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Best Mentor Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Mentor poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of mentor poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Mentor Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Mentor poems are below this new poems list.

Memories of a Mentor by Ponnambalam, Jesse
The Mentor by, Anna
My Mentor is My Friend by buck, Old
THE MENTOR by Reeves, Terry
Be A Mentor by Holt, Dollin
MENTOR by Enriquez, Leon
MENTOR TO MANY, BUT by Vidheya, Harshath
The Potent Mentor by Project, The Brooklyn Six
THE MENTOR by Cwiak, Dan
mentor love by labeau, catherine

View all new Mentor Poems

The Best Mentor Poems

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Pretty Poet

Where Have All The Pretty Poets Gone? 

A real poet are you, charismatic over everything you serve
Showcasing, a rainbow that folds the perfect world wide perspective
I'm talking about flawless literature at its best no typos, no muss
Just a page full of boredom and rust
Thank you for having Lunesta all up in my head
It's like reading a poetry lesson, from the extras of The Walking Dead
An image frozen cold, waiting for inspiration to hit like Al Capone
I'm bored of your flora flamboyant language rocking me like stones
A psychedelic trip, into the odyssey of a blind man's tale
A home where I am pushed to open a dictionary & thesaurus with braille
Wondering what you just said, --Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful day! 
The best rocket pen poet in the USA Today, 
Launching words like no tomorrow, a fool of wordplay and sorrow
A godlike guinea-pig genius, delegating poetry politician style
Perhaps, one day you will become a famous writer
Burning books, like a cigarette lighter
Until then, enjoy pushing your pen as if it was cocaine, 
Snorting up and cutting up the food chain in vain
Patronizing and ignoring those, for better or worse
A solo cup stuck up another cup, -won't even look my way
Correct me if you will, it's no big deal
Just don't forget to give me the same respect I offer you

Until then my pretty poetic friend, I kneel before no one 

By: ME

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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The Generous Bard

(The Merry Adventures of Robin Good)

Sherwood's Forest legendary, leading man 
up, down, tricking eggs between branches
slender, slander, his voice is growing thinner
twisting, turning heads 50 shades of green

Master of disguise reaching for the top archers spot, 
A bard, with uncanny precision, ROBIN nonstop
Splitting his opponent LIKE A BOSS!
Aiming arrows, where broken women sit
Creating fantasies, for his band of hypocrites 
A serenade, of jealousy and mayhem 
A poetic outlaw, generously taking what others earn 
Wearing black tights, the hottest profile, sipping wine
A lust beyond Dorthy's Rainbow, a venomous poem
Somewhere, covered in leprechaun's gold
His chest is cold 
- Yet warm from all the hands caressing this bard,
He is the best, gravity has no weight on his pen, 
A soundless soldier having his way with his sword, 
Executing those who challenge him,
Breathing life into many empty accounts
Giving voices and self-encouragement
With no time to drop down this bard from cloud nine
A dissipation of air fresheners and hello's
Painting pain just to pretend it hurts the person
A fragile voice whispering in the shadows

Slithering Secrets;
From this hooded bard who carries no face,
A mask of lies, taking what belongs to others.
Robin of honor, graveled by his peasants 
MISUNDERSTOOD in every fashion, yet he preys
Pipping dreams away, down an infested rat's path
Shoving Little Johns hopes down the list

Robin is no common criminal, just a bard 
Wearing a dark cloak, when in disguise
taking from the greedy --- giving to the needy 

Thank you for enjoying my story 
Robin Good and his network of Merry Men


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2016

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PoetrySoup Heroes

The best advice came from my hero
since our very first days on the Soup,
he said to me true to yourself
don't try to blend into the group.

When no one wants to write in rhyme
you told me ....write it anyway,
when no one wants to read rhyme,
you said to me ...write it anyway.

If this is your passion, why let it go
all opinions will be hit and miss,
poetry is not what others want you to do
only Heart and Soul make up the artist.

Did Poe try to follow the rest ...oh no
being unique makes any artist great,
perfection is what it is you
only we can control the hand of fate.

