Best Moral Poems
When darkness spreads across the land,
and storm clouds form above;
a friend will be there, outstretched hand,
and offer you their love.
They stand beside you through the dark,
and always without strings,
to help you make it ‘round the mark;
the wind beneath your wings.
Whenever doubt forms in my mind
my writing is sub-par;
with your encouragement I find
my muse becomes a star.
June 23, 2018
...adapted from the novel 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small Channel Island,
a sampling of people just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all their disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring them together,
'if it works' are his words for the day.
A sense of humour is paramount these days
to keep those nay-sayers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him an angel,
the more good deeds, the bigger they grow
'til they're actually poking right out of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact they're all gone,
he need not prepare a disguise.
But this scheme that he's started gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been so busy negating the good that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens! he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what should he do?
he's conflicted, and lies in disgrace;
he sits down to ponder which way he should turn,
it's as clear as the nose on his face!
On the horns of a moral dilemma,
he simply gives in to pure Good;
he embraces his folk, he just loves them to death,
'til his wings are full-sprouted he'll
take to the air and keep flying
as far as infinity goes,
so he bids his people a tearful farewell,
next stop for our Spirit, who knows?
Being Nowhere
A bizarre place to be, especially when
you didn’t know you would be there.
The metaphysical implication of your
situation does seem incredible to others.
If this is the case, nowhere is that space,
that your mortal being and soul must fill.
Space and time in the human endeavor are
rife with inexplicable exceptions for sure.
Finding yourself in this eerie realm of nowhere,
by simple logic, bodes that you’re somewhere.
If you did something naughty in another life,
then perhaps nowhere is your karmic strife.
If this isn’t the case, then by cosmic fate, you’ve
unknowingly found yourself in another dimension.
Methinks that praying to God should be of help;
He knows that nowhere is somewhere out there!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 8, 2018 (Couplet)
Long ago, a girl and boy met walking through a pumpkin field.
She laughed and ran, he dared to chase, and neither ever paused to yield.
The boy was rich, and she was poor - for this they did not care.
For what was fortune or the lack, when playtime be your fare?
The year ran out and came again, and pumpkins grew once more.
The boy and girl would meet and laugh and tell of local lore.
Year on year the two would meet until they both grew tall.
And one good year he stole kiss, sometime late in fall.
“Marry me,” he said to her and her response was “yes.”
She laughed and sang and didn’t mind she had nothing for a dress.
The boy, once home was sat straight down and sternly told to choose.
The girl he loved would ne’er be his, else his fortune he would lose.
The proposition made him think, perhaps he had been wrong,
And in the pumpkin field again, he made her wait so long.
The girl, she had no gold or jewels – only love and faith,
So, nothing mattered quite as much as that one handsome face.
He kissed her long and then again, his passion cruel and bold,
He told her then she’d ne’er be his - and left her in the cold.
The next day dawned, the farmer farmed, and all seemed as before,
Until he stumbled on some cloth and recognized the frozen form.
Tears had hardened where they’d fallen, down her pretty cheeks,
And her lovely lips so still and blue, never more would speak.
The farmers anger grew and glistened, though he knew quite well,
There’d be no justice for the girl, in this calloused dell.
He took the pumpkin she had clutched and carved in it a look,
A hellish laugh condemned the boy for the life he took.
The boy, he saw the farmers gourd, and fear did strike his heart.
He ran so fast he tripped at last and down a cliff he did depart.
And every year that has gone by the villagers remember,
And put their pumpkins at the door, within each gourd an ember.
It flickers so, that every soul would know that good comes not
To those that pray upon their lessers – comes only spoil and rot.
I may question your beliefs
but my standard is not my own
I can not trust my thoughts
because my thoughts are not yet grown
My moral compass points to me
and I realise this truth
but you fail to realise you
also subjectivize yours too
and everytime you violate the
thoughts within your mind
you may take two steps forward
but it still sets you back in time
what may be true for you may not be true for me
living in expression is not a certainty
theres a difference between intention and living necessity
one exists by virtue the other sets you free
sincerity doesnt determine truth its a mere way to abscond
morality is coherence a truthful way to correspond
when you rise above the chains of predetermination
freewill then takes its place as Gods moral obligation
Fathers-in-spirit do not teach your congregations
Suicide, massacre, fallacy, bombs, and guns
But facts, piety, love, and peaceful co-existence.
Fathers-in-flesh do not teach your young ones
Neglect, war, begging, rum, and abortions
But care, peace, jobs, juice, and obedience.
Fathers-in-power do not inflate elections
Accumulate billions, dictate the pace, and obliterate our positions
But listen, agree, and act to what is being said by the Audience
Father-in-heaven allow our pleas to act in turns
For you are a witness to these burns
As we shall use these as lessons and evidence.
