Best Luckier Poems
It is not fair, it is not just,
That you have things that I don't!
Do I suffer with envy and jealousy,
Coiling like a noose in my chest?
Or do I strive to improve myself?
Or do I accept you as you are,
Or love me for who I am?
Should I detest our differing destinies,
Or must I strive to enhance my stance?
Should I seek your praise or scorn,
Or must I be happy and calm?
I think I am the master of my fate,
Loving myself for who I am...?
But who am I, but a reflection of you,
A mirror of your virtues and flaws?
Admire or abhor?
Accept you, as you are,
Or love myself for who I am?
Wait—what makes you luckier?
When life's a gamble of cards and chance?
Should I grieve your destiny or mine,
Or must I strive to move my groove?
You are the image of my soul,
Reflecting light and dark.
Should I admire your charm or… loathe your faults,
Or must I cherish you as you are?
I should be the master of my fate,
Loving myself for who I am.
Should I seek your praise or scorn,
Or must I be happy and calm?
Your world stretches like a sun-drenched meadow,
While mine feels like a cramped, dimly lit room.
While I grasp a mere crumb,
Scales teetering, balance trembling.
Do I wallow in spite and self-pity?
Do I envy you, my perceived foe?
Blame the hand I'm dealt,
Crave your approval, loathe your scorn?
You have the sun, I have the moon,
This disparity throws me into a state of…
Despair threatening to swallow me whole,
Pulling me into its icy depths.
Envy you as a formidable adversary?
Chase your allure of glory or scandalous shame,
Curse your lot or perhaps my name,
Crave your radiant smile or icy chill frown?
What makes you luckier than me?
Life's a gamble of destiny and decree,
Drown in green-eyed sorrow?
I Should, I SHould, I SHOULD… I Must, I MUst, I MUST…
…Perhaps…
Just Do!
Navigate my inner world,
Chart my own course, set sail,
Embrace my authentic self.
Today, I choose to cherish us both for who we are.
Towards a future yet unwritten.
In our Asian-cum-Eastern land
No one prefers or admires
the dark-skinned or tanned
Gosh, as if the fair-skinned alone
belonged to the so-called fairer sex
And here, 'black is beauty' a phrase unheard
All falling for the light skinned almost in reflex!
Bachelors on the hunt for a non-fictional Asian 'Snow-white'
Even an ugly heart will do if the skin is white, pale and light
For them lighter skin tis brighter and better at beauty
even if superficial and skin-deep
The dark-skinned maidens thereby left single to weep
But while the ebony dark- pigmented
go on applying whitening and lightening creams
The white Westerners frequented
the sunlit beaches for dark tans from sun beams!
So in westerners females wish to look browned and tanned
Thus the opposite is preferred
so to that end they may sun bathe for hours on beach sand
Ah and though from the point of view of my motherland
I am luckier that God chose
to model me from a peachy whiter lighter clay,
I still feel this tug-of-war between complexions
needn't really join the fray.
For when you and I glance at Naomi Campbell
we know beauty can be white, brown and black as well
Like love, beauty knows no colour, creed or race
As proved by this gorgeous black supermodel.
Besides, we all have come across
both dark-skinned angelic saints
and fair-skinned folks with sinner's taints
Ah, Black Beauty, or Fair and lovely
Beauty has never known any bounds
For God He distributed beauty rather equally
No argument can last on these grounds
Oh, a soulmate's inner beauty ought to be earnestly sought
Too bad lustful passions fall for those merely outwardly hot!
I sing a song of three.
There’s Larry, Curly, Moe;
the Ego and the Id
and the Super Ego.
Three Kings of the Orient
are known as three wise men.
Showing up at Christmas too
in song are three French hens.
Rock, paper, scissors -
three gestures with the hand;
tricycles; three-legged races -
things of kiddie land.
Three little kittens; three blind mice;
three were the billy goats gruff.
three bags of wool; three little pigs;
three bears for Goldilocks were more than enough.
Being three sheets to the wind
won’t be very good
if a 3-ring circus
becomes your neighborhood.
But three are the Amigos
and three the Muskateers.
Charlie had three Angels -
they were TV dears!