So what if we are being a little archaic
by respecting those who came before,
the elders are remembered for a reason
they opened up the modern poet's door.

Thank you for teaching me to believe
because back then I just didn't see,
the talent, the potential, the poet
... that you somehow saw in me.

I have many Poetry Soup heroes....

but this poem is for Chan Hurst, "Just That Archaic Poet" ....RIP

Written on November 10th, 2015

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

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Playing God

Oh, how I cherish that bright sun! But she
must turn me often lest I grow deformed
and stifled in my quest for too much light.

And at the faithful window, day by day,
that glow appears—my sustenance of life.
Instinctively, I lift my leafy palms
as if to catch each golden ray, and lean
to kiss the glass, back arched in thankful pose.

And she, like God, keeps turning me around
to make me straight, aware that I must work
to find the light once more. An endless fight,
this turning, turning, cutting short my time
to fully drink of sun. And what despair
for me to face again the shadowed room—
to gather strength, confront the task at hand:
my twisting, writhing, standing tall, erect—
then leaning, reaching out for light again.

And yet I grow in beauty, health, and grace.
The secret lies in proper tension kept
between her God-like care to keep me straight,
and my strong will, to seek and worship sun.

February 10, 2015


Blank Verse: Iambic, 10 syllables and 5 feet per line.

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

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The Poet

The Poet

Tribute to
Tim Smith @

Seeking inspiration
in the darkness of the night.
He listens to the shadows
to give him words to write.

A longing somewhere in the wind
a broken heart cries out.
It's captured his attention,
now's not the time to doubt.

He listens to a love gone wrong
he hears the teardrops fall.
Still he cannot turn away
until he's heard it all.

It speaks to him of anguish
and of a broken will.
He feels a soul begin to bleed
but he listens still.

When silence again finds him
in the shadows of the night.
He speaks for the voiceless
within the words he'll write.

Sending hope and faith and love
on wings of butterflies.
He reaches out to broken souls
then he helps them rise.

For deep inside he holds a key
though many may not know it.
The way to mend a broken heart
is the heart inside the poet.

Edwin C Hofert 

Copyright © Edwin Hofert | Year Posted 2015

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The One Who Remains Silent

"THE ONE WHO REMAINS SILENT" Visions of happy encouragement and loving growth I had been seeking... I'll never know his name but it's just the same he was the first who welcomed me... For he was writing...and...I was writing.. and we were both writing for the exact same purpose.... intentions to enhance our passion for writing he has inspired that purpose in me with a gentle reminder the One who remains Silent speaks volumes in his words.. Many thanks Sir... Written By: Laura Loo Date Written: December 18, 2015

Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2015

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Un-Ruffled Feathers

I didn’t ask for help.
Yet someone heard
my inward crying voice
without a word.

“When the student is ready
a teacher will appear”
somehow it seems these teachers
pop up everywhere.

Their words were subtle
pointed darts
that caused me endless
fits, and starts.

There was no Hallelujah Chorus
no heraldry of trumpets din
just a presence in my life
every now and then.

I never asked for help
yet somehow they saw my need
and placed within my heart
an ever growing seed.

They cut the bindings loose
freed me from my tethers
drifted slowly through my life
without ruffling my feathers.


for New Rhyming Poems On Angels Poetry Contest

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2018

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I'm my Daddy Made Over

Dedicated to my Dad Jerry W. Niday 3/20/1952 - 6/18/2013

I am who I am because of him
He’s the reason for my son’s name
He gave me my courage & my strength
To stand tall even when standing wasn’t easy
Stand for the ones who can’t
To think and fend for myself
I’m my Daddy made over

Taught me to fight back 
To never back down
How to pick myself back up
When I’ve been knocked down
Fight for what I believe
I’m my Daddy made over

He gave me my stubbornness 
Gave me my pride
Gave me my temper
Taught me not to take crap
To speak my mind no matter who
Work for what I want
I’m my Daddy made over

How to keep my emotions in check
How to handle large amounts of pain
When in trouble he always had my back
He knew how my mind worked better than anyone
I got it from him
I’m my Daddy made over

