Best Follow Suit Poems
I could not refrain from asking what it was that made her sigh
When each picture that she started she took down. I wondered why.
The young lady was forthcoming; said her thoughts were fresh and bright
Every time she started painting nothing seemed to turn out right.
Then she glanced at my own painting and declared that it was great
She remarked I found it easy to imagine and create.
Well, I smiled and softly told her that it was my special brush
That afforded all the wonders; careful handling with no rush.
So I told her she could use it, to be gentle for a start
Till they reached synchronization so that both could play their part.
What about the other brushes? Do not fret or give a hoot
Mine will be the instigator, all the rest will follow suit!
I went off to have a breather while she went to work anew
Gave her time to get on with it then returned exact on cue.
I could see her face was radiant and her work intense yet cool
She expressed appreciation at my most fantastic tool.
I will let you on a secret; I have played a hidden card
For my brush is only normal. You were trying just too hard!
You can paint, you have it in you. To your talent be not blind.
As you see there is no magic; it was only in the mind.
So good luck with your endeavours. Some advice, precise and brief
You can make the perfect painting; all you need is self belief.
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Note: This poem was written to pass on a message to all those who
suffer from low esteem. Self-belief is the way forward.
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Author: Paul Callus
Contest (Favourite Poem...) sponsored by Carol Eastman
Placed: 1st
when winter woke and dealt its hand
it froze the heart of cumberland
as icy air dispersed in spades
to twist and cut like razor blades.
small pools of water turned to glass
to shine like diamonds in the grass
while freezing sprays from waterfalls
formed icicles on wet stone walls.
when nature's breath turned all air warm
the earth embraced another form:
the snow that fell - now sadly gone
decked out a land to look as one.
if elements of that year's weather
could club the fells and fields together
then why can't jokers do the same
and follow suit - and raise their game?
The carcasses of rockets litter grass
dark hours advanced since midnight bells have chimed
and revellers stood watching seconds pass
to cheer and kiss to strains of 'Auld Lang Syne'.
Outside, from morbid black to pleasing blue
the day pulls off the sheets, the low sun yawns,
the same as yesterday but somehow new
as from last year the final page is torn.
We, too, like this new day must follow suit
rise from our east and shine in hopes afresh
as dreams and aspirations now take root
and words in resolutions become flesh.
New year, blank page, fresh start with open mind
look forward, onwards, up, but not behind.
I remember the day when comments were the main
They're all very instrumental to the Soup's mainframe
Some comments are influential that created other writes
And many were like tuition that kept us crisp and bright
But there now appears a drought growing larger every day
We need to increase our comments as they help us write our says
Maybe it's time for change, for the Soup to alter it's route
Many foundations have recently left, will others follow suit
The columns showing us the views, tells us nothing at all
How many have clicked on a poem thinking that's a bit of a trawl
So another poem was open and not a word was read
So basically the views are worthless, because comments are our thread
We can learn from our comments but we will never learn from the views
It's our democratic choice for all, of what we do and choose
Nothing stays the same for ever as it appears to be
It's still the worlds best poetry site, that's down to you and me
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-13.php
The Borg have nothing on the bees;
they act as a collective mind.
Instead of dominating worlds,
They leave a better place behind.
A bee’s life, rather short and hard
unless it happens you’re the Queen.
Twenty-five hundred eggs a day
leaves little time to primp and preen.
The gals do all the work, of course;
the morning route is fifty flowers.
Two hundred beats produce that buzz.
They travel fifteen miles per hour.
Collectively, when added up,
a hive will travel pretty far:
A spin or two around the world
to make a single honey jar.
They’re really not the violent sort;
a gal who stings thereafter dies.
A different type of stinger’s found
among the drone sex worker guys.
Their honey is the only food
you’d need to keep yourself alive.
So cut back on the chemicals
and make a world where they can thrive.
Blessed is this honey bee;
her labor gives us all our fruit.
No other living thing their prey;
oh, that we’d learn to follow suit!
—————
for the Bee Creative Poetry Contest
sponsored by Matt Caliri
written on 05/28/2022
The bus stop says its out of use this week
Men are digging up the road again
I never knew that modern bus stops speak
I wonder will the street lamps follow suit
Their voices like the chiming of Bog Ben
The bus stop says its out of use this week
Maybe I can find another route
Will railway stations stutter like shy men?
I never knew that modern bus stops speak
How to travel ,hearing voices break
Pity and compassion hit my pen
The bus stop says its out of use this week
I fear my travel plans have gone astray
The journey I am on will never end
Did you know that modern bus stops speak?
