Best Mightily Poems
This is what the wicked are like— always free of care, they go on amassing wealth. Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure and have washed my hands in innocence ~ Psalm 73:12-13
A wise man long ago bemoaned the thought
that those who seek the paths of righteousness
so often struggle mightily. Their lot
seems only to be wreathed in hopelessness.
Meanwhile, the wicked reap rich dividends
while disregarding others' poverty -
they'll use whatever means may suit their ends,
neglecting justice, love, humility.
Believers know "these three remain" to guide
up peaks appearing insurmountable:
Faith is that trust in Him who walks beside;
Hope is that blessed wealth uncountable;
and Love, which guides us to eternity -
For "God is love", the greatest of the three.
The shell remains
picked clean by hungry vultures
ravenous with greed.
Gouged-out eyes
now bare hollow sockets
vacant in their stare.
Morsels of choice parts
deftly stripped or torn away—
and gutted vitals, furtively devoured,
have filled the wanton needs
of scavengers who shared the feast.
The carcass rests
flat on bony frame
supported once by plump, round legs
on which it mightily ran.
There it lies—
a brittle, empty shell—
the poor abandoned Chevy
on the Harlem River Drive.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Bring To Life
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Judged: 04/14/2018
~3rd Place~
Contest: East Jesus
Sponsor: Roy Jerden
Judged: 01/02/2015
Note: Inspired by my many trips years ago in the late 70s, to visit my father in a hospital there. I would see so many abandoned cars lined up as 'empty shell carcasses' along the Harlem River Drive in New York City.
Who Art Thou?
Thou carriest me to distant clime, to Egypt in my mind.
I’m Cleopatra, naked. In thy folds, I solace find.
Thou art gentle, like sweet Antony. With body splayed, I lie
Upon thee in a valley, and above us is blue sky.
Those times, I come to visit thee with arms outstretched, for peace.
Other times, with steady strokes, I find in thee release.
Thou holdest me though I cut thee; thou art soothing like a balm.
I love thee when thou art able to flow, clear and calm.
At times, thou canst rage. On those days, I've no need of thee,
But other times I move within thee, working mightily.
And when my body’s spent, I leave thee for a while
Until I see thee next, and thou wilt be for me, my Nile.
This is a Thing!
A riddle poem for you, Rob
Tender touch gently soothes an ailing soul
Wordless discourse greets eyes of love
A mother's hug comforts her child's ego
Love is the force that makes the world go
Kinder hearts ache sensing others' pain
A prayer mightily calls for suffering to end
Flowers of goodwill shed feelings of woe
Love is the force that makes the world go
Words of care resonate in any language
Noble deeds of strangers justly amaze
A message of peace triumphantly echos
Love is the force that makes the world go
Love received, gives, and regenerates
It multiplies, compounds, and propagates
Love is the force that elevates the world
September 7, 2018
4.
Now things started to become clear,
Both Alahsar and Salahmar in the same space,
One would find Victory, the other, leave this place,
light and dark in the eternal battle.
Alahsar, of God's light,
Salahmar, of dark's evil joys,
which of them would wane away?
Devil's fear, or Heaven's glory.
For Alahsar, the city of light,
mortals, their lives laying down,
numbers falling as Algahrs push forward,
is this the end of light, hearts filled with hate.
From the golden gates a mighty moving,
women, they come forth with speed,
hate filled eyes and trembling cries,
yelling out their cry of war.
Still the foe were many more,
the Algahrs always to the front,
mightily they begin their push,
the might of dark within each beast.
Too hold the foe would take great strength,
strength was fading, ebbing away,
the Algahrs now did mighty push,
death and destruction on Badicha lay.
Still mortals stood, though blood did flow,
man and woman, power decreasing,
children watch from mighty walls,
as parents and friends meet their end.
Dark Man fighting, vengeance dear,
Warrior Queen spreading fear,
the bloodiest scene before the gates,
blood for blood,by sorrow's river.
Utamol, with almost life of own,
cutting, slicing, stabbing home,
Dark Man with his awesome grace,
Sends evil from this land of light.
Warrior Queen with power and speed,
destroying all this evil seed,
cries of pain are everywhere,
so many lost, their dead eyes stare.
On the plain great dust clouds rising,
screams of mortals and beasts fill the air,
lightning flashing, thunder crashing,
onward the struggle of life goes on.