Even though he’s gone
I’ll stand and continue on 
I may stumble I may fall 
May even get hurt along the way
But I’ll pick myself back up
I’ll dust myself off and stand tall
I’m honored and proud to say
I’m my Daddy made over

Sabrina Niday Hansel

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

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We Lost More Than a Dad

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost half of how we came to be
We lost we four girls first love
We lost our Best Friend

We lost more than just a Dad that day
Our Mom lost her Soul Mate, Her other half 
Our children lost their Papaw
We lost our family’s foundation 
We lost the glue that held us together

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost the Strongest man we ever knew 
We lost the man we looked up too
We lost we four girls Teacher of many things

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We four girls lost our Hero
We lost some of our Light
We lost part of our Heart
We lost part of our Soul

We lost more than just a Dad that day
We lost some of our Courage
We lost some of our Strength
We lost some of our will to fight back
We lost some of our will to carry on
We four girls lost more than a Dad
We lost more than just a Dad that day

Copyright © Sabrina Niday Hansel | Year Posted 2013

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Owl's Requiem

The rising sun has set.
Night has fallen.
The plow rests,
tillage and toil finished.
The corn ear withers,
but seeds are saved.
The scrolls are opened
event recorded;
the news spread:
"The sun has set,
the old Owl has flown
into the Heavens."

Yet, the sun will rise
and peek over the horizon,
the tractor will roar,
a new crop will sprout,
Green hands will turn brown
the flag will wave,
financial accounts recorded,
hospitality offered,
and the light of brotherhood shared.

Your torch has lit fires
that flicker and flame;
The fledgling will grow
and, hopefully, become wise;
New eras and life-chapters
will begin, 
continuing the credo
as a Legacy to you:
"Learning to Do, 
Doing to Learn,
Earning to Live, 
Living to Serve."*

*National FFA Organization Motto

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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What is Life

What is Life
Life is a gift, with many ups and downs,
Its mysteries and wonders keeps’ us spellbound; 
It takes us on adventures, that were not planned,
It has twists and turns, that we’ll never understand;

Life never stops, no matter the time or season,
Its existence is evolutionary, like the “Garden of Eden.”
It is a story book, pages full of complexities,
It baffles our minds, and exposes our insecurities

What is life? It’s beauty, change, imagination, too,
An everlasting rollercoaster ride, experienced by me and you!

Written: © 9/8/15

Copyright © Sarita Milliner | Year Posted 2015

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Old Men In Blue Jeans

Old men in blue jeans

Dungarees – that’s what they were called,
heavy, blue denim, metal button fly -
form that followed function.  The “cuffs” were
rolled up because inseam sizing and “pre-worn”
softened and frayed only occurred if you got
them from an older sibling.

Time has a way of softening things, Dungarees
included.  They shaped themselves to your needs,
became one with your movements, stayed with you
through the tough times, went to town with you,
wore the scars and tears of youth moving forward,
taught the lessons of toughness and tenderness,
of reliable, responsible, dependability.

The clothes did not make the man, the man gave
meaning to the clothes, imbued them with his ethic,
his love, his success and failures, stood with him
in  welcome rains and barren fields.  The jeans,
flannel shirts, boots, weathered face - caught
between an ever present grin and grimace -
awaited each sunrise with a purpose.

The blue jeans are now faded by age,
highlighted by wear and tear, creased
in the rutted way of old roads – necessary
but untended.  They offer the comfort of memory’s
warm embrace, the unspoken bond of a friendship
shaped by the demands of life.

They still walk together, these old men and their
blue jeans, more slowly but no less proudly,
for they have grown old together and know
that “the clothes did not make them men”.

John G. Lawless

Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2015

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A Summer Of Lastingness

In a summer of lastingness, long ago,
what you had in store for me my love,
I could've never known.

Through the depth and channels
of the heart, you have shown me
life begins, where the loving starts.

Like an unfolded rose growing in the
morning's misty dew, you feed me
and then sheltered me as I grew.

If I stood before you today my love
you would see a full rose in bloom,
not at all hindered by gloom. 

