Best Leading Role Poems


I Am Virgo Too

In response to my fellow poetess, dearest friend and soul sister, Jennifer Proxenos, inspiring poem “I am Virgo”

I am Virgo too
A September woman
thriving in her Autumn
learning not to sigh over her spring
and summer too!
A gift of Faith
willing to heal her aches.
Her mind, a master in deafening woes
tracing what is fake and low
dwelling in the borders of her heart
making a permanent entrance
nostalgia, dreams.. with a sword
crossing out!
Growing in the shade of Beauty
a giver, her leading role
a leafy tree behind the stage.
Silence, a joyful companion
Time, her friend and foe!
Human connection of a spiritual dimension
What a painful perfection!
The passion within
empowering, awakening
denying her Self a life!
Fine, wise souls
ever attracted to
her beauties wouldn’t for granted take!
Perpetually restoring Self and peace
With Love
I am Virgo too!

Angels Meeting With God

The angels held a meeting
Very far from the earth.
It's that time again for a special birth.
Said the angels to God up  above.
This child will be so special
And needs lots of love.
Her progress may seem very slow
Accomplances she will never know.
She will require extra care 
From the mother we choose below.
She may not run ,laugh,play
And her thoughts may seem far away.
In many ways she won't adapt
Her diabetes will make her feel trapped.
So let's be careful were she's sent
We want her life to be content.
So please God find a mother who ?
Will do a special job for you.
They will not realise ryt away
The leading role they have to play..
With this child sent from above
Comes stronger faith and richer love.
They soon know the pleasure given .
In caring for a gift from heaven .
This precious gift brought down to you
A gift you'll love your whole life through.
Until I'm returned back to you  .

Premium Member The Story of Granddaughter Lily

The story of Granddaughter Lily
By Franklin Price
4/14/2015

The story of granddaughter Lily
Is one I feel compelled to tell
Of talent that revealed itself
Really from the starting bell

At her birth and I was there
Entered the stage oh what a sight
Star of the show she was that day
A prelude to this Friday night

Precocious as a growing child
Entertaining was her thing
If one or more were in her view
Never missed a chance to dance and sing

Then came the play in seventh grade
Pirates of Penzance the name
Tried out for the leading role
And so began her school play game

We were there and cheering proudly
She sang and acted as a pro
At the end applauding loudly
We hugged her neck said way to go

The years have flown since way back then
She has performed in song and dance
Lily a high school senior now
Curtains in the Pirates of Penzance

We will be there to watch the show
Grandparents cannot stay away
We'll clap and cheer embarrass her
Celebrate this final high school play

I know this will not be the last
For entertainment is her thing
On to college and on from there
Excited to see what life will bring


Premium Member 'father'

Our Background Heroes 

F – Forever in the background
A – As our mothers play the leading role; we are 
T – Thoughtless at times to grasp your WORTH 
H – Hence this token of our love  
E – Even though it might seem minute, it comes from the heart - 
R – Remember you mean the world to us!!

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY 

©wnn130620141333

*This poem was written for the Men's Fellowship of our church for 
Sunday, 15 June 2014*

The One

I’d rather not be just a spectator of this drama called life. 
I would prefer to play my own leading role, 
direct my own script, and sing my own songs.
However, I cannot forget that above all, 
there is One great author and conductor 
of the larger cosmic opera -
The One from whom all things originate and emanate,
the righteousness of whom my heart yearns for 
that whenever I forget, and fret, 
a reminder comes in more ways than one.

These reminders come in unexpected moments:
In the coming of each morn, 
no matter how dark and stormy the night has been,
in the tender rebuke of one who cares, 
or tentative smile of a stranger who dares.
In the gurgling laughter of a child, 
in the weak nod of the old, nearing his time,
in the hopeful eyes of one who strives, 
in the need for guide of one who’s blind,
the humility of one who accepts his fault, 
and the downfall of the one full of pride.

