Best Moral Sense Poems
It seems these days, across the land,
that the Klan has somehow got a tan.
Somehow, instead of being free,
folk now take pride in their bigotry.
They say their skin defines their life,
even dictates who they take for wife,
claim it is their ‘identity,’
determines their morality.
Then they attack those ‘other’ folk,
who along with this crap won’t go,
the souls that shout,”Listen to King!
Color is a meaningless thing!
“Just because you have the same pigment
does not matter, ain’t worth a damn!
What’s inside is what matters here,
our dreams, our hopes, our thoughts, our fears!
“If you can’t judge a soul by that,
they you’re a skin-bigot, that’s a fact!
You won’t see people as they are:
Individuals you should not tar.”
Yet when you speak this simple truth,
they claim the bigot there is you?!
When you call out their bigotry,
they claim,”Oh no, that can’t be me!”
They scream that they don’t have ‘power,’
then shoot you an undeserved glower,
how convenient that their beliefs
from moral sense give them relief.
Lets them slander others all day,
lets their skin-bigotry blaze away,
But all their lines can’t change what’s real,
they’re bigots true, and here’s the deal:
If you judge a soul by skin alone,
even if that soul may be your own,
then you are a bigot, bona-fide,
no matter how you spin and lie.
If you lump together other blokes,
and whine of ‘privilege,’ being ‘woke,’
if beyond pigment you can’t see
if you can’t deal with history,
then ‘skin-bigot,’ I will call you.
You’re offended? Well I am too!
Every time I see loud lefties
cheapening our humanity.
…Your skin don’t make you special, but your obsession with it will make you evil.
(Free Verse)
You did me a favor by letting me go
I know that I deserve better and that's so
I am far better in so many ways than you ever be
You're do blind with all the trash in your brain that you can not see
But what goes around comes around one day soon enough
You can laugh everyday at me and enjoy the sun and the moon
I am already laughing at all your stupidity and silly ways
You have no moral sense of what's right or wrong anymore
You don't care to hurt me or anyone to get what you want
Go and do what you wish, you're a cruel man, you're a beast
You told me you loved me but stabbed me in the back
And you cheated on me and then left me got rid of me
Your kind is not the kind I want to be married to but at least have some very
good and that's our kids
You are so selfish and a very unkind a very sad excuse of a human being
As for me I will surely make it with your money, I am not perfect but at least I
don't kill people and don't cheat
I feel so sorry for your kind and wished now that somehow I have had never set
my eyes on you.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
September,30,2014
According to an ancient tradition
One can distinguish between two senses of Scripture
The literal and spiritual
The latter being subdivided into
Allegorical
Moral and
Anagogical senses
The profound concordance of the four senses
Guarantees all its richness to the living reading of Scripture in the Church
The literal sense is the meaning conveyed by the words of Scripture
And discovered byexegesis
Following the rules of sound interpretation
All other senses of Sacred Scripture are based on the literal
The spiritual sense
Thanks to the unity of Eternal God’s plan
Not only the text of Scripture
But also the realities and
Events
About which it speaks can be signs
The allegorical sense
We can acquire a more profound understanding of events
By recognizing the significance in Father Christ
Thus the crossing of the Red sea
Is a sign or type of Father Christ’s victory
And also of Christian baptism
The moral sense
Events reported in Scripture ought to lead us justly
As St. Paul says
They were written for our instruction
The anagogical sense
We can view realities and
Events in terms of their eternal significance
Leading us toward our true homeland
Thus the Church on earth is a sign of the heavenly Jerusalem
A medieval couplet summarizes the significance of the four senses
The letter speaks of deeds; Allegory to faith
The moral how to act; Anagogy our destiny
It is the task of exegetes to work
According to these rules
Toward a better understanding and
Explanation of the meaning of Sacred Scripture
In order that their research may help the Church to form firmer judgment
1232015
As a child you lost your parents and family wealth
by the decree of the Russian Tsar.
You barely remembered your mother teaching you French.
You were noble, aristocratic Polish child.
Your father Apollo, a poet and a writer,
was your first teacher of English.
He composed a poem to commemorate your birth.
Accepting truth you reconciled tragic past.
In youth you went sailing on the merchant ships
and became philosophical man,
learned in distant adventures,
searching for life with a moral sense.
