Best Hereby Poems
Perhaps in time, I’ll know hereby
When in deep sundown and the rain
A nightingale brown tweets my pain;
In lone tempo, its forlorn cry.
This warbler perches on the sill
Muttering plaintive notes for me,
As hands fold to listen closely
To many soulful tales which chill.
How pointed beak releases grief
Trilling for the death of its mate…
I too lost my love by stroke’s fate
That I understand our disbelief.
Comes morn, this heart needed to soar
But this dear nightingale took flight;
Leaving a melodic delight
Of a songbird’s new roams... to explore!
...................
10/16/2019
Writing Challenge, October 2019 - Bird - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart-Wiishkobe Ode
Nirveda (sansk.) - aversion to existence
"The existent there is no cessation". Bhagavat Gita, 2.16
Addicted to existence, I may slain
or, maybe, they may slain me. I may die
a hero or, unknown, die in vain.
I may live righteously, I may abstain
from sins like Abel. Or, vice versa, I
may overstep the laws of God like Cain.
None of that matters! Destined to exist,
scourged by two demons, life and death, I plea
for non-being, nothingness, for sweetest tryst
with dreamless dream. Oh, woe is me! Deceased
or full of hateful life, I have to be
until I understand the very gist
of cruel, God knows whom invented notion
that long drained streams must flow into the ocean.
aba, aba, bcb, bcb, dd. I have no idea what this form is called. If not called yet, I hereby anoint you a Terzonnet)
“we look for that that does not come and go
it cannot be organic form, subject to decay
thoughts and beliefs are fickle, how little we know
yet come what may, our inner child continues to play”
The 'umbilical cord',
hereby symbolic,
its severance
where
initiated,
a soul of three,
and then much more.
Growing up was an
in-depth shared
furtherance,
whereupon,
directives were encountered,
either embraced or tossed aside.
Time and again, instant moments,
encouraging considerations,
imbued ponderance,
whereto,
we tether ourselves
to a sizeable pole of justifications.
Hail to a fitness club, or a cab to a McDonald's,
intermittent intervals, slim down or fatten up,
choice batters about a pole that remains,
until life expectance,
leans awkward,
wherefore
for time indulgence,
slacks a major facet as the pole evolves minor,
for one's immediate concerns, lies elsewhere, a priority.
All the while, the pole was steadfast but never silent
taking a backseat to the urgencies of the moment
significance tallies the hours near,
wherein
one now realizes that time is fleeting,
wonders how one's pole has shaped itself, was it worth their while.
At that instant, open their eyes
and see the poles that are
standing around them
bedside so they can
measure their
worth truly.
Where
we mete
out ourselves
to whom we truly
Blessed Assurance.
Trying to invent one word poems
Called "texting treats."
Poems of five words or more?
Oh, no !
Are far too hard for us to read!
Itt's speed we need.
A reflection of this electronic age.
Short poems, short replies.
From the beauty of the English
language.....
We, hereby run in retreat.
And joyfully disengage our heritage!
November 17, 2019
I hereby resolve to declutter.
I’ll slice through my closets like butter.
What looks dated and torn
Or what I haven’t worn
Will be bagged up and tossed to the gutter.
I say the same thing every year.
When I promise, I’m really sincere;
But for true execution
Of this resolution
A fairy would have to appear.
And then, with a wave of her wand,
Old garments would up and respond.
They would float out the door
And I’d lock it before
With my newer things she could abscond.
A fairy’s unlikely to show,
So my closets will still overflow;
But I’ve learned how to cope
Though there’s always some hope
That I’ll give a few things the heave-ho!
IGNORANT TIME
I went up before a judge because it is a crime
to be at all ignorant in this place and time.
I was living evidence and the judge he saw this too
so I awaited his decision as to what he planned to do.
He said "This is my verdict" with a very solemn look
"I hereby sentence you to a year of reading books"
I said "Judge we've got a problem, though it's guilty that I plead
in no way can I do the time because I cannot read."
