Best Erred Poems
Prometheus had erred and caused great ire
when stealing in stealth secrets of fire.
But Zeus could not forgive this deed.
The chieftain of gods punished his greed.
The lightning zigzagged across the sky,
in anger he let thunderbolts fly.
Instructions he gave to mould from earth
a woman endowed to prove her worth,
all humans to touch their lives and shift
the balance with her seductive gift.
Hephaestus was told what to create;
Pandora came forth through heaven’s gate.
Athena supplied her silver gown,
her head she adorned with ornate crown.
She hastened to guile the human race
her nature refined to tempt by grace
alluring deceit that knew no shame
her mission withstood distrust or blame.
Pandora’s torment flowed wide and far.
She carried with her an earthen jar.
Instructions were laid to be obeyed
to keep it enclosed and so it stayed
till yearning became hard to resist
temptation knew well how to insist.
Alone by herself beside a brook
she lifted the lid, a glancing look
that opened the flood to evil force
unhindered it spread and took its course.
She panicked and pushed with all her might;
the damage was done – eternal plight.
A trickle of hope was left inside
but hardly enough to turn the tide.
When laws are defied they cause much grief;
the pleasure derived is false and brief.
Temptation is what destroys the weak;
redemption is there for all to seek.
Forever in life it’s hard to cope.
Pandora we chase in search of hope.*
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* Pandora is chased for the only thing left in her jar – hope.
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Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Men Only #2
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placed 1st
Love the oldest,
Love the youngest,
The smallest,
The broadest.
Imperfectly perfect,
Proudly humble.
Endlessly end,
Peacefully troubled.
Quietly lousy,
Uncountable counting.
Pleasurable painful,
Ungainly gainful.
Resurrecting in killing,
Smiling in weeping.
Coming in going,
Abiding in departing.
Truth in lies,
Open-mindedness in sly.
Elevation in humiliation,
Built in destruction.
Unity in separation,
Honesty in temptation.
Standing in tribulation,
Thanking in starvation.
II
Love a burning fire,
But never to consume.
Even though she wonders,
But she never get confused.
Love is the source of life,
The fountain of light.
Love, so above death.
And she has no end.
The she's highly immortal,
But she in love with the mortal.
She is sane,
But love the insane.
She is so peaceful
But she's found in a troublesome place.
So careful,
She sojourns in this careless cave.
In an offensive place to pardon,
In sinful house to forgive.
Descending to comfort the abandoned,
Coming so low for poor to give.
Going blind to see,
Far away to come near.
Hardened heart to believe ,
Becoming deaf to hear.
Pleading in rejection,
Blessing the prosecutor.
Hunted but growing,
Hated but reigning.
Too real to the fools,
Because is so true.
Erred men don't believe its free,
Because is so cheap.
So abundantly, but only few has it.
The people she love are rejecting.
If you find one you're lucky,
Because she's one blood thing you can't just inherit.
My solemnity
Oh! I need you thou love,
I wonder if I can in men find one.
I can trade my eyes for it,
Because I know in her will I clearly see.
Really, men are so many.
But how many can truly love?
Marriage can be done within ten minutes,
But are mostly grounded in lust.
If you say you're true lover,
Show it to many like that pauper.
Don't only love your rich husband,
Show love to your maiden servant.
Preaching and boasting of it on the pulpit,
Have you ever have a meal with the poor?
Show it when sad and when happy,
Accommodate your enemies' daughter and son.
Tis easy to love our family,
That's not in the dictionary of we lovers.
It is easier for us to love the whole country,
And those that has once make us suffer.
As I recall those lonely childhood days
My heart weeps for myself drenched in tears
How I yearned mama for a gentle hug from you
A soft caress and a kiss to make me glow
Engrossed as you were tending to my dear brother
And here I deduced you never did bother
The scars grew each year
And estranged I felt from your care
But now seeing you strain
As you beckon me near
My heart cries in earnest struggle
And yearns to snuggle
Forgive me ma for I have erred
Being blind to your loving words
To your implicit care
Being blind to the glistening tears
That uttered silent prayers
Being blind to the anxious queries
Masked with concern
Blinded I was and you I blamed
I beg your forgiveness.
@ Nadiya (19 Feb '15)
Placed 9th on 21 Feb 2015 in the contest 'Forgiveness' by Rob Carmack.
It's the evening of the year
The great majestic ball.
I go along trembling with fear
No one will ask me to dance at all.
