Best Lowliest Poems
My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine.
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.
My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.
Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.
Once, later on in my own life,
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . .
and found that even those less valuable could shine!
A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade,
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen!
The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.
~ A Poem on the Parsha* ~
'In the Sinai Desert'
A wilderness - barren, desolate
that snakes and scorpions populate
Flat, sand-swept, open to all
who yearn to hear Eternity's call
There God led His new nation
Spoke to three million, atop a mountain gradation
On Horeb, the lowliest of them
face-to-face ~ Moses and Jerusalem
________________________________________________
*'Parsha' is Hebrew for (loosely) 'portion.' Every Sabbath
a portion of the Five Books of Moses is read in the
synagogue. In a year's time, all five books are completed,
and the grand occasion is celebrated at the last holiday
of the Fall Harvest Season, 'Simchas Torah.' (lit., 'Rejoic-
ing with the Law.'). This Sabbath, the portion read is titled
'In the Desert,' from the Book of Numbers 1:1 - 4:20.
Palm Sunday
Shopping and hawking,
purchasing and vending their wares;
the observant noticed;
the indifferent paid no mind;
the powerful perturbed by all the noise
make their way to confront
and charge the man
some call anointed.
Loud and raucous singing
disturbs the quiet of the status quo.
Those who should be seen and not heard
are making the utmost clamor;
appreciated by some;
angering others
insisting they turn the volume down.
Boulders will sing
while trees will give their branches
to welcome the mighty
if the lowliest of participants
are muzzled by the powerful,
but they sing in applause;
an affront to the self-made mighty.
Shaking off the winter greys and
waving springtime green,
a shout welcomes the anointed one.
Thrown off fashion lines the path
covering eager rocks
postponing the clearing of their throats.
Join the cavalcade
and raise the benediction;
awaken the sleeping alleluias
and the slumbering hosannas.
Join the lowest of the low
and applaud the highest of the high.
But beware,
the shoppers are eager to buy,
even if the cost is high.
And the hawkers are ready
to sell their merchandise.
I lived in a land where the coconuts grew
where the sun always shone
under sky that was blue
where the fans on the ceilings
and conditioned air
were the only cool breeze
you could find anywhere.
I basked in the heat, and baked in the sun
where living and loving
were always good fun
where I woke up happy
to meet every day
knowing that working
was simply more play.
An island afloat in the tropical seas
with sun, sea and sand
meant only to please
the locals so friendly
the food so divine
with flavour so scrumptious
it didn’t need wine.
From it’s beaches to hilltop, from jungle to street
from market to temple
in trishaw, on feet
shone beauty and wisdom
in all you could see
where even the lowliest soul
could soar free.
I lived on an island, the island caught me
by my heart, where it stays
and I still long to be
a ‘Pearl in the Orient’
second to none
where dreams were alive
under tropical sun.
Now many years on and I’ve never been back
though an ache in my heart
still marks out the track
that I took in my youth
under tropical sun
when ‘Pulau Pinang’
was the place I learned fun.
Ivor G Davies
this is an enclosed rhyme
these next two sentences
enclosed as in parenthesis
with the first and fourth line
The rhyming sequence must conform to A,B.B.A, any other format then it is not an enclosed rhyme in the true sense of the definition.
Example of a Petrarchan sonnet: William Wordsworth's "London, 1802" where an octave - introduces the theme or problem with the use of two enclosed rhymes.
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: - A
England hath need of thee: she is a fen - B
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, - B
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, - A
Have forfeited their ancient English dower - A
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; - B
Oh! raise us up, return to us again; - B
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. - A
Sestet - solves the problem
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart; - C
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: - D
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, - D
So didst thou travel on life's common way, - E
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart - C
The lowliest duties on herself did lay. - E
Personally, I think Poetry Soup should have a team of moderators that check the classification of poems submitted, especially when listed under the definition of a form. Take 'Enclosed rhyme' as an example, go check https://www.poetrysoup.com/poems/types/e - You'll find the definition and the first example correct, but move on to their listed enclosed rhymes and you will find they have accepted many which are not, have a look, https://www.poetrysoup.com/poems/enclosed_rhyme
Poetry Soup endorsing poems misclassified is surely not good for its image? This state of affairs applies to all I have had reason to check, like a short 'Blittz', what's that all about?
SOLDIER OF BATTLES.. Steve Hudson
It started, in silence, in infancy; the eyes look beyond the darkness
To understand the sounds of rage, echoes of misunderstanding,
The beginnings of normalcy wrought with disturbance,
Bereavement for the loss of innocence and the first lesson learned.
The lines in ground becoming clearer.
The only thing that ever came easy for me is warring,
Not because I chose the ground, but because it chose me.
Here is your sword; here is your battle,
The field is endless and there is no turning back,
So find your heart and find your place among the ranks
You sojourn with.
You tell one another it will be okay, and that we will pull through,
But no one really knows.
Its only after our first encounter and mortal blow that we find some
Courage to face another foe.
The welcomed peace endured for a season, then skies darken
On eminent splayed horizons and shadowy realms of spirit
You try to make sense of the next wave of terror,
Taunted and vexed at every turn.
