Best Meted Poems
Sanity meted in batches
With healthcare served up in patches
It’s a dumpster dive
Just staying alive
To rely on raccoons playing with matches
Categories:
meted, business, crazy, drug, health,
Form:
Limerick
Passions for expectations with life were none
Till the teenage accepted life as it came anon.
Went to gym, played games, attended school
Swam in the open sea, life smooth and cool.
Might’ve been endowed with great expectations
In gestation to perform later in life like everyone.
Sprouted while in the university educational zones
Both of literature and dramatics as milestones.
Both meted out in career as a university teacher
Not so easy but had miles to go in my endeavor
Was quite fortunate to meet the inspiring persons
Who directed me to perform the righteous acts.
I did meet my expectations later in matured years
Performing Moliere in his own country and theatres
Attending the poetry conferences in three continents
And honors in literature that missed in early periods.
Aimed for the moon but reached the sky amidst
Never complained about the wind like a pessimist
Never expected the wind to change like an optimist
But adjusted the sails like a down-to-earth realist.
+++
October 14, 2014
Form Free Verse
Dr. Ram Mehta
Third Place Win
Contest: BIO by Regina Riddle
Categories:
meted,
Form:
Bio
Dawn, when silence falters
And the trees of the range-
Are tucked in a bucket of fog
Marching dawn, whose beauty never alters,
I tuck myself in blankets like a log
At the Treetops Hotel upon the range
Dainty dreams upon dawn’s altar
The dappled peacock dazes the dawn
While the African crowned eagle
Will soar, prowling for prey
And tourists peep and picture the fawn
While their eyes prowl the breakfast tray
Jacaranda festooned fashion regal
Its blue flowers blue snowfall upon dawn
Elephants trudge to the watering hole
Buffalo follow, even the bush buck
The warthog always walks silly,
The big five will steal your soul
At the Ark's perch, you will be stuck
The water adorned by the pond lily
The range's serenity, waters your soul
Pristine streams gush from the moorlands
The Hagenia, decked in velvet green
The sword lily, sheathed in fibrous tunic
And as the Karuru falls hit land
True love will pierce to the gene
For pristine nature, is the true cupid.
Breaths bated as lovers hold hand
Further, nestled nigh in the blue skies
The Kinangop peak, peeking through
The closer I get, the further it hides
A sun bird chatters, along my trail's high
My eyes in tune, such wondrous hillsides
I sweat as I head towards the bamboo
I am among the butterflies
Ringlets in a dance, oh! Surreal world
Monkeys swing, tree to tree, a trail of imagination
A reed buck is openly grazing
A canvas of the grassland in its gold
I spot a Serval cat, in hiding
On a safari truck, the breeze is an inspiration
Beauty flows in the altitudes that I behold
At dusk the steeped villages prepare for sleep
The Nyandarua range, yawns its last
Fabled home of the Kikuyu god
Curtain like shadows befall the steep
And this wonderland begins to nod
As the women fluff off days dust fast
Men’s ears wide open as it darkens deep
Wild animals are known to visit
Roving around, excitement for the young
But the animals are known to visit hungry
The locals know too well, memories vivid
An elephant’s wrath is meted out bluntly
Protection for man and beast not far flung
Conservation and nurture is the spirit
As Mount Satima watches her watered floors,
She knows the heart goes deep
Collaboration with njeri hunjeri who is a wonderful poet
Categories:
meted, africa, mountains, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
~ Frost
by
design
~ delicate,
crafted in the night,
dainty — like lacy handiwork
~ inspirational, like twisted wire, a story told —
details meted out behind heaven’s door, with peculiarities that we adore
~ O
please
inspect
windowpane
crystalline effects ~
~ seraphic white silver and gold —
the finest craftsmanship, twisted with Eden’s treasure ~
filigree beads of angelic hoary-breath, reminders of the invisible God
~ Rime
clings
to soil,
inspired world —
embraced by cold hands ~
fragile tendrils spread like ivy,
intricate cherubic smithing — like spider webbing,
subtleties sensational, O how it sparkles ~ seasonal diamondiferous earth
1/24/2018
The Magic Of Three
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
Fibonacci (8 lines) x 3 = 24 lines(pattern- 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 syllables)
Categories:
meted, nature,
Form:
Fibonacci
Whom Do We Trust
Written: by Miracle Man
7/21/2019
Every now and then, we all lose our bearing,
Facing days that become gloomy, often despairing.