From the dark grey sky the rain descends
Evolution staggers round the bends
The bus stop says it's out of use this week
I never knew that modern bus stops speak
Technology taking over
Faster than we know
Smart phones and pretty gadgets
All these androids on the go
Shops are closing faster
Faster than we think
More jobs gone tomorrow
It’s an online shopping dream
Online shopping dream
Amazon, Ebay and Wal-Mart
Just to name a few
Online shopping for everyone
Is the future scaring you
You’ve got so many passwords
You can’t remember them
You’d rather stop but you need to shop
It’s an online shopping trend
Online shopping trend
Sitting here waiting patiently
For the parcel to come
We’ve got the date just can’t wait
But that parcel having fun
Has it been left outside my door
Because I never heard a ring
It’s likely disappeared again
That parcels’ a mystery
I miss that window shopping
The try before you buy
I used to shop until I’d drop
But you can kiss it all goodbye
So link your card to your account
Then you can do it too
Start your shopping online now
There’s not much else to do
Big name shops are closing down
They seem to follow suit
Joining in the online crowd
It’s an online shopping move
Online shopping move
Sitting here waiting patiently
For the parcel to come
We’ve got the date just can’t wait
But that parcel having fun
Has it been left outside my door
Because I never heard a ring
It’s likely disappeared again
That parcels’ a mystery
© Copyright KC.Leake
15th December 2016
All Rights Reserved
What if our minds were like spider webs,
Spreading to the invisible realm?
Beyond the brain seems blissfully insane
Like a transcendental spell.
While science is keen to explain our dreams
And thoughts in pure chemical terms,
I’ve often considered education is littered
With professors who’ve never quite learned.
Sometimes science needs a leap of faith
To move past dogmatic ground –
There’s more than enough evidence
Proving the existence of the Inexplicably Profound.
It’s the nature of the universe
From the immeasurable small to unfathomable wide
Connecting every sub-particle
From stardust to what’s inside.
Your head and mine were made sublime
By a miracle beyond comprehension -
While I have no doubt these thoughts I hold
Exist in many dimensions.
Michelangelo seemed to think so
As did Mozart, Beethoven and Jung –
But not even the tip of the iceberg
Of those who climbed the rungs.
Of the ladder towards the gateway
That leads to higher realms
Where thoughts pour forth like running gold
From a river all around.
As atheists deny, agnostics decry
And others follow suit -
While I take a stand and raise my hand
To the universe in salute.
Of every thought I’ve ever had
And memories bad and sweet -
Knowing someday I’ll prove the teachers wrong
And laugh myself to sleep.
While watching fish that school and twist
Tens of thousands by the count –
Simultaneous turns together
In one instant - turnabout.
Or birds of a feather sailing together
In a sudden course correction -
Instantly banking to and fro
In singular - unified perfection.
And mothers sensing peril
Of their young ones out of sight -
Phone calls made confirming
The feeling was quite right.
Something strange is in the air
Here and there and all around –
Permeating space and time
Through our minds and solid ground.
These thoughts I swear must come from nowhere
Inside this human head –
And I still believe and always will
Thought begins in a spider-web.
Sure are the benefits of forgiveness, we all know—
All major belief systems say so.
But in actual life it doesn’t seem to happen.
Instances of the German holocaust or crucifixion,
Don’t they our hopes flatten?
Take The Lion and the Mouse, an Aesop’s fable,
Where forgiveness is the moral put across the table,
As it leads to reciprocation.
But the pleasure of getting even is out of all proportion,
And will readily have postmodern approbation!
If one were to put the benefits first in this ethos,
It’d amount to inviting pathos.
Prudence is to regard such an episode in life’s drama as a scene;
Not as the climax should it be seen.
If there’s no direct reciprocation,
Sooner or later, there’ll be indirect reciprocation.
And the benefit takes your route—
Just as the dog’s tail should follow suit!
***
posted on November 1, 2017
Written January 17, 2011
Sit down in an empty room
No one makes a sound
Unless I ring the alarm and sound all the sirens
The angel of darkness swoons to reel in its catch
If he leads, then I'll follow suit
Preacher preach to me now, while I'm being lifted off of the ground
Rhetoric can't raise the dead
So pull me back before he reels me in with steady hands and fills my mind with lead
I'll leave my best regards to all of those who tried to snap his line in attempts to reel me back
But friends are only friends
You can throw me in an ambulance but as soon as you close the doors
I'll be gone into the weight of my regrets
Following the angel of death into the darkest depths
Until I see the light of all that's left
But at what point do I cross the line in the sand?
How do I know that this could just be the roll of the tide whispering in my ear?
Oh how it digs into my mind
Torn between which side of brightness I will find
Split between the bony hand of disconnect and the flabby flesh of past regret
There I remain waiting for a miracle, looking for a sign
Or am I too far for miracles, am I too blind for signs?
Oh have I let the artist down?
Queen in our eyes!
Goddess in our hearts.
Alleviated fears, shaped behaviors,
Built careers, educated a nation,
Sang hymnals through the moments slowly.
She learned to live and love,
Unperturbed by failure, unruffled by haste,
Rising in the midnight glory,
Unbounded by time, undimmed by hope.
She sang dirges in ceremonies,
Boxed by pain, razed with tears,
Called on God in heaven,
Pushed by problems unleashed by dreams.
