Best Fend Poems
There is a part of me missing
There is a part of me that shall never be
Inside of this dark sad brooding mind
Is the painter who will never see
So I take my pen, and vaso of wine
I contemplate
I get lost in the drunkenness of time
Stooped over my own memories on a sour palette
I had the brushes staring at the naked breast
My paints were frozen, at such beauties unrest
Erect and tall, at her feet I did fall
The blind painter, who lost it all
So now you see I am a poet of some seedy sort
Painting Braille, is poetry of my last resort
I write down words with the flourish of my pen
The Braille poet, cause painting I could not fend
I take words and wish them bountiful explosive colors
If only I had talent, a painter and not a story teller
So for me, in pain and clad in the cloth of sadness
I write words, for this painter has only Braille
I have no painting brushes
I possess no smile, wandering along on wistful miles
Of blindness, blowing in the winds of the frail
No map for the future, and yet I set sail
Hoping my words one day will be seen
By an artist who paints the soul and the serene
She takes my blindness and paints boldly my dreams
Taking my words, from Braille to bright pastel creams
I was blessed to know a woman in my life
Who faced hard times, struggle, and strife.
A Chinese immigrant, she came from a poor town
Lost her husband, was kept from her daughter, but not kept down.
She had three other children who were born here
Getting them a better life was her biggest fear.
She had to fend for herself and them alone you see,
Speaking little of the language in this foreign country.
But, she had always lived a determined life
So she fought back...with a fork and a knife.
She opened a restaurant in a small community
Where her gracious manner made her friends instantly.
Her children would grow up in town with new friends
The restaurant she opened was the mean to her ends.
She worked very hard...sometimes eighteen hours a day
She never complained because that was her way.
Her life's expectations knew more successes sublime
The restaurant grew...one egg roll at a time.
She once told me of the anxiety she felt at the money she'd spent...
Laughing said, "My uncle said sell 2 qts of Chop Suey/Day...you've got the rent."
She was a woman who chose kindness as she felt had to her been shown
To people far and near her generosity was known.
She was thankful that she had the opportunity
To give back with love rather than animosity.
I first met her over some 30 years back
She struck me from the that moment as a person who had the knack
To make others feel at home though strangers they be
She certainly did, because she did it to me.
I still remember her caring for me...it was shown
Once caught in a blizzard, she opened her home.
So often was there a path to this woman's door
Though she stood, less than 5 foot 4.
Her heart was as big and wonderful as one would want
An earthly angel, she was heaven sent.
Though her health began to wane later in life
She never gave in to that world of strife.
Her eyesight began to fail and it was difficult for her to see
But that didn't stop her or her generosity.
She loved people and filled everyone with cheer
Ever thankful that she had had a life here.
Though she is gone I'll never forget her face
Or her love of life, devotion to family, and unstoppable pace.
To me I'll ever be thankful to have had the joy
Of calling her "Ma" ... ONE IN A MILLION~was Connie Moy!
1st Place Winner - "One in a Million" Poetry Contest
I saw a one-legged Sandpiper
today on the beach.
I saw him land on his single pedestal,
it was an artful thing.
Entranced by his disability,
I stood transfixed with curiosity.
I so wanted to help him
but we're worlds apart.
How can he feed?
How can he fend?
Suddenly, he flew away up the beach,
I followed him.
There he stood lightly wafting in the wind,
still balanced on that single leg.
His fellow Sandpipers scurry about
unnoticing his remarkable challenge.
Later, a kindly friend told me
shorebirds often hide one leg
to conserve energy.
Silly, I felt a loss
for my misplaced empathy
towards my one-legged friend.
What a self-centered bubble
I live in.
We're always so troubled by
what we think we know.
Truth is, we know so little.
Next time on the beach,
I'll look for the one-legged Sandpiper.
It'll remind me that
there's so much I still don't know.
Ever so much more than friend
Wearing scars of love's lullaby
I can still see you at the end
Our song often left wounds to mend
Each time we'd return; blood barely dry
Ever so much more than friend
To the depths of spite we'd descend
But against hatred's grip we'd ally
I can still see you at the end
Betrayed by hope left alone to fend
Holding on; clasped hands cracked & dry
Ever so much more than friend
Cuts slowly heal, the burn lessened
The allure to give up we'd deny
I can still see you at the end
We stand frayed on a path we didn't intend
My hand in yours I walk with closed eyes
Ever so much more than friend
I can still see you at the end
12/05/2017
I sat quietly and waited, making the noises he had come to know, calling him in his newly given name. His face would appear, cautiously calculating my intent, he would approach. The promise of food and gentle touch too much to deny. And so we did the “Little Prince’s” taming dance, each aware of the other and the possibility of betrayal.