Within the heart of living terror,
weapons crashing, teeth a-gnashing,
will miracle come to Badicha?
Shall mortals halt their slow retreat?
Alahsar's own are falling back,
dead and dying are underfoot,
now mortals they must hold the foe,
forward warriors, toe to toe.
No battle ranks or strategy to follow,
Hold position and strike down the foe,
Dark Man now in heat of battle,
Arlaghs feel the hate of Utamol.
In this time before time,
sorrow's song, the last song to be sung?
Strike with rage, power and might,
Become battle Gods, the power of light.
Cry goes up, "Walk in the light,"
the arms are weary, still fight for life,
still the battle crashes on,
what end shall be, before the dawn.
To Be Concluded..........
~Seven Dwarfs~ (limerick sequence)*
There once was a dwarf named Doc,
Who saw patients around the clock.
He hadn’t gone to medical school,
Yet his patients he could easily fool,
For his meds were always chalk.
There once was a dwarf named Sleepy,
Whose wife was extremely weepy.
She wanted to travel
But couldn’t unravel
His hair from the bed canopy.
There once was a dwarf named Happy,
Who ate only fudge and taffy.
His tummy got big.
He looked like a pig.
So he switched to chocolate frappé.
There once was a dwarf named Bashful,
Who’s wallet was always cash full.
Too timid to spend
For fear he’d offend
The peons whose homes were trash full.
There once was a dwarf named Dopey,
Who’s mind was mightily mopey.
His speech was so slow
His belle didn’t know
That he wanted to elopey.
There once was a dwarf named Grumpy,
Who became a little rumpy.
He ran ten miles a day,
But much to his dismay,
His butt just became real lumpy.
There once was a dwarf named Sneezy,
Whose allergies made him wheezey.
He wanted to play the romantic lead,
But instead did the voice of a dying steed,
In a film by Martin Scorsese.
*the real ending to "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs"
WHERE FROZEN EMBERS STILL BURN
When will periwinkle dreams entwine with my lifesong?
deadly winter has blanket me? [Long, ah! so long...]
Has bloody ferns swirl then froze me as falling snow
for acrid critiques cold cloud? [T'was wrong, Oh so wrong...]
Doubts and worries weaken my weary feet
but teeming catalysts from a compassionate God
activate talent embers, once frozen to heat--
telling: "TRUST, GO AND START!", an alarm from above.
Bearing a faith anew, I spread my wings to fly;
walking even over blitz agonizing talk for ply.
Cracking myself from iceberg of fears--
twining myself to God's glory, a clear dear!
Braiding faith and hardwork in cornerstone steel,
spirits shoot hope that guards, a powerful feel.
Unfolding gifts from long frozen hearts to burn,
now mightily restored with heaven's love way turn...
(c)
10:16am
August 22, 2014
"Then there is no more left but this, that
in our doom the sorrow yet to come shall be no less
than the love we two have already known"
(Words of Heloise to Abelard after her pregnancy)
Like moon on nights of skies un-starred
she lived without her Abelard.
A parched still plain was Heloise -
like moon on nights of skies un-starred.
In death she would not lose regard
for him who’d been her rain and breeze.
Like moon on nights of skies un-starred,
she lived without her Abelard.
When Abelard put love away,
with Church he mightily aligned.
The world was not like ours today
when Abelard put love away.
Not even Heloise could say
were she to often cross his mind.
When Abelard put love away,
with Church he mightily aligned.
By Andrea Dietrich
For the Famous Couples/DuosPoetry Contest
of Heather Ober
(based on one of the most interesting love stories
I have ever read: Abelard & Heloise)
The Eagle of Isaiah 40:31*…
Activating achievement-appearance
Blowing blessings’ brilliance
Carrying changes’ chance
Directing drive-dare despite distance…
Extending endurance effortlessly
Fueling faith-fervor fully
Greeting God’s goodness’ glow graciously
Hoisting hopefulness-height hastily…
Increasing influence in instructing
Joining journey’s joy-jolting
Kindling kindness keeping kindred-knitting
Leading love’s lighting…
Moving miracle-magnification mightily
Nurturing nourishment-needs naturally
Optimizing obedience-opportunities openly
Pushing productiveness powerfully
Quickening qualm-quakes quickly…
Refreshing revival-rejuvenation
Satisfying secured salvation
Tossing triumphant transformation
Unleashing understanding’s utilization…
Vanquishing villains victoriously
Working well worthily
Xing ‘xcuses ‘xcellently
Yelling Yahweh’s yeas yieldedly
Zooming to Zion’s zenith’s zealously!!!