The lights are blazing above
The musicians strike up their chords
In the eyes of some, shows expectant love,
In others, time they can ill afford.
The dance floor is polished to the hilt
So the dancers can glide with ease.
Some Scottish laddies dressed in highland kilt
Serving wine and nibbles which will please.
I sit amongst the ladies and their idle chatter
The lights catching a glint of tiara-erred heads
Note book clenched between sweating palms
Dance spaces at the ready for any suitor to read
A minuet is played, the ladies hold their partners hands
Just a light touch from glove to glove
The soft music emulates a wonderful sound,
Stirring a thought or two towards love
Back to my chair he gallantly leads me
Bowing slightly as he helped me to sit
Would you do me the honour, he asks,
Let me fill in the vacant spaces in your list.
I sit there dreamily thinking of what this might bring
Is this the man to fulfil my needs.
I then wake up with a start, as the kettle sings,
To face my hungry family which I need to feed.
Penned 15 November 2014
Beware the Fireworks of Joy
It’s 9:30am
It’s Saturday
The winds of time have changed
Smoke is obscuring the future
Of a nation of dreamers.
Nightfall is lost.
In a darkness of righteous rhetoric
Toothless dragons spewing flameless fire
Exhale the remains of previous failures
In noxious nuances of hope’s lunacy.
Daybreak is muted in the gray pall
Of hatred’s hangover
Coating the pond in anger’s angst
Banning the flight of migratory species
Coating the lily pads in distant dust.
Time is meaningless to those
Who speak of “when”
For past and present are
And are not. And yet
They must be joined
By the now, in the now,
Or they will be condemned
To a never changing present.
Science has proved
And disproved itself
Erred in its “infallible” wisdom
Swept the detritus of its denial
Into the graveyards and landfills
While claiming innocence and immunity.
Beware the fireworks of joy
For they may ignite
The spark of a rebellion.
John G. Lawless
©5/1/2021
She was known as "Miss Knuckle Rapper"—
My old-maid math teacher in sixth grade.
She was well-groomed, but hardly dapper
And unrelentingly strict, stern, and staid.
"You WILL master fractions," she pronounced,
Smacking her desk with a ruler of wood.
The desk wasn't all on which she pounced,
She'd rap our knuckles if she felt she should.
"Lay your hands on your desks, nice and flat,"
She ordered pupils who had somehow erred.
The ruler struck their knuckles with a splat.
It was the discipline she faithfully preferred.
But there was more to the Rapper, I know it.
Leading her students to learn was her passion.
The ruler was a prop to grandstand her grit.
She cared for us all, but only in her fashion.
At making math practical she was a star,
Noting that knowing numbers was a "must."
"I'm sorry to say it but you won't go far,
Unless you learn math from one you trust."
By school year's end I had come to know
My teacher was driven by admirable actions.
She ruled to prep us for what life would bestow,
Including the mastering of fractions.
If we don’t have enough money, we lose our dignity and independence
In our society having money makes a big difference
It can own you if you’re priorities are off
Without money so many seem lost
But it grows remarkably when we manage it cleverly
It can evaporate without a trace when we waste it foolishly
Once it’s invested wisely, you can have more of it
With a blessing like that I would do more good with it
The power of it makes many forget their values and morals
Loving money too much could lead to all kinds of evils
We need compassion for those of us in pain
We need understanding for those that are insane
Power and greed is powerful icons of modern day life
We have to trust Jesus to resist the tempestuous stresses and toil of strife
As long as I have enough to get by
I'm very happy
1 Timothy 6:10 For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.
Young Barred Jeff the hair once heired and was bard
from Barred Bare Camp cause when bear he was hard.
Neigh,said he in the bairn wear the auld stud nayed,
Owe, eye oh fare Merry her fair must bee paid.
Her fair's dew her an' eye'll faint with me stave.
The auld counselor feinted ass Jeff misbehaved.
My stave is like ewe just ask Merry's made
oar ask the yew in the dew; she'll bleat what eye said.
Barred Jeff maid a song witch told of his whiles
it went on two long wile marry Merry beguiled.
Know boatman with or, oar blacksmith can boar
wench better, he said, of this eye am sure.
Perhaps, a black stallion, perhaps a bold bore
butt, barred Jeff beared was the won who scored.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Young Bard Jeff the heir once erred and was barred
from Bard Bear Camp cause when bare he was hard.
