Best Deemed Poems
POTW 12th May 2019
Thank you for visiting my third Visual Video Poem, more or less a continuation of my previous poem – ‘The Dreamer’
(I invite you to view the complete production effects and the superb narration by Kelvin on the video above)
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when faith in ourselves will unshackle old beliefs
I LIVE FOR THE DAY belief in The One Spiritual Energy will be redeemed
I LIVE FOR THE DAY that armed conflict against so-called enemies
Is declared pointless and therefore unnecessary will be deemed
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when wizened skin a thing of beauty will be perceived
Our elders revered and adhered
Their words of wisdom respected and believed
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when people will recognise the power of natural curing
And not be influenced by the greedy Pharmaceutical manipulating
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when equality by all will be shared
Power segregation abolished ~ racial discrimination repaired
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when schools will encourage children’s gifts and abilities
Rather than stick to outdated systems that stifles innovation and possibilities
I LIVE FOR THE DAY when Man will adapt to our Earth a more reverent conservation
Our steadfast purpose toward environmental change
And Mother Nature becomes our commitment to her preservation
I LIVE FOR THE DAY …
By Maria Williams
Copyright © Maria Williams
Video arrangement, production, direction
and compilation:
Ron Williams
Video editing, sound mixing, graphics:
Jayne Hartano
(Our very own Lariese.com Art Director)
Voice over:
Kelvin
Music:
Our Future
Composer:
Peder B. Helland
POTW 12th May 2019
Woman in Chains
(What Man Would Abide It?)
Women throughout centuries – the softer sex.
I picture them subservient since what feels like time primordial!
What man would abide
being sold as if mere chattle and being called another’s property?
What man, with a love of learning or of writing,
would acquiesce and be denied
the education and the opportunities he so desired?
What man would dare take second place -
hiding in the background or covering his face
because society or church said things were meant to be that way?
What man would abide having cut off from his body
that part of him from which carnal pleasure is derived?
What man would let his feet be broken as a child,
bound up to resemble hooves to keep him in his place?
What man would abide being burned alive
if the dowry of his spouse were deemed unsuitable?
What man would abide (if not so inclined)
enduring the agonies of giving birth again and again
because his spouse preferred he stay at home?
What man would abide being raped or even killed
as punishment for even being raped?
What man would endure constant beatings for “his own good”
and feel good that his church or state approved this?
What man, if he were able to get pregnant,
would take on all the stress of unwed motherhood
when the one who got him pregnant bailed on him?
What man would abide the stigma and the soiled reputation?
What man would prostitute himself to feed his babies
because a job for one like him would not be given?
What man would abide living enslaved by an abuser,
afraid to run away or be found and killed by his abuser?
Atrocities like these through centuries have too long been endured.
No man would for so long a time endure them.
For reasons of pure biology, the role of the abused
was hoisted primarily on women.
Thank God for those strong women a mere century ago
who stood up, bravely fighting for women’s rights.
Thank God for lonely sister souls in faraway places
who even now stand fighting against inequities -
simply for the fact that they were born the softer sex.
Aug. 31, 2020 for John Hamilton's Woman in Chains Contest
Who was that masked man?!?
Brian Williams, rides again.
He was in Amilia Earhart's plane;
even rode with the Dalton Gang.
The day the Titanic went down;
In the rescue boat when Rose was found.
He went on expeditions with Louis and Clark.
Once gave his seat to Rosa Parks.
He was actually the first man in space.
That shadow on the moon........ It's his face!
The earliest woman, they deemed to be
bones in the desert they named Lucy.
She was his niece, tho she drug her knuckles,
so he really is a monkey's uncle!
He walked miles and miles on the Trail of Tears;
wondered the desert with Hebrews for forty years.
He dated Cleopatra; drank wine with Moses;
gave the Queen of Sheba a camel and roses.
He's walked with Bigfoot in the hills;
been bitten by vampires, but magically heals.
He has had great adventures of every kind.
He's Brian Williams; a legend in his own mind.
Maybe I can be one of those news cast stars.
This is Arlene, reporting from mars........
Couldn't resist this little tribute to the wild stories of reporter Brian Williams who was fired for seemingly padding up his stories....
Why sit and worry over things that seem to happen daily;
Little things that come and go that just annoy us really?
Why get angry over certain things that those around us do,
'Cause people make mistakes sometimes and life's too short to stew,
O'er things that sometimes come about without a soul to blame,
'Cept happen-stance and circumstance for want of other names.
To fume and worry constantly makes mind and body sicken.
It doesn't solve a single thing, it takes the joy from livin';
For God has deemed that rain will fall on fair and foul alike,
And what can grow without the rain as well as warm sunlight;
So take the rain and praise The Lord for sunlight and for showers,
And thank Him every day that dawns for blessings He's made ours.
Twas the night before christmas
and Christ was left out,
with no peep of the Good News,
no mountainous shout.
Stockings were hung
by the chimney the same,
but no one made mention
of the Savior's name.