Your enemies take form in shapes of, what is true?
Wrestling, pondering among bloody concepts and the why.
Wounds received through fearful encounters take shape of scars,
Scars take shape of trusted moments carried through
Onslaughts of deception.
Fallen men on smoldering ground, tormented by hounds of confusion.
This is how it started, but not how it ended for you see,
There was One we found in heated skirmish
Battle hardened and sure footed, the spear and shield wielded
With skillful hands, He inspired confidence in us all.
On days we found respite, He sat with us and taught strategies in warfare,
The secrets to winning the hearts and minds of defeated bretheren.
The certainty and comfort in His eyes, told stories of ancient victories held.
A kingly stature though plain to view, never considered Himself better
Then the lowliest man I knew.
We asked about some of the scars He brandished,
“They are scars received from the greatest of man’s struggles,” He said,
He got them while defending the poorest of souls.
It was then we understood, it was of us He spoke.
So now we gladly fight for this One who became the captain of our heart,
We’ve learned from the truths that have pierced our very souls,
our greatest cause and reason to be.
A soldier of battles was He…
On men* of high birth or station, the THIRUK-KURAL admonishes
[*on modern-day Kings, Emperors, Dictators and the like leading nations declining as powers through faults of their own ]
K963: perukkaththu veendum panithal siriya
surukkaththu veendum uyaavu
Bow down thy soul, with increase blest, in happy hour;
Lift up thy heart, when stript of all by fortune's power. (Transl. G.U.Pope)
In great prosperity humility is becoming; dignity, in great adversity. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)-
When life bestows upon you fortune, be humble;
when life by-passes you, maintain still your dignity.* (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[* boast not of your fertile "imagination" nor of your vaunted "original idea" for ideas are – as you know - dime a dozen, Mr. President, for most even at that rate can get to be richer than you if they were not blocked by the likes of you]-
K964: thalaiyin ilinththa mayir anaiyaa maanthar
nilaiyin ilinththak kadai
Like hairs from off the head that fall to earth,
When fall'n from high estate are men of noble birth. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
They who have fallen from their (high) position are like the hair which has fallen from the head. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
Just as strands from the scalp wilt, so do those from exalted positions fall to the lowliest depths. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
K969: mayirniippin vaalaak kavarimaa annaar
uyirniippar maanam varin
Like the wild ox that, of its tuft bereft, will pine away,
Are those who, of their honour shorn, will quit the light of day. (Transl. G.U. Pope)
Those who give up (their) life when (their) honour is at stake are like the yark [sic] which kills itself at the loss of (even one of) its hairs. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus)
Much as the kavarimaan* would lay its life down for good should one strand of its hair be shed, so should the high-minded whose honour is called into question. (Transl. T. Wignesan)
[* kavarimaan: a mythic animal in literature]
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
I've dug my nails down into the ground
Broke them down to the tiniest of nubs,
Digging in the lowliest mines of the African continent just to find the hardest diamonds,
The sharpest crystals just to build a wall to shield myself away from you.
Hands rough to the core from manual labor now, because of you.
In my high tower once thought to be impenetrable, I lay face down, eyes shut tight to block out the outside world I once loved because it's reminders whither me away to nothingness if I stare too long.
Then with a battering ram you crush it.
My Berlin Wall has fallen.
The graffiti-filled walls that once spelled out our names tumble back to earth.
I'm left there flat on my butt forced to look around and evaluate my surroundings,
Taking it all in.
Why won't you look at me?
All the trouble and turmoil you dare to put me through to get your way like no one else in the world exists,
Yet you can't look at me.
Stare at me in my eyes, breathe me in, feel my heat, taste my soul,
Know who I am.
I already know you though.
So no need to come any closer.
Images haunt me everyday because of you.
I know you.
You destroyed my home and sanctuary.
What more do you want from me?
Third times a charm maybe?
Maybe next time the fall will kill me.
A few broken bones for now, those will heal, but if you want to kill me why wait?
I'll hand you the knife.
All you have to do is ask.
So don't run & hide.
Next time you see me,
Don't look away.
I'll be waiting for that day.
Tell me, who do you say that I am?
--The Son of God,
--King of Kings,
--Lord of Lords?
Even you, Lord, did not call yourself divine.
You never claimed to be
--God in the flesh,
--The High Priest, or
--Prophet of the ages.
You called yourself the lowliest of names,
“The Son of Man.”
Peter said, “You are the Christ,
The Son of the Living God.”
But I say that you are Jesus, the Christ,
The Sacrificial Lamb of God
Who takes away the sin of the world!
Written April 22, 2021
For Mystic Rose Rose's Contest
"Tell Me, Who Do You Say That I Am"
Donkey
Pin back your ears
Settle down for the ride
And you'll find a warm feeling
Somewhere way deep inside..
Here is a story
That has often been told
It's full of excitement
and never gets old
It starts with a journey
You've heard it before..
There's Joseph, Mary and baby
And donkey makes four.
They travelled from far
To Bethlehem's Inn
Where a bed for the night..
..well it wasn't a thing
So the Inn Keeper showed them
A place round the side
With a shed and some straw
And a manger to hide
And here at the stable
As all gather around
The new baby gurgled
a heavenly sound
And the star of the show?