Nay said he in the barn where the old stud neighed,
Oh, I owe fair Mary her fare must be paid.
Her fare's due her an' I'll feint with me stave
the old counselor fainted as Jeff misbehaved.
My stave is like yew, just ask Mary's maid
or ask the ewe in the dew it'll bleat what I said.
Bard Jeff made a song which told of his wiles
it went on too long while merry Mary beguiled.
No boatmen with oar, or blacksmith can bore
wench better, he said, of this I'm quite sure.
Perhaps, a black stallion, perhaps a bold boar,
but, Bard Jeff bared was the one who scored.
Neath shimmered strings of starlight’s breeze, crepuscular in night
on trodden soil he lay with slumbered eyes.
Lashed to oak, his chestnut mare in dream just out of sight
snaps free as lightning flashes; flares the skies.
Bounds to foot with double stride; yet late his capture earns
a feeble grip on equine hoof afoot,
his trusty steed, as mist might drift through juvenile sown ferns,
has vanished like dark ebbing motes of soot.
Miles from home, no transit back, bewildered by events
considers how to forge his journey home,
perplexing state, a quandary, unravels and presents
the only choice he has, which is to roam.
Through thicket thick, forest green, cross arid plains of dust
unto the homestead poised for his return,
discordant thunder stills his heart; wriggles in as thrust
compels him, for he knows they too do yearn.
For passage spry and safe, and quiescent nights on swag
now rolls his bed with reins onto his back;
through sheathes of rain, in startled fright, a lonely Sambar stag
hoof striking ground, preparing to attack.
Muzzles drawn, the beast is felled yet antlers gore both arms
as motion peters awkwardly apace,
bandages his wounded wings as parent-like alarms
resound upon the visage of a face.
Hidden by the brush, the physiognomy not seen
now trundles to its father’s fallen side,
its death is beyond doubt, lest his hand does intervene
to raise the fawn the way the buck had tried.
A careful snouted nudge from the fawn as sunup blooms
arises him from sleep, but only just,
passes over arid plains then through the vista looms
the iron gates of home bedimmed by dust.
Collapses through the gates on the soiree of her birth
returning home disheveled and delayed,
bent on being present so she’d never know a dearth
of every night, his whispered serenade.
Strength, in time, would vivify, recouping over weeks
the erred reason for his sullied trip,
remains on blocks, left un-repaired, despoiled by the leaks
and placed the fawn forever by her hip.
Eyes well up recalling, every year from that day on
his little girl’s elated monkeyshines,
when the gown was given her, how happiness had shone
into his heart his journey’s worth entwines.
Short prayer I say
Each day I keep all day
Each night I breathe and pray
With my sweater, all night I dream so gay
Clothes I wear with no pocket
I change and bring with locket
Picture of faith I keep in a bucket
All year round I lit with socket
Whenever I feel blue I just sing
Songs of fife that life can bring
Songs I bite without a sting
Melodies I strike with my light string
Strings of faith and joy I play
Keeping my feet on the ground, not stray
Living a life so cool that lay
Wreaths and olives I reap, not wray
One day I lost my faith
Erred and haunted by wraith
Wisp of tendrils creeping and saithe
Noshing my body and molded like dearth
Then instant light flashed on my face, I freezed
I was speechless, frozen without a mouthpiece
A prayer inside my pocket that please
Sweater I wore again to keep myself at ease
Guilty of life once lived in sections,
drastically making changes.
Concessions to new obsessions,
suffering identity exchanges.
Revision life's only pattern,
inborn self considered a sin.
Wherever did the facade end,
and my actual truth begin?
Mercurial soul.
Gale force wind on fire.
Searching recklessly.
Banishing true desire.
Stunted by fear.
Cut low by local society.
Angrily relating ashamed.
Depression continually haunting me.
Loving heart protected by rage.
Angel morphed to succubus.
Ignorant of a different way.
Residual burden of distrust.
No compass showing the way.
Pilgrim of self identity.
Fractured mind's weathervane,
self destruction my proclivity.
I failed in my search.
Experienced life vainly, physically.
Blind to evolutionary growth.
Recently found enrichment, mentally.
Mistakes made youthfully, forgiven.
I look forward filled with hope.
Fortune smiled upon me.
Enlightened at the end of my rope.
If you believe in second chances,
first gift yourself one.
Explore your own depth, just once,
and you'll find life has just begun.
Presently, daily, I show for practice
on life's uncertain field.
