Best Fasted Poems
His deepest belief was in truth,
His greatest faith was in God,
He was selfless in his pursuit,
Millions followed where he trod!
He wore no crown, robes or tie,
He was no king, had no kingdom,
Thin and small at five foot five,
He won his people their freedom!
He lived life about the same time,
Adolf Hitler unleashed his anger,
millions perished to Nazi crime,
But Gandhi put no one in danger.
race discrimination he boldly fought,
in South Africa as a young lawyer,
No guns or swords he ever sought,
But he lead by fasting and prayer!
He was by birth a religious Hindu,
But respected all the world beliefs,
All religions were one in his view,
They were same in their motives.
Love, peace, path of nonviolence,
were all his weapons of resistance,
Absorbing anger, showing patience,
he lead India to its independence.
Great minds, common people like us,
Called him Mahatma, a great Soul,
He was likened to Jesus and Moses,
As they revered and pursued his goal.
He fasted to unite the rioting people,
Who killed because of religious strife,
They prayed in mosques and temple,
And thay all prayed only for his life!
On a prayer morning in late January,
Two hate bullets tore his loving heart,
His life put out by ignorance and fury,
he was killed by a world torn apart!
Even several decades after his death,
His message of love shines through,
Like many prophets before his birth,
His life’s mission, to save me and you!
*2nd placement in the contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
Your Favorite Legend ' Contest
Written 10/03/2020
It all started a long time ago
on a journey our King did go
he went into the wilderness all alone
to be tempted by the enemy
but he did not groan
he went to prepare the way
for salvation will come one day
he fasted and he prayed
from Gods' will he never strayed
he stayed focused he stayed strong
even when he was hungry and the days seemed long
he continued his journey until the end
for those that he called friends
he died and he rose
for those that God had chose.
God so loved the world that he gave his only son
that whoever believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.
Are you sleeping?
Refreshing sleep, Master
Are your eyes open?
You know they are, Master
But you are not awake
Am not, I gasp?
You have fasted
Turned back on all desires,
And still you long
Your mind longs for enlightenment
And still you sleep,
Longing in ignorance,
For that which you now are,
Like wanting the idea
of this moonlight
But not the real moonlight.
The real moon I see now
Is not the real moon?
Shanti, shanti, shanti
He chants and touches my brow,
I see in the moment that I am
This moon and the stars,
Galaxies whirling past
I feel the grass growing
Birdsong, mating, oh all
The spheres singing, humming,
The peace that surpasses understanding
Enfolding me, soundless knowing
For just a moment, not that I am,
Just am!
Are socialists human beings?
Do they need food?
Are they capable of goodness?
Do they deserve to be tortured, starved, abandoned, beaten?
What makes a socialist cry?
It isn't sad movies -- or is it?
Why should I stop hating them?
I have the right to punish them, do I not?
Or do I?
When Mother Teresa found a Communist, starving, abandoned, beaten, she fed him, loved him, made him feel the hands of Christ, touching him through her hands.
When the SS found a Communist, they shot him, tortured him, starved him, gassed him
When the Communists found a Jew, they tortured him, starved him, took his property, made certain he was strung up as an example, that people do not have the right to own their own property.
When Gandhi found that Hindus were murdering Muslims and Muslims were murdering Hindus, he fasted publicly until they stopped.
Whose example do you prefer?
Mother Teresa's, or Stalin's
That of Gandhi, or the SS?
That of Christ?
I have the right to shoot every Democrat who angers me -- or DO I?
I have the right to impeach every Republican for being Republican, to loot his store, to force him to perform abortions, to punish him...
Somewhere in Africa, a father drove nails through the knees of his teenage son
For converting to Christianity.
I am hatred.
I am anger.
I am violence.
Whose example do you prefer?
Christ's?
Or mine?
This is where we save ourselves,
Or destroy ourselves.
'Let Brotherhood, Peace and Progress become landmarks of attainment', it has been written.
Well?
Which do we prefer?
It's a question to ask yourself every day.
When I win, I make the whole world bleed,
And I LAUGH!
Not such a nice fellow am I.
Feelings I always express,
But the outcome she suppress,
Lies I employed to impress,
Her clichés put me in distress,
Lamented for hours,tears raped my eyes,
In all da agony, I still want her to be my mistress.
