Best Needs Poems
Young and pretty, living a normal life
Suddenly her world would never be the same
Her lovely boy born with special needs
Her daily life now the toughest of games
She carries on with her head held high
Having a career, still being his mother
Constantly dealing with medical issues
Yet she would not change him for another
Nurses and doctors fill her daily life
Fighting for the services that he needs
Never one complaint does she voice
Knowing not where his path will lead
A special soul; accepting the hand dealt
My admiration for this woman so deeply felt…..
note---
I am privileged to be one of his nurses...I have never seen a stronger
more dedicated mother..
Where does the
selfless sun hide
when heavens
r a i n bloodstones?
Burned and inscribed,
from monsoon monsters,
gnawing at our bones,
the shimmering
darkness imbibed,
If only drifting shades of gray,
where the tempests
of hell sway,
would hear the hymns I sleep to
when the clouds steal on cue
the soul of illuminating skies.
I listen to the echoing symphony
of s i l e n t sighs,
convincing soothingly,
pulling me back to soar
new h i g h s
amongst electric choirs,
as angels swiftly swing,
on saffron strings,
to the bass of cellos rising,
above tuscan tambourines.
Yet, I keep drowning in needless tears,
from pearlized ponds of fears,
seeing life as how it
has always been forged,
a disappointment
fed through
filthy forks, who’ve gorged
on the first
of every scintillating ray of light.
But, what if the sun, too, needs a savior?
Like an eternal gem that beams
upon dreary dawns set upon her
draining every heavy lampshade
of stars within spheres
of novae, lest the opulence give
way to bruise and decay.
Perhaps, grim gales gusting in
wrathful bursts
shall finally be the
serenity I need
for I’ve tilled every field
of hurts like raspberry
from the scent
of rose water,
For sometimes, that’s all it takes,
heeding to freeze through
malevolent thorns in icy lakes.
But, what if the sun, too, needs a savior?
Like an eternal gem that beams
upon dreary dawns set upon her,
draining every heavy lampshade
of stars within spheres.
A savior eternal, dawns on heavy stars…
~ Inspired by the poem "Sun too needs a savior" posted: 8/22/2023
Princess just wants a new car.
I have told her that hers will go far.
'Oh, it's really not cool
driving this crap to school.'
'Do I need that emotional scar? '
'The kids will all laugh at the rust.
When we race, I'll be left in the dust!
I will save up some cash
then we'll make a mad dash
to the car dealer surely you trust'.
'He will make us a wonderful deal
and I'm sure you will know how I feel.
I will love you so much,
My siblings... I won't touch.
Just get me behind a new wheel'!
Now she'll be cruisin in style.
She'll be happy for only awhile.
There will always be better
and we'll try hard to get her
a car that will make princess smile.
I've read many accounts on that horrific war that was WWI ,it was supposed to end all wars.
It was trench warfare and men fought and died in hellish conditions.
It inspired me to write this fictional verse.
The posters said come fight with us and make your country proud
Went to town my friends and I to sign on the dotted line
I remember the scenes in town, the cheering of the crowd
They said t'will soon be over and everything will be fine.
Naive were we and believed them and everything they said
Some basic training they gave us on how to use a gun
It did not help my friends though because now they all lie dead
To us this was a big adventure, just a bit of fun.
I was assigned to B squad, trench number forty seven
And had to stand in mud so deep it came up to my knees
Soldiers had put up a sign that said ' shortcut to heaven '
After a while my skin was itching someone said it's flea's .
Night time bombardments were the worst and my ears were ringing
Often they'd strike lucky and parts of the trench would disappear
We'd try to drown out the roars with patriotic singing
In the eyes of the boys I was with you could see their fear.
Everyday bodies were brought out and placed upon a cart
As the stretcher bearers passed we'd think thank god that's not me
A gruesome sight I witnessed were those bodies blown apart
I could not help but think that from hell those souls were free .
In November ninteen eighteen the war was finally over
We cried with tears of joy, we were finally going home
After a few hours I saw them, the white cliffs of Dover
Tears rolled down my face and I vowed never again to roam.
Home for me was a struggle and it didn't seem quite real
At night I'd have bad nightmares' and I would wake up screaming
Often I'd wonder if my mental scars would ever heal
My mother she'd rush in and say " son you're only dreaming ".