You always despised the lie
in every day life,
distant and metaphysical –
in your rhythmic, poetic prose.
Guns on the rise Hero's fall
The preacher man ask me never to curse a thing
I replied not if I have to curse one day
Guns on the rise Hero's fall
The day gun was made
Worth a curse
A fast way to end a life
Is not worth a Praise
For all this shooting
All this killings on before
Our eyes say how much
Evil was of that day
Guns on the rise Hero's fall
One man up
Another man down
Always a human minus
A Gun rule
brutal display of no moral sense
An object of devaluation
It made day I wish to curse
Guns on the rise Hero's fall
One man meat is
Another mans Poising
What a day I wish to curse
For this object is a morden
vampire on the hands of our
Morden empires
So now you see
Some people now falling
So some other people raising
In power
Guns on the rise Hero's fall
Right in front of our eyes
The brave fall
Right in front of our eyes
Our prophets are devour
Who runs this cold world
For either they are not human
Or far from being human
For the red stains of the innocents
Makes that day I wish to curse
A day not worth a praise
Guns on the rise Hero's fall
My ancestors was murdered
Brutally by this object called gun
History is a with ness to this
Till now some where out there
May be now while I still write in peace
Some one is down again by this object
May be tomorrow again
Will be another gunshot
Hmmm......what a day
Guns on the rise Hero's fall
I wonder if a gunman prays
I wonder what God he knows
I wonder how a gunman sleeps
At night
I wonder who is his best friend
For this life's gone by so fast
Time after time
Makes me answer to the preacher man
Saying if I was to curse a day
It will be the gun day
For our Hero's are right in
Front of our eyes murdered by
This guns!
Still it goes on and on and on.
No Judgement Jamie always was told
that judging others was vile and cold,
all her teachers did proudly attest
that living life without judging was best.
And the media reinforced these words,
to judge other people? Hateful! Absurd!
To judge was the make them a victim,
what peopled needed was more compassion.
So at sixteen, at a big school dance,
Jamie found herself approach by one Vance,
she’d heard rumors he was a player cruel,
wanting only sex, and bragging rights too.
But she was no bully to judge all his acts,
so she went with him to his car out back,
when she called him later, Vance, he just laughed,
and gave her Herpes on top of all that.
Then there came college, and time to decide
what she would do with the rest of her life,
her father said study to bring in money,
her mother said think if she would marry.
But Jamie would not make that decision,
she could not judge, would not build a vision,
just went with her gut, a choice so easy,
but nobody hires for gender studies…
After college, working in a dime store,
she met her a man with tattoos galore,
her father advised,”That man is a thug.”
her coworkers said they heard he dealt drugs.
But she was in love, who was she too say
if it as wrong or right to earn cash that way,
they moved in together, it seemed all right,
’till police dragged them both out one night.
After a night in jail, Jamie was clear,
but had no place to stay that was near,
the place she’d left, she couldn’t afford,
but she got a deal from a new landlord.
Got a new place in a rundown slum,
her dad said moving to that place was dumb,
but judging these people, that wasn’t good,
it was nothing more than a neighborhood.
Until one night, when a gang-banger charged,
stabbed poor Jamie for the purse on her arm,
she died according to her moral sense,
but at least she didn’t make a judgement.
Ages there are in which the ration'l man
And th'intuitive stand side by side, the one
In fear of intuition, or scorn for abstraction;
Irrational one, the other inartistic.
They both desire to rule over their life,
Unreal or real, counting life to be.
Prudence, foresight and regularity,
The means with which one meets needs principal.
One o'erjoyed hero disregards these needs,
Counts life as beauty and an illusion.
As in the 'case in ancient Greece, th'intuitive,
Handles his weapons authoritatively,
Victoriously than his opponent, and
Establishes art's mastery over life.
All utensils we use in daily life,
Were made from art, not from our pressing needs.
Houses, our clothes, our clay jugs, all them were
Intended to express exalted joy.
Guided by abstractions and concepts, we
Succeeds in warding off our misfortunes,
Without ever gaining any happiness;
So that's the case the ration'l man's life is.
Th'intuitive man, aim freedom from his pain,
Standing a-firm amidst his culture's frame,
Reaps cheer, illumination and redemption.