On this sacred night
there were still shopping plans.
Their heart was poured out
through money changers' hands.
'Twas the hustle and bustle
of past Christmas Eves.
Once deemed a holy night,
now a den of thieves.*
Folks went into debt
for the pleasure to give,
not counting the cross
and what it cost to forgive.
Presents were plenty.
Wish lists were fulfilled,
but they didn't thank God
for the blood that was spilled.
An "X" had replaced
the unspeakable name.
Christmas without Christ
was now one and the same.
'Twas the night before Christmas
and Christ was left out.
The townsfolk had forgotten
what Christmas was about.
Merry Christmas to all; let Christ become your light.
*Matthew 21:12-13
And Jesus went into the temple of God, and cast out all them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of them that sold doves, And said unto them, It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves."
12-2-19
Lighthouse Litany
Statuesque and stalwart in your seaward gaze
There's such comfort in your beauty, you amaze!
Seafaring ships lost in wayward windswept seas
Conjures fears of drowning in crews prayerful pleas
As sailors catch sight of your luminous light,
You guide them to safety on a moonless night.
Your gift of guidance upon this rocky shore
Lends soulagement to nightmares of mystic lore.
To many you’re deemed an angel with Lord's light
With your elevated beam into the night.
So beloved also by those upon the earth...
You've earned the honors bestowed upon your worth.
12-23-18
Lighthouse Poetry Contest~Third Place~
Sponsor Eve Roper
In dream lone blackbird sits on telephone line,
pleading, what more do I have to give.
Wing once beat out a metronome in time..
leaving thoughts lost through a sieve.
I swore to rebuild our earthen dam,
and hold the waters at bay.
Your dream found a different plan,
left nothing more to say.
Race, now long finished, deemed total loss..,
left my prideful soul entreating.
Waste heart's song diminished, too high the cost,
ask why the day so fleeting.
Last candle's light gleamed in his glowering gaze,
Write journal'd fate, no answer would he belie,
September's temper teamed in shortened days,
to kiss late remember'd lips good-bye.
Neither puppy love nor lust, each insists
in its imperfect play. Their hearts resist
both by clinging in its barbaric way.
Youth forgiven. The wolf begs her to stay.
But a commitment is made in marriage.
It is not found in a baby carriage.
What do we know of love - it’s not first sight.
It is the highs and lows - bond holds on tight.
Love’s patient, kind, not selfish nor boastful.
It’s the making of memories - joyful.
To let go of bitterness’ a decision.
Poof like magic, the wrongs are forgiven.
Black and blues, the stumbles and falls, gets up
on the horse - believers climb to the top.
~
Now what of those years, of the worse decrease?
Does the sorrow make the better cerise?
Does the white-gowned wife, handsome groom resume
as if the bond is pruned, roses in bloom?
Yes, the rivulets of tears reverent.
The jubilee melody resonant.
When love is stirred with sugar and nettles,
sorrow’d years melt. Felicitous petals
land on silver hair and wrinkles. O God!
Yes, three cords complete and restore the flawed.
Love protects, hopes, perseveres in trials.
The truth of a lifetime's years in their smiles.
Shakespeare regales Summer’s hot gaze, short days.
Yet love stoked in the Winter’s hearth - O blaze!
1/30/2021
What Is Love
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Hybronnet is similar to a sonnet, can have a variable rhyme scheme,
does not have to be iambic meter. The poet is given liberty to choose how to structure the rhyme of the Hybronnet poem into a combination of rhymes be it slant, feminine, masculine, etc. or apply it in any design deemed appropriate
A wounded sigh, an expression evincing the pain of hurt,
A bawl in solitude, turbulence of inner emptiness stirs,
When emotions clamor, simmering in angst of regrets,
When mute demeanor, of injured breath, wistfully frets.
Soul desperately aches for a special someone to talk to,
Someone who understands the language of quietude,
Someone who can soothe the trauma, of life gone askew,
Someone who brings to fore, hope of tomorrow anew.
Laments of past echo, moaning upon meadows of life,
Reverberating in heartbreak of grief, bereft of promise,
To rehabilitate devastation of savage emotional storms,
As covenants, deemed eternal, hesitate in broken vows.
Wounded hearts now trace moments of love, sadly lost,
When loneliness dwells in nightmares of past forlorn,
When the abandoned pledges of forever, callously mock,
As muffled wail recalls, life of joy and love, that once was.
Sorrows now seek solace, yearning compassionate voice
To soothe tides of heartbreak, agitating lonesome mind,
As hopes of morrow rekindle in womb of promising night,
When smile-endearing, subjugates cry of wounded sigh.
Lotus
Lotus petals soft with shadows
Drinking from your shallow pond,
Blossoms that compete with heaven,
With the twilight hour you bond.
Aquatic in your very nature,
Deemed fit to float at Buddha's feet,
Your peaceful beauty calls awareness
Where such enlightened beings meet.
Sacred plant known through the ages
Your spirit dwells within my heart
And centered there, your spark of light
Assures me that we'll never part.
