Best Intentioned Poems
Eve, the mother of all mankind,
Adam found his helpmeet in her.
Old Sarah, through faith, was confined.
Rebecca, the first twins’ mother.
Shiphrah and Puah, brave midwives
Saved Hebrew children, fearing God.
Fearless Jochebed hid her child,
Because of her, Moses survives.
Rahab hid spies for she was awed
By the true God, who on her, smiled.
Like Deborah, who could you find?
Her bold judgement caused quite a stir.
Jael, Heber’s wife, was brave of mind,
She killed Sisera on a spur.
Naomi was a good mother
To her daughter-in-law named Ruth.
Ruth left her all to follow God,
Was one of Jesus’ ancestors.
Prayerful Hannah in her youth
Gave child Samuel back to God;
Intelligent Abigail soothed
King David’s wrath, became his wife.
The young maid of Israel smoothed
Naaman’s healing from leprous strife.
Daring Queen Esther without fear,
Saved the Jews from being wiped out.
What can I say of blessed Mary?
She bowed to God’s will with all cheer.
Dorcas, Lydia did not pout,
Active were they in church early.
Women from all walks of life are
Found in the Bible to teach us,
Each, in her own way, is a star,
A vessel for God, a great plus;
Rhoda, Priscilla and others,
All are equally paramount,
Only a few have I mentioned,
Sisters, daughters, wives and mothers,
There are so many, I can’t count,
Let’s learn from them as intentioned.
14th April 2022
(8 syllables per line
Rhyme Scheme: ababcdecde)
{The role played by women in Biblical history is truly great. No wonder Lord Jesus Christ revealed His resurrected self first to them}
For Beata Agustin's "Ode to Women" contest
FOR PAUL CALLUS
Paul, this short poem is for you alone,
Wish you lived closer,
I’d tell you on the phone,
You have been the cornerstone of
Poetry for me,
A tutor in a way,
An incredibly honest person
Who writes talented poems
You write brilliantly, and you are clever,
Whether Historical, romantic, serious or funny,
Before I answer some of your poems
I definitely research them to see if I’m right,
Not all, just a few.
I know all Soupers respect and like you
A lot, hope the feeling is mutual, where
I am concerned, Alpha to Omega
Was a rhymed poem but I suddenly noticed
After it had been posted
That a good friend of mine had not been noted
A friend that has supported me
Through-out my two years with this group
Called Poetry Soup,
Had in error, not been mentioned,
Certainly not intentioned!
All I can say is please accept my apology
I was working on two poems at a time,
‘Eve of Storms’ involved in mythology
Paul, this I knew I wanted and needed to say,
And, to wish you a relaxed and happy Sunday
The Adjective Twin: A Poem of Pain
I am "presumptuous" -- and with my brother, "arrogant"
we are the adjective twin of "gentle" blame
of "gentle" wounding, of "gentle" continued "colonization"
constantly in an "unconscious" search for unsuspecting names to attach to,
so that we can remain collectively unconscious of our shadows.
We were born (and are constantly re-born)
from the culturally "unconscious" womb of (even "progressive") white privilege,
with the help of "pre-judgment" the midwife who abhors "decolonization."
And heed this warning: We do NOT like mirrors, because clear mirrors tell
(at an uncomfortable-making non-white-privileged "pace" of needed transformation)
the kind of "decolonization" truths that inconveniently bring to consciousness "well-intentioned" unconscious "Orientalisms,"
("Truths" that could potentially flourish into "Reconciliation" healing--IF allowed mirror-full-ness);
and these kinds of truth make my brother and I really (mostly "unconsciously") uncomfortable,
because we don't resonate with mirrors, with reflection,
'cause rather than truthfully being "set free"
we like to be comfortable in our privilege.
When we, the adjective twin attach ourselves to unsuspecting names
(who expect standards that befit real civility, real nonviolence, real caring)
Mother Earth's mirrors of tearful eyes break in 1,001 pieces of feel-goodist "progressive" self-deception,
that "gently" kill peace--on Earth.
Don't blame us, though,
(and definitely, but "gently" DO silence the wailing sirens of inconvenient awakening)
because we are the adjective twin,
and the "progressive" harm we cause is ever so "gentle" and "well-intentioned," you see?
