Best For The Most Part Poems
When Poetry Soup becomes infested with partisan rubbish,
It will be difficult for liberal, creative poets, like me to flourish
Who seek a safe place away from the maddening ignorance
Of those people who continually despise political difference
For those who are angry and want to say the nastiest things
Do you have any idea what hurt your insatiable blather brings?
For some who don’t consider me a red-blooded American patriot,
I fought for the U.S. of A. in uniform when you were still just a tot!
I would rather die on the altar of honor than continually be castigated
By followers of a “wannabe” dictator who every day prevaricated
And sought to drag our country down into the muck and mire
Continues, to this day, stoking his sycophants’ hatred with fire.
Selecting a political putdown of President Joseph Biden for Poem of the Day
Was surely inappropriate if Poetry Soup administrators wish to say
The site maintains neutrality when it comes to political discourse
It encouraged poets, in their remarks, to choose up sides, of course
Anger and vitriol hurled toward us who are of more left-leaning mind
Will likely now become commonplace for those who are not so inclined.
Frankly, I despise clicking on a poem I think will be worth reading
Only to find, instead, an anti-American tirade of invective leading
To put-downs against our president, the vice-president, and first lady
Half-truths and conspiracy theories that, for the most part, are shady
If you are unhappy with the free and fair election that turned out your man
Then, every chance you get, go vote and change the system, if you can!
Our country is not, I think we’d all agree, a perfect democracy
We have lots of problems and crises – that's plain to see, but,
We now have a leader who cares about doing what is right
A man, who in short-order, is ready, committed, and willing to fight.
I have travelled the world over, north and south, east and west
Freedom to flourish in America is head and shoulders above the rest!
Written: April 4, 2021 (edited)
Awarded Poem of the Day on Poetry Soup
April 5, 2021
#38 on Best New Poems on Poetry Soup
April 6, 2021
My ordinary life -
like the plain stretching across the region of my birth,
has been for the most part
rather smooth.
Though sometimes on my path, I’d encounter hills,
they were few and were not difficult
to get over.
One day on my travels when I was still young
I came across a man who, like a majestic mountain,
would take my breath away.
He captured my attention completely,
distracting me from all the normal things
my plain life had entailed.
When he smiled, it was as if
the sun were peeking over him
in golden splendor.
Madly in love with him I fell,
and every day I worshiped at the mountain.
This was a short phase in my life -
a time of pure enchantment but also woe.
I behaved as if I were a stream, a babbling school girl
murmuring with joy for a while
as I meandered
the mountain’s pleasant aspects,
but one day my meandering came to a halt.
Coming to a cliff’s edge, I became a waterfall
frothy with madness as
I plunged
to the rocks below.
Picking myself up, I had to turn my back
to the glorious mountain.
A final look at him, and I saw the red sun sinking
into June’s cool night.
Finding my way back to the plain, I trudged.
At the mountains of madness, I’d known something -
something I had foolishly mistaken for love.
Other mountains wait there, for me, for you,
for almost anyone who desires to find one.
But since my later summer years and in my fall,
I’ve kept walking on the plain,
for it is truly, after all,
my heart land.
for the But it was not real Poetry Contest of Lewis Raynes
There once was a picture that wormed itself into my reverie
On a gray, cloudy morning, whilst it was raining and cold.
In this one picture were four slices of toast and five beverages.
Three glasses held tea the color of honey, and two were raspberry tinted.
Somehow it was important to me that the toast was suspended
In the air above the table by two glasses, like bookends.
For a moment I wondered who had achieved this strange feat, and why;
But then my thoughts turned to how my life was like that toast,
Suspended in air by forces counteracting gravity,
And any moment a passerby might jar the table, destroying the illusion
Of serenity and stability. I've seen people's lives change as quickly.
For the most part, everything seems to go well for them,
Then there is a turning point, after which nothing seems to be right.
Anything can trigger it; the loss of a child or job,
A spouse, or the home in which they have always lived.
Moreover, there is no reasoning to whom it happens;
Just like a careless passerby might bump a table,
And four slices of toast fall to the table, or the ground.
(Poem is written in Prose form)
my shirts and shoes
are wearing out -
and they tell me
I am too
I patch and glue
to make them whole -
but fail
to make them new
I have holes in my soles
and frayed treads on my edges -
but manage
for the most part to get through
until one day
they say
it will all fall apart
hopefully all at once
I pray
"Please, God, use me today."
Is a prayer many Christian's pray.
"Take my gifts and talents, too,
let them be used in service for you."
God hears our prayers,
but, for the most part, He knows,
good intentions are forgotten
as the day quickly goes.
Because to get people's attention,
is a losing game,
when time after time,
He calls out our names.
Our ears are closed.
Our antenna's not up,
to His signs and signals
from heaven's higher up.
