Best Grope For Poems
Ambition in its prime dwells within over time —poet
My special poet…
is one who gets their point across
without agendas or alliterations of a bitter boss
No need for perfect literates who sip on bitters
and pound out heartless ink to other bulls*itters
A black heart smells rotted and oldened by experience
with ordinary nothingness to relay for instance
Webbed tough with matured matted material
used over again, makes not a special poet’s verses imperial
My special poet…
does not grope for interpretation of what’s in the soul
Or use blackened words of mystery that serve to cajole
Or spits floundering anxiety pending
Nor is in one’s own tight confining skin
Nor a swollen head enabled by encouragement,
rigid and giving nothing back
Nor do they look askance from their egocentric self,
Outspoken words that hurt, sensitivity they lack
My special poet…
is one who gets the truth out
reporting issues of division and about
undecided poets who need to explore
not to shun away from what dangers implore
Expresses what’s needed to say
words you trust along the way,
to make what’s important aware
for those with no voice and in despair
We’re all a part of it, the crime and border
God is good, He wants you to know justice’s order
My special poet…
a girly-girl of a soft disposition natured
still rides along within, now matured
I have too much respect for poets
to call out bitter versed ones, we know it’s
not going to change anything or anyone
We are who we are bar none
Understanding the universe that comes first
Time is of the essence not disparaging the worst
When making a split discission
when it’s obvious surrealism,
there is no more discussing what is
special, sincere, sealed woe IT'S me
My special poet…
is not better just unique
It's not a prowess poet that I seek
It’s nice when real poet's genius peak
Cannot hit the ball out of the park every time
Yet it all maybe rendered sublime
We cannot alter our voices
This covers all poets of our choices
You’ll find poets who well articulate
though meanings may particulate
Every poet is special to somebody
and have one thing in common
including ME
Blue velvet caged
Behind rusty bars.
Soul within chars.
Fervent flames raged.
Mighty door creaked
Black-veiled phantoms
Chanting the anthems
Thus the dusts freaked.
All the phantoms read
The holy pages.
The pious sages
For repentance plead.
Life’s last drops
Time’s burning tears.
Soaked deep in fears,
Crushed by crops,
The soul crumples.
Satan’s oracle
Tempting manacle
On heart tramples.
Towers of flesh
Drag my weary bones
As the axe-man hones
His blade afresh
Heard the Devil's voice:
"Crimson Cross!"
My dice to toss
Fate's generous choice!
"Kneel by the altar
Take my rosary,
Or God's pillory.
You have to falter?"
Succumbing feet tread
On scaffold's heart
As the moments part
What's there that they dread?
Nails of Divine love
Prick my palms
Grope for balms
Wails a benign dove
Mocking herd of sheep
Ignorant vultures
The gaze tortures
The wound doth weep.
The Fallen Prince
Roars with laughter:
"The hereafter!?!
Who else to convince?"
"O thou Holy, hark
The Forsaken Son
Has thy Father won?"
All the rest is dark…?
WISDOM WAS FOUND
The day moves me into this ultimate search
Of the principality that Lords over life
And rules over Kings, nobles, aged and Princes
As my desire yearns for that which is profitable to direct.
Steadfastly aiming to avoid the natural consequences
Invited by my wrong actions and life's fitful fall,
I grope for the path of the higher realm,
Then realise that even the word of God
Is searched and tried in the furnace of fire 7 times.
I surrender my eyes to her rebuke
And embark further into the land of the greats
Even the discouraging and slothful wind
Couldn't strangle my lamp
Amidst intimidating and daring storms
Where men's soul stagger not
But swaggers into celestial hall of fame,
Owing to grace, persistence and doggedness.
If only I find her, discretion will preserve me
From the perversity of the diabolic whose path is crooked,
I thought of the rags of time,
How I had stalled in movements in life's race
Where I was born to take the lead;
My heart cried for an ornament of grace.
Who shall then buy me one?
Still I hear no answer but one from me
Then I sell all that's within me just for her bosom.
Even my manliness and ego holds me not.
Who can withhold himself from speaking?
For real you have instructed many,
You have strengthened weak hands,
Your words have upheld him who was stumbling
And have strengthened the feeble frigid knees.
By the blast of God you were let loosed
And all your enemies are subdued and fade away.
God understands her way - ask Him 'how'?
And He knows her place - find it now!
