Best Laying Claim Poems
Last hints of light lay down
gasping in the night
reaching for a touch
a comfort loved so much
I walk on
where darkness plays her song
fearing what went wrong
too fast and way too strong
No excuses no regrets
one gives and then one gets
no others laying claim
in love there is no shame
The light lays down
and I walk on
I am listening for the Master's call
that will signal that grest day
when the Shepherd comes from heaven
to call His flock away.
When this sinful world is ended
and temptations all are gone
I'll be on my way to heaven
laying claim to my heavenly home.
No more storm clouds, no more sorrows
only laughter, joy and love
when I leave this world behind me
bound for heaven up above.
And on that glorious morning
when Christ Jesus comes again
with ten thousand angels singing
glory to the Son of Man
I will know my journey is over
when I hear my Father say
Well done thou faithfull servant
enter your reward today.
Traveler's Guide to the Rugged Path
Millions tread the rugged path
as nomads groping in a murky mist
eyes and hands aloft; prayerful…hopeful.
Few chance upon a wondrous tree,
bearing on its ample boughs,
love; unconditional and sweet.
Sheltered safely in the shade
they cry out; pleading desperately
for their traveling companions.
Others come, unfamiliar, unwanted
yearning and desperate they approach
anxious to stay their weary journey.
Move along! Cry the few,
laying claim to the bounteous tree
defiantly taking post to defend.
A booming crack roars over the scene;
fire erupts from the heartwood
consuming all in mere moments.
A ghoulish smoky tendril
swirling ‘twixt the beggars and few
the sole, poisoned remnant of love, scorn.
Fingers of blame stab the smoke
traveler railing against traveler
drunk on wrath and indignation.
--------Elsewhere--------
Millions tread the rugged path,
as nomads groping in a murky mist
eyes and hands aloft, prayerful…hopeful.
Few chance upon a wondrous tree
bearing on its ample boughs,
love; unconditional and sweet.
Sheltered safely in the shade
they cry out; pleading desperately
for their traveling companions.
Others come, unfamiliar, unwanted
yearning and desperate they approach
anxious to stay their weary journey.
Come join us! Cry the few,
sharing wide the tree’s abundance
generously offering respite to all.
Quietly, the mist dissipates the scene
clarity of vision, and brotherhood
consume all in the clearing.
Love, shared without condition
accepts the unfamiliar, the unwanted
heals the weary, and poisoned.
It means forgiveness and compassion
from traveler to traveler
no matter how different their paths.
07/30/15
A pouting pooch whose boisterous barks
are uttered in superlatives
laying claim to unwarranted
importance
due to an overbearing pride.
Strip him of his diamond studded
collar, not to mention his badly groomed coat
reveals a Manhattan cur:
a junkyard dog
who’d sooner attack innocence
than those bent on his destruction.
Fear not people! For his bark is worse
than his bite
The Donald thrives on attention.
Night Terror.
You need no introduction.
Into my slumber,
With skulking cats eyes.
Now,
You build a charnel house.
Bricks and mortor, sinister.
Laying claim to my dreams.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I suffered terribly with night terrors at such a young age.
I feel they dictated my life for quite some time.
This is one of my more personal poems.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Personification; please?
I dont know if there is currently a contest for personification poetry.
If not, I would love to see one set up.
Unfortunatly, i feel i do not have the capacity to run one myself... yet.
Thank you for taking the time to read my post, Jamie.
(P.S. I am brand new to soup, as you most likely can tell.)
Money, wrapping paper
of disowned creation
Destroying the gift,
—laying claim to the box
(Jamestown New York: May, 2011)
The ocean now looks the rain in the eye
Swelling with ego and pride
Humming and Hissing flows with the tide
Wrestling the ships and the boats
And laying claim to some of our lands.
Even Adagun adorns himself like Agbara
The little puddle by the road side
The left over of the afternoon rain
Prides himself before our feet
Willing and waiting for the sky to open
For him to take of his share of what drop descends from the heaven.
The fishes now have their freedom
For years no sight of the fisherman's nets
They have grown beyond average
And have witnessed years of abundance.
Some have become sharks
Willing to swallow their underfed comrades.
(C) Ayinla Muyideen Adeleke
The pages written in my book
Are pages made of second looks
They tell the days of happy sad
And sometimes sprinkle crazy mad
The game is played and often lost
By those who fail to count the cost
The dreams I have are often false
And failed the chances come across
The search for love bewilders me
And often leads to poverty
Incredible insanity, indubious integrity
It always makes a fool of me is what I see
It’s incomplete she makes of me
She always makes a dunce of me
Indiscreet to her degree
Insatiable this thing I see
We learn the truth at seventeen
That love is often just a dream
A hindrance and waste of time
The author of an awful crime
Laying claim to those we name
Becomes a hopeless silly game
Knights would strive and pawns would fall
The Queen's last move would end it all
To sing a song a serenade
Write the poetry feelings play
Hold the pillow while I lay
Pretending solace while I crave
The end begins to end it all
The days we spend in love must fall
And nights to come with melodies
Of love and what it makes of me
(To be sung to the song, "Seventeen's" music)
Soul,
"Even the mind fades with time . There’s no escaping it. One has to make the most of it (the mind) while they still have time and some youth left. What stays beautiful is the soul." LLB
Laid down with the dropping of the ball
the joyous clinks ringing in a year,
party hats, strange first kisses,
inconspicuous memory lapses,
time marching on,
in seconds it all but disappears
fresh starts, disrobing dissertations
interludes
listening to music, assessing the wind
moments meant to be held
not without meaning
sharing what we have
not what we have not
pressing your being on top my chest
laying claim to your riches
engulfing the scent
for you alone it carries my name
twinkles amid periwinkles
surrounded in a gaze
pure harmony and grace
a place
to call more than just a home
the bells of Saint Raphael are ringing
gently, my heart beats in tune, singing
flowery words quietly are filling up
the vastness of the oceans
there is no need to rush
slowly we build
fortunes fulfilling foundations
freedom to breathe
forevers to live
The cemetery was still but not silent as Ben Braxton leaned against the rough trunk of an ancient oak. It stood apart from the mourners, yet close enough that he could clearly see and hear them. His gaze locked on the dark-haired woman next to the grave site. It's been a long time, Rachelle. Too long since I've been back. He looked down and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
The giant oak spread its roots in a huge circle beneath his feet and its curvy gnarled limbs stretched over the meadow as though laying claim to everything within the reach of its broad shadow. In the late afternoon on this October day, that shadow seemed to embrace all those who wept. As the priest bowed his head and said his last words of prayer over the coffin, Ben sighed and silently joined them in weeping. Perhaps coming back to Willerton was a mistake.
