Best Deem Poems
Oh! soul, strum with every pulse, strings of wisdom
Be in the known, yet, be conscientious of unknown
What you claim to possess, don’t let it possess you
Don’t speak words of sapience, unless you are true
Borrow not thoughts of others, enlighten your own
Never be the shadow that hinders seedlings’ growth
Fear not when truth speaks, for a lie stings evermore
Dispense not haughtiness, when arrogance you abhor
Pretend not to be a giver, if motivation is to receive
Giving isn’t nobility if you deem receiver unworthy
Never teach others that which you don’t comprehend
Learn the ways of sage, inspire hate to seek amends
Judge, only if, you let others adjudicate your deeds
Be cognizant of desires spuriously posing as needs
Engage with humility when your ego dares to speak
Boast not in futility~ time will not bend to your will
Neither can you command a nightingale not to sing
Strive to embrace divinity, be a messenger of peace
Oh! soul, wander not~ search deep within to find it
January 4, 2022
In conversation with our soul poetry contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
On the eve of All Saints Day known as Halloween
We've a night where nothing is ever as it seems
Abraham, Martin and John hosted a grand ball
In heaven’s huge castle, a white marble town hall
Dancing and singing just like every other day
One old soul grew weary of celebrating this way
She found nothing special in the harps and trumpets
A more exciting venue she had come to covet
St. Peter partied, his gate was unattended
So to a room below the bored soul descended
A place where heavy metal was all the rave
Deadheads converged to stomp violently on graves
She was tempted to join in their revelry
As demons eyed her with curious envy
One grabbed her halo, howled when it burned his hands
Others confronted her with obscene demands
Only then did she recall escaping this place
When God sacrificed his son, mortal sin to erase
Although hands of the wicked tried to hold her down
She struggled, pushed forward and made her way uptown
Fearfully she cried while knocking on heaven’s gate
St. Peter found her in this emotional state:
“Why didn’t you learn to resist temptation,
During your tenuous Earthly incarnation?”
At a loss for an answer, she pled for mercy
And Peter felt inclined to deem her unworthy
But the Master heard her prayers, granted a reprieve
He blessed her and uttered, “Welcome home again, Eve.”
Her departure from Eden seemed so long ago
And now most certainly one thing she did know
She should have stuck with Adam when he first said, “No”
Instead of bobbing for apples with the demons below
* For Tony Brooks' “Halloween Hustle” contest
A poet - some deem that I’m not
I write about farting and snot
Won’t be driven away
I am here to stay
Of critics, I don’t give a jot
3/21/19
Knowing She Sees How Deeply She Is Missed
(Tribute To That Greatest Of Love, A Mother's)
Blue-cold morns rising to light a fire
mother, cooked on wood stove truly ancient.
She out of sweetest of love's truest desire
provided nourishing food so patient.
Not asking praise for her unselfish deeds
washing dirty clothes in an old wash-pan.
By love's examples she planted new seeds
windy-flames of reliance such did fan.
Now time, with its many decades have flown
beloved mom, passed on to her reward.
We, her thriving huge brood, are now all grown,
feel her love and know why she worked so hard.
Knowing she sees how deeply she is missed
we thank her, each beloved face she kissed.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-11-2017
SONNET, (Tribute to our mother and to mothers everywhere, THAT SACRIFICE WITH THE DEEPEST OF UNSELFISH LOVE FOR THEIR CHILDREN)
------
I started this poem back in May, 2017. I finished the last two verses this morn.
Hesitant to post because I feel it is not worthy enough but alas (!), I also know with my meager writing talent , I can do no better.
Thus, with my wife's prodding, I post and pray it is deem worthy as a tribute by all that read and love ever so dearly their own wonderful and loving mothers!
Beauty That Rivals The Red Rose
He the gardener she the rose
She was only flower he chose
Days he gave her his very best
Under moonlight glow they both rest.
With great care he keeps her from harm
Always enamored by her charm
Whenever she mentions her thirst
Sate her needs, he is always first.
At dawn's first calling she wakes up
Her petals with his hands he cups
With true love, admiring her grace
This dark world together they face.
His life for her beauty so fair.
Together, love's beauty they share.
Robert J. Lindley, 8-10-2017
Cyhydedd Fer Sonnet,
8 syllable lines
.. a. a. b. b. . . c. c. d. d. . . e. e. f. f. . . g. g
Syllables Per Line: 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8 8 8 0 8 8
Total # Syllables: 112
Total # Words: 88
Some numpty bad mouthed my soup style
I’ve taken a break for a while
But I won't be deterred
From writing about turd
And subjects some others deem vile
I’m producing book number two
It contains some poems on poo
Foul flatus departing
Old codgers rank farting
And my pet hate vile doggy doo!
deep and late into the hem of night
my thoughts question uncertainties,
perhaps my heart does not believe in life
anymore, and deem men as anti-heroes;
so i lock the door of my tactile pores,
yet i speak of men in my accepted duality
somehow, honoring the smell of their laughter,
and their taste of affection with anger
to sketch their contours with my skin
on white linen between ceiling and lamp;
that when i open my eyes to look at their faces,
i see the whole universe.
then to recall how gazing through a skyline
the moon reflects tints of past flames and strangers,
as peak of moments’ rapture explodes
slicing the darkness ...changing whimpers to wonder...
that all i could say is “ thank you”,
appreciating my imperfectly perfect world...
i recall filling a basin of warmth for them
when streams of giving chains me
in the under –toe of hunger’s ebbs and tides,
embracing the divine wonder in their beings.