For He looks to the ends of the earth,
And sees under the whole heavens,
To establish a weight for the wind,
And apportion the waters by measure
When a law was made for the rain
And a path for the thunderbolt,
Then He saw Wisdom and declared it;
Prepared it, indeed, He searched it out.
To men He said, "the fear of the Lord is wisdom
And to depart from evil is understanding."
Written by: Vick Manuel (VickWizzy)
Copyright© 2013.
Reference: New King James version (NKJV), Thomas Nelson [1978], copyright 1982, Job 28v23,28; pg301.
Me you come in the dark hour of pain
When howling winds of strife
Threaten your own dear life
And your myriad tears fall as endless rain
To Me you come
You come with the promises of love renewed
Sacrifices of things held dear
Longing to quiet down the fear
And have the vicious storm again subdued
To Me you come.
In the bitter darkness you grope for Me
“Father, answer Thou my prayer,
Now I need Your gentle care.
Your obedient servant I swear to be.”
To Me you come
I then enfold you in your time of need
Wanting so your love to last
I erase your hurtful past
Your fainting soul with my strong love I feed
When to Me you come.
Then along your way comes the joyful hour
Everything to your lips is sweet
And you forget your Lord to greet
You go on in life full of your own power
Not wanting to Me to come.
If you could know how great is my sorrow
To be ignored and forgot
And no longer loved or sought
But I will still wait for you tomorrow
Hoping once more to Me you’ll come.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Published in Youth of the Hour Magazine, a publication for Seventh-day Adventist youth in the Middle East, April-June 1997, along with the article by same title written by the author. No corrections made.
Jeremiah 2: 23- Will a young woman forget her wedding ornaments, or a bride her attire? But my people have forgotten me days without number.
We tend to come to God when we are in desperate need. We don’t come just to revel in Who He is. So many years have passed since I wrote that article about how I was afraid of losing my little daughter to an illness and how I begged for healing, only to forget Him when she got better. We never seem to learn. Some of our most fervent prayers were prayed in the bomb shelters during the civil war in Lebanon. We come to God with shopping lists, requests, rarely….rarely with words of adoration and praise simply because of WHO HE IS! The saying goes…”There are no atheists in foxholes”…..
A babyis dying in ward ten is dying ,
To save his life the doctors have stopped trying, trying.
The parents sit by his cot holding his tiny hand , crying, crying,
The baby in ward ten is dying, dying.
As sister of this ward dedicated to the care of the very young,
When lives are saved we smile with joy, when they die sorrow is sung.
My heart when we lose the fight is always wrung.
When we save a life, hats in the air are flung.
All the world celebrates when a new life is born,
To lose a babe, the world weeps and is forlorn.
Hearts of the deceased parents and kin are apart torn,
Another young soul will not face the following dawn.
The population of the world is growing, growing
More life than death Mother Nature on the earth is bestowing, bestowing,
The world moves forward and all life must keep flowing, flowing,
For the future of our earth we grope for, without truly knowing, knowing.
The baby in ward ten is dying, dying,
To save his life the doctors have stopped trying, trying.
The parents sit by his cot holding his tiny hand, crying, crying,
The baby in ward ten is dying, dying.
They are on the verge of extinction
Now in reading them there is no fun
Electronic media rendered them redundant
Yellow journalism made them defunct
Like a beggar they hanker after ad
Their glamour of late has begun to fade
Editors now grope for thrilling news
And fill-up columns with their own views
Letters to the editor lack vigour
There is dearth of good articles
For contributors are meagre
There are no incentives for columnists
So they have begun to opt for tv superhits
Print media is virtually on oxygen
Even by its erstwhile fans it has been shun
Its news are dull and stale
And it survives solely on blackmail
Black-blue and purple-gray, barred from florescent in amber we play
scratched across vinyl, we sway, arguments in amber we play.
Hopped up on booze, blow, and the down beats blare where we grind
the twenty-first centuries bruised gene pool is content in amber we play.
Fused in secretions, saps, drink thrust and dine whoring for more
like the short lived denizens of earlier times in amber we play.
Alive in the moment pupils blown, see them sway
selling their innocence as if it were blight
oh the pretense of love, found, lost or betrayed.
Drunken dancers grope for holds, bleary eyed strays
tasting the bitter fruit bone weary of fright
alive in the moment pupils blown, see them sway.
The disc jockey's spinning tunes stage dive, surf the floor
in the jaundiced light of bars where love's betrayed in amber we play.