'then it's back to school with you' he said 'and I don't care
if you have to spend the rest of life in there.'
I said 'Judge I will do anything that this court deems fit
but it was in that very place I became illiterate!'
Charity*: God’s love**, abundant and free
Offered by the Lord, perfectly sublime
Paid by Christ’s blood of sacrifice-degree…
Having owned it; I enjoy my faith-climb!
Genuine compassion, radiant with truth’s light
Bringing hope’s bliss – gloriously triumphant
Exemplified by the Saviour’s grace-might…
Reaching my heart, I yield as His servant!
Heavenly touch that soothes pain, angst and woes
It conquers my fears, anxieties-travails
Assured by His Word that conquers sorrows…
I’m moved to share His mercy that prevails!
Granted by God’s love with sweet peace incense
I thank Him, living in His care’s presence.
*1Corinthians 13:13 And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.
**1John 3:16 Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.
March 5, 2019
1st place, "I Got a Darn NA Again" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Lu Loo; judged on 7/1/2019.
Exceptionally average
on every known scale
My life story’s such
a nonsensical tale
Striving for apathy
with passionate zeal
all of my flaws
I boldly conceal
I loudly proclaim
my feelings to none
and when there is trouble
bravely I run
No coward am I
unless there’s a need
and quickly I set forth
to slowly proceed
My virtues are many
just see how they rhyme
I’ll get to my bad points
at some other time
Not easily frightened
when already scared
And I shall go on
as if anyone cared
With scissors in hand
I cut my own lawn
I worked through the night
and straight up to Dawn
But Dawn couldn’t stand it
and packed all her things
and unicycled down
the road to Palm Springs
There’s just one more item
I almost forgot
that’s very important
until it is not
I hereby declare
before I should die
that my favorite cake
is blueberry pie
© Mike Wise
1/8/19
Why the long face, son? Did someone die?
Aw, Dad. I flunked my math exam
Did you do your level best, son?
I did, Dad. I studied so hard for the test
You know that's all I ask of you, son
And everything is always for the best. Right, Dad?...
What's up, son? Are those tears streaming down your cheeks?
Aw, Dad. I didn't make the varsity basketball team
Did you try your level best, son?
You know I did, Dad. I trained so hard last summer
That's all I can ask of you, my son
And everything is always for the best, Dad...
Is everything ok, son? You look like you saw a ghost
I did lousy on the law boards, Dad
Did you do your level best, son?
I don't know, Dad. I thought I did. But--
--But everything is always for the best, son. You know that by now.
You're right, Dad. Everything is always for the best...
Dad, you're not here with me on this Earth anymore
But your words live on inside me, and
They are of great comfort to me now, Dad
And you were right. Everything is always for the best--
I flunked the math exam because I was not meant
to be a statistician or a computer programmer
I didn't make the varsity team because I was not
cut out to be a great basketball player
I did lousy on the law boards because I never
really wanted to be a lawyer, not in my heart...
I'm a part-time poet now, Dad. That's right
My wonderful poetic friends and I are busy, busy
We create tempting, tasty dishes of Poetry Soup
~ And hereby serve up today's soup de jour, Dad
Everything really and truly is always for the best
February 11, 2019
Entry in "Repetition" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
One day, one time, God spoke to me.
The Creator who knows everything supposedly,
had a question that needed answering from yours truly.
"You're always helping others in need less fortunate than you,
and many of these people aren't particularly liked by you.
Why do you do all of the charitable things that you do?
What's your reward? What's in it for you?
Most times you commit these acts anonymously,
so you receive no recognition, no praise, no publicity.
I Am All And Know All but this baffles me.
Why do you do what you do SillyBilly?"
My reply to my Creator was simply,
"The meek shall inherit the earth and live heavenly
as promised by my Creator of all that is and will ever be.
My Creator has shared that People Helping People is the key
and I'm just doing what I can to relieve my Creator from some of the responsibility.
It's just my way of saying, Thanks For Creating Me."
