Best Mightier Poems
I could never explain how I feel
On air, waves of sounds escaping what I could no longer hear
Aggravation lingers on the tongue
How it burns, perpetually, embedding anger on taste buds
I will remember the taste of defeat, eternally
Dull, so Dull, hums this high pitched
Innocence
If I can't tell my story in the voice that I want to
I’d rather be silent
forever
The pen flows so easily
Blackest inks stain my felt tip
Passion! How it twists my heart into complicated
Mazes, interlocking, crisscrossing
Things I’ve never thought of before
The blood of contemplation runs clear as diamonds caught in eclipses
Torrents of ecstasy,
Free falling
over
J
A
G
Ged rocks, waterfalls, creating Prisms
Bam, Bam, Bam
Relives pressures on joints that hold
Industrial hearts together, oil may no longer ease this
New age technological emotion on addictive highs
I never even knew of until I thought about it
Two Double Oh Seven for sure
I consider myself to be something
I’m not really sure of
But I do love to imply mystery in reflections that others see
Honestly, complexity isn’t my best asset, only others believe this is what I am
As long as I believe in what I stand for
It is fine if my tongue flails but my pen soars
the pen,
soulless,
stilled
with
chewed cap,
and emptied cartridge,
as my yen
burns like an addict's fire,
palm sweat on parchment,
syllables, prosody,
sans serif mind flow,
while demure muses
whisper soft moisture,
follicle and promise,
into my thought train,
running like a hangnail,
raking blank canvas,
flecked in textured ink
and immovable type,
scrivened on envelopes,
spilt on torn napkins,
blown out on e-pages,
squirt into ether,
no action,
no traction,
cry out for
electronic
reaction,
the verse
is mightier
than the
whole...
I know your secret
I know why you are so awesome
I know why you love so deeply
I know why you care so much
I know why you always have the answers
You have seen it all
You have struggled the most
You have experienced the worst pain
You have gone through the hardest loss
You have been hurt the most
You are strong
Your pen shows it well
Your pen tells it all
I admire you
I respect you
The power of your pen
Is the strength in you
i picked the quill
fallen from the flight feathers
to write soaring thoughts
~"Feathers" contest by SKAT A
... The pen is mightier than the sword ...
The poet knight went off to war
To prove his valor true.
Sir Arthur Berk, the troubadour,
Knew he had much to do
For he had found a greater sword
To strike his foes down dead.
He swore to fight invading horde
And make their ink spill red.
Each lord, farm hand and tavern maid,
Had often heard him tell
The fierceness of his secret blade
And all the foes it fell.
Of dragons and of armies past
He'd read this weapon killed.
The legend of his sword was vast;
The ink would soon be spilled.
Soon rival horde had come again
All took up sword and shield.
The armies prepped for battle then
Were met upon the field.
They yelled and brandished spear and dirk
But soon were silent when
All held their breath to watch Sir Berk
As he unsheathed his ... pen?
He rushed in sure and unconcerned
But fell at the first blow,
And what new truth he might have learned
I guess we'll never know.
But if, perhaps, he'd been more keen
Sir Berk might still yet live;
Too late he learned the difference 'tween
Literal and Figurative.
9.13.18
Contest: Unsheathe Your Sword
Who'd have thought it so easy to run a great nation,
No requirement for Congress or Supreme Court confirmation.
All you needs a Twitter handle and Executive Orders,
That's his guarantee to secure our fine borders.
While the Constitution is one thing you shouldn't discount,
It appears to be one notch below his Facebook account.
So put down your protests and give him his due,
If the President tweets it you know it is true!
So far it's not been so great, maybe we've been took,
By a bigly bull slinger who's probably a crook.
With mindless occupation on hits, likes, and views,
Don't you need a fake president to dish out fake news?
The guy beaks off like a loon...his thoughts meander,
But sauce for the goose make sources for slander.
We may even glimpse hope every now and then,
Too bad YouTwitFace is mightier than the pen.
"The pen is mightier than the sword"
Said the towns' poet, a bit of a bard,
To the Chief of the military,
Challenged him to a duel, gave his shiny card
The card had his house no. and plot
The challenge? A battle to death
To see who will rot,
The Chief sharpened swords, the poet simply read
They got in battle, in the poet's house's battle ground,
The chief raised his mighty big knife,
The people sat waiting for this round,
This was a battle to death and life!
The poet then threw some ink on the chiefs eyes,
Blinded him, stabbed him with the pen, took all his 9 wives
daggers
d i v i d e
diamonds
7/15/21
I’ve got pens for days
All the bad things in my life
Suddenly became a have
The sun shine and light is all I see now
I had started to feel so much like a sloth
Then I stepped outside
And took sight of the light
Life suddenly changed for the better
Life became love
It was there all along
Hidden within my heart
I should of looked there
Right from the start
I almost let life pass me by
I was on auto pilot
Thank goodness for the positive thoughts
They saved me
From becoming,; lost within the dark
...The old cliche.