So He whispers in another's ear,
and get's a response,
"Yes, God, I'm here!"
But the helping hands
that are always there,
and the eyes that see
and the hearts that care,
are God's many helper's
who don't have to say,
"What can I do, God, for you today?"
It took time for the soldier to realize,
that no one was truly self-sufficient,
after the raids and the bombings, hunger materialized,
and life seemed insufficient,
the villagers took refuge in a form of weakness,
as they watched their government fail,
and their lives sail,
unable to ask for any kind of help or guidance,
because of their own blood trail,
left by strangers in their land,
as most of these bystanders
become prisoners to a foreign command,
these thoughts flashed through the soldiers head,
as he walked around the countless dead,
he fought so many wars and won,
and he knew when another war starts,
they’ll take his son,
he gazed at the sleeping form of an old woman,
wrapped in a filthy sheet,
as she rocked nervously on the side of the street,
and small children huddled together,
and it appeared they haven’t had a bite to eat,
they simply watched and waited,
and for the most part,
that’s what the soldier hated,
these sights tugged at his heart,
but he was just following the chains of command,
there were whispered exchanges,
but he knew God would somehow understand.
I’ve been a resident at ole Soup Creek for a while now,
For the most part, it’s a great town with folk from all over.
But through years, I've seen riff raft come here too,
I never cared too much about them; just ask Rover.
The fine citizens of this town will band together to drive,
out anyone who doesn't have our best interest at heart.
Each person plays a part in keeping the peace and harmony,
I knew that about this place right from the very start.
So if you aim to stir seeds of discord, lies, and the like,
Please, Mr, Mam, Sir, or whatever name you go by.
Can you please do me a favor and take a hike,
Soup Creek doesn’t need rift raft like you goodbye.
In case you wondered about Rover, he’s my best friend,
A German Shephard who’ll be with me until the end.
05/25/2022
Alexis Y.
For some reason, I feel especially vindicated
Learning recently that I won’t be syndicated,
I know many of my dear family are titillated
Since they are of my readers most dedicated.
In my writings, over the years, I’ve indicated
That with superb honors I’ve been inundated,
Still, I’ve made every effort to be insulated,
Although lately I’ve been rather stimulated
And, for the most part, yes, entirely pixilated;
That is, when I am not totally inebriated!
written December 20, 2021
Bring my flowers now, while I'm livin'
I won't need your love when I'm gone
Don't spend time, tears, or money on my old breathless body
If your heart is in them flowers, bring 'em on
All the miles cast a long shadow
I'd take a couple back if I could
I'd've learned to play guitar
Told my daddy more I loved him
But I believe, for the most part, I done good
There's always sunrise and rainbows and babies
And the little things I cherish on my way
Even though one day
They'll bury me and Jesse Ray
I just know we're gonna ride again someday
Bring my flowers now, while I'm livin'
I won't need your love when I'm gone
Don't spend time, tears, or money on my old breathless body
Well, if your heart is in them flowers, bring 'em on
The days are long but the years are lightning
They're bright and they will never strike again
I wish I'd been a better friend, a better daughter to my mother
There's no goin' back when your back's against the wind
So if you got love, then you're sittin' on a gold mine
And you can't take it with you when you go
So don't wait to help your sister
Forgive your brother and your neighbor
We all think we got the time until we don't
Bring my flowers now, while I'm livin'
I won't need your love when I'm gone
Don't spend time, tears, or money on my old breathless body
If your heart is in them flowers, bring 'em on
If your heart is in them flowers, bring 'em on
My words are not beautiful.
My style is not unique.
It isn't what I think of as poetic.
My writing tends to be a bit dark,
it is for the most part, about me.
Darkness has been my companion,
for a number of years.
Following the worst of days,
the worst of times, in my life.
Although trying to move forward,
I am still caught in what is behind.
I have learned how be alone,
but loneliness has invaded my soul.
I try to reach out, by writing,
It has been a gift to me.
It is my salvation,
when the pain of loneliness
reminds me of things I want to forget.
Those who mean well try,
I keep hearing "better days are ahead"
I must keep that in mind.
One day, not so far ahead,
maybe I will step into the light.
And the darkness will fade away.
Then my words will be beautiful.
My writing will be... poetic.