While the self is inclined toward being my own master,
life has taught me that I cannot and never will be, 
just like all those before me.
I can only be responsible for my own decisions, 
and how I react to all situations,
for outside of these are things beyond my control,
because Someone else has.
Believing this, I take comfort in the thought 
that beyond this temporary world
is an eternal one, with the One Almighty, 
or the evil one. It depends on my choice.

To be with The One God who loves eternally, 
where there are no more tears nor strife,
where there is no need for hard work nor is there hunger, 
and neither worries nor woes,
where everyone has his own mansion, 
is strong, and at the prime of his life -
This is the anchor of my hope, the vision of my faith, 
the promise of my choice.




06 September 2015
© Kp Nunez  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Alexander the Tsar of France

Alexander a Tsar of ideals
A man of heart and noble thought
His mentor, Swiss, Monsieur La Harpe
From childhood, molded to play histories part

He built his armies, to defend his land
His imperial crown and noble lands
Serfs and soldiers, all as one
Napoleons fodder, yet they won

A kind soul, with Christian heart
Ideals inspired by youthful dreams
La Harpes moral guidance did play
Mystical as a musical harp

Onwards in life did this Tsar March

Napoleon was exiled, to an island of defeat
As Cossacks marched along Paris streets
They danced both sides, in freedoms hard won
Josephine and Alex, in the night, dined alone…

The Tsar became Frances golden light
Bringing reforms and Senate into the light
Who would have thought, so long ago
The Tsar of Russia, in Paris did go?

He defended the lands, borders and rights
Giving the Nobility and England a terrible fright
What he feared at home, he endeavored abroad
He was the beginning of visions to be…

Vive la France
La liberté
Peace and Fraternity
Our Holy Alliance


Notes:
The Tsar who defeated Napoleon, written by Marie-Pierre Rey
Where to begin? She did a wonderful job on his biography as well as uncovering original documents in archives, shedding new light on his life. 



Yes he marched to Paris
Yes he befriended Josephine the wife of Napoleon, much to the dismay of all.
Yes he endeavored to create a constitutional monarchy
Yes he fought to protect much of Frances borders, feeling that France was a counter weight to the other European powers at the time.

Frédéric-César de La Harpe (born April 6, 1754, Rolle, Vaud, Switzerland — died March 30, 1838, Lausanne, Switzerland) was a Swiss political leader and Vaudois patriot, who played a leading role in the creation of the Helvetic Republic. Was the tutor of Alexander the 1st, and played many would say a key role on the future Tsars actions during his lifetime


Jack's Frostmas

The window panes full, one Jack Frost
gets his cold weather image criss-crossed.
Inciting rebellion at the Pole
he fails to take the leading role.

Premium Member Stallion

Stallion 

Mighty, was his look, 
rendering tall, as he provokes. 

The attraction that he emanates drawing to its taming, 
which we sought. 

A stallion as he stands, 
the silhouette is what we have seen. 

It was that of a wild horse 
waiting for his taming to prevail! 

The stallion's tone took when the animal did near, 
wanting to be the tamed horse, captured, he is safe. 

A depth that can take, 
when there's something to be profound in, it's deep! 

Alas, we come to an end; 
there comes a disruption in this snare. 

It's what he felt from the enclosed corral, 
though he hurls out from the gate, did he escape? 

The stallion gave flare from his stance, 
which the tamed horse, 
a leading role of the animal, he did ride.

Revised Edition February 3. 2021, 4:45 AM (EST)

Lost Soul

Lost Soul

We’ve gathered here to say goodbye
to yet another boring guy,
kept on yelling for attention
till it gave him hypertension.
Now in the box beneath the shroud
he’s got the eye of all the crowd,
best leading role he ever had, 
but no applause and no one’s sad.

Old mourners sprinkle ancient pews,
ill fitting suits and pee-stained trews,
some glasses, dentures, aching backs
with makeup plastered in the cracks.
They kneel for prayers on creaking limbs
then silent lips mouth unknown hymns.
The dead man’s peers in church are few.
Who pays respects where none seem due?