Defense against misfortunes, he obtains.
I was once advised to read Nietzsche's 'On Truth And Lies In A Non-moral Sense.'I do not read Nietzsche; I sing it. I sing 'On Truth And Lies In A Non-moral Sense' this way. I am sad to observe that Nietzsche did not write it this way but in his eloquent flowing prose. Unfortunately, when I look at such prose and skim content, lines appear this way to me.
A Poem By P.S.Remesh Chandran. Editor, Sahyadri Books & Bloom Books. Trivandrum.
Read more about our views on poetry and about our various poetry editorial services, kindly visit http://poetryeditservice.blogspot.in/
No matter what attack me regardless the force
that it carries it won't break me away
Into pieces, or the path that I make my way
toward I will make it every step each day
Foul words, corrupt judgement show no value
for it shall not ever forsake me or take
My inner value or beauty in my inspiration
there is nothing I will allow my ground to shake
Like a storm with lightening no thundering crash
could ever shock me in the discovery of sight
Of the mission to complete that's within my reach
even if the travel is through a desert day and night
People with smoke that trails behind their wake
like the Devil in disguise never will you break me
Nor convince me with your tongue full of trickery
or lies like your untouchable to everyone you see
I'll fight violence through words the mightiest weapon
that there is to use towards those with no moral sense
To understand what it feels like to go through something
severe like a nightmare full of horror which becomes intense
Those who follow the crowds who have little respect
who give no meaning to the things they say and do
Are the people who pretend to be a friend playing an act
you don't fully see how they are trying to play games on you
Why should only miracles show people so very little
when a miracle has a beauty like a rainbows descent
As it fills the skies that we live under within a world
that is so corrupt that always remains overspent
By people seeking answers, historians, scientists, politicians
to the questions that they struggle so hard to get proof
As they lose themselves in an endless search far and wide
amongst the globe to these observations there's never any truth
No Devil will ever break me no demon will ever be drawn
or take me over or control me in any way of living
For I am a person with a soul of love and heart of gold
as Jesus was towards his enemies I am also forgiving.
Written By: Joseph D. Boca
The first train, a smoke puffing monster, ran in India,
Moving like a millipede, cautious, yet, no phobia;
As though well-chosen astronauts, lucky four guests traveled,
In cozy, cool, curtained compartments cautiously castled...
Soon, trains - thought of as luxury, prestige, status, and style -
Turned to be thrift trips that take travelers so long a mile,
A beggar could move in it singing, dancing, and begging;
Clowns, jugglers, and vendors easily could make their living...
The Indian trains and rails have long-lasting histories,
Mass accidents, like puzzles, have remained great mysteries;
Derailments, like earthquakes, shake and take the trivial tracks,
Direct collisions, like wild-bore hits, tricked by timely cracks...
Dangers, unintended, like calamities, die away,
Traumas of accidents, into normalcy, bloom someday;
Intentional human errors do corrode moral sense,
Like Abel, they knock the closed castles of human conscience...
A great train-trauma the times of nation never forgets,
Like horrible nightmares, innocent hearts got terrorized;
Is the partition-time human life slaughter, like cattle,
Sending them in blood pools by trains, like dead in the battle...
Then the religious bitterness in the form of riot,
Murdering, blazing - young, old, women and children - quiet;
Singing, dancing - like the god of death - around dead bodies,
Joyous, on the death of humanity, like dry poppies…
Common human beings here, like animals, do not care,
Many trains - as late as twelve hours, daily - all through the year;
Deaths and murders - like sunrise and set - if trains often bear,
Doesn't the goal of the invention of trains seem sheer sneer?
13 October 2021
Railroads, A Historical Glance Back Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
Before the storm everything appeared to be lucent
But, then the rain fell upon my window
All the things I knew, now blurred
Light that once guided me is now a maze
Senses I once trusted have betrayed me, forgotten me
I can no longer discern what is right from the wrong
Are the morals I know and believe real?
Or rules created by man?
Do these rules protect or control mankind?
