Best Grass Roots Poems
What Matters, Should One See Past That Last Mile
What matters, diamonds , silver or gold
when one is getting slow and too damn old.
What matters, if the truest of truths be told,
that dying alone is so sad and cold?
What matters, if life yields no more ripe fruits
when one will soon visit soil and grass roots.
What matters, if ones buried without boots,
or if one can dies with life's stolen loot?
What matters, if blue skies no longer smile
and one sees the past, world's evil and guile.
What matters, should one see past that last mile,
or hold on harder just a little while?
Love, Family and Life is what matters
Without Love, all is thin glass that shatters.
R. J. Lindley,
October 17th, 1976
Sonnet, ( Deepest depths of Love are, purest of Truths)
The grandstand is gelid by a sharp wintry breeze
Carried off from the field are the last of dead leaves
The shrill of the whistle, muffled calls from the crowd
From the tunnel stampede, metal studs echo loud.
With high, flick-tossing coin each Captain his reason
To kick-off with his mates a new rugby season.
The kicker announces starting ball high and long
And on lumbering wind sings a rugby man’s song.
Fifteen players below impatient stand waiting
Eyes fixed to the heavens, the ball falls rotating.
To arms of the hardest with sweetest possession
Grueling match has begun— the rugby obsession!
Steaming bodies in scrums, deep grunt of engagement
Weary boots grappling earth now frozen like pavement
By tackle-ruck-lineout, each man one-and-for-all
With a powerful push a try-bound rolling maul.
Players leaping for joy, heads of others hang low
Elation, deception such do rugby games go.
So Grand Final is here, a long winter has passed
The crowd and the speaker say it happened too fast;
Cut-throat right to the last; Wing, Second Row to Prop
A try, then conversion, to make every heart stop.
(Far left of the uprights flew last quiet ball spent
but with westerly drift over black dot she went!)
…
And with sweet summer grass blowing crisp in the sun
where butterflies frolic, spider webbing is spun
White sidelines are missing, fields all ripe, rich ‘n’ green
Rugby season has passed, but young spirits are keen
A rugby ball punted, a lone boy, polished boots
To play for his country, his dream built on grass roots.
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Alexandrine Poem in balanced six syllable cesurae for each 12 syllable line
Way down in Itta Bena
Down the Mississippi way
B. B. King was born
And boy could this guy play
This Beale Street blues boy
Watched T-Bone Walker strum
He said to himself one day
Like him, i will become
He toured many venues
Bringing audiences joy
With Lucille by his side
This Mississippi boy
Go go, go B. B. King go go
His own kind of blues
From his grass roots true
He plays from his heart
Since his first debut
This Mississippi boy
Named B. B. King
Could play the blues guitar
And sing, sing sing
" My entry into Raul's " B. B. King contest "
To be sung to Johnny B Goode, with the slight
chorus continuing after the fifth verse
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-3.php
I knew my ancestry and my dad was a joiner,
But verged on disowning my mum for labour,
Not married in history yet throbbing with spark,
Love, truth, kindness fibered the gelled dark.
A stunner - intelligent, muscular but sensitive,
The royal in me saw the people as plaintiff,
As steering the vile lark of determining troughs,
In a grass-roots democracy to nullify the toffs.
Prolific at speeches, education never lacked,
Peeking as child into the ear in discern I jacked,
I knew nothing was unproven, cleanliness won,
Joules inside quenched the human sown son.
In the health profession I beamed, overcame, won,
Differences waged exacted to desecrate the sum -
Poor, minority, stealthy and dragon ignored asunder,
No equality known to hook the solid, base shelter.
Mobile, but wherever I tread met haters and lovers,
Pranced about suckered by vulgar ruling bearers;
Taught children life and followers’ carers’ quick,
Stead ahead hailed by the people as their wick.
Freedom held my blink until shown as the trait -
Real by weight for the sick to crop myself as bait.
Therefore human aim, space, time shouted ball,
‘Cos the individual is right, by the pinnacle, wall.
My twelve friends accepted my way and my mind,
Chose to love crook, crank or by altruism behind,
Meant rear - banned and ashore, but fully sentient,
No restorative, candid deeds to strike ambivalent.
People glued came to see me - the Nile drawn,
Dealt troubles without ways n’ routes to spawn;
Yet state and common folks both, themselves,
Killed me for a movement shooting with shelves.
But those many who loved me would never forget,
Forged sail by the integral identity never truly set:
They said afterwards that my substance, way, holds,
It’s life that affords me, not the shined, bold folds.
There was a court case and everything, a slot,
When they asked if I was a god, king, mad, a shot:
Dumb. Bitter I’d gone and cut short, they said I’d live,
Within them as their memory as the cultural give.
My existence is not a point - your location, for always:
It’s not belief in me that matters but it's your sways;
Your life is important and it's your existence that calls,
MLK, Lincoln, Walker ball for the sentient, rugged stalls.