We only check our compass for direction of travel,
When it appears that life is just about to unravel.
We oft seek out others, and with blame anoint,
But no man is a judge nor will God ever appoint.
He said, Cast your burdens upon me, for I care,*
Yet we oft live our lives hamstrung by despair.
We should never treat others as perhaps we’ve been treated,
Because with whatever we mete, we’ll also be meted.**
When we fail in casting burdens upon HIM for He cares,*
We’re eschewing the wheat while gorging on tares.
*1 Peter 5:7
Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.
**Matthew 7:2
King James Version (KJV)
“For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.”
Categories:
meted, god, life, lost,
Form:
Rhyme
Living Right
Written: by Tom Wright
6-30-2016
If clothed in righteousness by his blood,
divine wrath, we will never have to face.
Though trials come upon us like a flood,
They’re preparing us for a better place?
If following Christ we need never fear,
our judgment meted on that final day.
But “I know you not” many will hear,
for rejecting Christ and failure to pray.
Categories:
meted, god, jesus, judgement, prayer,
Form:
Lyric
‘Out’-discipline!
“Teacher, beaten by student.” “Student stabs another in squabble.”
“Teachers found without Lesson Plan.” “Noise level unbearable.”
Unfortunately, these would only be a few of the sordid headlines;
To duly ‘captivate’ readers, if every school had its own newsletter.
The very fabric of our beloved society has become deteriorated;
Because our homes and schools have failed to function effectively.
The consequences of this failure are dramatic and far-reaching.
Therefore, immediate redress for this chaos, we should be seeking,
Teachers frequently liming; the nation’s youths, we not educating.
Usually unprepared: for work, at work; and, not completing work.
The students are not: studying, doing home-work, nor assignments.
All busy; yet, finding time for gambling, hustling, surfing ****, etc...
The school surroundings depicting ‘pollution party;’ absolutely nasty.
Manners no longer, “maketh man...” nor woman, much-less children.
This is every school’s catastrophe; total, complete, present-day anomie.
Bending/breaking rules, norms, morals or ethics - ‘perfect’ indiscipline.
Indiscipline! Everyone fed-up: teachers, students; even the parents.
Who is now responsible? Corrective measures must make statements.
‘Heads must roll’ for incompetence; ‘butts should burn’ for laziness.
Neither students nor teachers must be ‘late for school,’ or ‘bussing a lime’.
Punishment must definitely be meted out for disrespect to teachers.
Actions must be taken for insubordination, and also for instigation.
Indiscipline must be addressed immediately and harshly, to redress...
We fed-up! We taking absolutely drastic measures to ‘iron-out’ this mess.
End
By: Dion Penville
Categories:
meted, education,
Form:
Narrative
Dawn, when silence falters
And the trees of the range-
Are tucked in a bucket of fog
Marching dawn whose beauty never alters.