*Isaiah 40:31 But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
May 3, 2018
5th place, "I Wish That I Was Poetry Contest"
Sponsored by Viv Wigley; judged on May 6, 2018.
It’s autumn time in America,
the colors are changing ...
(it’s alt right to gasp in whited disbelief)
as poplar majority, quaking Aspen leaves
slowly fall off
the John Birch branches
Minority bad weather report
says with autumnal census certainty,
that the colors are changing
irrevocably
And as such,
the changing of the times
has weed hateful nettle disgust
rooted permanently
Forest green consequences are seen
ever spreading
with solyent rapidity ...
(it’s alt right to paint a Snow White
enchanted cottage fantasy)
As the waxen ruling majority,
manifestly, cope with
becoming the newest minority
These be the autumnal days —
the kaleidoscope, tabernacle feast harvest
befalling America
Changing of the color landscape
is being coldly received,
winter frostily ...
(it’s alt right to fiery bemoan in ash-white grief)
The reaping season of Autumn
has duly arrived in America,
with equinox clarity
Equal time for daydreams and nightmares
demand sober vigilance,
as the latter-day fermented rain
begins to foment fall —
An end gathering of
rainbow intolerance disparaging,
mightily ...
(really, it’s alt right to cry with pale hope rantings)
Winter teardrop flakes of uncertainty
are alabaster doubtful falling
America now ghostly faces
the haunting reality of changing colors,
changing what was to what will be
Autumnal days of whine and wilted white roses:
a nostalgic weep binge of dead leaves ...
Drunken ivory desires
porcelain pining
for past skin demographic superiority
Yellowstone in winter. Canyon Falls, Rutherford Park, Old Faithful. Of all the places we had ever visited, this was his favorite. Josh even named one of the elk after his mother. It was while enroute to Rutherford that we encountered the cow, along with her two calves. Blocking the road, she looked up at us as if to say, "Patience, patience." We understood. No babe should lose its mother.
The snow makes a crunching sound as I walk toward the rim of the canyon. The air is crisp and clean, the chill nips at my nose and ears. I watch the falls flowing mightily, endlessly, effortlessly. I muse to myself that eternity must be like Canyon Falls. Each molecule of water contributing to the whole in an unbroken, continuous flow. Not one is more or less important than the other. Everything in its proper time and place. Things are as they should be. The universe continues, the world keeps spinning. The sun seems so far away, as if on some distant journey far from here. Away from this miserable angst-filled planet we call earth. Who could blame it?
My God, he was just twenty-one. I tried, I swear I tried my best to be both mom and dad. But the White Lady ensnared him, seduced him, made him promises, told him she would ease his pain, make him forget. But she lied. She always lies. In the end she won. Smacked her lips, another victim. Another loss of a young life. So, so young. He wanted to be a medical researcher, to find a cure for the cancer that took his mother. Now he is with her. Maybe it was meant to be this way.
This ludicrous lucidity, like a fallen angel, keeps taunting me. Melancholy returns. Loneliness haunts my days and nights. The air is changing, the cold now seeping into my bones. Even my heart feels frozen. Frozen here, frozen in time. How I long to hear a voice. It's so god-awful quiet.
the allure of red
flaming poppy paradise
dreams crushed by abuse
Beneath a shroud in mystery
was built a monument sublime,
where flowed a river endlessly,
her flow kissed the periphery,
ignored the grasp of time.
So great the span of her intent
she circled mound and battlement,
where roses sprang in every glorious hue,
and other vibrant flowers showed their worth,
as ancient trees spired mightily in view,
and full proclaimed the grandeur of the earth.
Behold the caves where lovers kept their tryst,
close hidden where the mountain swooped and shaded,
well guarded by the shadows and the mist,
a devil's place where dissidents and traitors kissed
in heated passion, and their love degraded.
Within the gloom a roiling and a bursting,
a waterspout came thrusting, thunder blasting,
and spat huge molten rocks like tiny pebbles,
the torrent coursing down, not merely dribbles,
the raging maelstrom flinging high and over,
revealed beneath the streaming sacred river.
She ran through dale and covert full continuous,
a journey never ending, until she reached the sea.
And then was heard a cry, a call to arms,
that neither bliss nor solitude becalms.