Who am I?
Mom bought records of the classic Disney films; each song
was played again and then again; we all sang along.
Mad Hatter singing he was late, Snow White singing too,
and seven whistling dwarves kept us from feeling blue.
Yes, those were our “Wonder Years” with my family.
Also we watched musicals as re-runs on TV.
Fiddler on the Roof ; The Sound of Music - pure delight!
West Side Story thrilled me with “Maria” and “Tonight.”
I began collecting records; my first idol’s name
was Herman. With his Hermits, he enjoyed brief fame.
Older kids were listening to whatever gave a shock:
Dylan, Hendrix, Joplin, Stones, or psychedelic rock.
I preferred the “bubblegum” - Grass Roots, Tommy Roe,
and all the Top Forty Hits on my radio.
Also there were songs of novelty, a different sort,
“A Boy Named Sue” and that “Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport!”
Some songs linger with nostalgia: gems like “Close to You”
or “Johnny Angel.” Those recall special boys I knew.
In the 1970’s, it was clear I was
A fan of pop rock music, simply just because!
I love songs with beat that make me want to sing or dance,
but sometimes I’m inclined to hear soft songs of romance!
Though I'm busy now with many other things, I strive
to hear what’s new on TV music shows or when I drive.
But what’s the music of my soul? In all honesty,
I must say my early years most affected me!
“Once a king or queen in Narnia,
Always a king or queen,” said C S Lewis,
And I think I can just about let you in on,
What he was talking about, as I'm no novice.
I was forced to read the bible twice daily,
By my parents until I was above twelve,
And they always reminded me and assured,
That they’d said Jesus to me as a new born elf.
But I got so confused and bedraggled,
By that dogma which screeches and screams,
That after a brush with that old fiend,
Decided to secretly read it to check its memes.
So I devoured the bible ‘cos I read it historically,
With time’s context in mind and aware,
And understood it as a recital of progress,
And a story of the availability of healthcare.
Ever since then I’ve been understanding and able,
To reply to fundamentalists who loiter to attack,
Able to react comfortably and with peace,
With answers on which I’ve never looked back.
You resign that Jesus wasn’t a psychologist,
You put to bed that he wasn’t a philosopher,
And in insight realise he was really a doctor,
But the first one maybe to treat those poorer.
And you get that Jesus death did good now,
Let the grass roots of the sick speak freely,
As the inception of personal empowerment,
As a voice for any man with a daily disability.
People were so enraged, and Jesus’ bitter,
About his suppression and criminal death,
That it became the symbol of the church,
For the underdog’s freedom and health.
After you get it, you know, and are content,
Solid in an understanding of modern society,
Of the NHS and how it came and has got there,
Of Lord Bevaridge’s prescription for poverty.
You never look back, but you regret knowing,
Sometimes when some intellectuals stare,
When hard atheists say Jesus never existed,
When about your reputation you do care.
But after you explain simply to those you like,
That you’ve read the Bible atheistically,
Historically and remembering the context,
They never deride you again uncaringly.
You’re not an evangelical but just explaining,
What you know from a school’s analysis,
From how your teachers with you interpreted,
Roman, Tudor and Victorian histories.
It's a slow bridge; there's no time for tears
Growing numb, her baby girl covered in blood
Yet, this big machine their wheels keep turning, churning
Steam boat joey, full speed ahead ? More roses for the parades
Troubling when you can't make your salary cap or a lifetime achievement
Without an extra statue they forgot the confetti at his white house atop haunted hill
Grass roots and green tea parties drone strikes someone siphon her cyber space
Regurgitate a poe we've got to spin this page special interest; their next teen magazine....
He said she said Mars is red there's a flood coming Pluto pissed on the carpet Time's, headline news.
Walking in silence, feeling the ground beneath my feet,
It's soft, the grass roots are tickling my feet, walking in silence, my heart nor does it skip a beat,
I am in the blissful moment, wherever I am, there I shall be, my heart is within its own time, for I am in total unknown peace.
I AM IN THE WORLD OF THIS VERY MOMENT...
I am walking in silence, for no place do I need to be,
My breath is at a slow babies speed, my chest barely rises, I feel the summers warm breeze hit my face with a butterflies soft love, I inhale deeply, a smile comes across my face.
I WALK IN SILENCE ALWAYS IN PEACE.
I kneel down to lay in the field of dandelions, they are as yellow as the sun, I close my eyes to listen to the birds lullaby, I can feel the soft grass against my skin, I am in this very moment, please don't wake me, I ask you now, to join me in this blissful meditation moment, to just walk in silence, slow down you heart, close your eyes, enjoy the sere
ne beauty, for tomorrow isn't promised to anyone...
Rick’s Big Surprise
Newt hid out in the buckeye state
Nothing tonight added to his slate.