-------------------
* if we perceive a man or woman from a perspective
of seeing his/ her inner beauty despite some flaws, wouldn't
it be a wonderful place to be?
*inspired by Louis Armstrong’ “ what a wonderful world”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCp3K3XUhvU
Frank H's I Recall Contest
by nette onclaud
The night lingers, yawning,
Stretching its limbs across the sky;
It lies there so silently, so languidly
As if awaiting the early rays of morning
To come by- I wake-
I wake to the sounds of silence and
Like the night, I linger in my bed.
Nothing appears to me but darkness-
Darkness that twirls a million times
‘round my head.
Upon these cold, air-conditioned tiles
I find myself walking so slowly, almost
Crawling into the darkness.
I hear my head talking- talking so loudly
Even amidst all this silence.
How am I to know- how am I to know
Whether or not this whole night is but a dream?
A mere dream so trivial that it almost wakes me
And makes me part of its darkness.
From my window I see the night-
I see it lying there, painting all other
Windows with dark threads of sleep.
I even feel my eyes getting heavier,
Yet something-
Something endeavors to keep
Me awake through this night.
I continue to stare outside my window
Still listening to the haze of my thoughts.
How come all that is should be? And
Why are you, you and simply not me?
It seems that this darkness is not willing
To part away from me.
( Pause)
A voice- a voice recites its calmness through
This night and slowly approaches my
Window. I see it- I see it coming
My way, touching
My window, stroking the
Darkness away.
My thoughts once again begin to bellow
And say:
How come all that is should be?
And why are you, you and simply not me?
I succumb to the voice, regardless-
And deem my thoughts forgone.
On my window it slides- the voice-
Almost so artistically drawn. I stand upright,
Facing away from the night which has now
Become withdrawn-
I slowly kneel down, whispering prayers to
The cold-tiled ground
And finally it comes- Dawn.
Inspired by a Al Fajr Prayer which is the Arabic for Dawn.
From somewhere far beneath,
My father's face is rising to replace my own.
Each year the brightly silvered surface of my mirror
Reveals some other common feature
Pushing its way to the fore.
The silver of the years finds its way
Into the hair retreating at the same rate;
Years marching forward as the hairline marches back
In lockstep time. What's left shines
With the wintry distinction of age.
Whose eyes are these that now look out
From beneath my brow? Are these the eyes that watched my child in sleep,
Or now those elder eyes that watched over me so long ago?
What self is that at rest behind my silvered temples,
That rests its thoughts so heavy on these things?
Photos of the two of us together
Show the kinship of expression
The matching etchings of experience
That leave no doubt
As to the common blood by which we're bound.
I can no longer view myself
Without his presence being there as well;
Moreover, the image of his father
Shows the like upwellings in him.
The visage of the man who came before
The three of us I've never seen;
But I deem it probable there was little difference,
So back this face we share may go, ad infinitum.
Every face is a story
Of the life and its ways that shaped it.
This being so, I cannot help but feel ennobled
By the lines and lessons which have been passed to me.
This is the face I shall carry
From now to the end of my days.
My I tend it, and wear it, well.
An Empty Kingdom
The news did spread, a kingdom’s will
For sorrow placed its shadowed hand
‘Pon castle steps the crowd did fill
As heart break took a firm command
The skies, a darkened clouded stain
As children wept in mother’s fold
Now lost amidst a dismal rain
This hour of sadness frigid cold
How could it be, their precious queen
Had fallen to a woeful stead
A tethered seed, nightmarish deem
Her majesty this day is dead
The knight, of shining armor might
Her lifeless body cradled deep
Staring straight to heaven’s light
Then bowed his head, began to weep
He raised her body ever strong
Carried her through chambered door
An empty hallway wide as long
Depleted by this mournful chore
The villagers of forlorn feel
Gathered in the dampened street
The plight of loss in full reveal
Disconsolate of death’s defeat
When then upon horizon’s glare
A silhouette of staggered steed
Towards the kingdoms stricken stare
In slow methodic steps proceed
This figure slumped of saddle ride
And weary strains of wistful yearns
Through gates of iron, wandered stride
A shout rings out, “Our king returns”
Knowledge and wisdom are not found
in the chaotic crowd's cacophony of voices
caused by fear and frustration
They gather like swarms of locusts
on emotional wings of hysteria
Their beating sound swallows intellect
creating perpetual hate and anxiety
brought to them by their own failures and frailties
None...which they chose to recognize
or deem worthy of introspection
Crowds easily led by puppetmasters
who have spiraled down to the depths of depravity
as they pull on the strings of discord
tied to patriotic fervor
Exhumed in a kaleidoscope of hollow memories
from history...crowds don't remember
As they turn their anger into a coming apocalypse
where they sell their souls to their masters
as they did once before
When they called out " Give us Barabbas "
Let the Christ die with his last spoken words
" Forgive them... for they know not what they do "
9/25/17
contest 8 word challenge-4
How might you feel if you chose life that strayed away from discontent?
