Best In Earnest Poems
Hope is a song of bird
Reassuring forlorn dawn,
The nightmare is banished
And the dream is still alive
Hope is a Lotus flower
Drowning in the night
Yet, rising through mud
With ebullient sunrise
Hope is an autumn leaf
Gamboge on brown
That curls up and dies,
Only to bud again with
Spring’s verdant vibes
Hope is a glint of smile
On the face of despair
When helping hand arrives
Trekking by its side
Hope is a concert
Of euphoric hatchlings
Yearning first flight
Flexing freedom wings
It’s the elixir of living
Priceless for everyone
And everything for some~
Hope’s their only means
Hope is a prayer
Tolling of benevolence
In places of worship
Seeking in earnest
Triumphs over tragedies
Written: February 3, 2022
Submitted on November 2, 2022 to:
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 19 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Placed 1st: A Strand 1074 contest
Placed 1st: Hope Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
Angel wings are not feathered but they are real,
Made from lighter stuff and stronger.
They have a metaphysical feel,
And last an eternity longer.
The feel of an Angel wing is not a sensation like touch.
It’s on a higher more philosophical plane.
The usual senses are only a crutch,
Like trying to explain snow while in the rain.
To feel an angel wing flutter,
One must “ know thyself ”,
And remove the “me” clutter,
To reveal the naked shelf.
You know that fellow that always angers you,
And makes you retaliate every time?
Remember recently when he was through,
You smiled and didn’t even mind?
And how with your children, you pray to be patient,
And cry and blow up instead?
Then why today, when they tried your patience,
Those were tears of joy you shed?
These experiences and many others,
When asked for in earnest prayer,
Are simply Angel wing flutters,
Teaching us how to live and care.
These are the feel of Angel wings,
Not privy to the usual five,
But made of heavenly things,
Sublime, real, ..fully alive.
I saw magical faeries.
Tripping in and around
Sparkling wings shining
In the dazzling sunbeams
That transversally filtered
Through the mighty beeches
Of a Bavarian forest.
A royal feast proclaimed.
The mighty Queen arrived.
And took her place on a throne
In a prominent part of the glen.
Sumptuous abundant delicacies
Appeared out of nowhere,
Cheeses and pixie pears,
And saffron flavoured cakes,
Plus, milk laced with honey.
Enchanting lively music
Advanced towards the glen.
Happiness and Felicity
Thrilled the expectant audience.
Soon, darkness fell around,
But innumerable, bright glow worms
Lit up the secluded grassy glen.
Dancing thus began in earnest.
Until they tired out and all returned
To their cosy leaves to dream
About their lovely Fairy Queen.
Your wrists smell of fig sap and October rain
your shoulder blades two furrows turned for seed
your spine the long fence-row the sparrows read
at dusk, each vertebra a sheaf of grain
The vineyard heaves into your windowpane
as roots cleave—slow, below, agreed
and where your collarbone dips, the ripe world feeds
its split apricot, moth-wing, what my palms have gleaned
I turn toward you at the sink, your hair still wet
and lay my ring along the small of your back
the pear boughs laden, the foxes at the run
the creek gone sloe at the farthest bend
what forty years of kneeling cleaves in earnest
one body known, the soul brought into harvest.
======
In a moment of understandable frustration with me,
My wife demanded to know what I really believed in.
I thought for a minute, tear glands filling,
"The essential goodness of my parents."
My mother was a child of the great city of Philadelphia,
In hard times in a hard family, soon to fracture,
She withdrew from the days when her father would leave his little girls
In the car all afternoon in back alleys near the taverns,
From which he would emerge, full of volume and vomit.
She grew through school, emerging herself to be a wonderful mom,
To kindle her children's interest in the physical world,
Geology, astronomy, physics, and the patterned realms
Of painting, music, and poetry.
She showed me that she loved me.
She showed me that parents were people.
She showed me that parents were fallible,
That not everything could be controlled,
And that that was okay too.
My father was a child of the land,
Of farming in the age of innocence,
Long ago down in the southern part of the state of Indiana.
He knew of seeds, of frost, of the earth and time,
Of rock and root, of wind and drought and rain.