Fasted but didn't pray, hoping she will comply.
Mouths mocked that she is a temptress,
Friends and foes, shouted and mumbled,
My feelings feeling stronger, now it crumbled,
A mistress, my misery, making me moody.
Her heart my aim, her love my crown,
But her rejection, makes me wanna drown.
If only she will tell me why,
She wished I changed my name...
WRITTEN BY;
JOSH.E.ABELl™®
Selected by the swift sound of hand to shoulder blade,
The bells upon their ankles sounded like seven trumpets
to me. I had been a chosen sheep among the Shepherd’s flock.
Lead me my Pharisees, I wish to see feel the glee in following
the Lamb within me.
The weight of my new necklace, crudely crafted of twine and timber,
swayed in a schism'd rhythm between my shins
bruises born from my steadfast faith. For I have never fasted
Before, all there was in my Ziploc bag was a single raw egg,
Two slices of wonderbread, three matches with no book.
I heard fireflies bounce in the air between my ears,
I could not see, you see I was blindfolded, but I felt no fear.
The marching sounds stopped, balsam trees surrounded me
and the rest of the chosen tribe.
Night befell the evening, the stars jumped and danced for me
For the Lord thy God in the midst of thee is mighty, His strength
flowed like the river Jordan in my veins. I had no chains.
Never had I felt grace like this before.
We awoke with gnats in our nose, centipedes between our toes
We arose, and our trials we must undergo.
Silence is the sound of our worship, broken by the
wood bashing between our bitten legs.
The kindling was wet, the bread was stale,
forging for food in the raspberry bushes, hunger flashed
in front of my eager eyes.
Memorize second Corinthians, some stories
I no longer care to remember. I felt the splinters
in my shins, the twine singed the hairs of my neck.
The breeze swung between the leaves and sung chants
that worshiped the King amongst kings.
The counselor crept out of the brush, and with
immense embarrassment I flushed
any of the chances of becoming one of the chosen few.
I could not immerse myself within the verses.
His eyes struck disappointment deep into my gut,
his knife drawn I knew I was cut.
The log crashed to the ground like lightning, the
twine left my skin red and raw. It felt like the
sting of a thousand roses thrust upon my nape.
My cross was no longer mine to bear, it was the end
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t care.
I descended from the shining hill, back to
the cabins and basketball nets. I had failed.
There is a creek I will never wade, never cross,
I drowned in my disdain, my faith may be lost.
Another camper, another kid, lost in the flock
of the Shepherd’s failed kin.
The days moved slowly, but did pass.
He had spent the last three dreaming
of his mentor Wakan Tanka.
Calling him from Han in darkness,
waiting for his sign of answer.
It had come in bits and pieces
of Ojibwa legend mainly.
Thirty days purification
Of mind, body, spiritual.
Bathed in ginger, pomegranate.
In the round house incense offered,
Calls shadow land of Lakota.
Nagila, Nagila come be my bride.
The hawk and fox are beside me.
I have fasted forty summers,
visited the spirit of death.
Niya, the spirit of life’s blood
has lifted me up to the stars.
She has cleansed with healing waters.
Now let me take the talisman.
Now let me repeat the promise.
Now let me take my rightful place
among my people as Shaman.
Apr 16 2011 CGH the Ojibwa of the
north western plains
Wakan Tanka- creator of the Sioux
Han-place of great emptiness, darkness
Nagila-shadow land
Niya-breath of life
ginger and pomegranate-not factual
A Recipe for Fame
One day I decided
to become famous for a time
my fame was secluded
to my friends and my world
and I soaked up my fame
for as long as it lasted
and when it was gone, I fasted
to wait for another chance
to be in the right place
at the right time
and to do the right thing
I could become more famous
but I choose to do so at my own pace
to know my place in the scheme of life
For fame is best served
one bite at a time
to savor each morsel
and when it is fleeting
to wait for awhile
for another meeting
Frank J. Paul
1866 - 1887
The first I was!
Into the first hole they put me.
Down the lane they carried me that day,
Tearfully singing the first dirge for me –
Frank J. Paul –
The first to be interred on Willit Dorland’s property.
Mother and father – Thank you. Thank you.