Whites blown and blood shot, cigarette smoke a thick haze
jaundiced death walks to the bass beat as in amber we play.
SONG: Whiter Shade of Pale
if you can not speak, hear ...
I am no better than you -
we are turning inward en masse
light gleams from the mountaintops and steeples
warning us with dread, yet our swirling head is never fully fed
the beast, reticent as death, wastes breath on blame
it screams without a voice to shatter the mirror of truth
begs with keen intent to move our lips
to reach and grow and sing
the song matters not ...
it is the lilt music of elucidation that begs to tremble the air
and the sacred echos not our own ...
lies and cries ... moans-to-sighs
the pregnant replies that move in the womb of hope
cloaked in doom they grope for sound, sacred
but are born wan and still and cold ...
if but a heaven's thunder to rattle the starry veil
to coax the sun to wail its bright, athwart the darkening hem
to tear the dreams from our hearts, and cast them upon our fellows
to feel the weighty wonder of dire discourse and deliberation
to burn our iterations in the frozen flames of compromise
but first, to daub tender our lips with utterance
for if the air hangs deaf and dewy like the crimson morn
we will surely earn our sorry fate and folly
and cold curse ...
of silence ...
if you hear, speak.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Sound Of Silence" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
Oh God, expand my narrow, cluttered, room!
And clear the clutter out, so I may see!
And still my Seas, as You did, Galilee!
Life threatens to collapse in, with a Boom!
Like Aspen, that arise after a fire,
Or ground-cover that sprouts from ash and dust
Or sweet alyssum permeates the must
About the room, through window of desire,
So, pray I, browse the pages of my mind,
And grope for answers to luck, fate and hope
And grub for words, and wish I were A. Pope...
There is a solace, that I sometimes find
That tells me, Love is easier than this
O! HOW can Love be EASY, when it spurs?
O! How an outside dog be free from burrs?
And yet, I know it's true! How soft the kiss
My Love gave me, that made me blow the motes
Away, swing wide the sash, let in the day...
Away! With all the piles that naysay!
And sheaves of papers bearing scribbled notes!
...Some say Tolkien, himself, could not sort well,
He lost some of the Ring in managing...
He buried his notes, his housekeeper did fling
Some part of Frodo's past? (I'll never tell!)
________
UPDATED/FIXED/REWRITTEN IN A FIT OF DESPERATION 2/22/2019
Submitted for: Enclosed Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Approach yonder rack, O fearful
Meretrix;
Wouldst here weak flesh reform
Beneath the buckled and tightening
Strap...
That which be transfixed by thy
Fearful gaze.
Lo...A confusion befalls upon thee,
My Meretrix,
Your whirling emoitions trapped
Inside encroaching walls,
Floundering within neurons confines,
Of a brains inwardly collapsing maze!
As throughout these crowded
Corridors
Of your hectic and turbulent mind...
You reach...
And grasping,
Desperately grope for your senses
Like some wretched entity
suddenly and Inextricably struck
Blind!
Laid down on this cold slab of
Submission;
Slowly to be freed from all moral
Restraints;
To be joined to me through subjection
Of attrition.
Just as thee burgeoning weight of thy
Guilt
Compress upon all diminishing
Resistance -
So then the growing appetites for
Mine deeds
Become thine indulging subsistence.
For I will accord you the wealth of a
Mighty nation
Such as any sprawling empire has
Ever seen.
Lift you higher above any royal and
Regal station;
Lavish upon you with precious gems
And encrusted tiaras...
Taken from the fairest head of wise
Solomons
Most beautiful and loveliest queen.
And I will serenade you with a song
From whales,
A lullaby from dolphins sing:-
Drawn from the chants of silky haired
Sirens tales
Whose treacherous wiles pollute upon
An ocean wind.
Hear ye, Meretrix, the mermaid
Blowing upon the Conch shell,
Her broad fluke thrashing between
The spray:-
For none that linger shall live to tell -
Once their foolish ears are led
Horribly astray!
I shall grant thee eagles wings
So you may climb and soar
Above all the fragile worlds of puny
Men;
These Neanderthals and ignorant
Apes,
Whom all thee sneering Gods so
Much deplore,
Wallowing in avarice and filth of
Lowest denizen...
Whilst slowly sinking into this foul
And stinking mire
Forever and for evermore!