A strong stem, no regrets, no sorrow.
Only togetherness with you, full of
brighter tomorrows.

Thank you for all you planted in the 
garden of my hardened soil.
A summer of lastingness has forever
brought tenderness instead of toil.

Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2015

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Captcha WHA6

When I was only five
Heard mommy always's say
Angel  keep being naughty and you won't make it to

Entry for Adam Hapworth's
Captcha Acrostic Contest
G.L. All

Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2013

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S ince I arrived 
I n Poetrysoup
L acking in
E very poetry skill,
N ever once has
T his master doubted me.

O ne tremendous teacher.
N ever disappoints with 
E ach new poem he pens.

Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2016

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My Guardian Poet

A guardian poet you have been to me
Much like an angel, there protecting me
When I was silent, lost in dark of night
You read my words and brought me back to light

You told me that my words were ever true
That in my writes were thoughts profound and new
You would not let me simply drift away
A word of hope you’d send to greet each day

Your name is there below each thing I write
To tear dimmed eyes you brought a vision bright
“The Queen of Passion,” how I love the name
You gave to me and life is not the same

To you, my Guardian Poet, thanks I bring
You fool me not; I see your angel wing

Eileen Manassian Ghali 

Richard Lamoureux and I joined Poetry Soup at about the same time a year and eight months ago. Richard has been like a mentor to me. I’ve recently been very unwell emotionally and unable to write. I have appreciated the fact that he did not give up on me and kept daily visiting my previous writes and leaving words of encouragement. My words are my soul, so, in a way, he was affirming my worth as a person, which is what I was in need of. Richard has written a poem for me entitled, "Queen of the Romantic Pen."
Richard, your friendship is precious and dear. You are a man of faith and integrity. May God bless your home, your loved ones, and your heart with all that brings you joy. Thank you for standing by me through my dark times.

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

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A Lone Wolf in My Office

He walked into my office, business in hand,
In denim baggy overalls, a plaid shirt, white painters cap, 
and grandpa's old white leather orthopedic shoes.
If I ever get to the ripe old age of 88,
I want to be this lone wolf silhouette of a man.

A slow gait with frailty of movement.
Each step carefully orchestrated and contemplated.
Making one worry the next may become a fall.
But he moves on without even a stumble.
Steadfast stature and posture braced on any lowly perch.

Outer coat showing gaps of missing muscle and mass.
Paws and face forlornly exposed with past battles scorned.
All affairs in perfect order, the next move oft anticipated.
Irises glossy white shadowed with blue wisdom and mystery.
Draped with curtains and folds boldly saying "I am."

Negotiations begin with silence in wait of movement.
Tail wagging intently, teeth exposed only when he smiles.
No bite to his bark, he needn't growl nor gnarl. 
Few words, saying only what needs to be heard.
Walking away after a handshake, flash of teeth, and a wink.



Copyright © Michael Vacek | Year Posted 2017

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The Class Guide

a shy ..,
bashful guy
always kept me.,
confined to last bench..
down my head,
huddled heart ,
blenched my breathes and 
arms always clenched..

Staring with a thief eye
to each one 
around  me 
but confrontation
was not my forte .,
this fragility always
kept  me away 
from my very interest
and invariably
was a thwart ..

New day in the class,
New teachers and 
Classmates too.,
but for me
each day is new
and each one is who..

Newly painted class 
curtained each side .,
The Teacher announces
our new class guide...

In actual fact
I am not a beauty gaper .,
but this time
she forced me too sharper...
hardly I lavish my time 
in any admiration..,
but this would give,
drive to my contemplation.., 
breaking the ice to her
difficult and caffeine  beauty
eyes were electric  and 
almond shaped.,
lips were glossy and frooty..

Tallest and 
her collar in the same way.,
I stared alot but
kept her eye away..
walk like breeze 
silent and cool
smile like blooming lily.,
none of her company
can stand by her
she was the perfect dilly..

Crowd would stop
while she starts 
mostly buring in vex.,
she wants pin drop silence 
 in the class .,otherwise,
 bitter pills to suspects..

