Best Lifewords Poems
The water tower stands above the town and can be seen for miles around. It has a
ladder leading up to the base of the tank. This ladder has been climbed by countless
teenagers, for thrills and mischief and young kids answering a dare.
Over the years, many symbols and words have been painted on the tank. From
Highschool mascots, to hearts of love and proposals. Flowers and Holiday wishes
joined in.
It had always been one mans job to keep the water tank painted and to cover up
any impromptu artwork. He always took his time about it though. Making sure that
each message stayed up at least two weeks before he would paint over it.
One day he received a phone call. On the line was a little boy. This little boy asked
the man to please not paint over his message he had written on the tank, as it was
very important.
The man explained to the boy that it was his job to keep the tank painted and
clean. But, that he would leave his message up there, untouched, for two weeks. The
little boy, with tears in his voice said "Thank you, I hope it will be long enough".
The next day, as the man was driving past the water tank, he looked up. He saw no
message or pictures of any kind on that tank. He shrugged and assumed that the boy
had just been to scared to make the climb all the way to the top.
Three weeks later, the mans phone rings again. It was that same little boy. Very
excited, he proclaimed "Mister, I just wanted to thank you for not painting over my
message...It really worked!"
Intrigued, the man went to the tank with his paint and supplies. He climbed to the
top, set down his paint and brush. He walked around that tank several times and still
did not see a message. But, as he bent to pick up the paint can, there it was.
Towards the bottom of the tank, in crayon with a young child scroll was written:
"Dear God, pleeze let my daddy come home frum war I miss him
Your frend Mike"
The years passed. Many drawings and words were painted over by one man and then
the other, as they took the job over. But never, the one small patch, with that heart
felt prayer.
For the contest: Story Time
Hostess: Carol Brown
Placement: 2nd
What flickers of kindred spirit shone through,
To illuminate the caves of my mind?
What common tortures was I sure I’d find?
Which were the words that echoed such a clue,
That my dark demons were the same you knew?
Does fate hold purpose for these ties that bind?
I know that you help these nightmares unwind,
And that greater strength is forged between two.
Know that I have always loved you dearly,
That our two hearts share the same cuts and scars.
Our words give away more than we intend,
Though, I doubt I state those last words clearly.
We may try to hide behind locks and bars,
But reveal our soul to our truest friend ~
Broken Back
They use words like
Cold
And
Crossing
Sighs
To describe something romanticised
Obscured verbs
In which to hide
To hide
Romanticised
The suffering
Without a name
It asks you not to worry
A vacant voice
Verbalised
Tears
She cried
Lies
Nomenclature of disheartening
Hope
Borrowed between shadows
Between hearts
Flowers
And chocolates
At peace
At last
Unburdened
Released
Love
Child
Romanticised
To a field of waving poppies
Gently shook the rifles
And slow blood let
Picturesque
And before God
Such cruelty breathes animate
Stand
Brave
Courageous
Fool
Dancing in the rain
The paupers smile
Romanticised smile
Of a rich divide
To beggar belief
And it’s easy
So very easy
To explain away
How life
Is just made this way
They use words like
Freedom
Romanticised acceptance
Short words
Of description
To present an illusion
Of perfection
The good die young
It could happen to anyone
But only the good die young
Young
Children
Anyone
God
Space
Illusion
Nothing to prove
Romantic death
Of death
Who bides his time
In skeletal black cloth
And bargains away
In celluloid
The faces we can’t forget
Those who told us
We would never regret
Anything
The break scape
The big escape
A monumental world of landscape
And freedom
Beyond mountains
Beyond worlds
Beyond words
Romanticised
So much of my life I spent doing wrong
If I could write music I would write a song
I have done things a man shouldn't do
These words are written for they are true
If you open your heart and look to the sky
Ask of the Lord then hear the reply
It won't come in words not words you can hear
It may come with a smile or fall as a tear
I found an angel said bye to my ghost
After I lost everything I gained the most
I found the Lord through the poems I pray
Sometimes it’s best to just give it away
I write out my words for they help me see
Simple is best for simple is free
Think of yourself just never think down
Your mind holds the music just listen to the sound
Everyone you meet has something to say
Be sure to include them in the prayers that you pray
All that you do and all that you see
Shares in your story and your destiny
When dealing with others do what you do
Just be kind and gentle to those you do it to
Everything is nothing that it shouldn't be
As a seconds a second and a tree is a tree
A traveler in this journey of life
I pass though so many lives
So many lives pass through me
some a flicker in time
some linger a lifetime
and in every life,
every sparkling eye,
every laughing face,
is a trace of that life embedded in my soul
I walk this journey alone
except for the live that have touched mine,
who left their fingerprints on my heart.
They are the only reason I continue on
for their words and kindness have given meaning to a weary traveler
I wish to leave nothing but good feelings in my wake
and hopefully my journey will be a successful one
and perhaps,
before I go,
I can leave behind a few words of comfort,
or passion, or solitude, or joy
to someone after me.