Not the one high above
It's this baby right here
The one swaddled in love
So here is the thing
As our story unfolds..
The star in the sky
Sends a message so bold...
Like a beacon to signal
To nations and races
That this King has been born
To put smiles on our faces
"I'm here for this child
so all people can see
There's a star up in heaven
So much brighter than me."
So to ears that can hear
And to eyes that can see..
A message of joy
Tells of all that can be..
But one creature here
Knowing more than the rest..
Having carried the baby
Having passed every test
Knowingly munches
By the crib filled with hay
That this baby will save us
From bad things one day
He knows that this child..
Is far more than enough.
The reason we celebrate
All this Christmassy stuff
The greatest of gifts
With the lowliest start
For the baby is coming
To reclaim your heart
So pin back your ears
Settle down for the ride
And try not to deny
That warm feeling inside..
@jinjagoliath
December 18th 2021
@jenna.mckell.creates
Image: With the Animals
The Relentless
I know, do not remind me, but today I saw my father
On TV, he is 110 and can dance salsa, so if I´m like him
I have years of gymnastic prowess
I rang the TV channel asked for my dad´s address, they
didn’t tell me against policy....ok.
I´m tenacious like the Wiesenthal centre pursuing war
criminals to their grave and spitting on it, because their
ideology to the pursue of old crimes have no limitation
nor forgiveness, but my father wasn´t there, his voice
was ensnaring women
A, this centre of vengeance has a duty to follow the old
Nazis to the point of ridiculousness, the lowliest guard
at a concentration camp will do an old face in the papers.
Alas the money well is drying out even evil Nazis have to
die and get a Christian burial.
And one wonders if a new law is being made that gives
the right of the survivors to follow and righteously
demand that the grandchildren of the wronged should
benefit too we remember the pain because a corny eye
demands ritual repentance.
Deep in the forest
On a heading of northwest
We weren't looking for anything of interest
When we came across a wooden bridge woven
Together with the creepiest
Rope which was between two rock ledges
Sitting on the crest.
We didn't go near or cross because much
To our surprise our binoculars showed
Underneath the bridge lived what looked like
A family of trolls that alot in my expedition party
Were ready to attest.
They said let's be honest
Everyone needs a place where they can get
Dressed,
Digest
Food, and feel blest
To have guests.
Director we are asking that at your earliest
Opportunity please erase this quest.
We will forget that we saw some of the
Homeliest,
Grimiest,
And down on their funds lowliest
Trolls that we by passed with zest.
Excuse me, those weren't trolls as you first
Suggest
They're humans who are hard pressed.
Buck privates are designated the lowliest of the ranks,
And for all they do, they receive very little thanks.
The corporal says do this and the sergeant says do that,
And if he doesn't comply, he's in for a disagreeable chat!
The sobriquet "private" is a misnomer if ever there was one,
Because privates have absolutely no privacy and very little fun!
From the call of reveille to the plaintive notes of "Taps",
He's kept on a frantic pace until ready to collapse!
The sergeant rides in a jeep, the corporal in a truck,
But the foot slogging private is just out of luck.
With his weapon and meager belongings strapped on his back,
He walks and it's all he can do to keep from blowing his stack!
The recruiting sergeant's syrupy spiel failed to include,
That corporals and sergeants tend to be somewhat rude!
And to everything that moves he must render a salute!
Before enlisting, he muses, "I should've been more astute!"
He keeps plugging along and playing their inane game,
Satisfied that if anything goes wrong he can't be to blame.
He'll just continue to take orders from the powers that be,
Eagerly awaiting his discharge from the infernal infantry!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Despair of spectres whispered, John heard it muttered
Fears spoken, centuries of shame sunk into stone
Hanging tree hoisted him, feet above ground fluttered
Rope bound neck bulged, blood starved eyes shuttered
Aghast, entertainment starved spectators absorbed gore
Under his breath they heard it uttered,
" I am among the lowliest, and the last"
Sentiment collected by authorities, soon to outlaw
Heinous hangings of criminals and martyrs
Testiment to the cruelty, trademark of cessation
Clouds of purest doves spun above the atrociousity
Tyburn' s turbulent history viewed at Marble Arch
Has John's pledge to thank for returning compassion
14th September 2020
For: Line Gauthier 's Contest
Tyburn Collaboration max. 14
Last Curtain
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I know the day comes when my eyes close,
when my sight fails,
when life takes its leave in silence
and the last curtain veils my vision.
Yet the stars will still watch by night;
the sun will still rise like before;
the hours will still heave like sea waves
casting up pleasures and pains.
When I consider this end of my earth-life,
the barrier of the moments breaks
and I see by the illumination of death
this world with its careless treasures.
Rare is its lowliest seat,
rare its meanest of lives.
Things I longed for in vain and those I received, let them pass.
Let me but truly possess the things I rejected and overlooked.
Keywords/Tags: Tagore, translation, Bengali, Urdu, last, curtain, death, eyes, close, sight, vision, visionary, blindness, night, stars, sun, sea, waves, illumination, treasure, treasures