Best Higher Up Poems
A ballerina butterfly, she’s gliding
sweetly through the meadow’s grass still fresh with dew.
She sees a stream, kicks off her shoes, and sliding
down from a rock, she steps into smooth, cool blue.
A swing on a nearby tree she later spies.
Higher and higher, up to the sky she flies!
Flowers surround her; the sun shines on her face.
My small summer princess rules the day with grace.
Aug. 2, 2018 for Barry Stebbings' "Picture Me A Summer Rispetto" Contest
Here I sit on the ocean bed
Just sifting mud and ooze,
But If it was up to me
It's not the life I'd choose.
It's dark down here, there's creepy things
All looking for a feast
So I live on tenterhooks,
Hiding from the beasts.
To be higher up the food chain
Is where I'd love to be,
But to be a shark, or a huge blue whale
Was not my destiny.
So my life is what it is,
I am just what I am.
But it's no fun at the bottom,
It's no fun being a clam.
Entry for
Personification poem of a pet, wild animal or insect Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
2/9/18. Placed 6th.
"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?"
Young Father Murphy, Parish Priest,
he rang Archbishop Moore,
advising him he suddenly
had taken rather poor.
"I'll not be fit for Sunday mass
as I'm confined to bed,
I'm hoping please your Eminence
you'll do it please instead."
"Good Father Murphy say no more,
for you should never doubt,
the willingness of love my son
to help a brother out.
So have no fear, your flock is safe,
I’ll shepherd it with love
and while confined you should confer
with him who is above."
Then as the cock crowed Sunday morn
good Father rose in haste
and gathered all his golfing gear,
there was no time to waste.
He parred the first and second holes,
his cheeks were all aglow,
when up in heaven Gabriel saw
the sinful priest below.
He took the matter higher up
for justice must be served.
The LORD said, "I've been watching son,
it's not gone unobserved."
The third it was a par three hole,
so Father gave it some,
his ball it lofted in the air
and Murphy holed in one.
Poor Gabriel he just looked in awe ...
the LORD sensed he was vexed;
How justice had been served that day
had Gabriel quite perplexed.
"Dear Gabriel it may seem to you
the priest has gained the most,
but when it's said and done my son,
to whom will Murphy boast."
Paper Airplanes
I made paper airplanes decades ago
One super creation I named Zoomo
Once my Zoomo and I took off in flight
Lift off was on the first stroke of midnight.
I was the pilot and what fun we had
If the folks had seen us they'd have gone mad
Freedom's elating, no hullabaloo
Able to do all things you wish to do.
First stop just had to be a moon landing
Though the surface was not fit for standing
The moon said that he was made of soft cheese
If we weren't careful we'd sink in with ease.
So we took off to meet Venus the star
She was so beauteous it was bizarre
Her hair was a stunning shade of bright gold
And many stories from the past she told.
She told of her romance with Adonis
A hunter to whom marriage was promised
But by a wild pig he was killed outright
Now she rules o'er love and beauty by night.
Then we zoomed higher and higher up sky
And heard angels singing as we flew by
Zoomo said we were close to paradise
So I then u-turned our speedy device.
Realising soon day would be dawning
And had to fly back home before morning
We arrived safely and I got in bed
Just as mother said "wake up sleepy head.”
*+*+*
14th August 2022
*+*
I have something to say and
for what lies ahead to God Almighty
we must incessantly pray.
We look up to those we should
shun.....
We are taught about violence
We are taught to fear guns
Yet we fight with weapons
and deadly puns......
who are the responsible for
the deterioration of the values
of our loved ones?
Are you and I free to decide
what is right or wrong or must
we hold our heads up high and
sing the song that wasn't meant
to be sung.....
" Let freedom ring"
with it's dubious and misleading
intricacies with horror I observe
the veiled atrocities of all those
who continue to abuse power....
Are we truly living in the land of
the free. do we fear or are we blind
to what the elite condition us to believe
Are we Ok living in a so called
"Democracy" with the rules of those
who are higher up? Is anyone yet fed up?
Do they now have ways of holding
our liberties hostage or our youth
in bondage...
Dear Mr. President are we citizens
or residents are we slaves of the
corrupt or should be thankful
and just shut the hell up....
Has our freedoms been sold or am
I just being bold is it a sin to speak with
truth are the ones in power not the ones
hiding the proof and silencing
the masses with drugs and trances.
I am here cause I still have a voice
even if in everything else we have
no choice....
I have witnessed the daily tragedies of
of our once beloved nation with great
indignation.
They say we live in democracy but we
are not heard ,we are not the voice of the
people; we are living in dictatorship and loving
every minute of it because we are told what to
think hear and speak and we care not know
what we are fighting for " freedoms" but we are
not FREE....
Germany, 1964
In barracks bare of beauty
I lay restlessly in bed. Around, a rife
of lifeless characters
from some Saturday charade
sullenly invite me to their ghastly parade.