Yet music from the edifice and caves
o'ercame the sound of warring and of strife,
reverberations and the crashing of the waves
a mighty symphony in tune with all of life.
the sun-bleached monument regaled in gold,
the savage caves, calamitous and cold.
A dream of perfect grace I once beheld,
a lady with a voice as clear as spring,
a vision of my destiny
she sang of sweet eternity,
such joyful notes didst bring!
Would that I might recover
the beauty of her song,
the passion of a secret lover,
I might labor hard and long
to recreate this sacrament,
its sunny climes, its frozen spa,
a two-edged sword its testament,
a blessing and a curse both spent,
to dwell within that twin entombment,
a two-tongued threat beneath Abora.
For whosoever breaks these grounds,
and recreates conflicting sounds,
has tasted direst dark and Shangri-la!
Canvas, calm, grinning. . .blank
Had words screamed, scarecrows trapped on the poles of their creators,
Had words formed psalms that barricaded the strongholds of the heart,
Divine despair would desperately take hold again,
Embellishing the muse
To smile, the impassive smile. . .confuse
Enraptured by your tail,
Coiling, boiling in the hot and hungry sun
The eyes, clouded, caught in a moment of inexorable suffering
Death glistening in the confirmation of tears and groans,
Shading the dialogue that never surfaces
Justice in pale focus. . .constant, still held in out-of-the-blue faith
Please,
Do not allow your perspectives to dull
Waiting so long, I deafened the cries
The very cries I so blindly expressed. . .
Words etching existences imagined
I want you to take the hand of uncertainty
For as I have, I forever feel the tremors that have given me shape
Those very hands create what you dream,
And not what you fear
Take that hand,
Squeeze it tightly
I promise you, once you touch. . .I will never let you go
For I love you,
Oh, unexplained hold. . .
Help me escape the newborn deaths of today
Teach me how to step over the carcasses of calamity
Where the innocent die to inspire the remaining
Learn how to lead me into the lights of your eyes
Please,
Give me your beautiful hand,
I will take you to places you will never understand
And it will be okay
Because where I go,
The scarecrows roam with the roaring ravens
Making music with the pulse of their wings
With the sharp click of their beaks
Where I go,
Psalms of serenity's back way make love with impending day,
Spinning despair into the golden hairs of suspended May
Where I go,
innocent flowers freely giggle arrays of life
And his tail whips mightily,
His black velvet purrs arousing breaths of caramel verisimilitude
Where we stay,
In the forever grip of the trust you and I made,
Justice is pure water,
Cool and refreshing. . .ever smiling
Please,
My love, please
Hold onto this world with me
Give me your needs that I need. . .
And I promise perspective will prosper
The canvas, one blank, filled with detailed destiny of Color Surety
October 19th, 2014
Patience is a virtue
and a necessity
Sometimes one must
pull up a chair, sit and wait
Patience is key!
Take. Your. Time.
Let no one pressure you
into meeting an unrealistic
deadline. Do your own thing,
at your own speed
Running late because...
you forgot to set your alarm clock?
Patience! Slow down, my good friend.
You'd rather be late
than careen off the highway!
You're mightily ticked off
and you want to hit something,
or worse, someone? Easy does it!
Hold your anger in. Breathe.
Let annoyance wash over you
Don't wear it like cologne!
Something isn't going your way?
Some dream you're working so hard
to build is taking too long to stand erect?
Keep plugging away; it eventually will.
And it will stand firm...
If you lay the bricks
of your foundation without haste.
You lay them the right way.
and take it day by day.
Be patient. It will stand firm!
Take your sweet ol' time...
solving an arduous problem
making big decisions, life choices,
or even finding true love. No pressure.
Patience is key!
Submitted for...
Strand Special 2, Any Form, Any Theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Date written: 12/13/2019
Grow not too tall nor so far away son
Plant not your tendrils deep in new ground
Thinking newness your past can now outrun
Stay in touch let your heart remain homebound
Tree too tall without deep roots falls subject
to any strong wind, let those roots remain
Planted in truth grow toward right_connect
With justice, let love's seeds grow don't constrain
Reach up to touch shining stars capture love
Reel it in let love flow through you to all
Love is key_even though at times unheard of
Remember God's Word don't be like King Saul
Don't grow to proud, high, mighty, arrogant.
Intellect_ learning _start to mightily flaunt
Click on "About This Poem"