Best Month Poems
Rise Up
Rise up to the blessing of another day.
To all that awaits you this moment.
To all that will challenge you and enlighten you.
Rise up to the opportunity to live in your truth and appreciate the truth of others.
To make a difference and matter to those in your path and to those you never noticed.
Be awakened by the joys of opportunities both sought after and placed before you.
Rise up to the choices that you have the freedom to make and take delight in being the vessel to enforce them.
Embrace your beauty, your strength, and most importantly, your flaws.
Be courageous when faced with adversity and smile when you’ve conquered the impossible.
Rise up to your fears and shortcomings and face them with the belief that you are not the only one; you are never alone.
There is so much turmoil in the world today. Be that small ripple in the water that becomes the huge wave of hope and positive change.
Be that spark that ignites into a blaze of restoration.
Rise up to the responsibility of reminding our youth that they are royalty and should conduct themselves as such.
With the dignity and respect which is needed to be a part of resolutions and not part of our demise.
Although life has a way to often break us down, we must rise up to the realities of our destiny.
We cannot be broken. Our spirit cannot waiver. Our souls have been fortified with ancestry that embodied perseverance, power, and the will to praise God.
RISE UP KINGS
RISE UP QUEENS
We are backed by our foundation of greatness and all that we are facing in the world today is our foundation of inspiration and purpose.
We must be inspired every day to simply and deliberately RISE UP!
May is Mother’s Month
May is green
spawning inchworms.
I nest too
cleaning closets,
busily morphing
contrary to my wont.
Even the slothful move,
to her blossom song.
In a whistling fragrance
I recall how mother
loved lilacs and wearing
shorts to show a model’s leg.
This was her time, the spring.
Oh yes, and summer, I guess.
Fall and winter, too.
Quick now, the cycle is mine to ponder;
lo, youthfully to long for me
who follows me and calls me mother.
©Kathryn McL. Collins
"May, queen of blossoms, and fulfilling flowers, what pretty music shall we charm the hours?" - Lord Edward Thurlow
May is greeted with blooms bathed in dew
She's crowned with a diadem new
All around is seen spring's sweet presence
Bulbs have sprung back with a vengeance
Butterflies flit round blooms of red and white
Serving all eyes a delightful feast
Earth is clad in silky emerald dress
Amid flowers, bees restlessly buzz
Birds hop from branch to branch, a happy throng
Pouring delight through their dulcet song
ghost, river, shiver, gaze, tender, cold
Ghost River
Ghost river runs without a shrink.
Little known in polite circles.
With cupped hands, the shameless down drink.
Suspended place, not inked in journals.
A decisive shiver up spine.
Why’d a boat wait at foggy shore?
He’d smiled at me, as we’d cheered wine.
Trepidation ripe in my core.
His leather gaze; something so strong.
It’s cold in this romantic boat.
The oars sluice in mud; bid ‘so long.’
This life offers me an antidote.
Awful the scented rose petals,
so inky ebonic afloat.
Tender whispers amidst nettles
of thorns piercing my inner throat.
Before I thought to scream, the hosts
in revelry asked me to join.
“Get out of the boat…” (drown, they coax)
Madness! Their eyes’ covered with coins.
My eyes flutter open at once.
There’s a knock at the door. It’s him.
I’ve been warned; palpitations in flux.
Satan’s given a pseudonym.
I shake off my trepidation,
it’s only a dream; excited.
Suddenly - a celebration.
Down in the waters, invited.
No longer a dream, a nightmare.
I’d never awaken…no prayer.
The Sowing
Upon the wind feasted hillside
The jagged edges of used rocks swell
With the fatless skin of babes and wenches
Below a field of blood, no less a Flanders Field
A continuous swell of rape roll like waves
In the pallid squalor of leaking huts wooden tales tell
The scars ironed in the backs and inner thighs
The voices crying with no listening ear
Blood shines bright in moon's glow sons birth upon the fields
For eons it seems men stack rape like barley and wheat
Small ones soft ones and inexperienced virgins too
Daughters bled away dignity men their respect
Born work and ravished in the fields
Where is their medal of bravery
Today the summer sun washes over the fields
Each ray eclipses the dark memories of sin
As the sons and daughters rise
This poem was written for Joann Grisetti's Copycat contest through inspiration of Debbie Guzzi's The Sowing, one of the Greatest writers here on the Soup
Our Month of March
The month of March will soon make her debut;
this winter month, our third is now in line.