You both prayed long into the night –
For a fortnight –
Fervently prayed on bended knees with folded hands
For my dubious but full recovery from diphtheria –
Wept and prayed -
Fasted and sang for my afflicted body –
Prayed and pleaded continuously-
As my breath shortened and
My heart slowed to a stop.
Mother and Father – Thank you. Thank you.
Indeed, the first of many I was!
Me – Frank J. Paul!
For I was -
The first sunrise!
The first breath!
The first smile and
The first embrace!
Nothing left to say, except
The first I was!
I went looking for God
in grandest cathedral,
in splendour of gold,
and crosses and statues
and rooves overwhelming
and priests ever-damning
and nuns ever-loving,
so wishing the children would learn
and be good.....
I went looking for God
in a golden dome,
where the mullahs were wailing
and people loud-hailing
their message, devotion
their women in headscarves
their young ones a-dreaming
seventy two virgins
if only, if only....
I went looking for God
in temple of ages,
of people forsaken
and praying, oh praying
that tomorrow might bring peace,
that they might be known,
that their children may die no more.....
I went looking for God,
I fasted, I chanted,
I shut my eyes tight,
I crossed my legs hurting,
my brain ever-reaching
for light ever-distant......
I searched East, I searched West,
above and below,
my time and my will
was no longer my own...
But do you know where I found God?
I sat on a hilltop
and felt the wind beckon,
I breathed the Divine in the trees
and the earth and the sweet-scented
breeze of the autumnal haze.....
I gave up all searching
and sat in the middle
of hustle and bustle,
and felt the sweet stillness
unfolding before me......
I walked through the chaos
and saw a hand outstretched
a haunted-eyed face
in a desolate scene.
And in those ragged eyes
I saw God looking back at me,
unmistakable mirror
of my own sweet divinity.....
I looked into my heart
saw my sweet, gentle child,
felt my energy sweep through my chakras,
expand from my crown.....
And God lived in the joy and the bliss
that followed my days full of love....
When I stopped looking for God
I realised
that wherever I looked
there it was.
And it was Love.
I come to bury Gandhi,
Bury him deep,
Not to praise him.
It is fashionable nowadays—to decry him
As a racist, as a casteist.
Accuse him of discriminatory practices.
No one will challenge me.
Perhaps I may add that
He often fasted
Because he had constipation!
All that he did was to lie,
(Though he claimed to speak the truth)
Across the road,
Across the railway track,
Across any British move.
Attlee, unlike Churchill,
Was a liberal-minded man,
Eager to free India.
British economy was in shambles
In the wake of World War II.
Trade Unions were launching strikes
Across the subcontinent.
Jinnah demanded a separate state.
Indian Navy revolted.
All this is true.
But if the butterfly of a Gandhi
Had not fluttered his wings,
India would not have got her freedom
Without an armed struggle,
Which is also true—
More or less.
—Ram, R. V.
"The Young Man And The Devil"
The Devil knew he only had three chances
to win over this Young Man in the wilderness!
He just knew he would prevail so easily,
he didn't realize this Young Man was blessed!
"If Thou Be The Son Of GOD",
"Command That These Stones Be Made Bread!"
He was saying this to a Man that for
forty days and forty nights had fasted!
The Young man looked the Devil in his eye
and said something the Devil found odd,
He said "Man Shall Not Live By Bread Alone,
But By Every Word That Proceedeth
Out Of The Mouth Of GOD!"
The Devil was really taken aback so he took
the Young Man up quite a height higher,
set Him upon the pinnacle of the Temple
and he went back to being a Liar!
"Why Don't You Throw Yourself Down From Here?"
"The Angels Will Come Bear You Up!"
The Young man replied
"Thou Shalt Not Tempt The LORD Thy God!"
Two of the three chances were now used up!
The Devil was determinedly desperate,
he was down to his final chance!
He had to come up with something
to get this Young Man to do his dance!
He took the Young Man to the highest mountain,
and showed Him the World's Kingdoms
and all their Glory!
"If You Bow Down And Worship Me,
This Is All Yours!"
But that's not the end of the story!
The Young Man looked the Devil in his eye
and He then threw him this curve,
He said "Thou Shalt Worship The LORD,
Thy God, And Him Only Shalt Thou Serve!"