I wonder, would you smile awhile or hatch new schemes to circumvent?
Do you believe we have the choice to “live!” despite our circumstance,
and love our lives through thick and thin; even in our sadness, choose to dance?
Would you deem it possible to find sweet blessing through the pain;
conceive that with our every breath, we may find hope to thrive again?
Might you choose a path that suits you better than the one before;
consider change; rearrange one piece to open unseen doors?
Could you imagine, would you
imagine
just for laughs or on a dare;
can you picture
everything
within your grasp?
Pull up a chair!!
Now, listen up, and listen good ~
This life awaits; it calls for you!
Now grab it with those filthy paws,
and show us all that you can do!
Go for it !!
*Slightly edited since posting... an old piece that really needed it. Thank you for your patience :)
Seafarers shall be saved, though waves may
deem them dead, lost in the ocean's fray
they shall not perish, nor shall they be afraid
nor falter, though their earthly woes be done.
They shall tame the deep, brave the mighty Charybdis
and win release to heaven's blessed throne.
Nor shall the poor be stilled in death's dark tomb;
they shall enjoy the fruits their earthly span denied
and reap full harvest as they rule the Pleiades!
The lame will mark their years well spent
in painful suffering at the world's behest,
for they will revel with the wild Eumenides!
The realm of death is nothing to be feared,
though sting of loss shall curdle in the breasts
of the deserted they will finally comprehend
true love's eternal message in their hearts;
the special blessing of the ones who heed the call,
the realm of heaven draws all the faithful home.
Do not call me
strong Black woman for
it is not a compliment
It is a title given to us
boxed inside expectations that
weigh us down
We are not superheroes
yet we are branded with
an "S" on our chest
forced to steer clear of
the kryptonite called failure
Black women aren't
supposed to fall
We're expected to
stand tall
and during the whole time
of this masquerade ball
we wear a mask
colored with yes we cans
and I got this
all the while we are
withering away in our own silence
We have no chance to
prioritize the cruel
balancing act
song and dance and
one trick pony show we
must perform
We are tired and filled to
capacity with fluids of frustration
but you'll never know it
because showing any
inkling of weakness
will paint a negative
picture for us
and how dare we
make ourselves look bad
When was the last time
we could just be ourselves
without ridicule
and disgusted stares
because we don't look or
act like like Becky with
the good hair
They label us strong
yet they want us to
be submissive
and if we're not
They deem us
unmarriageable
To them we're unrelatable
Lord forbid we set up
boundaries
then we are considered
undateable
So we're damned if we do
Damned if we don't
So on behalf of all
Black women I am here to say
it is NOT ok to be strong
However it's ok to fall apart
pick up the pieces and
rebuild ourselves anew
So the next time
They call you strong
Black woman
Let them know
Strong Black woman
is not a compliment
It's the hardest job that
that we have and it is a
job that is slowly killing us all
Opinions never veer,
Nor acting deem you wise.
You're branded now with fear
Behind a thin disguise.
Behavior layered deep,
No fantasy can hide.
The wounded at your feet
Your conscience won't abide.
A fire too great to quench.
Has spread too far within.
Were you to turn an inch,
You'd face what you have been.
Gene Bourne.
09-10-14
This is the last piece to go. All the others are sold.
I hate to part with it, but now that I've grown old
I need to find the right home for it before I die.
I'll explain its importance if you're wondering why.
You see, it's been a treasure since before I was born.
My father found it buried in a city that was war torn.
He marveled that among all the rubble and concrete,
no scratch marred its beauty nor was it burned by heat.
It graced our living room with the status of a Queen,
Most beautiful Brazilian Rosewood vanity ever seen.
Father had to have it to match the great beauty of his wife,
Adrianna, was fragile and giving birth to me took her life.
Father gave me the vanity, a priceless piece, an heirloom.
One rainy day I was bored and was dancing around my room.
I bumped into the vanity and from behind a drawer fell a note...
"Who ever finds this, look for the secret," my Mother wrote.
That was seventy years ago, and no secret did I ever find.
Age has taken my strength away and now that I am blind,
I can no longer search for the secret within this vanity.
I want it to belong to someone kind while I still have my sanity.
It's being auctioned by verbal bid so I can hear the voice
of the one I deem worthy of my treasure. I'll make the final choice.
Money is no longer important so the auctioneer will look to me
when that special voice I hear, I'll nod and that bid will be the fee.
I've set no starting bid and no reserve for it's time to let it go.
Come, take a look. Rub your hand across the wood grain's glow.
I hope you will find the secret my Mother hid so well inside,
perhaps a young man will take it home, as a gift for his bride.
The value to me is priceless, and I would sell it for only a cent.
If I hear something in your voice, I will know for you it's meant.
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February 24, 2016 " The Auctioneer Contest by Mystic Rose