I tuck myself in blankets like a log
At the Treetops Hotel upon the range
Dainty dreams upon dawns altar
The dappled peacock dazes the dawn
While the African crowned eagle
Will soar, prowling for prey
And tourists peep and picture the fawn
While their eyes prowl the breakfast tray
Jacaranda festooned fashion regal
Its blue flowers blue snowfall upon dawn
Elephants trudge to the watering hole
Buffalo follow, even the bush buck
The warthog always walks silly,
The big five will steal your soul
At the Ark's perch, you will be stuck
The water adorned by the pond lily
The range's serenity, waters your soul
Pristine streams gush from the moorlands
The Hagenia, decked in velvet green
The sword lily, sheathed in fibrous tunic
And as the Karuru falls hit land
True love will pierce to the gene
For pristine nature, is the true cupid
Breaths bated as lovers hold hand
Further, nestled nigh in the blue skies
The Kinangop peak, peeking through
The closer I get, the further it hides
A sun bird chatters, along my trail's high
My eyes in tune, such wondrous hillsides
I sweat as I head towards the bamboo
I am among the butterflies
Ringlets in a dance, oh! surreal world
Monkeys swing, tree to tree, a trail of imagination
A reed buck is openly grazing
A canvas of the grassland in its gold
I spot a Serval cat, in hiding
On a safari truck, the breeze is an inspiration
Beauty flows in the altitude that I behold
At dusk the steeped villages prepare for sleep
The Nyandarua range yawns it's last
Fabled home of the Kikuyu god
Curtain like shadows befall the steep
And this wonderland begins to nod
As the women fluff off days dust fast
Mens ears wide open as it darkens deep
Wild animals are known to visit
Roving around, excitement for the young
But the animals are known visit hungry
The locals know too well, memories vivid
An elephants wrath is meted out bluntly
Protection for man and beast not far flung
Conservation and nurture is the spirit
As Mount Satima watches her watered floors,
She knows the heart goes deep
Categories:
meted, africa, animal, beauty, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY : LXXIV
IF ever I had a country proud of its sacred Soul Patrie
And if ever by a long shot I was nominated - not spuriously elected - Chef Ministre d'Etat
Plenipotentiary
The first thing I'd do is to give the Minister of Justice the sack in a hurry
I'll then take over his post and issue a long awaited (you'll agree) and needed decree
That henceforth any razor-sharp lawyer and his erudite team appointed by a client for a
very very high fee
To defend protect and facilitate the " escape " of any known criminal whose ill-gotten
gains burst bank-vaults to a brain-numbing degree
That the lawyer and his team be given the DOUBLE of the sentence meted out to the
criminal and be put away minus their licences to practise LAW in an Alcatraz-like
penitentiary
And this even if I never ever had no country to call my own with or without any patrimony
(The late eminent Vietnamese-French lawyer, Maître JACQUES VERGES, renowned for among other feats the defence of KLAUS BARBIE, the NAZI " chief " under the French Vichy regime, was also the Secrétaire de la Conférence des Avocats/Examiner for those wishing to practise law in France. And yet, in a case where I was concerned with revolting Master's and Doctoral students at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University, he subtly had my case scuttled to prop up mainly Muslim and African-origin students - openly backed by JAMES BALDWIN - who objected vehemently to being taught, besides numerous other Commonwealth authors, V. S. NAIPAUL's The Guerillas, together with Eva Peron and The Killings in Trinidad, students who also took exception to any comparison, by way of structural influence, of WOLE SOYINKA's The Road, with Greek tragedies.)
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 8, 2019
Categories:
meted, education, graduation, prison, religion,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
IN THE SEASON OF HOPE THEREOF
In the season of hope thereof,
There seems to be
Little justice, peace and love
Meted out to you and me;
Except for what comes from above.
Yet, let us not allow the deceivers
Sway us to be as erring as they—
Let us not be duped by Wall St. persuaders
Out to make a profitable mockery of the day.
Peace, love and justice—the triune for which we pray;
Will continue to be the reality we seek on this glorious day.
So in all the merriment thereof, let us not forget the true reason
We pause and reflect on peace, love and justice during this season.
Categories:
meted, allegory, analogy, christmas, imagery,
Form:
Sonnet
Arsenals of axes brought by the crate
Pedals increasing experimental
Trashy dissections of raw cityscapes
NYC rockers gone transcendental
Static blasts shredding the off-key high pings
Maracas hit toms to keep structured pace
Drum sticks wedged under alternate tunings
Meted by contrasting booms of the bass
Dissonance anteed raises the ceiling
Shaping sound by analog disruption
Searching/defining an urban feeling
Stark layers of beautiful corruption
Sweet ballads sung without being pretty
Growls and screams about something gritty
Categories:
meted, guitar, integrity, music, sound,
Form:
Sonnet
The Quality Of Mercy
'The quality of mercy is not strained'
wrote the bard of bards in his day
may be he meant it was unrestrained
and the Creator intended it so to stay
Or maybe his meaning was, it's not sifted,
unquantifiable, and justly meted
so that Man was able to be assured indeed
of its swift application when in need.