"The pen is mightier then the sword", said they.
But haven't we advanced at all?
That newer, better sayings could be formed?
The keyboard's power surpasses the force and there are those that prefer their voice.
The classroom still prefers you use the pen, but when you leave, will you then?
Will you clutch a pencil till it snaps, etching into paper till it wraps. Clutching at the
pen and writing till, you make an error and can't repeal. You ask for a better way, this
is the day.
...For typing.
The keyboard's mightier then delete. The poetic voice surpasses violent screams.
Let the modern day warriors of the word, raise their hand and be coerced;
...to lend their talents to the world that needs them.
Paranoid delusions of an evil world government enslaving the people
murder for profit
the vast majority of mankind unaware
something is wrong with the world that we live in
how can we stop it
is the pen mightier than the sword
Eternity's vast weight of time
is pressing dark against my breast,
and brooding powers wage within
a ceaseless struggle, dearth of rest.
A crown of shame enwreathes my brow
with thorns, a piercing diadem,
the symbol of self-monarch reign;
fear's rose the circlet's black-starred gem.
Oh, who can free me from myself;
who can the worth master be
to lift the victor's standard high
above the conquered ruins of me?
A crown of thorns was His before;
His throne, a cross against the sky,
the humble Christ who I have found
the one King mightier than I.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
Hidden in your lies
is the truth uncovered
From the deepest wound
Left an awful scar here
I fought in hell
To save one's dignity
I roared your name
Like steel
Cutting cold ice
Deep enough
To feel pain
Beautiful turns ugly sour
the skin almost creeps
Falling a fine line unreal
To cut at the razor's edge
The face cuts truth
In the deepest wound
cold hard lies open cuts
Did I ever know you
The blackest heart
A complete stranger
Horrid ugly deceiver
in what you done
no respect shown
Cold emotionless heart
Cutting to the bone
to look crazy upset
over nothing
Almost possessed
Like shut down empty feelings
Open the eyes
An obstacle between us has grown
like hitting an iceberg
something is dreadfully wrong
Then you drew the sword
Shot me down
Buried without closure
the bitter end
Coldest cut frosted
Scarred deep within
The razor edge
Straight through the centre
Just like a knife
in searing pain
The finest cut
The tongue
like a paper cut
Drawn with the pen
can cut deeper
than any wound
upon the sword
Who do you deem to be stronger?
Be it God or the Devil?
Simple!
Should you wish to know the answer
Why, just see to what extent do you wish the world to be ill
Yes, God did make us, the torchbearers of life
Yes, God did believe we would be His followers
Yet, see today, mass killings for His own sake
So much that I do even wonder if God is dead or awake
To have taken birth in this world
Is none but the result of a fall
Our own, a fall we suffer now, a fall from the great Heaven
Our past life, the one we cannot remember
Is the cause of all that we do get in this one
This one life, shall indeed be the one weighed for our next one
Shall we be graced as to be allowed an ascent back to the holy land
Or shall we remain here in this putrid land
Or shall we go down further beyond, to the hellish grounds
Why, pray, do mind my words, and do be good to all who do surround you
Who you do deem to be stronger
Is none other but the one you choose to follow
Human hearts are made of two parts
The first belongs to God
The other one belongs to the Devil
Of course, sometimes we do wish to do good
Yes!
At other times, we do wish to harm
Mind you! Think twice, thrice even
And if you need to back out from evil, please do so!
Lie not, kill not, harm not, bring not anyone down
As everything about you, about each one of you
Is being kept, recorded and stored
Someday, you shall be judged, like me, like all others
Then, you shall realize, who is the One Mightier; God or the Devil!
the bane …
of complacency
the enemy of apathetic ids
an all-consuming blade of inspiration
you, mighty weapon
have slain the fiercest dragons of
detachment and disregard that
humanity has brought against you
and I, a knight of notation,
wield you with an authority graced to me
by a vivid imagination
and a child’s whimsical heart …
oh, I do not take your might for granted
nor underestimate your license …
I remove you from your scabbard
in deepest consideration -
your hilt, I grasp with awe
your edge, I apply in deference and fear
for the wounds I affect
are deep and lasting …
you are the Excalibur of inspiration
pulled from a stone of indifference
by the grandest of acumens and spirits
long, long ages ago …
I take up your glyphic garland
with pride and honor
and an undying respect for
the numberless warriors who came before me
and whose names are a prayer
upon these pious lips …
a prayer for you …
my pen.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, January 4, 2024