Huey, Dewey, Louie;
Kirk, Spock and McCoy;
Peter, Paul, and Mary
I sure did enjoy!
Three were Cream, ZZ Top,
Rush and Motorhead,
Diana Ross with her Supremes
(but not the Grateful Dead).
Three’s Company, but three’s a crowd!
Three strikes you’re out: a yard’s three feet.
Three-piece suits and Hanson Brothers.
Girls think those are sweet!
Ice cream Neapolitan
comes in flavors three.
So does three-cheese pizza
or a sandwich BLT.
Three-leaf clovers do abound
though luckier are four.
Yellow, red and blue when mixed
make three colors more.
Three things evil not to do
are to hear, to speak and see.
Holy is the number three
when it’s the Trinity.
Splendid are the trilogies
like Lord of the Rings.
Clearly you can see by now,
in threes there come good things.
Feb. 13, 2021
For the 3 Poetry Contest of Anthony Biaanco
Now for L Milton Hankins' YOUR PERSONAL FAVORITE, NO. 2 Poetry Contest
Pock marked
Bert was cooking in a bucket,
Knew his hide at any rate
Pock marks on his thighs an biceps,
Shot that day by a sniper, mate,
Sniper chopped by Aussie Bren gun,
Fell from palm in many pieces,
Driven back by charging soldiers,
Jonno’s mates were ‘ridge e didge’,
Next day they drove off the Japanese,
Checked the cooking pots for tucker,
Fermenting rice, not much chop,
Starving Jap’s, not any luckier,
Two armies starved, no tucker,
in these green mountains, grim,
slaughter at point blank range,
shoot first boy, or get done in,
Evidence at the war crime hearing,
Jonno and the Doctor gave,
Several cases were reported,
Of Kokoda’s missing brave’s.
Don Johnson…true story…16-aug-11
This Aussie war in New Guinea, was concurrent
with Gaudacanal's desperate U.S.fight with around 20,000 Japanese
...We only had 13,000 armed Japanese bent on coming over Kokoda
mountains, and then on to Australia, they had the Japanese
10 shilling note occupation money in their pockets. The Japanese
say they were ordered back over the mountains to Gona and Buna,
it saves face hey. The reality was they were dying slowly from starvation,
malaria 2 types, plus Dengue fever was killing many,
and the 2500 fresh Aussie blooded veterans drove them back
from Irobiawa mountain top with fixed bayonets.
After a day or so of our 25 pounders blasting them. Time to leave.
I wanted something bubbly
Coke with ice cream trick
That fridge, again, empty
So I made my trip to Kwik
Swerving around this town in my horses
Parking up by the front door
No training could have prepared me for
What waited inside the store
Standing with her 2-liter of Diet 7-Up
If I just died, keep me here on heaven
I asked above not be taken so abruptly
Feeling luckier than sevens or elevens
Now she says that this place
Is wherever we stand here
Desiring her within my space
Needing her crystal clear
That gentleness of her touch
As we let go while giving in
When love has got its clutch
In times we are skin to skin
Under The Cover.
.
You can never ever
Tell a book by it’s cover
As I was later to discover
The Lady in the Nursing home
The old man across the way
All have a story to tell
Hidden away
.
Some people I’ve known for years
Have suddenly touched my heart
And left me in tears
When they reviled their past
And nightmares and fears
.
Like my own dear Father
Shot and wounded
A prisoner of war
With only a tiny piece of bread to eat
And nothing more
.
The sweet old Lady I talked to
In Worksop in a store
Who told me she was the last surviving victim
Of Dachau in the war
.
The old man down our street
A nicer man you could ever meet
A rear Lancaster tail gunner
Or the hardship of a devoted Mother
Her husband left her for another
Someone who lost their family
And had no other
.
Those who suffered in the blitz
Those who lost a loved one
Aboard a ship
Never found always missed
The nurse who gave her all and put others
Before herself
To help the sick
.
The Pals sent to die in another far off land
The luckier who returned
Minus a leg or no hand
The coal miner unground
Who kept the home fires burning
The Steelworkers who gave their all
To keep England’s wheel turning
.
The bomb disposal and mine clearer's
The lifeguard on the bay
The emergency services and law enforcers
Who put their life in danger for us every day
.