By: Moji Agha (Mojtaba Aghamohammadi)
Monday, March 26, 2018
Boulder, Colorado
The concerned politician was running for re-election
But a very cool, steamy sex scandal he struggled to hide
He used his thick, bald head to provide some harmful protection
By taking a scholarly, dim-witted babe to be his bride
By hiding appearances this loser won the seat he sought
But the love/hate relationship with his former mate went on
Under cover, above reproach the governorship he bought
The wickedly good scheme went awry, the lover suddenly gone
In the shadows of limelight his true love would no longer stay
The powerless governor didn’t want his private life public
And his charming, boring wife soon suspected there’d been foul play
Lying alone in her separate room made her healthy heart sick
A sleazy, reputable reporter showed her photographs
Of her husband and his lover in a platonic embrace
When confronted, the governor made a fortuitous gaff
Laughing contritely, he told his wife their love he’d not debase
But well-intentioned cons have a way of gleaming through darkness
For the long-lost mate found his way to the governor’s mansion
Startled resignation on his wife’s face so expressionless
To explain he was gay led to consolidated expansion
The news was revealed, the governor was forced into hiding
For he was no longer viewed as a truthful politician
He’d not been upfront, but back down in a closet confining
And he’d risen to downfall with a concealed revelation
*For Kristin’s “Oxymoronic” contest
Once upon a stranger,
a girl — a well-intentioned woman —
walked with an open soul,
her eyes silvered with withheld sighs.
Behind that quiet gaze,
a seraphic smile concealed its sorrow,
gleaming through daydreams,
as folk songs whispered of her tender defiance.
Once upon a moment,
I heard soft whispers fade —
inside a bus on a starry August night.
She rose to glimpse the world once more,
hope glimmering heavy in her eyes,
half in joy, half in fear.
Once upon what it seemed,
the empty streets turned mirrors —
cold storefronts, dim alleys.
By night she stumbled through silence,
by day she wore her wounds as armor,
wandering through the city’s dense forest
of unaccompanied paths.
An unchained soul, yet caged
by society’s ugly parodies —
cells built from shame and duty.
She pondered the dreams reality killed
as she passed through shanty streets,
escorted by echoes of laughter now gone.
Once again her hope returned:
to fill the void with beauty,
to rise above the dimmed faces of her class.
Her dreams, still burning,
to rekindle the lonely, to build what she was denied —
a quiet joy that glowed against despair.
Once upon a loop of forever after,
lamentations deepened.
Between forced vows and a fractured home,
she lived a life too succinct —
raped, abused, unseen.
Darkness grew familiar,
a slow descent into thoughts unspoken.
And her world took its turn —
the light grew distant,
and she folded into herself,
too late for prayers or wishing wells.
Once upon a stolen dream.
Once upon a neglected childhood.
Once upon a trembling womanhood.
Once upon time, and time again.
A bowed head,
seeking shelter from the tempest —
and as she lies on her five-foot mat,
deep in sleep where dreams unfold,
the queen rises once again,
seraphic and free
in her ultimate paradise.
A scarlet tanager sits primly on the rail
Of the new fence erected near the meadow,
He eyes me stroll as I take in every detail
The path to the woodland is rather narrow,
Infrequently used, it is rapidly overgrowing
I am brushing against the yellow yarrow,
As hottest of summer is fast approaching
The meadowland has nary a cooling shadow.
Happily, I note the salt lick has disappeared
I hope its purposes were well-intentioned,
Certainly not as the hunter’s ploy, I feared
In a previous post, I am sure I mentioned.
I feel the coolness of the pleasant breeze
As I approach the edge of the tree line
Where meadow gives way to aspen trees,
And further on, a stand of taller pine.
I shall follow the trail through the wood
To the river which I can faintly hear, ahead
Where I saw a huge buck in full manhood,
And I have seen signs of where he bed.
It is a good two-mile hike, not exhausting
But I stop to examine new growth along
And for moments to reflect, I am pausing,
I’m encouraged by the tanager’s song.
Written June 18, 2022
They're in a Better Place
This is not the time
for well-intentioned
testimony to
ethereality
so unfathomable
as these deaths
before me.
Praise heaven
and rejoice;
disguised as consolation
to me,
fractured,
who knows no better
than grief;
I have been left;
let me rage;
let me cry out
in torment;
let me.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
February 22, 2012
Writing is my challenge each day
But it's not the words or what to say.
It is the connection with other writers here
Because I feel I'm not worthy or equal I fear.
The talent expressed by so many others
Often makes me want to hide under the covers.
The gems that are written and ones that I read
Are so inspired, personal, and give me a need.
That's why I come here every time
To see what others have put in their rhyme.
Carolyn always has a message for me to ponder
And others write things that make me wonder.
I often race to the "New Poems" just to see
If by some chance there's one by which P.D has destroyed me.
And Carol, Bob, Nick, Emily, Wilma, and "the Sweetheart"
Write things that sometimes I just can't pull apart.
The Doc has written so many things
I am amazed sometimes at the thoughts he brings.
Others are here who write so well
Their words do me so oft compel.
For like unto them I want to be
Writing words that have meaning for others to see.
Will they be worthy I say when I'm done
Or will they be read by others, as I've intentioned.
You know I feel so many emotions just now
Because of all these writers, I just don't know how.
For they are a driving force for me
And part of my challenge each day is to make them see.
That because of them I have to write
Sometimes into the wee hours of the night.
To pick a favorite writer is...well a difficult choice
So I pick them all, because they shout with one voice.