The same rain
I got whole year .,
Whole year 
I got ,
teacher will start ,
we all will set ,
and I will get lost .,
The last day of
this beautiful phase 
I was loosing carelessly.,
No courage,
No rescue ,
The day cutting readily ..

God miracle  or 
some boon ,
when she came ,  
in her black shoon..,
shrinking and shy 
asked me a favour.,
Reaching to the seventh heaven
I started quiver..

Yea....Yea ....
I did it
and then asked my will 
very courageous it was
to utter such word.,
but......,I knew 
It was the
last chance
and never again for
such a coward..

So....I did 
did it fast 
listening it....,
she got locked 
'No words'
 she said
but I .....,
I did it
did it 
I do..

Copyright © RA Shagun | Year Posted 2017

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I listen calmly to him
Slowly nudging him on
As he expounds on philosophy
Hidden gems are revealed
Polished and inspected
This one owns a gold mine
This one has hidden gems
I love to see them exposed
That's why am silently probing

Copyright © LEWIS NYAGA | Year Posted 2016

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Breathe In Me Life, For Death Enshrouds

“Seducer, healer, deity or thief,
I will see you soon enough—
in the shadow of the rainfall,
in the brief violet darkening a sunset—
but until then I pray watch over him
as a mountain guards its covert ore
and the harsh falcon its flightless young.”
-Dana Gioia’s Prayer

Captivated, cruelly scorned Innocence breached in the caress of sifting leaves I breathe… Shards of crimson ice splitting the skies, I breathe… Hung in the nest of my Guardian’s threshold I breathe… I receive the tantrums of travesty, Though I pause, the air suspended in my lungs Death, damasked and naked The hairs of his youth dancing in the breeze I breathe…I breathe… Words of ire, phantom echoes in my mind, I breathe…I breathe The pain of existing taught in those eyes I breathe…I breathe Until the fighting for control ceases Until the lungs are filled to the brim with torrential tears My eyes, open, lifeless I see you, gallant Guardian A silhouette sobbing, a heart pounding and throbbing You sing to me, lulling life wonder Spices surround me, for you are my Gatherer of needed scent Allowing your tears to fall, refusing to grieve Seeing in me budding revelation Your lips hot against mine Gently, gently you breathe And in Death’s astonished brow, I live

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

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That's when, you're going to need a friend

(That's when) you're going to need a friend

When your love's got up
and left you
you feel like
you want to die.

you've given up
on just believing...
you don't even 
want to try.

Isn't that right,
now, man?

You feel so
like you can't go on

No matter 
what you do,
feels wrong

You don't know
where to go,
what is real

you only 
know she's gone
the way you feel

(you know) I know the feeling
I've felt that way too
I feel your pain
I really do
Just call my name
that's all you've got to do,'cause

When times are tough...
when you're
going to need a friend
Oh yeah, 
when times are, 
when times are tough...
when you're
going to need a friend.

I'll try my very best
to help you to see
your value as a man

when you love yourself
it set's you free
that's when you understand
Can't you see?

There's just so much more
that you need to know

show your feelings to her
that's how her love grows

Tell her you love her
each and every day

I'm telling you what 
you've got to do
If you want her to stay

Go to bridge
Go to chorus
repeat twice

John Derek Hamilton
October 28,2016

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

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The Holy Dust of Creation's Seed Sown

Born from this ancient dust of creation's seed sown now so true,
Whilst sparkling inside a mystical divine light on this dark night,
I’m nourished from the living waters—the oceans deep and blue. 

Majestic wings rise high in the waves basking in Heaven’s light,
Crowning the blest halo golden ring around this angel very dear,
Whilst I kiss warmly the salt of the deep oceans stirring at night. 

Spiced now in a seabed, a rainbow’s gem shineth pure so clear,
That a traveler in this radiant world of delight knows real love
Is what we all seek as sparkling diamonds now appear so near. 

Where the rivers flow down a mountain’s verdant slope because
There, in the highs and lows of these rivers, tears soak the Earth,
Falling and rising from the dust, ashes are memories of what was.