I merely pull my blanket higher up
and blatantly yell out "Shaddup!"
A spot of flesh unknown to sun itches
so I scratch. Musty curtains run
in dusty ripples on their pulleys.
The room overflows with bullies
but I turn over in my bunk
and choose to spurn,
scratching a spot that doesn't itch.
I glance up. The light bulb top is dirty.
I reach up, unscrew the bulb,
lay silent in my patch of dark
and try, vainly, to extinguish
a more persistent spark.
The air around me reeks of smoke and beer,
is heavy with the weight of discontent.
I lie still darkly fomenting
an impotent dislike
for atmospheres like this one.
I writhe upon my squeaky cot and dun
and growl like some ancient,
burly, and barbaric Hun.
Vehemently, I vocalize my intense tension
with interjections "nice people" would never mention.
I dedicate this to Jazmine
You can see her smile
from across the land
it's a bright smile
a wide smile,
a smile at me
When i see it
I calm down (idiom)
She stands on shelves
to be higher up
because i want her there
because she is my north star.
she wants to be a writer
and i know
she will not only succeed
but she will be the greatest.
And she will travel the world
Writing with her chewed upon pen
and writing on a smooth fresh piece of paper
writing is her passion,
and i am her smile.
Father Christmas is in the night sky his sleigh and reindeer a silhouette in the moonlight,
He has traveled all over the world to lavish his presents to small sleeping children,
A family has retired and left a mince pie and some sherry, the little ones dreaming,
Mr. Christmas climes up and down chimneys leaving special gifts it is a magical time.
Earlier on this Christmas Eve, many excited little children on their little tippy toes,
Straining to place their stocking high on the front room wall away from nosy grey rats,
Some scarcely reach higher than these rats, frantic that sweets will have bites in them
Older brothers and sisters unhook the stockings and pin them higher up, out of the way
Mother has sat them round a table and coaxed them off to their beds earlier than usual,
Told them all about the story of Christmas and why it is such an important special day,
They sat there wide eyed listening to every word the very young not understanding it all,
There faces rosy from the heat of a yule log burning in the hearth and everything quiet.
They understand that Father Christmas only visits very good and well behaved children,
And the children feel guilty as they cast their mind back over the last very long year,
The children find it hard to hold their tongues hoping Father Christmas won't ride past,
And that if they go to bed without any moaning and go to sleep early he will be very kind.
Laying in their beds can they hear the the sound of whistles, penny-trumpets and drums,
They squeeze their eyes shut tight, just in case it is Father Christmas flying nearby,
A wind blows the downstairs door could that be the reindeer's and the sleigh flying past,
Gradually they tire and one by one drop into a deep sleep the sort only known by children.
In their sweetest dreams they hear the cries of dolls, singing wooden birds, gold ribbons,
The ticking of pewter watches looked at by the rag dolls, toy soldiers guarding oranges,
They are asleep and so very happy the emblems of innocence, at peace on this Christmas Eve,
And when the morning finally comes they are loaded with beautiful gifts it's Christmas Day.
Let there be peace!
the door to co-existence
has not, so many keys
and creating minorities
is definitely conflict's niece.
Let there be peace!
Forgiveness and tolerance
makes all live at ease.
If discrimination is given a chance
hatred, it will lease.
Let there be peace!
why do we allow unnecessary negativities
put us under hot quiz
and unfortunate repercussions,
at us they laugh and tease?
Let there be peace!
If dwelling on differences does not cease
everyone will pay
the huge fees.
Let there be peace!
tasting the bitter fruit of war
even if it is a piece
takes away good conscience.
The plenty suffering it gives
our sense of humanity they seize.
Let there be peace!
Are we lower than the bees;
that we can't fly and create together?
Are we less matured than the geese;
that we cannot sing and dance
by the waters together?
No, we aren't!
Let's live in peace
and act higher up the Animal Kingdom
where we are,
to live void of wars, please......
The corridor to her heart
Was lined by shelves with dusty books
The walls were adorned with a myriad of portraits
For whom all had haunting looks
Upon first entering there was ample room
One could turn around to run
And now it is as though I'm a bullet chambered in a gun
Bleeding through my armor plated chest its clear to me
There's no such thing as manifest destiny
In the hallway of my life I stand before
The last door at the end
To petrified to knock, much less let myself in
The open palms of want were turned upside down
As offerings were thrown upon uneven ground
Isn't it funny how quick things change
When what we want gets re-arranged
Sides chosen for their beauty can turn ugly by time
And the air just gets thinner the higher up that we climb
In a bed of tragedy wicked thoughts are spawned
As one lover drowns the other in a heart shaped pond
Investigators send samples of the water to a lab to be tested
Where there is a man in a white coat who has nothing invested
The results are rich in iron and high in agony
A crown of thorns laced with bitter irony
A son to his dad:
What is a 'successful life''?