From shore to shore coast to coast
We’re the nation with the most
The most of what well lets just see
We lead in infidelity
We lead in sin that is for sure
Pay on Sunday is the cure
I think about our Countries plight
Seems like we have lost all sight
We’re founded in the name of God
Best not be the lightening rod
When lightening strikes it is no joke
Some bears weren’t meant to poke
We poke God every single day
Have no doubt that we will pay
We can’t just mold and bend his word
Expect our prayers to be heard
Forgive me Lord for I have sinned
Words cast out unto the wind
It’s best to live the words you pray
Walking the walk as they say
The Lord gives he can take away
Listen to these words I say
Like monkeys swinging from the trees
We keep doing as we please
One day across our Savanna
Yes, we have no bananas
My punch line is, "Yes, we have no bananas."
All I can say is I tried.
. Slammed by
Mother...President...Teacher...Poet...&...Form
A MOTHERS LOVE
Mother always called me a lousy kid, with a shove
I was the only kid she wanted to get rid of
On my head she always smacked me hard.
She would always slam me calling me a retard
My mother gave me the best slamming love.
((( my mother the best slammer there ever was)))
_______________________________________________
WE ARE THE WORLD
Slam back at any country, at any given event
I feel bad for any so called President.
"WE THE PEOPLE" the Republic and the Democrat.
Slamming each other talking crap.
In a world full of slam and argument.
((( The world toughest fight is slam not war )))
_______________________________________________
TEACHERS PET
Our teachers kept on and on how we where wrong with a fuzz.
She just stood there and slammed each and everyone of us.
Making us write an essay on broken rules.
Kept us all after school calling us stupid fools
Who knew teachers where allowed to slam and cuss?
((( Teachers words of slam can ruin any future )))
______________________________________________
ROAD BLOCK
Have you ever heard of a poet blocker.
All they are is a slam stocker
They over abuse their blocking right.
Trying to make other poets fight.
Always trying to slam a point across, like a mocker.
((( Hating against any form of poetry is a slam it self )))
_____________________________________________
JUDGING CONTEST
Can you guess that slam is just a risky business
Picking out the best slam words from the rest.
Testing out a form we don't know how to let it flow.
Darn the soup for putting slam on the box below.
Even the best have join my slamming contest.
((( Thank you Soup for SLAMMING us with your A-Z list-form)))
_____________________________________________
I remember
That summer
Days in slow motion
Longer nights
Nothing to do
Bored
And angry
I enlisted.
Military orders
In breast pocket
Standing In formation
Gear
Next to my right leg
Family, friends and memories
Lurking
Somewhere in the shadows.
Cargo plane
Engines thrusting
Size beyond imagination
Pushing through a crowd
Of olive green fatigues
I grab a seat near the back
Meet another soldier
Friendly round face
Broad shoulders
Southern drawl
We share some things in common
I call him Country
He calls me City.
An eternity
Flying in the clouds
Hours pass
We finally land
Stomach churning
Running on adrenalin
We disembark
Carrying 90lb backpacks
Walking into
Oppressive heat
Nauseating smell
Suspicion everywhere
In the distance an ugly black cloud
Blocks the sun
From a place where children hide
And death is just a step away.
Numb with fear
All the tough words and slogans
From basic training
Slip away
I grip my rifle
A soldier yells out
Watch my back
And I’ll watch yours
The words strike a raw nerve
Country slaps me on the back
Up front someone cracks a joke
Nervously we laugh
And I think to myself
Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.
We stand on the moving staircase of life
unable to harness the aging process which
eats away the moments of our days
unable to stop the ticking timepieces
that heckle us as we go through this thing
known as existence..
unable to step back into the past
stop this time machine to our destiny
we regret, we ask why and what,
we ask if - we long for youth so
cruelly stolen, for children grown
too fast, for mistakes unforgiven,
for roads not travelled,
for words not spoken,
for words regretted, for saying
too much, for saying too little
for hair that goes grey, for hair
that falls out, for skin that dries
and wrinkles, for doors slammed
in our faces, for doors closed too soon,
and for paths not taken...
days race towards nights
nights become days
we hear our hearts beating
away the ticks of an aging body
we grasp at a staircase that moves
too quickly for us - as one day
we stumble and miss the stair
trying to regain our footing
we are helped up, until our final
fall where we are picked up for
the last time off
the treadmill of passing time
and into the earth of eternal rest..
To: Mandy Jo
She called me her friend. She was one of the few.
She saw in me things that no one else knew.
I was backward and shy, a chess club bore.
I had tape on my glasses. Need I say more?
She was one of the “popular” kids at the school.
But she crossed the line, broke an unwritten rule.
Intrigued by her interest, seduced by her smile,
she freshened my outlook and polished my style.
She taught me to soar like an eagle would fly.
I gave her a shoulder when she needed to cry.
We promised that no matter where life would lead,
we’d always “come running” if ever in need.
She married a friend and moved far away.