My Creator then looked sadly down upon me
and said, "I don't know how to say this, but I'm very sorry.
You are hereby sentenced to hell for all eternity.
I need to work on this. Guess you could say it's my pet peeve,
but I don't tolerate any of they who brown nose their deity."
My time spent in hell has dispelled all of the rumors
about God not having a dark sense of humor.
I wish to inform all citizens that I am hereby calling symposia. The battle against repression has been won and the war is over.
Very noble ideas will be initiated which you will soon discover.
The King ordered me to organize a conference to create a utopia.
The highest level judge, come and share some kingdom laws. A representative of commerce will address the economy. King Issaquena desires his people to feel secure and free, and for them to realize he demands liberty and justice for all.
The sheriff, the mayor, and the chief of police, I bid you come. The poorest person in the county, come boldly and be strong. Bring your stories and be seated at the table where you belong. The most acknowledged musician, come and sing us a happy song.
09112018PoSoupContest, Symposia Poetry, Julia Ward
Enclosed Rhyme, abba abba abba 3 stanzas, 4 lines each, 12 total lines
The mulberry fell to its knees;
in Smith-Gilbert Garden, it prays,
near the moss-stone steps;
and I look on, in curiosity.
It was an oddity, but I learned
of its plight. In sorrow, we make
it right, a great fall onto infrangible ground.
Like a bonsai tree, twisted.
Listed, like a ship at storm,
but sailors will never use nets,
to cast, for silent butterflies;
In July, they gather.
Hereby is Summer magic,
buzzing bees, buckeyes, swallowtails
and painted ladies (sailors swear by them).
Yes, all the prayers needed.
Unimpeded, the mulberry fell,
whilst fluttering wings that disappear
in season’s cold, bring merriness,
there’s little hope for thee.
Still, we visit the treasure that bows,
climb the steps, for a further glimpse.
This garden is where I stroll
among the butterflied tree.
Dear Mr. / Ms. Presidential Candidate
A preliminary wish list, I hereby state...
Dogs that do not bark
Coastal beaches without sharks
Skunks that have no smell
Adults who never yell
Blue skies, never overcast
Perfect Spring days that last
Airplane seats with lots of room
Sermons without gloom and doom
Desserts without calories
A big increase in salaries
Year-round gentle breezes
No more coughs or sneezes
No more gun deaths, no more shootings
An end to all environmental polluting
Summer camp instead of school
In every park a swimming pool
Potatoes that don't need peeling
Love without hurt feelings
Wasps and hornets without stingers
Kisses that forever linger…
If anything here gives you pause
I'll just have to vote for Santa Claus
When it comes to baking a cake
Make sure not to put in a snake
Unless, of course, it's a fake
By that, I mean, the snake
For if the snake's made out of plastic
You dare not feed it to anyone spastic
Unless, of course, it's elastic
By that, I mean, the plastic
While if it's made out of rubber
It's a delicacy for a landlubber
Unless, of course, it's flubber
By that, I mean, the rubber
Oh, and if it's made out of tin
It can only be eaten by Gunga Din
Unless, of course, it reeks of gin
By that, I mean, the tin
These instructions are not meant to confuse you
I just wrote them in order to amuse you
Unless, of course, I a-mused you
In which case, I hereby excuse you...
G'bye! So long! (Gong!)
December 22, 2018
Entry in "Bunny Jump Honey Lump Funny Chump" contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
God never existed don't you
know?
Only fools think it so!
We who write on parchment really
think...
We, are the gods and goddesses
who created it all, with polls of
glistening ebony, primordial ink!
Oh,how we weep over man's idiotic
actions.
We squirm like a paramecium
and have visceral reactions.
Some gods we are, aye!
Refuseniks who give a finger
to the Creator in the sky.
I know poets here who know
far better.
Their poetry reflects God's love
in their poems in each letter.
We can play God all we choose.
And if we do?
We are unmitigated fools.
Drunk and lying in self-adoration,
hellish pools.
October 7, 2019