The one who gives
But doesn’t seek recognition or reward
The one who fights for justice and war to cease
And silently prays for peace
.
A million stories left untold
Of unsung heroes young and old
No one should judge anyone
Like a book by their cover
For we all have a story
And who knows what we might discover.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
I smell sweet country spring waves of many scents.
I tell of beauty of rolling hills, creating a valley.
I touch the love of my life, luckier than many gents.
I have spoken of my sorrows; I have nothing to tally.
My desires and dreams have faded with this maturity.
However, others have taken shape to which I follow.
I need to hear that I have learned from the majority.
I need to hear that at least my mind is not hollow.
I need to hear that somehow I have made a difference.
I need to hear that love I have given; there is a reason.
For past thoughts and wishes, I ask for reverence.
Since my seed has stopped, I have no new season,
I smell crispness of cool autumn air at the end.
I tell of loneliness of country roads to nowhere.
I feel loss of many loves with no future to send.
I have spoken words in ink, all my heart can bare.
However, my mind, I hear, many may say I am selfish.
However, most of you have continuation to relinquish.
My friend within I beg you to stop searching for a wish.
Then possibly more things in life, you may accomplish.
Jack sits in the wheelchair in the grass
a rebel nerd, he thinks of the time
when he cycled up Teton Pass
by a stream through walls of pine
Obsessed, this viewpoint vampire
his memory full of hill and vale
A landscape loon, an odd desire
But now his body is his jail
The harried nurse to her surprise
Distracted from a patient's cries
sees a vision in Jack's fogged eyes
lakes and forests and crimson skies
[chorus]
In each scene, views so grand
At six thousand feet, he biked along
Never quite reached the Promised Land
But the last verse is not the song
Kate sits in the same old age home
A relic from a bygone show
Her friends long dead, she's now alone
Her melody no longer on the radio
She was warm and could be all heart
Now a meteor in afterburn
She knows that bodies fall apart
Resigned or not, the wheel must turn.
[outro]
Jack and Kate were luckier than some
They were free, knew right from wrong
They lived a long life, and had their fun
The last verse is not the song.
Oh bird! I wish had wings like you
Flapping and gliding over the sea and the clouds through
To explore the infinite glorious sky
Tell me little lark, how you manage to fly so high
Have you seen daffodils dance?
Like a saffron river ruffles to the mild breeze pass
Have you flown over the miles of meadows?
The grazing cows and sheep where their cry echoes
When you glide over the Ocean so vast
Do you feel tired and to rest, search for a mast?
Have you listened in the air the dolphins’ whistles?
Or seen the school of flying fish high above the sea ripples
I feel I am caged up and my world is so limited
Maybe I have material things that you never have experienced
You are much luckier than I, burdens or barriers are none
Sweet lark! You are free to explore where-ever you heart sets on
Oh bird! I wish I had wings like you
I have never been lucky enough
to come upon a four leaf clover....
maybe they only grow in Ireland.
Find a penny, pick it up,
and all day you will have good luck...
my fortune didn't improve by much.
I could carry a rabbit's foot
around with me in my pocket....
I guess that rabbit wasn't so lucky, though.
Every time I find a ladybug
and try to capture it in a jar....
it just flies away from me.
I could pry a horseshoe
from a pony's hoof....
which is harder than you think.
But, I think I would rather have you
as my lucky charm,
you are as rare as a four leaf clover,
you are worth a lot more than a penny,
you are as gentle as a rabbit's foot or a ladybug,
and you are luckier than a horseshoe,
because you were much easier to find.
Dignity is Something that Can Not be Compromised
Dignity is a value that applicable to both individual and a collective of people on the Global.
The value of connection between individual and social environment is highly respected in a positive way.
Every Individual’s dignity can only be recognized from the experience by other who would judge and assess.
But human dignity must be inviolable and everyone should respect that, this is a normal behavior towards others.
Dignity must be well respected and protected, because when people are united, there should be no differences and we are all the same.
Human dignity is not only a fundamental right but it constitutes the real basis rights to respect, and wealthy should not be valued higher than one’s life.
And whereas many people tends to forget to recognize the dignity and equal rights from every human being.
