Best Do Gooder Poems
A wizened boy who lived at seventy-two Oak
Relaxed in his tub with a lemon salt soak
Ate a curly pretzel, downed a harsh throat coke
An honest child who sprang from truthful folk
Dressed himself in a red and yellow super hero cloak
Flew around New York City watching for dangerous smoke
News of his heroism quickly readily broke
Giving some fame to this truthful do-gooder bloke
He saved a young girl who was having a choke
Convinced a teenager to give up a maryjane smoke
Chanted a spell pretty difficult to invoke
Created a talking frog who never could croak
If you meet this wizened boy at seventy-two Oak
Tell him his cousin Moke wants to give him a poke
This is a true story, in absolutely no way a joke
Now that I have shared it, I will go have a soak.
"Without Within"
It just takes one over-zealous do-gooder
to set the dominos of destruction on a roll
and the war begins
without within
within without
heaven was trampled that day
the kangaroo court had its way
and all dreams were blugeoned to death
heads rolled soaked in blood and revenge
each day the impermanence glitched
to return to poetic permanence
This is how the war begins
within without
without within
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“The darkness you see when you close your eyes is Kali.”
Why do I worry so?
Is it my mind that punishes me as soul?
Why can’t I realize and simply live
Do I have to be a do-gooder and forever give?
I want the whole world to grasp the simple truth
That everyone is soul
But they need proof
Effort may be a true sign of devotion.
It comes, most beautifully, in the altruism
of little gestures
unconscious
yet loving...
sometimes it is forced, as in a smile,
when the last thing we want to do
is bare our teeth
behind upturned lips.
Yet we will anyways,
since the one received in return is usually genuine.
occasionally, we exert ourselves in ways
which we never would have
chosen
but,
ultimately
are for the fortitude
of the kin, the folks, the village,
and we are the true reaper
of the life well-spent.
In the cab, upon the seat,
I spot an iPhone 5.
I hand it to the cabbie
Just as he begins to drive.
In minutes, it begins to ring.
An agitated voice
Says, “Bring the phones to my hotel,”
Not giving any choice.
“I’m leaving for the airport NOW.
My phones I really need!”
The cabbie says he’ll drive on by,
A real do-gooder deed.
Then suddenly another ring
Proceeds from in the rear.
The guy said phones, a plural,
So another must be near.
Voila! Behind my husband’s back
A second phone I find.
The cabbie takes it, drops us off,
Reunion on his mind.
I surely hope he makes it
And the phone guy makes his flight.
The cabbie earned a giant tip
If all works out all right.
It’s lucky I’m an honest sort
‘Cause I could not ignore
The fact that both those phones
Were better than my iPhone 4!
Impeached, indicted, discredited, expunged,
Forsaken and little short of being hanged,
Does the punishment truly fit the crime,
Inciting sedition and for that I need do time?
Are they crazy or simply deaf,
Do they think I work for UNICEF,,
A do-gooder, a kind hearted soul,
The kind of man to pigeonhole?
I'm a maverick, a crusader at heart,
The one to lead, feats to start,
I change the world it doesn't change me,
I push and I pull, won't let things just be.
So someone please tell me where I went wrong,
Was I not trusted to be valiant and strong,
To Shake the tree, purge that swamp,
On bureaucracy and waste simply stomp?
Build the country, cut to the chase,
Squash every foe, win every race,
And now what, have I've gone too far,
Plunging to earth like a falling star?
Give me a break, cut me some slack,
I did a great job, the country's on track,
Save for this Covid all would be fine
All other Presidents would I outshine.
Don't undervalue, don't underrate
I'm the one man you can't just abate,
Count me out at your peril, think I’ll retire,
For those that have crossed me, their future is dire.
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 12
Rule-bound hemmed-in nobody’s free in this world
Everybody must live in fear of the other
The civilized way calls for control steam-rolled
All through gestation trapped in lunging pubic mould
Squeezed out mid cries of joyful gasping terror
Rule-bound hemmed-in nobody’s free in this world
Do’s and don’t’s drive us to assume face made bold
Do unto us as we unto the other
The civilized way calls for control steam-rolled
Step in then those who cannot but take firm hold
Those who must be seen as the holy do-gooder
Rule-bound hemmed-in nobody’s free in this world
As power accumulates in hands Pharoah
The few who believe in being ordained seer
The civilized way calls for control steam-rolled
The few delegate power but not their role
Use abuse their handymen drilled to order
Rule-bound hemmed-in nobody’s free in this world
The civilized way calls for control steam-rolled
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
I would like to take this opportunity
to thank a few members of the Poetry Soup community,
for their offer to help me pay a debt I didn't deserve to receive,
thanks to a group of do gooder hero wannabes.
I am truly touched by your generosity,
but this debt is my responsibility fully.
I should have never reached out in the manner that I did,
and so now I am literally paying for it.
I will consider this incident a great life lesson learned.
If I ever need to reach out again, I now know where to turn.
In order to avoid you any controversy,
I thank you all from the bottom of my heart anonymously, most sincerely.
Your true support means everything in the world to me.
Heroes Undone
We train men up to go to war.
We train them to fight and kill,
the enemy.