He never complained about rain - we kids didn't like the muddy yard
That was supposed to be a football field - he'd say,
"Tell you what - I'll take the rain. I've seen the other."
The most honest man I know, the most honest person that could ever be,
He watched the night sky with me when I said, "Moon and tar."
He took me to a hardware store on a stormy summer Saturday,
Dark clouds coming close, in a car with the thicker sheet metal of the old days.
Just as we parked, the first raindrops, that irregular rhythm, compelling,
"Hey Doug! Would you listen to that rain?! Let's just sit here for a while."
We sat with the rain on the roof as it began in earnest,
That rain of a thousand thousand hits,
A million baby birds doing their firecracker tap dance above us,
That rain that has lasted me the rest of my life.
December 31, 2016.
For Brenda Chiri-Carroll's contest - 'Who has inspired you most in your life.'
Bilum is a type of woven bag in Papua New Guinea (PNG)
...............................
How grandfather’s bilum, which
Across my father’s bare chest,
In a loving embrace slung.
Like the Leleki baskets’ blest
How while so pregnant swung.
How dwelleth he my father in its rich
Splendour till handing-over of its rest,
Then over my clothed chest again sways.
O this old bilum! like all other blest
No longer is laden with in my days.
For its treasures I search in earnest,
That I may grandfather’s mind know.
O this bilum is no longer pregnant!
Along the way, maybe some time ago,
How many treasures fade; this instant
Till my sleep, I’ll summon eagerness
To my modern soul strengthened to seek.
Grandfather’s treasures may be hidden;
Yet through a new eye must I ever peek
For glimpses my days have forbidden.
By: Jeffrey Febi 25 Oct 2010
As I recall those lonely childhood days
My heart weeps for myself drenched in tears
How I yearned mama for a gentle hug from you
A soft caress and a kiss to make me glow
Engrossed as you were tending to my dear brother
And here I deduced you never did bother
The scars grew each year
And estranged I felt from your care
But now seeing you strain
As you beckon me near
My heart cries in earnest struggle
And yearns to snuggle
Forgive me ma for I have erred
Being blind to your loving words
To your implicit care
Being blind to the glistening tears
That uttered silent prayers
Being blind to the anxious queries
Masked with concern
Blinded I was and you I blamed
I beg your forgiveness.
@ Nadiya (19 Feb '15)
Placed 9th on 21 Feb 2015 in the contest 'Forgiveness' by Rob Carmack.
‘Twas a grey november morning
When I climbed outside my window
To see my breath like dragon’s smoke
Swirl and dance away.
‘Twas bitter cold
That autumn day,
And sickly sun wore mourning shrouds
Though lazy earth had yet to draw
Her snowy blanket
To her chin.
I marveled at
The tiny leaf-
The last one to remember
Summer’s happy days,
The only one to forget
His time was done.
Yet in his small defiance-
Prideful even in the light of death-
As he clung tightly to the bough
He commanded wondering respect.
And too
The blades of grass,
Idle maidens gossiping,
Had not lost their bright greenery
To old winter’s paling breath.
For they had done with washing
Dappled cheeks in morning dew,
Now arrayed themselves in frosty gowns
For Autumn's final dance.
With cheery feet
They turned and swayed,
Laughing in their finery,
The wind as minstrel serenading
With whistling tune
Them all.
Until the last leaf,
Old heart breaking,
Found that he could hold no more.
Slowly,
Slowly down he drifted
To the forest floor.
Then with a crashing sound was shattered
The stillness of that dark, dark morn;
And all the maidens wept in earnest-
Rent their lovely clothes in twain.
And as I felt the old man sleeping-
Dreaming ever
In my hand-
I knew the magic of that morning
Had been torn away.
Sure enough, earth’s yawning
Fingers
Pulled upon herself the snow.
But still sometimes I think of
Eden
Hidden in the folds of Autumn:
Longing, pining, yearning still
To whisper ancient secrets
To me.
Away
From sunshine
And scorching sand
Thirsty; seeking refuge
From heat
Flying
In earnest
To mountain slopes
In green; breathing the cool
Fresh air
--------------------------------
9th November 2014
Contest: Cinqku Poem
Sponsor: Dr. Ram Mehta
Placed: 2nd
Can it truly be
That the existence of you and me
Will be as if it never were
With no him and with no her?
