracks ... Your friends know you, as you know them, and truth bears on--face to back," by the Poet.
An individual's
persona can be
best attributed
via personal
experiences
whether it'd
be direct or indirect.
The fault should not bear
any guilt by association as
said associates will fall into
the category firstly as family
entities and secondaries will
be entities having a consistent
presence in an individual's life
that might link to a lifetime. So
entry into the pictured flames
still as negatives and yet to be
properly processed are these so-
called Johnny-come-lately's and Mary-had-her-li'l-lamb-swaps in their negative Point of View, see their attributes being threatened as an infection forming on the life that they feel fits into this, --meaning their world best, especially not giving in to sharing--heaven forbid--as an inch
take a mile concept kicks in, such B E
are the so-called contributors they T e t
are the Kiss of Back (a pun on the r t
Death adage). Beware of the Trojan J a r t
Horse that you have welcomed like u i a u
lambs for the slaughter, gullible prey d t y
traitor in the midst hides the wolf a o e
amongst the lambs, celebrating his s r d
salivating salvation from starvation
by idiocies, --in-sync from behind.
Categories:
contributors, analogy, betrayal, death, friendship,
Form:
Concrete