Her homesick heart was begging to stay.
With nowhere to turn and no friends to find,
she created a place to escape in her mind.
With an inner-rebellion that raged deep inside,
she barely resembled that beautiful bride.
Her body was ravaged. A self-induced crime.
She’d withered away in such a short time.
She looked in the mirror and actually said,
“I’m so over weight. I wish I were dead.”
Prophetic words from the shell of a soul,
who engaged in a battle and lost all control.
As I ran down the hall to the emergency door,
a shake of his head said, “She’s with us no more.”
Anguish screamed out at this undeserved fate.
My promise was broken. I’d shown up too late.
I wanted to tell her but I was too scared.
I’d practiced the words that never were shared.
Why didn’t she stop? Why couldn’t she see?
Why didn’t I help her like she had helped me?
I saw in her things that no one else knew.
She called me her friend, but it wasn’t true.
In honor of Amanda Jo Abel (Carnegie)
Unfortunately, this is a true story of a very dear friend of mine. Anorexia is a devastating
and hard to understand disease. I do understand that there was nothing I could do, it doesn’t
help. The memories of her beautiful spirit does. Thanks Mandy, I’ll see ya' someday.
I see life in a creative way
I let the ink and paper have their say
The lyrical words dance and glide
Forming round me, go with the ride
So join me as I sway.
I need to express through words I write
Life's an inspirational delight
Many sights to make me smile,
And make me frown, come stay a while.
See through my eyes so bright.
Sometimes it’s hard to face the woman in the reflection glass.
Because she and I, we so often clash.
Even though she looks just like me.
She is not whom I thought I would see.
Because there are things about her that are scary.
She is the part of me I wish to bury.
But I know one must face fact.
It is often true, I hate the way I act.
The selfishness that builds inside.
The things I have sacrificed for foolish pride.
My words are often quick to blurt.
They are so often out of anger and meant to hurt.
My hands have not always been gentle and kind.
My thinking has been foolish and blind.
Too many times I should have been strong,
Why is it so hard to say it when I am wrong?
There is so much I’ve done, that I can not be proud.
And it seems too little too late just to say it aloud.
It took a million stuttered words to admit.
I took all I had to sit down and look at it.
Ti took a thousand miles to get to this place.
It has taken me a long time to look myself in the face.
I had to dig deep and face the things I didn’t want to see.
And only then I realized this isn’t who I wanted to be.
It’s hard to really look at your self and see the wrong.
Especially knowing it’s been this way all along.
It’s sobering to face your self amongst downfall.
To see your self, clearly, faults and all.
Sarah Comstock
6-12-08
Form:
“Couple in the next room
Bound to win a prize
They’ve been going at it all night long”
While I’m sitting here alone
To no one’s surprise
That’s a common theme in my life’s song
“Well I’m running down the road trying to loosen my load
I’ve got seven women on my mind”
It’s hard to stop and think
With my libido on the blink
Peace and quiet is so hard for me to find
In my psychedelic world
Where variety gives me all my thrills
The words of my first grade teacher
Sound so obscene:
“Flowers are red young man
Green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Then the way they always have been seen”
“And I’m laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone,
goin’ home”
But my women troubles stay
In the next room the loud couple still play
And the words of the psychedelic flower hater
Won’t leave me alone
Paul Simon – “Lincoln Duncan”
Jackson Browne – “Take It Easy” (also performed by The Eagles)
Harry Chapin – “Flowers Are Red”
Simon and Garfunkel – “The Boxer”
let these words to read roll on as ramble reflections of another setting son
Shadow painted pictures in leaves of fickle breeze
Under changing skies of purple red and cloudy pink unease
As scattered words of other time stir rested memories
Close tired eyes with held back sighs
To whisper sweet goodbyes
still holding on to canvasses of simply painted words
And laughing at the devil moon who caused this all to be
with her tidal fluctuations of stormy cosmic mirth
She played and meddled in the constant gravity of Earth
I woke at midnight, the digital clock like an electric rooster
It doesn’t tick but I hear the seconds pass with emphasized thud, thud, thud,
The kingdom of white, sterile, eunuchs wound by clockwork
Into the storm upon the horizon, placed within a bone china teacup
Drifting but safe from all unsavoury lesser gods or lesser men
Nothing remotely stimulating or challenging beside the saline drip
Thinking aloud but when the words fall out, almost just a mutter, a gust of air
It’s a world of obsessive compulsives, a wave of disinfectant, when sat beside
Your bland medical notes and records, the Holy Grail for overenthusiastic doctors
One mistake and you’re like a smeared fly, wings concertinaed into liquid
Your bones broken and oozing as some demigod’s thumb smears you out of history
But it’s still a calming whitewash, bleaching away or just coating the self-neglect
The machines, just how I’d imagine a clone’s manmade womb, an overcoat of wires
Regardless of appearance, it’s a calm tsunami which hits me like a war hammer
It’s a calming wave of silence and stumbled words when sat beside your bedside