Those are an inalienable rights of all inhabitants of the earth to keep the freedom, justice and peace in the world.
This word confirms a personal’s dignity within the part of legal system and it should not use to violate the name of others.
And human dignity must be respected with the same rules.
Nobody wants to lose their self-esteem and respect because of the attitude of somebody who like to belittle other and only praise for themselves.
We cannot effect the dignity of other, for the fact that we were more luckier at birth and therefore have a better place in this society .
We should just respect and appreciate everyone for their own value.
I wish you a healthy life.
Kindly Regards,
Author Jan Jansen
http://poems.easybranches.com/
My arms both have bruises from all the slug-bugs that he’s seen;
His bedroom wall is covered with pictures cut out from Big Time Wrestling magazines;
At twelve years old he stands taller than me, which he likes to brag to everyone;
No father in this world is luckier, than me with my adopted son.
Politically, I think it’s a woman’s choice, this difficult decision to make;
If you were willing to adopt a child it might make that an easier path to take;
I cannot speak for everyone who has gone down the adoption route,
But for me it is the best thing I’ve done, of that there is no doubt.
I have three biological kids, who I love with all my heart,
When we adopted our fourth child the other’s adult lives had already given start,
He filled up our empty nest, helping to keep us young;
No father in this world is luckier, than me with my adopted son.
Next I turned my attention
To all the outrageous violence
That takes place on this planet
The tears of the victims, no one can comfort
The iron grip of oppressors, no one to rescue
So I applaud the dead who are already dead instead of the living
Who are still alive
But luckier than the dead or the living
Is the person who has never been
Who has never seen the bad business that takes place on this earth
As a yellow Asian man
from the poor country
next to Afghanistan
I am also was very proud
when mister Obama
won electing company in US.
But now when American police
failed deeply in our region,
and the US-airbase in Manas
has expelled from Kyrgyzstan,
i am understood clearly
the popular nowadays proverb
son of slave cannot be a good king
and in his place would been luckier McCain,
sorry all of us, dear Obama,
but our world in your time,
has been needfull deadly
for somebody remained little
Alexander the Great.
Who just come in Central Asia
with peaceful and strong invasion
and expelled the evil and rotten regimes,
that enslaved our people and dozen nations,
instead have been expelled himself
and left us for multiplying destroyers.
But I am hope for West that returning again
as coming from where the truly Christianity
and free and deep interpretation of Holy scriptures,
and hope for Eternal life and peace
where shall not been the great empires
and theirs games, intrigues and bloody sacrifices.
prosaic prologues bewitch
feeble minded scribe doth undertakes
tend toward lugubriousness ring tone
for goodness sake
echoing across,
a figurative lake woebegone, where quake
shutters latched storm windows,
clapped closed winter season didst make
physical environment lachrymose
analogous to imp pond durable dark lake
where sits inside secluded hut,
this fledgling author named Jake
a former cub (scout) at a loss
to string together an aria
tomb other nature and NOT FAKE,
sepulchral paeon to divine Gaea, Mother Earth
especially incorporating
mutisyllabic (sesquipedalian) words,
which exertion
on par with giving birth
(or so I guess),
a particularly heavily pregnant laden dearth
of help mates, doubling demonstrably
deadly duty devoid of mirth
totally tubular taxing toll,
an essentially unbearable
effort with bulging girth
whereat digestion consumes
latent mental ambition,
especially toasty warm near the hearth
which hitherto unknown to any reader
twas Xmas fabrication and fiction
no crime committed, nor animals harmed
in the making of diction
aery necessary entrapping unsuspecting intellect
to comprehend somber benediction
unless perchance one lone wolf
bait Oven English Major
with Westernization
topped off with a European
debunaire suave acculturation
even luckier if hypothetical personage
dips daintily into forays epicurean,
though careful,
and alert since church fathers
would frown on parsonage
whose natural born ardor,
a spiritual abduction
stealing austerity, complacency, and objection
toward forced irrational schemas
averse to abnegation
unfair imposition
to foist upon pruriant predilection
also impossible
to sequester arbitrary animal urges,
punishing call of the wild,
sowing seeds a beastial accusation
considered averse,
then imposition contrition!