His painted widow in her weeds 
now wonders who will sate her needs
with hubby just about to burn
and end up ashes in an urn.
She never grudged the man his health,
content enough to share the wealth,
but pleased this sudden turn of fate
serves up his helping on a plate.

Poor vicar wonders what to say.
about this stiff that’s come his way.
He’s no great speeches in reserve
just... bless a saint and damn a perv.
He settles for the standard rite
then tells the crowd they’ll be all right,
“beyond the stars lie happy lands, 
so love your neighbour all shake hands.”

Corpse’ brother sitting cap in hand,
chief mourner in this dismal band,
now ponders on the decent wait
before a widow has a date.
Just wants to get her into bed
but cash and sex means getting wed,
been dodging that since leaving school
concludes that life is Goddamn cruel.

Sister of the spurned cadaver
cannot stand all this palaver.
She didn't like the man in life,
all flashy cars and tarty wife. 
Deep down she’s feeling rather chuffed
for all his din he quietly snuffed.
Same cap fits the other brother,
clone of father, not his mother.

This woman weeping by the door
floats back in time to years of yore,
dreams of a lovely friend at school,
so kind and gentle fun and cool,
who shared a secret both held tight
that seemed to change him overnight.
He truly was a super lad
until abused by evil dad.

Dreaming In the Library

This genteel lady contemplates,
   A pensive glance across each page.
   Her book by choice; deliberates.
   This novel from a bygone age,
   A sad romantic love affair.
   With wistful smile, then vacant look,
   Partakes the comfort of a chair.
   As perfume lingers on the book,
   Imagination will impart,
   This fantasy inside her head.
   A young girl with a broken heart.
   Her handsome suitor, she thinks dead.
   Some time goes by, more teardrops flow.
   With gentleness i brush her face,
   A smile appears and then i know.
   Once more she's played with style and grace,
   An actress with the leading role.
   Sweet memories, are fading fast,
   This library, it soothes the soul
   Since days of splendour, long gone past.
   She waves and curtsies; no ones there.
   A far off voice inside my head,
   Broke memories we both did share.
   Wake up! It's time to go, it said.

   8/ 10/ 2015.

Mine Mother Divine

Her Faith? Ironically is unbelievable 
She's Steel, personally she's undeceivable
quite literally inconceivable, my existence...
tribulations sometimes seemed unbeatable
Mom made all my failures feel more treatable
             all my idea's and dreams more feasible.
Her strength, an overall demeanor to be more reasonable.  
"Make life more meaningful... display a leading role."

Sometimes when I'm not feeling up and/or able
Picture myself at my family-dining-room table.
With her... The Creator from her unto cradle
With whispers of dreams, her stories and fables.
To recognize, and emphasize and try to ignore labels
Sturdy, a motionless rock, ain't nothing more stable.

The things she has taught me...
Imbedded deeper than even my eyes can see.
Led me as I followed trusting and blindly
Kept me safe and clean when gross and when grimy.
Maintained order... Yet what comes next...?
                         Can you please remind me?
You put our futures first mom, thank you kindly...
for being there to guide me, anger and surprise me.

Amaze me in many ways over so many days
Imagine life without me...
                    All the money you'd have saved :)
All the disappointments, missed appointments no personal importance... 
                      Your patience never waved.
No matter what the case... 
The flagrantly familiar are days not long away...
trust me that I love you mom, when I have no words to say.
© Matt Godek  Create an image from this poem.

Mothers Love

Mother’s Love

Without a Mother’s love,
no house becomes a home.
Without a Mother’s love,
in the streets, the children roam.
Without a Mother’s loving hands
that create and soothe and mend;
the hearts of many grow cold;
in prisons of anger, their lives spend.