cold eyes, empty heart
frost forming on life’s edges
winter’s numbing kiss
Our meetings continued, less cautious greetings, more welcome contact, minimal conversation. His coat was becoming more ragged in spite of attempts to keep it up, his gait slowing as our good-byes became short walks together. He could not leave his place, his home, even though it had left him – alone, to fend for himself.
hoarfrost in retreat
sunrise gently awakens
friendships warming blood
He withdrew – I would wait, quietly, whisper the name he had come to know, make the sounds that signaled “all clear”. I searched for him, stood silent and listened for his weakening call, shed tears in the cold rain of November. His last call, a feeble attempt at good-bye, led me to him. Alone, cold, hungry, he lay there, rolled his eyes as I cradled his cold and fading spirit. He shivered – and left.
winter’s cold cradle
ice encasing a friendship
a thawing of hearts
10/20/2015
submitted to – Creative Haibuns – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
Fight hard
as long as you're not too defensive
or worse, stronger than him
so we can't tell that he hit you
so we don't have to pick up your slack
Speak your mind
as long as your voice isn't louder than his
or worse, too assertive or contradicting it
so you say something worth listening to
so he can get his word in edgewise
Make it rain
as long as you don't make more than him
or worse, take his
so you're not a gold digger
so you can't get out from under his umbrella
Be a damsel
as long as your inevitable distress doesn't cause unrest
or worse, distract from his
so you know how to fend for yourself
so we don't have to hear you whine
Stay in shape
as long as your muscles aren't too bulky
or worse, bigger than his
so you're easy on the eyes
so you don't hurt his pride
Seduce sweetly
as long as you're not a ****
or worse, a whore
so he wants you
so you think that's what your worth is
Make this house a home
as long as you don't forget who makes the bread around here
or worse, forget to put his dinner on the table
so that you're a good homemaker
so that you have no valid claim to what he makes
Be everything
Be nothing
Never alone
Sadness invades
every corner left open
Ears falling deaf
to the thoughts that do scream
Heartbeats are breaking
in moments of worry
Tears on the edge
of a fracturing dream
Anguish now splintered
as window panes shatter
Closing the curtains
to fend off the fear
Still there is one,
if you need to hold on too
Look in your heart
and you’ll find I am near
Taking your hand,
bringing light to the darkness
Trudging a path
so your feet do not bleed
Lifting you up
when your spirits are drowning
I will be there
in your moment of need
I am not much
just a man who adores you
Taking your pain
as if it’s all my own
Heeding your call
nothing else it does matter
Forever your friend,
you are never alone
Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013
I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over
Taught me to fight back
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over
He gave me my stubbornness
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind to no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over
How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over
Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on
I may stumble I may fall
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over
Education you 're the champion of the poor
You're a roof under which people who love you shelter
You open the eyes of the ignorant, so that their ignorance is no more
You're a pot of those who loves to cook their brains into perfection
So that their brains can be perfected to think like you
So that they can learn to negotiate the hazards of life and fend for themselves
Education, you provide shelter, clothes and transport to those who worship you
You are the king of those who adores you
Education, you are the conqueror
You've conquered poverty
Poverty says brother to you
You sent poverty to an early rotten grave
Poverty has gone to an early grave because of you
Run poverty run!
Your brother education is here!
Darkness and light do not share cigarette
As success and poverty
Education, no one is like you
Indeed you're the Kilimanjaro Mountain
You're like an elephant
You're a well of wisdom and success
Those who worship you will walk tall and proud of their success
i am from you have to work for it
from worthless and invisible
i am from hatred.
i am from 7
from black and white
i am from not begin accepted for who i am
i am from you are who you are for a reason
from depression to anxiety
i am from i want to be happy
i am from Spanish
from puerto Rican to dominican
i am from slang
i am from Michigan to Indiana
from drugs and alcohol abuse
i am Tiffany (12.22.11)
i am from grandmas house
from Christmas tree to scary costumes
i am from big celebrations
i am from don't talk back
from sleeping in
i am you fend for yourself
i am from the heart and soul
from beat and rhythm
i am from hip-hop and r&b
i am from jeep music
from slow jamz to gospel
i am music
i am from Illinois
from small town
i am bloomington
i am from two human begins
from the womb inside my mother
i am Ayanah
La dernière valse
From the skies
Clouds fall upon my dreams
I am up high, away from it all
I am far, but my tears still fall
I stand up and shout to Paris ( Pareee)
You left me, you left me here to fend alone
I can not danse, nor can I waltz
I am here, overlooking skylines of desire
Graveyards calling out my name
The clouds in the sky grey and dancing
The tour Eiffel stands up high
The symbol of all that makes me cry
I can not dance, nor can I waltz
Alizee Alizee go go go
Arête, arête my love simply won’t flow
Abelard died, and so must I
Lovers of love, wine runs dry
Poets and words, vices and crimes
Lovers of the majestic and the absurd
I was pushed over the ledge
In Versailles they left for me dead
Grandiose mirrors and artistic displays
I can not dance, nor can I waltz
So in the castle I will be slayed
By the demons of lovers
From the past, they do say
She left me here
On the left bank of the seine
So here I shall drown totally insane
Notes: I have on purpose used french spelling for some words in the poem.