Start
I’m sure you’ve heard his name before
From stories of knights in days of yore
Born in village La Mancha in Spain
Was enthralled of knights, he chose to feign
After resurrection, to America he came
In search of adventures and fame
As legend goes, every knight must have a lady- love
To bestow his “victories” to her as it behoove
He chose Princess Melania as the apple of his eye
And began his quest with her name as the battle-cry
He persuaded a ‘Sancho’ to be his faithful squire
With promise of an island to govern as his gift to aspire
Obsessed by the chivalrous deeds of knights he read
He decided to ride a horse which was almost dead
In search of the helpless to defend and the wicked to punish
He began his knighthood with a resolve to fight to the finish
He soon discovered that times have changed
There weren’t any country sides where Kings reigned
Nor castles to conquer or giants to attack
His weird armor and battle cries only drew flak
Nevertheless, he charged at a parked garbage truck
Struck it with his lance using all his pluck
Construing it to be an enemy out to destroy him
But, he fell to the ground with a broken limb
Bruised and battered, Sancho helped him up
Took him to a hospital for a thorough checkup
The doctors patched him up and examined his head
Found its content deficient, but permitted him to go ahead
Resuming his journey he saw a kitten hidden in a bush
“Let’s grope for the pussy,” he yelled at his horse with a push
The horse galloped fast but stumbled as it fell
The kitten got panicky and fled like hell
It’s enough for the day, felt the Don and returned to his lady love
He took a ‘selfie’ with her sitting on the statue of a dove
He knelt before her and said, “Here are my trophies for you”
Presented the broken lance and smashed helmet, before bidding her adieu.
End
Why don’t we let things to be
The way they were meant to be?
We strive to thrive
By a meddling drive
Into Nature’s territory.
Nature gave what Nature gave
Why not preserve it and save?
Instead we try
To modify
Play lesser gods who’re naïve.
Trees we hew, gasses spew,
Vanish’d is the mountain dew.
Music is now what we make,
No chirping birds by a placid lake.
We devour the earth like the termites do!
Fish and plants and bees and birds
And of course domesticated herds
Nature breeds
Through cyclic seeds
But for humankind, I have no words
There’s no space for the human race,
In high-rise cities we grope for place.
From up on high
Beyond morassed sky
The sun just smiles at our errant ways
And Nature smiles at mankind’s toils
As laboriously the earth he despoils.
Tsunamis and tremors, El Nino and Nina,
Hurricanes like Rita and unforgettable Katrina .
Nature, my dear, is beyond your wiles
But have we discerned, our lessons learned?
We get what we deserve, our desserts are earned
We seek WMD, genetic research,
Towards extinction we fervently search,
We eagerly wait till to atoms we’re turned.
Let the Lord be my Shepherd, let me not want.
Let me say a prayer, not endlessly rant.
With infinite love he can fill up your life,
Let’s not test Him, (else be led to the knife!)
Let’s be the sheep, and we shall not want
When day is done and night draws near
I'll stumble out to greet the waning light
I'll grope for keys to start the old wheels turning
And head for home again
Thought the time is short, the drive is long
And all seems in a haze
My mind turns back the pages now
As alone I start to think
Of days gone by that still remain
So deep inside of me
Days that filled my soul and more
So bright the light that shined
But all is past and drive I must
On my way home again
About a year
to clear out the fear
of lying
down under the resounding thunder
About time
that I see the crimes
or find the time
to think
About time
I have seen the dream
and felt the pelt
of half wit help and fall down
gravitational pull
the wool over the eyes
and fall down lies
about time to stop the lies
About time to see the tears
ripped without peers
and flapping like listenings
that belong to queers
About hope
I don't mesh with rope
or grope for slopes
that take me down
Around time
I saw the lines
that fled through shrines
and didn't believe
that in time
I might be fine
As the TV screen comes alive,
Screeching with news of death,
In natural calamities and road accidents
Of war on Ukraine that kills and maims thousands
Of carnage and bloodshed,
Of gory tales of rape and molestation
Of manhandling and suicide
Of battered childhood and teary eyed women
Of politicians’ pandemonium open n’ outrageous
Their nasty tirade and mudslinging
And similar scenes of sickening magnitude,
My hands grope for the ‘remote’.
The channels swing past in lightning speed
From frenzied gyrations of lovers of celluloid
To serials lengthening into infinity
Of love betrayed, tears shed
Bonds snapped, hearts shattered
Until at last my fingers settle
On the wonders of the Animal Planet
Where the beasts roam free and fearless
Where there is no greed to hoard
Where no one wears a mask
And everything ruled by sheer survival instinct!