And she can be a fickle one, it's true;
brings climate that is wild or quite benign.
'In like a lamb, out like a lion' force,
she teases us with spring then turns around;
and there again, another snow, of course.
So March has her surprises to astound.
But towards her end, we think about our spring,
as March does seem to seal winter's end.
We pick up twigs and branches in upswing
on warm and sunny days; on hopes depend.
But, month of March will own up to defeat
when April comes on pussy-willow feet.
Sandra M. Haight
Panting, running, paying, fuming,
Bumping, swearing, hurrying, driving,
All because today is the thirty first
Of the month, why are we all nigh to burst!
Got to buy groceries, go the butcher
The dry cleaners, the florist, the baker,
Did i turn on the slow cooker?
Have guests coming at 8.00p.m still
On the road, home in 15 minutes – phone Will,
Darling, Did you collect the birthday cake,
There is a big accident, traffic hectic won’t make
It to pick it up – Yes sweetheart I have
Drive carefully the roads are crazy,
Looks like a storm brewing, weather drizzly and hazy.
As I arrive in our driveway it pours with rain,
And I drop a packet, which had the red wine, I stain
My clothes and the car seat, go have your shower,
Hubby says, relax, everything is under control,
Turned shower taps to their full strength and power
Exhausted, let the water run over my naked body
Till I feel refreshed, get dressed in my
Sexy black number,
And come downstairs, hubby gives me a wolf whistle,
Just wait till the guests leave he says, look at him
From under my lashes!
The aroma wafting from the stove is
Provocatively divine!
And next to the sofa is a glass of room
Temperature red wine.
Table is set, arrange flowers I brought in a vase,
Immediately, the bell goes ding dong,
It’s Cherry and Tim,
She couldn’t wait to show me her engagement ring,
Hot on their heels are Susan and Barry,
He has just asked Susan to him marry,
And last of all my twin sister Rina, arrives she’s wise,
With her new boyfriend in tow she bellows, Hi guys!
Fun was had and wine was drunk
Laughter abounded in the lounge and dining room,
We all forgot how tired we were and
It was end of the month, and all the media forecasted,
Was doom and gloom!
It was my birthday, turning forty, no turning back now,
Don’t regret a day of my life, bless the day I took my vow,
Happy birthday dear Mary, happy Birthday to you,
I felt blest had my hubby and sister present and select
Friends but few,
Mellow and happy and with certainly no one drunk,
Just four happy couples full of zest and funk!
Our guests began departing, in twos they left,
I slipped of my shoes and gave a big yawn,
Will picked me up, and must have undressed
Me – for all I remember is waking up to a peck
On my cheek,
And a scrumptious breakfast in bed,
I always knew I had picked the right guy to wed!
I want to be the man who’ll be more than your man
I want to be the one you make your best friend
Not to replace the ones you got
But a different one to start
A different kind of love for you
A man with a different point of view
Who really doesn’t care to lay you on your back
I really don’t care to get you in the sack
I don’t care what’s between your legs
Interested with what’s in your heart and your head
Your intelligence to hold me
Your love to move me
Doesn’t matter to me how sex with you would be
Would love you still if we left and you never slept with me.
I want to be there when you need a rock
I want to be the one to stop
You in your tracks when you approach me
Want to be the only man you see
I want to know what makes you tick
I want to take care of you baby when you’re sick
Not the kind of man to obsess bout the size of your chest
The kind of man to try to ease your fears
Not caring about the state of your hair
Instead bring your eyes near,
Let me stare and get lost
Take me to the source of your innocence
Let me fall into your essence
Swept away by your beauty
Amazing me with your purity.
For you what I feel
Makes you my Achilles’ Heel
My only sweet weakness
My eternal kryptonite
Thoughts of holding you tonight
My caramel princess
I must confess my heart’s distress
Leaving it a wonderful mess
A mass confusion of feelings
Making me a believer
Making me the receiver
Of a presence so divine.