Tell me.
Can it truly be
That the formation of a family
Will be a thing of naught,
An entity that time forgot?
Tell me.
Can it truly be
That our sacrifices to live free
Will count for little worthwhile,
Except for pimps primping in their guile.
Tell me.
Can it truly be
That universes without end
Are the happenstances of luck and chance
An invitation to join a celestial dance.
Tell me.
Can it truly be
That Mother’s scored back and hands
Were hardly signs of ceaseless labor
Only barely more than rendering us a favor.
Tell me.
Can it truly be
That the growing number of empty chairs
Symbolize nothing that need give pause,
Many of their occupants were rife with flaws.
Tell me.
Can it truly be
That when dreamless sleep owns mine and me
The toil and the striving and the loving we knew
Won’t matter as much as a robin’s fall call
Mind not that in earnest we gave life our all.
Tell me.
When did I learn to walk?
The awkward stance,
a toddler’s uncertain step,
stumbling, falling,
getting up again until
rhythm of feet and
balance work in sequence,
was that when I learned
to walk? No.
When did I learn to walk?
Kindergarten marches,
a military parade of sorts
around a classroom,
rhythm band instruments
in hand, banging on toy
cymbals and drums
to the measured beat
of feet and blare of
prerecorded sound? No.
When did I learn to walk?
Was it the long hours
in marching band
practicing routines,
memorizing music,
and the beating of feet
on hot pavement along
humid parade routes on
July mornings in hot
woolen uniforms? No.
When did I begin
to learn to walk?
From the moment
I held your hand, strolling
by the Strand Theater
on the sidewalks of St.
Paul, along the shores
of Lake Como on
Spring and Summer nights,
through Rosedale, your
hand in mine as we looked
at engagement rings
in jewelry store windows
and dreamed dreams.
I learned to walk
in earnest down
the aisle of
St. Bridget of Sweden,
into a new wedded
life filled with
wonder and love,
the many walks of
pregnancies, Pitocin
drip walks down
hospital corridors,
during nights with
restless infants, and
sick children, to
parks and baseball
diamonds, plays
and musicals, concerts
and gymnasiums,
graduations, weddings,
funerals, grandchildren,
all of them walks
along the spherical
path of life.
To walk with you is
to learn how to love,
each measured step,
a grace-filled journey
to something greater,
far beyond and far better
than the stumbling steps
that I could have
made on my own.
To walk with you,
is to see the
world with different
eyes, colors bursting
through the greys,
warmth on the
coldest of days, your
voice floating, playing
delightfully in the air
alongside until the
sound settles gently,
gracefully in my ears.
We have walked many
steps together in life,
my gait now not as steady,
these days of uncertain
limbs, joints and cane.
In walking with you,
new discoveries never
end, new beginnings
abound, and that
with you, the first,
and the finest of
all teachers, learning
to walk is never
fully learned.
I dare to hope and dream,
Of flowers that never fade
Of splendid and exotic creatures
All living in perfect harmony.
I dream of tranquil earthly paradise,
A keen euphoric garden of Eden,
Created by my one and true Lord.
Alas that man sinned and now
The garden of Eden is closed.
So let us together embark upon a journey,
In earnest search and ardent expectation
Of peace and love and blissful pleasure.
Let us travel down a mighty river
In a small pirogue, winding its way
Along the fern lined banks
Admiring the Cyprus and the tall pine trees.
The river turns into a valley,
Where mighty willows weep and dip
Their lower branches in the fresh icy stream.
All around, we smell the scent of flowers,
Butterflies with gossamer wings
Flit untiringly from bloom to bloom
While insects seem to have composed
A lively concert of their own.
We hear the music of the song birds,
Especially the multicolored martin pescador,
Finches practicing their fine tunes
to serenade the attractive female mate.
We spy warblers, sparrows, and orioles
Dancing from branch to branch
Or birds of prey soaring over the ancient firs
Trying to catch some unsuspecting fish
That swims beneath the calm surface
Of a smooth and tranquil lake.
Such magic moments mesmerize our senses,
As we witness the birth of day.
We find ecstasy in Our Lord's creations.