To wipe our tears and mend our fails,
Charred by life’s harsh realities,
Unbroken by woes, strengthened in invocations,
Into our stubborn adolescent years,
Through hectic times and sickbed comforts.
I reminisce her brief scolding,
Refusing to go to school for no reason,
And all the exquisite wares I broke —
Can’t fathom the pain I caused her.
But she never gave up on me,
Not he, not her, not us.
Even those who laid upon her lap,
A neighborhood mum circumventing the hemisphere
With her selfless deeds.
Spreading euphoria here and there,
With little that she had, her love unrelenting,
For the ones she nurtured beneath her feet,
With a partner she adored since day one.
She smiles, and there is hope,
Of small beginnings and grand endings.
In her voice, comfort and peace,
I will forever be grateful for a mother like you.
So thank you for words uttered,
For actions and inactions,
For love unconditional,
Even in anger, even in pain.
Thank you for souls well nurtured,
The spanks so brusque, the food, the gifts,
Thank you for care unending,
May God bless you always.
Thank you for a life well lived;
In your footsteps we follow suit.
Fear feasts on our insides
And wrecks decision-making
Evil jumps in with glee
And another one loses trust
And another one down
And another one down
And another one loses trust
Evil grins
At what might have been
As another one loses trust
Housing fails
Markets, too
And countries follow suit
“Be afraid
Be very afraid”
Used to be a joke
But now it’s the match
That lights the glint
In Evil’s eye
Every day we’re fed
Too much detailed
information
- Perhaps true;
Perhaps not -
With stated directives
To be
Very
Afraid
As Evil laughs
And Fear cavorts
Through our souls
With another one down
And another one down
And another one loses trust
I will myself to turn off the media
Not to ignore the warnings;
But to avoid overexposure
To the cancer-causing
Smoking gun
Of fear
According to Article 37, Section 202 of the Code of Federal Regulation, the Congress states that “words and short phrases such as names, titles, and slogans; familiar symbols or designs; mere variations of typographic ornamentation, lettering or coloring; mere listing of ingredients or contents” are not copyrightable.
So thanks to John Deacon of Queen…
Winter comes like any other season.
Then comes spring to challenge our reason.
The other seasons follow suit, in a circle.
Nothing changes this order but a miracle.
Some close their eyes in order not to see,
And turn a deaf ear in order not to hear.
But deep inside they hide their fear!
That change will have a price, so dear.
But change will come no matter what!
They like it or they like it not.
Embrace the change and live with it,
And you succeed and make a hit.
Resist the change or fight it hard,
And train to live your life on guard.
4/3/2014
Within the year crusades began,
led by the noblest of the land.
Hugh Vermandois was first to arrive,
with an huge army at his command.
Godfrey and Baldwin arrived next,
as well as Robert of Normandy.
Bound by their God and Holy Pope,
to save World's Christianity.
Across Turkey the armies marched,
to Nicaea, where Peter had died.
Then onto Antioch they swarmed,
where bible and sword would collide.
From Antioch on to Jerusalem,
where little resistance was met.
The crusaders marched without fear,
or any imminent threat.
At the gates of Jerusalem,
the tale would too soon turn.
As the crusaders camped outside,
of a call to arms they'd learn.
What up until that moment in time,
was accomplished without much deed.
To take Jerusalem it now seemed,
would take much bloodshed to succeed.
So the Crusaders surrounded the city,
reinforced with supplies that arrived..
Soon the walls would slowly crumble,
leaving only crusaders left alive..
They slaughtered Jews in the synagogue,
and all Muslims in the Dome.
Through the streets of Jerusalem,
the crusaders in victory did roam.
Upon the steps of the Holy Seplechre,
the Christian's gave their praise.
For there was no on left alive,
no objection could they raise.
Soon the Christians assumed the throne,
with Godfrey being named its King.
Many years of successive line,
to the Holy Land they'd bring.
Over time there would be uprisings,
many battles would be fought.
But the Christians maintained control,
no matter how much death it brought.
The line passed through the years,
eventually to Amury it did go.
But before long, his thirteen year old son
was the king they'd come to know.
For Amury was convinced,
that Egypt should follow suit.
To Christianity and away,
from uncivilized Muslim root.
But the Holy land had a new leader
and Saladin had other plans
He took Jerusalem back again,
and in triumph regained the lands.
This would not be the end,
for the war had just begun.
The battle for the Holy Lands
would see more blood freely run.
Run, you savages! Columbia the Combine is coming!
She harvests the fruits of nature too dark and ripe.
Her pale, white skin juxtaposed against her dark intent
Will show you what she really wants:
“Surrender, demons!” she cries.
Her minions follow suit, those wild-white settlers.
Behold, even the sun rises in the east and forces you west,
Getting rid of the darker clouds and darker people.
Although your bison is strong, her locomotive wins.
The landscape is golden, as if transitioning from
The transparent nature to an opaque shroud.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a return to nature,
Unadulterated, unblemished, uncorrupted,
No Columbia.
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This is about the 1872 painting "American Progress" by John Gast.