I have abounding faith in this life’s bond as Nature begins her rebirth,
Eclipsed by a peerless beauty inside, wild passions grown now strong.
A liquid sphere appears in our mortal lives reaching its point of girth.

In the cerulean oceans mystic gulls cry deep echoes bringing us along.
We find peace kneeling as a psychic mantel covers our thoughts pure,
As that special circle of brilliance radiates within life’s treat so strong.

By God’s hand the ancient dust of creation’s seed is with us to assure,
Mankind’s perpetuity on Earth as part of His most holy divine vision.
Only God knows mankind’s destiny rests in His divine hands for sure.

The ancient dust of creation’s seed is part of God’s omnipotent precision,
For He’s the one who shall guide us all heavenward by His final decision.

Gary Bateman, Michael Clarke, and Liam McDaid
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
June 10, 2017 (Terza Rima)

Terza Rima Rhyming Sequence: aba   bcb   cdc   ded   efe   fgf   ghg   hh

Format Note: This poem employs the traditional rhyming scheme used by 
Dante Alighieri in “The Divine Comedy,” ending with a couplet, rhyming
with the previous tercet’s middle line.
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2017

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The Sugarville Sage

There’s a desert sage northwest of here
In a town called Sugarville,
Not on the top of a mountain
Nor even a humble hill.

This sage lives on the desert floor
Where the ring-neck roosters prattle,
Where rabbits hide in the rabbit brush
And the prairie rattlers rattle.

I would walk five miles on wounded feet
Just to spend an afternoon
And listen to wisdom, free of spin,
Out there in the desert dunes.

For this sage sees life as life unfolds;
The dross refused as we progress.
She knows there are no perfect flowers,
But loves them none-the-less.

No agenda; just the truth!
And we listen all the more,
And count it fortune she is here;
This sage on the desert floor.

Copyright © Dean Wood | Year Posted 2017

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Sage And Cur

When we sat together,
we whispered almost as one,
not as conspirators,
but as mentor and acolyte,
and you spoke of things that I did not comprehend
yet with words that I knew were true.
You warned me of a chimera,
I've fallen prey to several since.
When we stood counter,
we opposed one another's reason,
not as equals,
but as victor and vanquished,
and you spoke of things that I could not escape
and with words that I could not refute.
You warned me of your power,
I still dare not deny.
And I may have known at once,
or I may have known at last,
that you were The Emperor's Sage
and I was the jester's cur.

26th August 2018

Copyright © Lawrence Sharp | Year Posted 2018

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I will breathe in your rarefied air

When you said to me,
"Climb up here,  It's pollution free."
Sacred. Safe.
Your rarefied air.
Calculating, you seemed so free.
Safeguard. Sage.
I said I could breathe...
Underrated your density.
Saintly. Sane.
High-minded insight.
When anticipated terror
denuded me,
cool rarefied air
regulated insanity, 
far gone fear.

I will breathe
in your rarefied air.
Let it burn brisk
in brittle, brave lungs.
Gasp and grasp 
life's flame, full flare.
Lunge for high notions,
those far-flung schemes.

I will breathe in
High mind's smoke,
hung  in air- 
that ghostly stroke of genius,
rare token in disguise
Well spoken word flurries
whipping away thin guise.
Floating crown
adrift on high.

I will breathe in 
Your rarefied air,
because I listened to you.
"Clamber up, high!
Unfazed view will circle you,
miles on end surround you.
No going around the bend.
Nowhere else to go.
No zig zag escape.
No spike in pressure.
No deep depression.
No bad atmosphere.
No stabbing shove.
No push or pull on edge.
Just your pledge to breathe.
To move in one direction.
Forever. Mentally "together."
Stay in good shape."

I will breathe out.
Your rarefied thoughts
congeal life's force,
slows down blood flow.
Till body gloved heart
faintly, faintly glows...
Concealed fire's torch,
caved embers die down.
Stripped artfully apart,
Your rarefied airs
blanket my mind in snow.

13/10/2018. Purely fiction. On the pros and cons of mentorship. "Higher" education is not necessarily a good thing. Learning lessons are. 

Copyright © Aqua Marine | Year Posted 2018