His wondrous hand enhances nature,
Fascinates our spirit with uninhibited joy
Expanding the joyous hope for all humanity.
If With Wispy Words I Can Paint A Dream
If with wispy words I can paint a dream
you and I dear reader may become a team
and look up through cloud dimmed heavenly skies
while this world covers its long silent cries.
If words convey the passions of heart's desires
and breath of Life kindles spirited fires
what need of boring day, and long weeping nights
when Heaven and Earth bequeath angelic sights?
If her hand and her smiling face can not gift
treasure of dreams thus born, love that uplifts
why does soul cry its joy and beg not sleep
at dawn rise and pray her loving heart to keep?
If Time falters and Love stumbles and falls
sunset brings its sorrows and painful calls
her spirit and softest-kiss fails to soul please
what course except pray upon bended knees?
If words confessing Love's truth and its might
are in earnest bound to such heavenly sight
should not Fate, break its curse to then Love bow
unite two loving souls, honor sincere vows?
If with wispy words I can paint a dream
you and I dear reader may become a team
and look up through cloud dimmed heavenly skies
while this world covers its long silent cries.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-17-2018
Rhyme, (Romance, Life Fate, Angelic Dream, Poetry)
Note: (used as Fine)
https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/wispy
Definition of wispy in English:
wispy
ADJECTIVE
(of hair, threads, smoke, etc.) fine; feathery.
‘the sky was blue with a few wispy clouds’
More example sentences Synonyms
Pronunciation
wispy/'w?spi/
wispy = *fine*
The sands of time
Vs 1
The sands of time keep moving,
ever faster.
I notice as each day passes by
Bridge 1
Why doesn't time have mercy on me?
The sands of time are going to bury me
So, I live each day without a care,
bend my knees in earnest prayer
Vs 2
The sands of time keep raging,
ever silent.
The lines upon my face, cannot lie.
Bridge 2
At least together we can face the storm
Hold onto me and I will keep you warm
No matter how hard the sand will blow
My love for you will not grow old
Chorus
The sands of time...
oh, the sands of time...
We journey through the sands of time...
I am yours and you are mine.
Vs 1
The sands of time keep moving,
ever faster.
I notice as each day passes by
Bridge 2
At least together we can face the storm
Hold onto me and I'll keep you warm
No matter how hard the sand will blow
My love for you will not grow old
Chorus
The sands of time...
oh, the sands of time...
We journey through the sands of time,
I am yours and you are mine.
We journey through the sands of time,
I am yours and you are mine.
I am yours and you are mine..
repeat fade
John Derek Hamilton
August 7,2023
How blessed are we to enjoy our relationship* with the Lord
Since we’ve been bound to Him with His salvation-cord
We can come to Him, yielding ourselves to the grace He does afford
Thru the invitation He declares in His Word.
How blessed are we to commune with the Lord without hesitation
Since we’ve become His children by virtue of His adoption
We can talk to Him, expressing ourselves in earnest supplication
Thru the answer He assures by His compassion.
How blessed are we to stay always in the Lord’s presence
Since we’ve been forgiven by His purifying license
We can worship Him, immersing ourselves in His holy magnificence
Thru the cleansing He grants for our souls' effervescence.
How blessed are we to seek the Lord freely for our faith’s refining perfectly
Since we’ve become His heirs by His blood-priced sacrifice truly
We can meet Him, humbling ourselves at His throne sincerely
Thru the fellowship He initiates blissfully.
How blessed are we to cling to the Lord with divine intimacy
Since we’ve been redeemed by His tender mercy
We can cleave to Him, submitting ourselves to His might's fervency
Thru the help He offers midst turmoil of urgency.
How blessed are we to be acquainted with the Lord’s ways
Since we’ve become His new creation to give Him praise
We can live for Him, delighting ourselves in His work all our days
Thru the love He covers us, wrapped by His care’s embrace.
How blessed are we to abide in the Lord to experience His glory
Since we’ve been rescued from hell’s damnation and sin’s misery
We can serve Him, committing ourselves to share Gospel story
Thru the blessings He provides along His promised victory.
*Psalm115:15 Ye are blessed of the LORD which made heaven and earth.
September 25, 2019
Edited on May 25, 2022