"Write, you fool, then write some more"
Words I hear and cannot ignore.
So I choose them all...all here in this group
The ones who have made me hungry for Soup.
There, I've said it...and you know that's not in haste
The Soupers that are here are the best of all to taste.
Yes….YOU…you thimble headed moron;
why do you think your realities SO unique?
What gives you a claim on rightness?
Rightness, righteousness, right, “OH MY!”
OZ was a much more clear-cut place to live.
At least the wizard there displayed
his over blown head.
Let the curtains fall open
revealing his
bulbous backside;
exposed the blithering well intentioned?
idiot behind the screen.
“Grow UP! There is no right, no wrong…
It’s situational, experiential, cultural….
GET a grip!
Before one of your right wing Cronies
Goes POSTAL.”
When one speaks of stars,
glitter and wishing come
to mind; wishes are easy
to find~a galaxy of them;
Thinking how easy one can get
lost in such vastness...a speck
of soul, even a good intentioned
god might not see or hear (one
could fear)
how many prayers must travel
unimaginable distances, mere
drops in an endless cosmic sea?
And, yet, I sense an intimacy
all logic tells me cannot be....
One word
Like a black cat
Prowling on a starless night
Sneaks past my notice
Quiet and still and
Unobserved
Escaping from my well-intentioned lips
“Someday”
“We’ll have to get together”
“Yes, soon!”
“Write me when you get there”
“I will!”
“Don’t be a stranger”
“It’s been too long”
“Here’s my phone number”
“I’ll call – I promise...”
“Someday!”
Every emotion has an enemy
The enemy of joy is “if only I had done it differently…”
The enemy of peace is “what if something bad happens…”
The enemy of spontaneity is “when the time is right…”
The enemy of I love you is
“Someday”
You alone can't hold up the sky.
You can't do it all.
You do have limitations.
Swallow your pride,
And for once, allow
Noble-intentioned folks...
To help push you beyond
Roadblocks that render you
Immobile. It's okay
Not to have all the answers.
There's no shame
In seeking counsel...
To help you configurate
Life's confusing puzzle pieces,
To help you construct
The foundation of your dreams;
You can't be the sole architect.
Some are more than willing...
To help you thrive and prosper;
Let them. First, make life easier
For yourself. Poke a needle
At the inflated balloon that is
Your ego. Ensure that
You hear it go..."Pop!"
Date written: 06/16/2023
It's Not You
It's Me
Actually in Truth
That's a Small White Lie
I have been cheating on you
For a While now
Having Passionate Sex
With another Guy
And i have been thinking it over
for a while now
And i Think
Yes
We Should
Break - Up
BAM
SLAM
There it Is
Signed , Sealed , Delivered
Love's Equivalent of an
Imploding
Suicide Vest
Destination
1
Single Victim
SLAM
You have been Served
Once upon a time Smitten
Planning a Wedding Fitting
To being , Reduced to
Tears before Bed
And obsessing over what you actually
Did Wrong
Or
Could have done or said
Instead
To make her stay
Or
Love you Back
And when good intentioned
Friends and Random People
Quote the Recently Dumped
Break-Up Bible
Stating there are
Plenty More Fish in the Sea
Remember this
Slam
It's also 2 choc full of
Sharks
&
Predators
Like the 1 that just
Dumped You
Rather look at this from a different Perspective
Using another age old fishing analogy
Given enough Time
You will never ever Say
She was a Keeper
Or
Be Refered to as
The 1 that
Got Away
More like the
Wrong Shoes
Or
Wrong tool for the Job
Thank God
The lost doll was soon replaced
by the kind stranger, poker faced,
who said the doll looks not the same,
having changed both face and name
but may yet be by the child recognised,
by its touch tender and smile undisguised
and so by this well intentioned tale spun,
the lost doll and child again became one,
for what was relevant was spirit, not form,
embrace of innocence, beauteous and warm.
What have you learned
after you've reached
a certain age?
Anything tangible
that can be passed on?
Rules for life
that are universal,
or simply habits
that worked for you?
I shuffle through my
mental rollerdex,
stopping here and there
to consider a point.
I was always early
or would strive to be,
for every event
or meeting, but
when all was considered,
in both the long,
and the short term,
it didn't matter much,
and was more of an obsession,
than an endearing trait.
I always showed up
for work, did my job
without excuse and
in the long run it
didn't matter much.
Sort of like treading water,
I stayed in the same place
for all the effort.
As I sort the cards over and over,
looking for general principles,
I find that the only things
that really gave me pleasure
were those that I did
expecting no reward,
money to a desperate friend,
compliments and encouragement
to those that never get it.
But, you know, I never did
enough of those acts
to be able to say
with confidence that
this is the way.
As I sort the cards,
the one that keeps
coming up over and over
is that nothing good
can be based on a lie
no matter how
well-intentioned