Mother’s play the leading role
in every so-called family.
Mother’s love is the cement
that bind her loved ones happily.
It takes a Mother’s loving smile,
gentle touch or prayer
to give encouragement where needed,
when trials are too hard to bear.

Mother’s love is precious
and should be treated so,
‘cause Mothers don’t last forever;
finally to death’s sleep must go.
So while your Mother’s love is with you,
treasure it each day.
Many never have the privilege—
their Mother’s love to relay.

Mother’s love is a taste of heaven,
where love and forgiveness is free.
Even if you don’t see eye to eye,
she’ll not arguably disagree.
For a Mother’s love gives comfort
to a lost or needy soul.
She’s a gift from the Father’s heart;
the hurting one to console.

Mother’s love is patient;
shows wisdom and thoughtfulness;
a daily deep devotion
in a world of selfishness.
Mother’s love is enduring—
endurance that defies explanation.
Of all the love God gave us,
Mother’s love is His crowning creation.

Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2010-2012
www.maureenlefanue.com
This poem is featured in Maureen’s Book, Poetry To Touch Your Heart & Soul [Book 1]
Photography by Maureen LeFanue

Inverted Values

If movies are reflections of our world,
Then why does violence play a leading role?
Consenting sex, whose scenes are wrapped and furled,
Is cut in line so gore can score its goal. 
The act that violence plays in life is minor
Compared to sex and love, who reign supreme,
And by degrees are viewed as widely finer
Than wrath and hate’s unnatural extremes.
But we inherited from Puritans
Our backwards views on sexual liberation.
While gung-ho guns parade like charlatans,
I’ll forwards choose to duel and match my nation.
 		When sex and love get demonized, assaulted,
		Then fear and hate are glorified, exalted.

Premium Member Leading Role

We fell in love but could not see how roles for us would change.
Until a child was born to us, and the “us” was rearranged.

In came a little child and my role became “producer.”
With so much more to do, things just are not like they used to.

I lost the role of leading man, I am center stage no more.
The time and much attention, is on the baby she adores.

It is hard to fight the feelings that accompany the change.
I’m a father now, a server…what we had seems so estranged.

I truly love our little girl and the time and care she gets,
Yet I truly miss the times alone and the nights of tenderness.

I love to hear her laugh and see her grow so tall,
Yet I miss the dates and closeness that was ours throughout it all.

I feel blessed yet I regret to lose the place I used to hold.
Blessed to have my family, yet I miss my leading role.

Please remind me you still love me, tell me I’m your leading man.
Let me know that I still mean as much as when we first began.

I know this sounds so selfish, egocentric, full of “me”
But I think you too remember just how close we used to be.

There is a way to draw us closer; we must fight for time to share
Because together we are stronger than what only one can bear.

Lord, give me strength and servanthood, to live my role again!
I self-pity I had left the stage, Lord bring me back to when…

I courted her and cherished her; when romance drew a spark
And passion burned our hearts anew to love like from the start.

Give us both a fresh renewal of the love that lives within
And help us to remember, we are “one” to live for Him.

I feel that old rekindling of what drew us both together,
It was time together, just for us; always and forever.
© Tom Valles  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member That's the Tenderness of Soul

The soul has many facets.
It can feel empty, can feel whole,
Broken or mended...
That's the tenderness of soul.

When a heart bleeds for another,
When hateful deeds turn one cold,
When love compels kind actions...
That's the tenderness of soul.

When attachments form,
When compassion takes the leading role,
When the bonds of love grow stronger...
That's the tenderness of soul.

When one feels tired and weary,
When poor health takes its toll,
When one begs the purpose of their fight...
That's the tenderness of soul.

When nature makes a spirit soar,
When a sense of humour finds things drole,
When two hands join and fit just right...
That's the tenderness of soul.

Tenderness is vital.
It's a quality of old.
Tenderness makes us human.
It will make ours an appealing soul.


Written 17th November 2021
For the  "Soul" contest.
Sponsor Robert James Liguori

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