He could not forsee an electronic land
where pathos and pleasure go hand in hand
where scenes of human suffering at a flash
are superceded by something utterly rash.
Sad to say on this 'progressive train'
the quality of mercy is under strain
tho' whilst many would 'pass on the other side'
many more good souls still show mercy with pride
hicky
Categories:
meted, brother, caregiving
Form:
Verse
A soldier that served in the last Great War
Is remembered in stone and in wood,
One of thousands who died and had to endure
What no man ever should.
A soldier that answered his nations call
And fought that we might be free,
Signed up in the summer, sailed in the fall,
Leaving home and family.
The parting was painful, the night was clear,
When his regiment boarded ship.
He kissed his wife and held her near
In an unrelenting grip.
Above them shone a brilliant moon,
Like a pearl in the pool of the night.
The soldier whistled a lonesome tune
As his homeland slipped from sight.
No more than an hour of the journey completed,
The engines fell silent below.
In seconds a submarine had meted
A fiery, final blow.
The vessel, now a mangled wreck,
Leant to its starboard side.
Every man on the twisted deck,
Fought to get the lifeboats untied.
Some jumped overboard, as the ship sank fast,
Amidst burning and floating debris.
The whistling soldier breathed his last,
As he slipped “neath the pitiless sea.
A monument stands to honour those
Who perished in their prime
A field of crosses stand in rows
Like sentinels to a shrine.
It stands on a hillside
Overlooked by pine trees
That rustle and whistle
In the warm offshore breeze.
A widow returns to remember the soldier
She lost many years before,
And whispers, as her children hold her,
"Let there be no more war".
Categories:
meted, conflict, courage, death, remembrance
Form:
Rhyme
Surrounded by four walls.
I feel disgust and despair.
Why can’t I snap out of it?
For listen: The city hums with listless life.
Hospitals thrive with dying patients,
oft with self inflicted excruciating pains,
more often meted out by egoistic humans
in pursuit of hedonistic pleasures,
of self satisfying needs.
In a quiet moment at the end of the day
sometimes I pray. Alas my heart
is enveloped in inky darkness.
Instead I hear the cries of domestic violence,
of children desecrated,
women raped,
men killed by other men.
I flee my loathsome house,
merge with mindless humanity,
in streets displaying their dirty linen,
intransigent in their cacophony
of indomitable bellowing ululations,
until I reach the quieter periphery
of the endless town.
The night is ebbing. The first rays
of the rising sun touch a silvery dome
reflecting its rays straight into my eyes.
Instinctively I shade my face
yet the light persists. Is it a sign?
Could there be hope for me?
Perhaps there's sense in creation.
So I close my eyes and pray.
Fiction
Categories:
meted, depression, prayer,
Form:
Free verse
Perched on a stony gray shore I await
The next wayward sailors; I decree their fate
From the lofty Rhine cliffs did I long ago fall
Now passersby answer my beckoning call
Though hardy they be, my song is yet stronger
My melodies sweet, my endurance longer
Through deepest of waters they rarely shall pass
Once caught in my spell their soul is held fast
For, betrayed by my only true love, I avenge
By stealing dear lads from their lovers and friends
The vessel I see on high wind does approach
Threatening the reef 'neath my feet to encroach
The better for me to draw near weary men
Who once resting their heads will not venture again
But, lo, what is this that I see at the helm?
A man whose possession would rule any realm
The fire that alights me has so permeated
The fury is gone that I once would have meted
Instead, I desire the strength of his arms
The taste of his lips and the wealth of his charms
It is puzzling, 'tis true, my unlikely behavior
Still, somehow I know that this man is my savior
As I depart from the shoreline and swim for the bow
I am drawn by the call of his siren song now
Copyright, Donna Golden, 1999. Revised, January, 2009.
This poem was inspired by "Die Lorelei", by Heinrich Heine, which was, itself, based on the
German legend of a siren that lured sailors to their doom on the banks of the Rhine river.
Categories:
meted, lost love, love, nature,
Form:
Rhyme