11-14-18 rev.
Zen Poetry Contest~First Place~
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Love is not just a spoken language
nor will it always heal like a bandage.
Affectionate actions and self sacrifice
should come naturally - not at a price.
Real passion is not only lust and desire,
simply two souls connecting to inspire.
Unconditional love is the foundation of trust,
learning to forgive in actions deemed unjust.
A gentleman is always thoughtful and genuine
yearning for a beloved, elegantly feminine.
After all these years, it's still his only dream,
the one wish changing his life into supreme.
When burdened he'll rest his head upon her chest,
listening to her heartbeat, he'll know he is blessed.
With soft hands stroke his heavy head lightly,
her heavenly sanctuary embracing him tightly.
Her beautiful lips tender, rosy and calm,
yearn to be kissed, like a healing balm.
Yet she remains a dream in the distance,
his heart craves for her with daily persistence.
Beloveds hoping to merge without resistance,
celebrating love, breathing it into existence
Silent One
Written 1 January 2016
OF SAGE LEAVES AND SWEET FLOWERS…
While flowers may be deemed
The sweetness of nature and life,
It is the leaves of her trees that are
The essences of life, death, and rising:-
It is the leaves of the tree
That feeds and nourishes her;
That ensures her branches’ bearings;
Photosynthesizing her peace and love:-
While living flowers are plucked,
Vase-like buried, and housed until death,
They are later thrown away—forgotten.
But fallen leaves reflect resurrection:-
Yes, in nature, trees shed their shading blades
And for a while, stoically stand in nakedness;
Piercing skyward to the coming resurrection
Of their green and rainbow colored leaves.
Thus, I’d rather be a leaf than a flower;
All trees bear leaves; but all don’t flower.
Leaves—nature’s resurrection symbols;
Her saged bristlecone pine allegories:-
When the party’s over, the rising sun shines, with all eyes squinting
Make-up smeared on face’s, some have slimy snail skin
A woman waiting for a gent to light her cigarette, just hinting
Last thing she remembered the drink in her cup sink’n in
Alas a smoke from the one glaring all night, even his lighter is glinting
That night she lost her balance, her head, and her Gucci slipper
Though in costume, she didn’t feel like Cinderella anymore
Drunk-on champaign they went out to the marina for a dipper
Everyone dancing all night, felt great, with music galore
At the stroke of midnight, on a yacht, a first mate and his skipper
Swirling in gay abandon in her party dress, putting on a show
The first one to leave is deemed a killjoy in this circle fest
They pulled an all-nighter, ‘neith the shroud of the moon’s luscious glow
The first one to leave the event, was weary, in the state of unrest
The sun is setting, the party is ending, a new day calls, a caravan in tow
Mommy deemed the three-year-old me as an honour
Said that I should become a doctor
Stethoscope and thermometer are in her gift bag
To spark the zeal in me, she set to wave a green flag.
Daddy came all running to put a hard-hat on my head
Said that I should become a builder like his dad
I'll be a great architect, he believed, he already knew
He said it's inherited to me and is nothing new.
Aunt wanted me to follow her baking love
Her skills, no doubt, deserve a bow.
Cakes, cookies and all that she bakes
will now be taught to me, with no breaks.
Uncle Tom said I should inspire the world with my words
He weens that they're powerful than the swords.
An Orator or a writer, a counsellor or a life coach
Be it whatever, he says, I should be there for those who approach.
Everyone has their plans for my future
Looks like I don't need school or a teacher.
I'll be home-schooled and trained every day
But should it start right from the 3rd birthday?
I'm afraid they'ld stop talking to each other
As their dreams for me greatly differ.
Keeping their dreams aside for a minute
I thought of what I wanted, for a moment.
I want to smell the soil when it rains
I want to swill down all the snow flakes
I want to ride a horse and tame rabbits
I want to make friends and take new hobbies.
I want to build castles with clay
And play Peekaboo with Jill and Jay
I want to string the stars and crack the clouds to rain
Eat lots of cake and fake a belly pain.
I love dirty feet and dusty hair
Clay and Crayons is what I care
Play, play, play the whole day
I plead you all not to block my way.
I have entered a room filled with handshakes and friendship
Sharing hugs here and there, there's a buzz in the air
Soupers queued, center stage, with a rhyme and a theme
One is reading a poem with applause from the wings
There is laughter, and sharing......and a microphone blaring
A few poems being read, but no one is hearing,
since the chatter is loud, and the crowd's having fun!
I'm checking who's here, are they cool, are they new?
Is she who I had dreamed behind her avatar screen?
Is he who he had seemed as his poetry deemed?
How great is this chance, to catch a real glance
and see all those faces, my computer just beamed
I look for a friend, who has traveled quite far
Taking trains, or a plane, in a bus or a car
I'm happy to say, they are nicer by far
than I'd ever expected.......these Poetry Stars!
__________________________________________________________
10/31/13 ......for Yasmin's Contest: Meeting the Soupers