Instead of answering him
The dad took him out
And began to fly a kite
to his son's surprise
who couldn't hold his breath for long
and interrupted:
Dad, the kite is not flying higher up in the sky
Because it is tied by a thread.
Shall we break off the thread
so that it can fly higher and higher?
Hearing this
the dad immediately broke the thread
The kite lifted a bit higher up
And then dropped at an unknown wilderness
Only then the dad went on
to explain his son
the philosophy of Life.
'Sonny', said the dad,
'the elevated level at which our lives are now
often make us feel that there are some constraints
to which we are tied up and that these clogs
are not allowing us to rise further in life,
things such as home, family, discipline, parents, etc;
and we just wish to get rid of them.
But in fact it is these clogs or 'threads'
due to which we are on the present level
and it's these threads which keep us taut
like the thread-bound kite flying in the sky.
My child, if you want to stay on heights in life
never break your ties with these 'threads'
Stability in Life is just like the kite and thread
Without a thread tied to the kite
The kite will rise but will surely drop shortly
if the tie is cut off
Live a Life like the kite and thread together
And you will never fail or fall in Life.
Yes, I will follow you up to the brink.
Take a deep swallow, and try not to think.
Don't stop! Don't stop! I'll take the dive!
I need this now to feel alive.
Though i have followed you only this far,
Don't stop! I'm still healing all of my scars.
I'm climbing higher up to my own dreams.
My soul is on fire, harder then it seems.
Don't stop! Don't Stop! I'll tell my self...
I follow you and no one else.
My reason, my hope, my one fleeting light.
Don't stop! Just guide me on through this dark night.
Form:
Paper Mache, I see words
Ink on paper, thoughts buried in wood
I’m literate; I should be able to read this
Yes, the thoughts of another must hold so much meaning
My life should be better right?
After all I can see words and make meaning of them
I should be better than the man that cannot spell
I should have opinions where he is clueless
I should be able to think logically where he cannot
So i go outside my front porch, with my shoulders held high
A drink on my left hand, and the morning paper on my right
Then I pretend to read words that I do not care about
Just in an effort to stare at the ley man
Yes, I called him ley, he’s the animal, and I’m the zoo-keeper
While he goes about trying to earn his worth, I sit back and watch him like I’m ‘Speilberg ‘
He’s is mindless behavior, mine is the mindful characteristic of an educated man
After all I thought of coming here to jest at the poor urchin?
I conjured that up, now tell me why I shouldn’t be proud of myself?
It’s one of the many privileges being learned affords me
The way I look at her through the window,
While she hawks her wares, and tries to make a living
I see her as a person lesser than I, yes, I’m way much higher up
Yes my learned mind does not care that she probably has a family of five depending on her ‘plantain’
My learned mind cannot devise the economics needed to help her, though my bank says I can
Like that boy that works at the barbers shop that I never tip,
After all it isn’t my fault he isn’t in School; he deserves to beg all his life
I am Zeus, he’s a mere mortal
The chances some dream about, others are given on a platter of gold
My proud pompous mind will never understand a fact this simple
Is a mind that thinks itself superior really superior?
Silence...
...Just wait...
Wait a couple seconds...no, really.
Just WAIT...
In the distance,
a tremble of the air itself.
A subtle quiver of it's molecular structure.
A charge, causing your hair to come alive.
*CRACK* A singularity so vivid, so dazzling,
it blinds you,
forming indistinct bubbles in your vision.
Then another, farther away, not as luminous.
Another, and another. Dozens of fractures in the sky,
shining with voltages so high, so powerful;
temperatures blistering hot,
Searing and broiling anything they touch.
Fiercier than the sun's corona.
Vapourisation.
Retorts of thunderous applause,
following seconds behind, build up.
Unsure at first, escalating. Deafening.
Frightening all into submission.
Applause for such grandeur.
Overlooking the dark and forested valley,
we observe nature's perfect opera.
Above us,
angry violet mamma roil,
bubbling over the base of the storm.
Faded flashes,
illuminating the clouds,
casting mauve highlights and indigo shadows.
Far off applause,
the audience of another, higher up show.
The tempest isn't quite done yet,
the show must go on.
Not 10 metres behind us,
a tree explodes, its trunk boiled and charred.
Simultaneously, a roaring, reverberating crackle-snap ignites the air,
blasting our eardrums past their record limits.
A roasting heat wave blows over our heads,
shoving us forward, searing the tips of our hair.
Screaming and shouting, we stumble away,
no longer amazed at this horrifying opera.
Tripping down the slope,
we roll into the thick forest below us,
colliding with trees and shrubbery.
More flashes, tailed by the sky guffawing at us,
as we've become the joke of the show.
Horror surfacing on our faces,
we blunder towards the jeep.
Only thing is...
all that's left of the jeep is a smoldering carcass...
Real fear sets in,
as we discover ourselves
Trapped.
Isolated.
Entirely alone.
And up on the stage of nature's prime opera.
And we're the laughing stock.
The dispensibles.
No way out.