As if in answer to his doubt, thunder roared. Ben looked up to see perilous black storm clouds drifting overhead. The wind wound its way through the oak's branches, whispering like the rustling of silk, and filling Ben's mind with fear and sadness. He turned the collar of his coat up around his neck and listened. If he hadn't known better, he'd swear the gruff voice in his mind was that of his longtime friend, Jake Kehrer. But that was impossible, now that Jake was dead.
September 22, 2022
Someone has fenced in a portion of the meadow
Laying claim to what Mother Nature has proscribed,
Some folks bring displeasure with absurd bravado.
Is he suggesting that part of the meadow, so described,
Is forbidden for enjoyment by nature lovers like me?
Seems like this certain neighbor has over-imbibed!
Land ownership is only temporary, while nature is free
Here to be enjoyed and treasured by man and beast
Fences are fine, I suppose, saying this belongs to me,
But not to shut out natural areas, to say the least
With no other purpose in mind than to thwart pleasure,
And to deny us enjoyment of nature’s bountiful feast.
Our neighbor needs productive tasks to do in leisure,
It seems he delights in arousing everyone’s displeasure.
Written March 13, 2022
Listen! Here come the horses,
War machines, a myriad of forces!
'Whitewash', the white horse, is first,
Those deceptive words rehearsed.
Peace as a pretense to conquer,
Glossy until he grows stronger.
'Butcher', the red horse, unleashed,
Civil unrest and sword unsheathed.
Laying claim to the Earth,
Mixing lifeblood with turf.
Black are the ravages of war,
Famine only adds to the score.
The black horse arrives,
His name is... 'Survive'.
But 'Ash' has entered the scene,
The color of corpse, pale-green,
Their progression succinct,
Succumbing to animal instinct.
Fools have staked their claim,
And adorned themselves with shame,
"The Earth belongs to the ‘Best’!"
When the ‘Best’ are merely Guests!
Corrupted to have their own way,
Inferiors they oppress and dismay.
Devouring each other like prey,
Their body and soul He will slay.
Whirling Wheels in the great expanse!
The Davidic King will soon advance!
His Wheelwork is not uncertain,
Make ready for His final curtain!
Listen! Martyrs beseeching their Master,
"When will you avenge this disaster!"
"All must repent or perish,
There's more to be saved, to cherish.
When Messiah returns to avenge,
The Superiors on Earth will cringe,
And hide themselves from My face,
But I will expose their disgrace.
The Day of Our wrath will come,
My adversaries will all be undone!"
Whirling Wheels in the great expanse!
The Davidic King will soon advance!
His Wheelwork is not uncertain,
Make ready for His final curtain!
Listen! A Watchman’s urgent call,
"The Davidic Dynasty is All!"
"Do not cover their true condition,
To convey, not create, is the mission.
'Who influences who?', is the test,
Repentance and restoration are ‘Best’!
Judging His choices and actions,
Creates obstacles, infractions,
To live the way He intended,
And to have His blessing suspended.
Scripture is the sign to heed.
Our Substitute He decreed.
Grace through faith the plan.
He resurrected the God-Man.
Whirling Wheels in the great expanse!
The Davidic King will soon advance!
His Wheelwork is not uncertain,
Make ready for His final curtain!
i’ve seen among the shadows
in the corner of my eye
a foreboding melancholy
ever present pure and nigh
upon forseen inception
came the beast without respect
laying claim to all emotions
pouring darkness down my neck
clouds of memories will float
inside of distraught dreams
allaying but for precious breaths
the pain of tortured screams
a prayer for those who suffer hell
from loss of man or wife
for these poor souls bear misfortunes
taxing sojourns throughout life
Speaking of peace so loosely
It should be a curse when departed from our tongues
Our hearts are in contempt
For the vengeful warriors we've become
We praise ourselves and persecute our fathers
Laying claim to possessions not earned
Boasting loudly of our victorious race
In constant fear of our demise
We search relentlessly for an alternate answer
For the true solution which we expertly avoid
Would make us as one in true peace
The Blues fills my memory,
all emptiness gone
Its Harp laying claim,
my soul to belong
Little Walter cries out
‘that same old somethin’ again
Jimmy Reed to remind us
—of the mojo within
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2019)