Every person has an attributes
That differentiate him from others
Some people are attributed by wisdom
Others are attributed by reason
And some people are attributed by honesty
But good morals bring together all good qualities
And you will leave an imprint
That will not disappear
Even after your departure
Hold on to your morals and you will rise.
spiders have eight legs
insects six — most mammals four
humans mainly two
some think they walk on water
and like slugs — leave slime trails too
By David Kavanagh
...adapted from the novel 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small Channel Island,
a sampling of people just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all their disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring them together,
'if it works' are his words for the day.
A sense of humour is paramount these days
to keep those nay-sayers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him an angel,
the more good deeds, the bigger they grow
'til they're actually poking right out of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact they're all gone,
he need not prepare a disguise.
But this scheme that he's started gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been so busy negating the good that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens! he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what should he do?
he's conflicted, and lies in disgrace;
he sits down to ponder which way he should turn,
it's as clear as the nose on his face!
On the horns of a moral dilemma,
he simply gives in to pure Good;
he embraces his folk, he just loves them to death,
'til his wings are full-sprouted he'll
take to the air and keep flying
as far as infinity goes,
so he bids his people a tearful farewell,
next stop for our Spirit, who knows?
Grinding, striving
Skin of teeth surviving
Death slowly arriving
As big brother takes and takes
More souls he rapes
Like picking grapes
Pay the man or lose
No wonder there's booze
To numb the choices we choose .
Empires built for nought
Morality now an afterthought
Politicians sold and bought
Futures forged on broken trust
Election lies , watch countries bust
As we wait our turn
To rust in the dust.
I once knew a whistling man and
whistle is all he would do.
This very true story I would like to
share with you.
Ted whistled in the morning when
he woke up and he whistled on his way
to work, in his old truck.
He whistled at lunch and again at break.
Then when the day was over, whistled to
the gate.
Ted whistled each and everyday and it got
to the point where his co-workers, his
whistling they did hate.
One day a co-worker approached Ted and
asked; Why do you constantly whistle, don't
you know it almost drives me mad?
Well, Ted said. Whistling is my reliever, my
stress remedy for as long as I whistle my
friend, dark days do not follow me.
The co-worker smiled at Ted and thanked
him so and told Ted.
You have helped me find a better path
to go.
The story I have told is so very true and if you
hear a whistler very near to you; I hope the
moral of this story will be of help to you.
I once knew a bricklayer named Bruno
And a lunatic known as Joan,
A Buddhist some called Judas
And a policeman who was always stoned.
Now Bruno wasn’t brilliant
But he sure could build a wall –
And when he wasn’t making mortar
He heard a different call.
Some say it came from mixing up
The water, mud and sand
While others say he had a friend
Only he could see and understand.
He often talked while working
To his invisible, fanciful friend
Who taught him how to build high arches
That reached the sky and wishful winds.
Joan heard voices and made big choices
Like building castles in the clouds –
For God and friends her head would spin
And no one knows quite how.
While Judas was a peaceful man
Always smiling from deep within –
But someone killed him, mistakenly
For some other traitorous friend.
And last but not least the policeman,
A stoner on the beat –
Who never arrested anyone
Being usually half asleep.
While loving his mortal enemy
Even those who wished him dead –
He didn’t seem to mind being lost in time
“I have the right to remain silent,” he said.
The moral of this story
If ever one exists –
Is nothing more and nothing less
Than every soul is entitled to bliss.
Today's problems can't be fixed by legislative law.
It is our moral behavior that is our flaw.
For being a racist, you can't be arrested.
Even though it is their freedom, that is molested.
If you cheat in a relationship, you will not be fined.
Yet, you disgrace the race we built, called mankind.
This is leading to the downfall, all of us being divorced,
but for the one's who do it, in a jail cell, you will not be forced.
This next moral decision, divides us into portions,
but it cannot be held against you, if you have abortions.
I am hoping that my children are born in a time,
where these aren't sins, but against the law and a crime.
As the wind howls outside in the night
Things thrash around breaking with its might
I think about the good and evil
Raising their faces, showing their will
Brewing like a storm in our country
A storm bound for landing, not to flee
A time of reckoning is showing
As we watch and we speak without knowing,
What the damage will be when it’s done
Who will survive retaining blessed love?
Who will hold onto faith from above?
Pleas for justice are calling abound
Some facts disappear without a sound
Spreading truth, not games, mean the most now
To hold onto it, through this somehow
Faith is the answer, restoring hope
As we travel this slippery slope
Let us not forget our core values
In the whirlwind of hatred on news
As the wind howls, keep calm inside
Emerge from conflict, knowing we tried
The truth is the seed within your heart
Do not let it go or break apart
This influential turmoil is strong
Many choices to make right or wrong
With every single moral test,
Winds may be strong, so let’s do our best
Heidi Sands
2/26/19
Moral Vs Dream
Family cry for Penny
My dream cry for achievemnt
Family cry for rid off from responsibility
My responsibility cry for work
Family believe live like bunch of
Bananas
My bunch of basket is with love
Family thing about fake values
My values fake for my dream
Family never ever give a trusted
words but fill my pain with their show off
My show off is to cry for death
What you think who will win......
With love all
Jagdish bajantri