Azteca
As a young girl growing up in Los Angeles City
My mother took me everywhere with her
Our favorite Mexican restaurant had great hospitality
Casa De Nina, I enjoyed the music and she, their famous platter;
Guajolotas o tortas de tamal
Desayuno, plato de huevos rancheros
Champurado and pan dulce de Pasqual
The owner made us feel special, served us our usual
There were, Chicano art hanging
Some of the most authentic were of Azteca
Roots in the primeval instincts enchanting
The details of nature surrounding, alla prima,
A painting of an epitomal Aztec noble prince
A beautiful princess in his arms, bien fe`rma
The traditional cuadro stayed on my mind ever since
There it was, in all places, the painting was everywhere
La Marketa, the textile district, La Golondrina
Pintura’s de Indios Mexicano’s all about the town square
Olvera Street, even in the Mission at the Marina
As soon as I got home, I cleared away the furniture,
from up against the wall
In one hand the print on the calendar
a charcoal pencil in the other I began to sketch it all
A mural has to be painted in close relationship
to the scale, style, and mood of the interior,
With regard to such siting, to eye levels, a very good tip
Considerations as light sources, make realism art superior
I hid the paint from my mother and dad
Unnoticeable as of yet, I drew very lightly
I worked fast with what mediums I had
Brush strokes here and there, ever slightly
Until a finished project, my very first mural
I took her scarf and covered her eyes,
lead her down the hall and pushed the door
I whispered into her ear, s-u-r-p-r-i-s-e
Happy Mother’s Day, I prepared her a little more
With her fingers splayed over eyes and lips
My mother processed, motionless, in awe
Focusing on the corner at the paint drips
she said, I always knew that you could draw
An inspiring experience for the most part
Exhaling—she saw that I was passionate of my Chicana art
What lesser mortals?
What lesser mortals
than Rimbaud
claim themselves
a poet within
another self,
for there is more
than just one self
depending on the
time and day
and nothing
is as it seems
at first,
we are born
from abstract
firmament to the
Infirmament
arriving
planned and unplanned
in the in-between
swaddled in skin,
a nude shade of blue
turning pink
and revolutionary
the most sincere
we've ever been
we are slapped to
make loud noises
to prove we are alive;
we are small noises
for the most part
of our continuum
as we evolve
we reveal our
true colours
our different dimensions
bleed like water pastels
we are shades
and shadow of each,
easily morphing into
the will of others
less than
and more than likely
just to keep the peace
or challenge
subterranean night crawlers
from their obligatory big sleep
silent scarabs
black hats wearing
white hats
guarding gates
of ruined castles
like red caps
pacing the watchtowers
like laughing hyenas
for their better
bleached masters
who are small noises
for the most part
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“As I was going down impassive Rivers,
I no longer felt myself guided by haulers:
Yelping redskins had taken them as targets
And had nailed them naked to colored stakes.
I was indifferent to all crews,
The bearer of Flemish wheat or English cottons
When with my haulers this uproar stopped
The Rivers let me go where I wanted.”
“And from then on I bathed in the Poem
Of the Sea, infused with stars and lactescent,
Devouring the azure verses; where, like a pale elated
Piece of flotsam, a pensive drowned figure sometimes sinks”
You've seen them. Those little trays on the store counter with pennies in them and often a sign saying “Take a penny, leave a penny”. On occasion, I have dropped pennies in them, but until just recently, I never had occasion to need one. Falling two cents short of my purchase price, I reached for another dollar, when the clerk said “I've got it” and added the two cents from the tray.
It got me to thinking, which always gets me in trouble, how much those pennies are like poems, lying there for the taking, waiting for someone to want them. Most people will not pick one up. But when they want one, it is nice to know there is one they can have.
Some say pennies aren't worth much, but I beg to differ. Their value varies from person to person. Poems are like that. Their value is generally greatest to the person that offers it. It is given for the most part to please someone else. However, those that read them place their own value upon them. Some they are very thankful for, while others, well, not so much.
The bottom line, to me at least, is a penny is always a penny and a poem is always a poem. It is what we do with it that makes the difference. I know much that I write does not necessarily speak to the reader. But to me, it's value does not decrease. By the same token, I read some things and say “OK” and move on, while others I keep. It doesn't make any difference to me. The author thinks it's great, and so do some readers. That's as good as it gets. If you don't care for it, like the penny, leave it there. But if it fills a need, pick it up and use it.
I was always told
Good things will come your way
And for the most part
This is true I say.
Why does it seem
As we wait and wait
It's like looking for a miracle
To walk through the gate.
We wonder and worry
And hold our breaths in hope
Then if it really happend
It soon becomes a joke.
I look for signs
And say my prayers
Hoping they will be heard
By the Man upstairs.
All kinds of things
Can take 'or your mind
And cause you to leave
Your Faith behind.
Then when all
Is said and done
You accept what happens
And then go on.
I have accepted
What I can not see
And thank the Lord
For helping me.
Where is your mind
Most of the day?
If you’re like the most of us
You cannot truly say
For your mind has
A mind of it’s own
And oft goes off
On it’s own merry way
Your body goes on autopilot
While your mind darts madly astray
It can be likened to a busy butterfly
That alights …then flits away
It keeps the body on a steady course
While nimbly venturing hither and yon
And your body (for the most part)
Never even knows
…That your mind is often gone…