The drops of rain have obscured my moral sense of the world
The decadent things in life now seem genuine
I'm fain to go to a fane filled with feign
Because it no longer feels nefarious
It's still raining outside; A blurry conscience I have
I long to hide in a hole and stay hidden
Embarrassment haunts me as the memory resurfaces
All eyes punish me with their glares
My moral sense did not guide me
For it was not developed
At 14, my young mind did not know consequences
I beat myself up in my mind
I scream to make it better
But the anxiety never goes away
the memory never fades
As it uninvitedly resurfaces, I relive it
Over and over and over again
The complete opposite of a man…
Existence is unique and never less than.
Her presence can be compelling and desirable,
Forthright, like a force from nature, unstoppable!
Exuding feminine qualities that are mesmerizing,
So much so, that it’s uncanny and amazingly hypnotizing.
In a noble manner that she sees fit to fashion,
She is capable of undeniable passion.
When she loves, her emotions prevail,
Her warmth and loyalty with adoration we hail,
For her wholesome nurturing shall never fail.
In respect to her genuine, moral sense,
A being that epitomizes beauty and intelligence,
So with this I say with pertinence,
Show a woman honor, respect, to emphasize her importance.
Agape love is the highest form of all expressions of love. It is the
kind of love that God has for us and that we are to have for each
other. Agape love was displayed, in action, on the cross.
John 3:16 records Jesus’ words,
“For God so loved (agapao) the world, that he gave his only
Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but
have eternal life.”
Thus, the inspiration for this work.
**********
AGAPE that was strong yesterday,
Will be as resilient tomorrow,
Where AGAPE is in true display,
Its power is inherently thorough.
When LOVE is faithful and true today,
It will on tomorrow bestow good,
And diminish all that blocks the way,
Toward mature Christian personhood.
Where we found AGAPE yesterday,
Along the highly traveled life-road,
Today, we will find along that way,
All the more so, if the truth be told.
For our quest will be much more intense,
When AGAPE is experienced,
As an action based on moral sense,
And worn as reverenced laureate.
Life changed by the power of God’s LOVE,
Shown fully in His beloved Son,
Is AGAPE LOVE learnt from above,
When from the cross, salvation was won.
The Amoeba Has It Made
By Elton Camp
It need do but little to amaze
Biology students always praise
“Oh man, I can see it moving.
The little dude is really grooving.”
There on the microscope slide
The tiny critter does now glide
In nature found most everywhere
The amoeba exists without a care
It lives and does just so very well
Although it has but a single cell
Its food is easily enough found
And to eat, it just flows around
Amoeba’s nucleus is its “brain”
From complexity it cannot gain
To have sex it has never tried
To reproduce it need only divide
Moral sense Amoeba does lack
Nothing tells it how it should act
There’s no tiny preacher to tell
“It’s my way or you’ll go to hell.”
I.
The world that you’re coming into
has never really cared
about who you are ‘deep inside,’
there is no money there.
Your teachers and parents praised you,
because that’s what they do,
the great weight of reality
was never told to you.
You’re unique, but not that special,
you must find skills of worth,
otherwise you’ll have a hard time
surviving on this earth.
t’s not because people hate you,
or that they ‘keep you down,’
ot’s because all are struggling,
all fear they soon will drown.
Don’t think that you can hit it big
With some real clever scheme,
trust me, it’s all been tried before,
get rich quick is a dream.
It’s hard work and tenacity,
real success comes from grit,
the pain of it beats weakness out,
you’ll be better for it.
If you don’t work, you will not eat,
that is the old cliché,
it’s true enough, but there’s much more
I think we have so say.
To not work and live on hand-outs
got from the government,
keeps you alive, but not much else,
it kills all moral sense.
All sense of your adulthood will
just wither on the vine,
you’ll always feel inadequate
in the back of your mind,
knowing you can’t sustain yourself,
that your own efforts fail,
that others must take care of you,
by them you must be bailed.
Either the shame grows in your heart,
and you feel pathetic,
or worse, you hide, and blame others
which just makes your soul sick.
You start to rag on those who work,
pretend they put you here,
ignore knowledge counter to this
in an eternal fear
that you might have to look and see
how your choice made this hell,
to hide from lacking dignity
tou tear them down as well,
And make all suffer what you do,
make all people live a bad life,
so you won’t have to feel the pain
of trying to live right.
What’s left will be a withered thing,
a ruined shell of man,
it’s best to realize starting off,
it’s best to understand
that men have to be productive,
that we were made to build,
best to work hard and start that cause,
before your soul grows ill.