I want the ball, as a champion should.
Sprinting forward, I'll prove what life can yield.
When mortality knocks on my crypt,
I plan on being prepared.
Living life by my own script.
Lessons learned by decisions erred.
I'll take my place amongst the stars,
having shirked mortal coil.
Ready for what is next.
To my nature, proven loyal.
Come with me on this journey.
Banish need for acceptance.
Live your life entirely.
You'll only get one chance.
-Angel Fatale-
I cry out to Lord Byron nightly,
And he comes to me in the realm between fantasy and reality.
He speaks of darkness and sings of my ethereal pain.
You, unlike those that came before or after,
Are the only one who can understand.
Fear of the gripping reality that lies ahead,
The wretching sound of impending fall out...
Cannot compare to you coming to me at dusk.
You rape me seductively with your words,
Using me as your vessel of communication.
With each stroke of your feathered quill,
My inhibitions fall away...drunk from the scent of ink-soaked parchment.
An addictive ritual has become my most fatal attraction.
A spiritual gift, perfectly erred...
Wrapped tightly in your embrace.
And on the eve of our last encounter,
Left me writhing in the midnight hour.
Hopeless cries from faraway Africa are heard
Searing sands of Ethiopia cry for sustainable water
Children are dying, never having spoken a word.
Desperate fathers guard the starving cattle herd
As temperatures rise, getting hotter and hotter
Hopeless cries from faraway Africa are heard.
Mothers with helpless eyes, sticky and blurred,
Cling fast to their tiny, sickened son or daughter
Children are dying, never having spoken a word.
Their last meal shared a small portion of curd
They dare not a precious newborn calf slaughter
Hopeless cries from faraway Africa are heard.
Sounds of mourning nearby, a family gathered
Neighboring families too weak to console a father
Children are dying, never having spoken a word.
Here in America with our wealth we have erred
Someday the wealthy piper must pay the potter
Hopeless cries from faraway Africa are heard
Children are dying, never having spoken a word.
THIRD PLACE WINNER
Written April 11, 2021
For "This or That, Vol 2" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
The elders speak in timeless tones to reconcile the past,
And offer truths from which we choose to fill the roles we're cast.
But though the sage will muse how well the truths can guide our way,
So few will heed and recognize the worth of what they say.
The elders speak a sacred tongue in soft and whispered tone,
Of olden days and simpler ways, of souls who now are gone.
They tell of lies and blunders made throughout the ages passed,
And beg we put their truths to pen, for all to know at last.
They come to me at varied times and occupy my thought
With facts and lore of times before, and other things they've brought.
They seek to put a record straight or make an error right,
When history's lacking in some way and needs a ray of light.
At first, I’d cringe in shock and awe, was overwhelmed and dazed.
At times, I’d feel too small to deal with issues that they raised.
"What should I do?" I asked myself, “Why should I care at all?”
But time has shown that I should trust the wisdom of their call.
I honed my skills and craftsmanship, and dedicated time.
I lent my pen and acumen, and love of word and rhyme.
I judged them not for wrongs they did, their ignorance or views,
For though they erred, the lessons learned are much to dear to lose.
It's not so much the words they say, or lives they lived and lost,
Or ways they tried to go and guide, no matter what it cost.
But what they learned from what they did and left for us to muse,
Much more than gold and treasured gems, are lessons wrought with truths.
I believe many of us charged with making our history palatable for the generations to come
get far too involved in our own sensitivities. We seem to place inordinate significance on our
judgement of our ancestors' ignorance, wrongs done to one another, and politics. As a result,
we overlook the value of the lessons learned and passed along with their legacy. It is the
cost of the wrongs done, the lives lost, and the errors made that inflates the value of the
lessons from which we have to learn... and leaving those lessons in the past is yet a greater
cost, or loss, as the case may be.
Good many people are remembered
For many good things they have done
Good many people are forgotten
For one wrong thing they have done
When I default, forget me not
When I erred in my speech
Forget not the right words I have spoken
When I angered you
Forget not my humuor and jokes
When I hurt you
Forget not the love I showed you
Remember when we were friends
Now that we are rivals
Remember my fame
Now that I am useless
Remember my kindness to you
Now that you are wicked to me
Remember the good times
Now that we are in bad times
I am present
Forget me not in my absence
I am young
Forget me not in my senescence
Keep me in your mind
Keep me in your heart
I will forget you not
Forget me not.