Dejected, rejected and feeling the sting
of these three in a row losses,
the Devil cried out "How can this be?,
Why didn't this work?
What were the causes???"
The Young Man looked the Devil in his eye,
stood tall and had this to say,
"I will always be here,
and you will have me to fear, for
"I Am The Truth, The Life And The Way!"
Why Dogs Bark
Dora and Gora the twin stood shoulder to shoulder
Gave blood and sweat for each other .
They worshiped mostly God, their father and mother,
Bought an acre of land, and ploughed crops to bear .
They became richer as poor parents grew older ,
Soon got married, brought home new treasure,
Found no time, they ran after money and butter;
Enough money why not two mansions for better.
Named Dora and Gora, parents pushed to corner .
The old hearts shed tear to grow poorer than older
Two sons claimed to serve them better than better
The feud separated the love, grew fiercer and faster.
To take guard of mansions duo, father and mother
Got separated, forgot man and woman if one lover
Ribs broken to join two, broke like wooden batter
Dora fed father, Gora fed mother to make them thinner.
Fence divides brothers, fence makes good neighbor,
Between fence Dora and Gora lived like neighbor;
Treasure neighbor’s envy, women’s pride ever
Leaves, branches and air denied cross the fence higher
The ribs creaked, tears hardened like soil in summer
Cry of the poor was heard no more, died out the lover
Fence killed brother, fence made neighbor;
Bought only enemies to save the fence for ever.
Fought to divide and own the fence thick layer,
How can a fence belong to two, a clash turned fiercer,
Two brothers cut each other’s head in fury and anger
Devoted wives prayed God and fasted without water.
God was pleased to grant bliss as supreme savior,
Said ,’Done’ but done with human life for ever;
Loved to grant them a new name ‘Dog‘ very clever,
Dear to ladies, with a bend end to bark at his brother.
For the sake of his embarrassment we wont use his real name.
Because telling tall stories is how he has won his fame.
Now Luke is a legend, at least in his own mind
and no matter the topic, a story he'd be able to find.
Like the time he was out in the bay fishing from his boat.
A tiger shark lept out to take his bait clean down it's throat.
Luke struggled for hours until the rod he could hold no more.
He jumped in, took the shark by the tail and steered it to shore.
You can be sure if it happened to you, it happened to Luke first.
Be it an injury or illness, he always got it the worst.
If you had a flat tyre, no doubt Luke would have got four.
Or you lost a wallet full of money, Luke certainly lost more.
He told a magnificent story of a rusty mini he got from a mate.
Fixed it all up and under the bonnet dropped in a big V8.
Turned out it was the fasted car in the State to be found.
A magazine did a story, when he finds it again, he'll bring it round.
If at the end of a story you said, "Luke that simply isn't true."
He'd hold fast to his recollection until his face turned blue.
A tenuous thread of a fact would be woven into his tale.
Of which he would rely if all other argument of support did fail.
How dull it would be without a Luke in your life.
Who could captivate with a yarn laced with adventure and strife.
An imaginative mind, who at will can regale a good story.
Just for a little attention, with the hope of reigning in some glory.
In his weary hour
The legumes blossom on time;
Out of jocundity in honour
Of the beautiful turf
The drowsy peasant peak.
His weird blistered palm blimey,
His nasty regalia wretched,
He produces plenty and eats small
He produces good and eats bad
To the nobles he worked,
The dark noxious pest
Ravage and wrest
The peasant-shaddock
This tonic the dressy peasant
A nocturnal haunter.
This extempore task
Demoralizes his sinew
His swansong
Rhythmically envelops
In serenity and drone.
Each rising smoke
Nervous him to move.
This previous eyes
That know no peace
By the smiling scorching sun.
At the dark hour
He puts on his clogs
And marched to the farm shack
There he finds the beetles
On the yam.
The great anxiety of the peasant
Is the bragging fire of winter
He fasted to lull it
He became gaunt
The sturdy peasant.
The time unknown: the blazing fire
Burnt the bedecked bower
The ranch house and the lettuce
Barefooted staggered him
To the farm with his straw hat
And met the yelling ashes
The cracking twigs of cocoa plant
The peasant live no day
Longer than that and slept