Don’t make these tears drop
Try not to stop
What we both know is here
Learn to gaze and stare
Into my soul through my eyes
To win that forever prize
That’s bigger than us both
Realize perpetual growth.
Although soon we have to go away
Honestly right now I wish to stay
In your arms
Listen to your heartbeat and let it calm
A few storms of my own
Can’t believe how much this has grown
In just a month…….
"A writer must use ink from their heart for their readers." By Poet
Even as a creative "Ghost" writer,
we need "Heart" as we pull an all-nighter.
What will our muse want to "Deliver,"
maybe happy or sad or be a forgiver.
Words can sometimes be very "Tender,"
other times be bold and an offender.
"Erase" is one of our many tools,
no writer wants to be put in a group of fools.
Words are like paint painting the weather,
from days with flowers like pretty heather.
Summers can be really hot and bold,
then we cool off to a winter of "Cold."
They say our blood is really ink,
not red but a pretty pink.
“A fight of voice exceeds one of fists.”
Bludgeoned, broken, cast away,
Time devours, your name decay,
Ascend beyond the gilded throne,
Unsung, unrested, still overthrown.
Happy Women's History Month!
400 years Today
Although my feet has bared the mercy of my body
I used the stars ? to guide me
I am no longer present in this moment
For I am not a slave
I am not a bastard
Oppressed and marginalized
I shall not bare the thought of my offsprings
For what will become of them
For miles I’ve ran to freedom but freedom had forsaken me
Arm and arm we’ve marched
Only to take a greater lashing
For what is freedom
I have no rights and there is no justice
Return me home
But there is no home
Native to the land but the land is theirs to own
Burn it down with my ashes into the flames
This ain’t no life of mines
Have mercy on soul
For I am not a slave
Words Used
Ghost, Heart. (Nouns)
Shiver, Deliver, (Verb)
Wicked, Viscous, (adjectives)
I had a friend- jovial and sweet, in my college days.
The same room, we had shared at the hostel.
I noticed, by and by, she was losing her sprightliness.
Had no clue, what upsetting thoughts nagged her HEART.
One night, she woke up screaming- “GHOST, Ghost”
Looking delirious she said petrified, a ghost was at the window.
I brushed it aside, thinking she had seen a nightmare.
But her erratic behaviour continued, often acting bizarre.
Slowly, she seemed to have slipped into a spell of silence.
There was always a look of horror in her eyes.
She was no more the cheery girl of the past.
Into a world of spectral shadows, she seemed to have sunk.
If ever I woke up from my sleep, I saw her wide eyed,
Gazing into the air, as if seeing something horrifying.
Once, she said, she saw a skeleton dangling on a VISCOUS spider net.
Often, she was seen SHIVERING and stopped behaving normal.
So upset, I wished to DELIVER her of her mournful plight,
Her parents were informed who took her to a doctor.
Under examination, she was diagnosed with Schizophrenia,
Characterized by hallucinations of WICKED spirits, haunting her.
* * * * * * *
When memories come surfing, still my heart goes out to her
Who fell into the abysmal depths of delusion and frightful fantasy.
Will antidepressants work on her? Will she ever become whole again?
Or will the dark demons continue to haunt her, day and night?
I long for the faces of those that I love
the laughter the hugs of beautiful kids
Victorian teacups, & lacey white gloves
an epicure diner, beneath bubbling lids
I hope for a feast with a good ending year
less tears more smiles, in all that I hold dear
May the good Lord fasten and note my request
then offer up blessings to Mothers of best
On this special day may all Mothers be told
love is a flower that blooms with May showers
Mothers are worth more then silver and gold
when it comes to love they hold all the power
Its Mothers Day so let her know you love her
not for a day, not for a month, but forever...
Of faithful flowers
who tasted the sun briefly
A rich fertile time
Beyond happiness and cheer -
grain nods in the blowing wind
"A true writer must write. Ink is in their veins." By Poet
Writers love their many letters to choose from,
letters turning into words then into sentences.
Poems come from the love of writing,
writing about the past or maybe about the present.
Poems can be true or false,
some will make you cry and others will make you laugh.
The writer and reader are both in love,
in love with letters, words, sentences and reading.