Rain is brewing;
black clouds hang over the Cockpit Country.
Them rainclouds have a habit of shifting colors like a lizard.
The smell of the pending shower is strong on September’s breath;
the sun take a well-deserved break.
Mango season is long gone,
and bellies are tied up in knots.
Naseberries; they accompanied the mangoes.
Them guys from abroad,
who bought the government land across from the football field,
slaughtered them faithful guava trees.
They build condos,
but poor people can’t eat condos.
How inconsiderate them big-shot government boys are.
We (me, Footloose, and Squealie) device a plan,
when our bellies start telling us something must be done,
but we have to wait ‘til darkness falls,
‘cause bushes have eyes in sunlight.
While everyone sleeps in the bosom of the night,
we put on our birthday suits,
and scale the barbed wire fence at the back of the house.
We are now one with the blinding shadows.
We race carelessly across the open pasture;
burrs biting at our tender flesh,
and mosquitoes humming maddening music in our ears.
We tip toe on the dry leaves,
using our hands as shields
to fend off the razor-sharp edges of the cane leaves.
We drop down on all four, bellies on the ground;
we navigate the rows like them American marines – naked and all.
We ate our full,
and Squealie wet the bed that night.
Them sugarcane have a way of making us hyper.
Footloose fell from a Poinciana tree and fractured his hand,
but we stayed energized that fall.
One day alone is not enough
To measure universal love
Sculptured in her embodiment
One day alone is not enough
To tell treausre greatest of my heart
Besides the shrine where I serve my Lord.
One day alone is not enough
To fill the void that was her love
And set her caring worthiness apart
And honor her with honey words.
This mother's day then
May day shall blow blues again
And moon to dark I descend
The shrivelling path of pain.
What flowers on her grave
Can fend away the gloom
Of loss? No card can crave
The her eyes' bloom like petals
Withered now within the grave
I vested soul and all to save
You for the gallery of my stars
And finite so the thing I prove
How death can any mortal move
And mother's day make scars.
RISE AND FALL OF FORESTS
Deforestation and mechanization,
Have vanquished,
Tribes and animals,
Have been banished.
United the world must stand,
Against those,
Who grab green land.
Corporations brazenly,
Partake in this nab,
Their only thought
To possess and to grab.
What do they gain,
In this pitiful game,
Only fear of a lion or tiger
Or man with a knife
Who has to fend for cubs,
Or a family of five!
The elite but greedy few,
Will be the target of revenge,
For Karma will be due.
Forest dwellers and animals,
Must sustain their livelihood,
When driven to an
Urban neighborhood.
They need to survive,
And will attack to stay alive!
Wouldn’t it be grand,
If we could be assured
That our forests remain
As precious green land!
'
where, in the shadow of a winter moon
beyond eternal skylines collecting stars,
does affection unfold in the sheets
of a nighttime whispering on the breeze
desperate wishes cast as stones on a pond,
smooth surfaces now laced with ripples,
spherical patterns meandering towards
a slumbering shoreline, drifting inward
a silhouette of love, an angelic form peers,
soft mahogany eyes reflecting yesterdays worries,
offering visions of a tomorrow woven between
today's dreams and desires, waits silently
thoughts echo through the dense forest,
evergreens listen as footsteps forage for a path,
a lone figure in the dark, beneath a braided canopy,
a mosaic of memories luring instincts and needs
winding a way through bramble and thistle,
scars fend off thorns, flesh withers in fear lost
within the mist of past encounters, pained
reminders though welcomed just the same
when in a clearing he pauses amidst swaying reeds,
perusing a distant horizon, witnessing the final ripple
slowly making it's way to the place she stood, now
vacant as a faint sliver of morning appears
falling to his knees
he pleads for the return of the winter moon,
the return of its shadow,
the return of...