Paul’s grass roots youthful surrogates
Continue quest for delegates
Loss of Liberty is his fear
He slams the fed and wild crowds cheer.
Not much noise from the Romney camp
For on this night they had no amps.
No matter how they spin their grief
Morning found them in disbelief
Nevada did not provide a bump
Nor did the voice of Donald Trump.
Rick pulled off a three state surprise
Populism is on the rise
His crowd has enthusiasm
Frontrunner had painful spasm
Here’s the lesson of the night Mitt
Can’t buy love you have to earn it.
Written after Rick Santorum’s primary and caucus wins in the states of Missouri, Minnesota, and Colorado.
.
Just Now, I Started To Feel...
All Stopped Up With Writer's Block
Thus lack any idea about
what to type out until aye
reach the end, and
even then cannot
make any promises (promises -
this aint no typo typo),
to meet (even ill)
equipped outback
with or without an alley bye,
which dismal situation unlike earlier,
when fount of literary creativity
unstoppably gushed profusely
lichen wherein rub
barb plants for rain dee cry
hence, just imagine situation
(**** guss) to
being constipated, and dry
miss daisy crazy regarding
(collective soul sigh'n noses)
begs for antihistamine,
asper nostrils to get dry
from congestion - so envision
both symptoms (for real)
affected this guy
bodily woes simultaneously,
while conservative flash mobs
sprout like pollen haters
trample grass roots
activists chanting jai
guru dev donned as barenaked,
foo fighting, nirvana
seekers no lie
trucking with pearl jam
hued open skyz
passing one black crow
did house after another
jet ting via reo speedwagon
greeting village people
mix ultra liberal protesters,
who peaceably demonstrate my
self included holding recycled
placards, sans
targeting well nigh
Republicans Putin on the Ritz
must be ousted,
cuz them that har pry
ha merrily bilking work
a day citizens seated
on their tushy in expelling qui
yet deadly flatulence athwart
cushy congressional seats
to ease government lackeys,
who trumpet "FAKE" news.
dancing prancing spring
grass roots thirsting blossoms bursting
glades in shades of green
A new sun will rise and fall on my days
Until a moment I finally sleep
While footprints I've made fade slowly away
Time will move forward and it will not weep
I am a sweet breath that never lingers
To be born then forever disappear
To measure time with gray wrinkled fingers
They come over years and slowly appear
The quiet filled hole I shall never own
To lay beneath the earth where grass roots feed
A world empty of life, cold and alone
A cycle not of wanting but of need
Should I need answers for reasons time found
The days I have lived I have found profound
Unhinged at last,
so fast,the flight of parsley
colored parrots
atop the palace walls
and halls
where falcons fall
from azure skies
with cries
still throbbing
in your throat.
Across the moat,
dark lodgers scan
the plains.
A lilting tune remains
with vague allusions
to a love long gone.
A famous fascination
with a starlight harmony.
A tale of stallions
wildly racing 'cross the moon
hooves like silver knives
to slice across
the flawed and scattered stars.......
The night is ours....
a Gypsy Caravan,
poor decrepid beast,
a broken spine of
wagons full of odd
imported dreams,
a calvary of fools.....
and we go swaying past
at last,
the fools brigade
weaves on beyond the
quiet glade.....
and in the crushed blue
flowers of our trail,
the irridescent beetles
scurry by,
their grass roots religion
hushed,
yet noted by the ever hungry owl
who loudly scolds
the galaxy and Man...........
because he can.
Don't want to be a bother,
Don't want to come between
Don't want to cause distraction
Don't want to make a scene.
Though stating really clearly-
I fear there's something wrong and
If i can't state it here
Where else do I belong?
There's problems in society and
I ask with much respect
To voice your words with wisdom and
also help correct.
One world that we all live in and
Hallejuah just for that!
Cannot be frivolous
Don't want to be a prat.
There are many social issues and
It's time that we address
The filthy greedy rich and
people are suppressed.
People are not happy and
It affects the universe
To get to what is forward
Sometimes we must reverse.
So let's back it up and
highlight what is real
I empathise with others and
Can understand what others feel.
There are some things I won't tolerate
For my world is your world too and
Your world is my world
So let all of us pursue...
Peace and happiness
Here all are resuming?
Just don't ever forget
We are all human.
Indeed people are special and
all so unique
Strong in a way
Another so meek.
We can do our bit
Let's get back to grass roots
To change what is wrong and
Societies Attributes....
Don't want to be a fool
Don't want to be a propriety
Don't want to be a number
No faith in this society....
But I believe in you!
Passerby echo the frustrations of the world
Under the bridge
Tall tales of courage
Outpours from angry souls
Yet the toughest of them all still hide
Under the bridge
Grass roots & neo-souls speak words
In the form of hyperboles
Leaving actions hidden like water
Under the bridge