The people…
in foreign and domestic lands,
that have no honor,
and care not for law.
We tell you to shoot,
and maim and knife,
yet when you return,
home…
Some cry that you are changed,
somehow by your actions.
That you are less than citizens,
and even those without I.D.s
planted here by people
that have sold themselves
early to the demons
on the block,
receive a greater due.
God is the judge of all things.
He is the one that matters.
Heavens gates are open wide,
for soldiers
that protect
and serve,
the weak,
the defenseless,
and those
thought without
value at all.
Homage is paid,
for your sacrifice.
The kindest men and women,
the harshest jobs,
the longest hours,
the thankless parades
of “people”;
(people: for lack of further description,
prior to my morning coffee)
of do-littler(s),
instead of do-gooder(s),
or even
do-er(s) at all.
Out on the land of the Red Fox Farm
About 3 miles down, past the barn
There’s a girl sporting overalls and a ponytail
She’s headed to dream on her favorite hay bale
Climbing up on it ready to relax and lay back
With nothing around but a pond and an old shack
She’ll gaze at the clouds as she wonders and dreams
Listening to the wind and the trickling streams
Possibilities are endless, She can be whatever she chooses
In her mind no matter what she does, she never loses
Basketball Star, Astronaut, Fire Fighter, The President
Hopes are big, her will even bigger, this is evident
There’s wealth in money, wealth in self worth
Help other people, be a do-gooder on this earth
End starvation, poverty, make World peace a reality
Be an artist, a poet, make music her specialty
These are the dreams of one little girl
with determination she could change the world
She knew what to do to keep her dreams in sight
Stay in school, nothing good comes with out a fight
Work hard and be dedicated to what ever she may do
The way to succeed is to make education your glue
Now skip ahead and would you believe
That same little girl gave up, it’s hard to conceive
She had such promise, so much potential
I tell you this much what happened was incidental
Cause and effect, it happened like a ripple
Quit her dream and school, started drugs, it’s simple
Started to believe what all the people said
That it was too late she already made her bed
Those were the dreams , the dreams I once had
I know it’s hard to hear, but for me don’t be sad
I’ve learnt my lessons, I’ll make my own second chance
Don’t give up, make your own truth, and fear, don’t give a second glance
Superman was originally portrayed as a superhero
Fighting crime, being a do-gooder for wee kiddos
Well big people too
But here's juicy news
Molested young chickies while using a *****
A selfish young lady from Leeds
Made fun of all who did good deeds
and then she got sick
pain two miles thick
where a do-gooder met all her needs
He said he would take care of me.
I am his younger third cousin, so I believed him.
He was an Elvis wanta-be.
I was fourteen, so I thought he was an always-was.
He did not look after me like he said.
It was the late sixties.
I followed him to Europe, because my mother did not care.
Try this, he would say. Try that.
I tried everything. Thought I was invincible.
Pills and booze at first. They did not do it after a while.
I got hooked on some really hard stuff.
Then I was out of money, but the only thing that mattered was being high.
I spent years not caring where I woke up,
In and out of lah lah land.
I doubt it I would recognize the people I was with.
I doubt they would recognize me.
Life was a fog for about eight years.
Some do-gooder took me under their wing a couple of times.
This was endearing for the first few hours.
Then it was annoying.
I gladly died of a drug overdose when I was twenty-two.
It was an easy death.
I slipped into it as easily as I slipped into everything else.
I sat on the edge of the roof, studying the horizon
Waiting for the do-gooder, who makes me wretch
He will not be ho-ho-ho-ing after I get finished here.
I feel something protruding from my left incisor.
Remnants of last year’s Santa.
The night is still, the ambiance makes me giddy.
There is an evilness afoot that delights my black heart.
I imagine what I will be doing to this year’s cheerful idiot.
My teeth gnash hard, practically breaking.
I am ready for the fool who dares approach.
“It is Krampus!” I hear someone yell.
Three midnight friendly humans begin throwing hard things up on the roof.
I will return fire later. Right now there is only one victim.
I watch for him, hoping he will be nauseously joyful.
Those are the kinds of Santas whom I enjoy slicing and devouring the best.
A wolf howls, feeling my excitement.
I lie in wait, sitting on the chimney now.
I can practically taste salty blood.
I salivate in readiness.
he might have been a felon, a freak, a frizzle wiper or a fraud.
we did not know him actually said speaker, young judgmental Maude.
he had a look about him that made me clutch my purse.
she assesses strangers quickly, treating people mean and worse.
he might have been an angel, a do-gooder, a friend, a partner, I say.
trying to uplift judgmental Maude’s mind a teensy tiny bit today.
he might have been sent by God to test you, to see how kind you are.
she gave me an eye-roll and talked about his eye patch and his scar.
Jesus might have had an eye patch and a scar, I told her then.
but the scar was an upside down cross, right across his chin.
is could have been a test I argue. Maybe you should have said hello.
She sniffed her disagreement saying “he was a disgustingly old fellow.”
Maude and I are not friends by accident or choice, but by proximity.
live next door to each other, but we have nothing on which we can agree.
her perspective is flat-out negative, because her ideas are so fringed.
I cannot hear her opinions long before my peace of mind is tinged.