It's been ten years now and the wars still raging in my head
And I often ask myself how ever did I survive
Nine friends I lost in that war and now they're forever dead
Wars are a game of chance, whether you die or stay alive.
Written 30th September 2019.
The rainbow needs a new name.
What it should be I don’t know.
Its name before Babel surely a song.
Shimmering, glistening, magical thing!
Outlandishly colored, and elusive.
Common and yet somehow rare.
Momentary, yet ancient.
Its power only doubted when hidden.
In its presence we are left without words.
Brilliant men utter only oohs and aah’s.
At times we can’t help but cry
because of water vapor?
Tiny droplets suspended untethered!
Explained and still incomprehensible!
Artists paint in vain upon their canvas.
Their work trite, opaque and flat,
a ridiculous cartoon.
If pictures with their renown power fail,
how can we tell of the leaping inside?
Hint of another realm we all suspect
Like joyous recognition!
For all this we say, “rainbow.”
(Especially, for new writers)
Just as in real life, some poets have the art of wearing masks of friendship.
You will know, when they stop commenting to all your works.
It's not rocket science to figure it out.
They just stop posting to you totally and it feels like being hit with a boxing glove.
No, your poetry is not inferior!
In fact, you may be a more than one time POTD winner!
Even then, they simply refuse to acknowledge you.
They just ride on white unicorns, under an allusion that they are superior?
How cheap, how tawdry, how unloving and cruel!
These poets who think they are some precious jewels?
But you must go on, though they ignore you like dirt.
They are nothing but arrogant, selfish-centered squirts.
The most loving poets are here in abundance.
They honor you, love you..
These lift your soul with a sweet, humble incense filled cadence.
......Write-on..ignore the unicorn riders......
"By their fruits, you will know them!"
January 14, 2020
There are so many people who will stand up
In the cause of speaking for others, but
What is the motivation for this act
I mean what do they gain to be more exact
I mean, they speak for some, but who will speak for all
Whose Life is more valuable....that's what I must ask yall
At the moment of conception, who will we cherish
And who will receive our condolences when they perish
Some never got to taste breath, many never saw the light of day
And if they had a chance, I imagine this is what they'd say
I never got my chance to lie, I never got my chance to tell the truth
I never got to be the elderly, I never got to be the youth
I never got to Love, I never got to hate
I never had to rush, I never had to wait
I never got to laugh, I never got to cry
I didn't get to win or lose, I didn't even get to try
I have never seen the sun, I have never seen the moon
I never felt a midnight, I never touched a noon
I never got to steal, I never got to earn
I never got to teach, I never got to learn
I didn't get to work, I didn't get to play
I never had to leave, I never got to stay
I never had my chance to listen, I never had my chance to tell
I never got to buy, I never got to sell
I never got to kill, I never got to save
I never had my chance to be bad, I never had my chance to behave
I was never your worst enemy, I was never you closest friend
I never forgot to say I Love you or to ask how have you been
But it's only Life right....I mean, you got your chance to record it
But we will never get ours....we are the aborted
"The Aborted"
by: Eric L. Boddie
Why is life so difficult?
All the time I wonder,
Why I stand against lightening
But I cower from the thunder.
Lightening is life.
It’s what causes me to make a choice.
The sweet yet forceful sound
Of thunder is the sound of your voice.
When I cry my endless tears,
Why does my heart forcefully bleeds?
Why am I constantly torn
Between my wants and my needs?
I have only one want
But my needs are what I need to do.
If my needs help hold a better
Than I want to need you.
My heart says it can
Take any blow she will throw,
But can I really trust my heart?
I don’t know.
I want the sweeter things in life
But I need the bitter.
If my wants lead me to death
Then I need to be with her.
I know her routine, she told me today,
I know what lives in her soul,
I know her small quirk, that she thinks of the most,
I know what keeps her mind whole,
You see, she lives by the seven, she loves how it’s prime,
It’s more than a number to sum,
Its power is when her darkness has fallen,
Where her mind can count like a drum,
One to three to the five, six and seven,
Her mantra beats loud in her black,
Beats regular and defiant, against all the odds,
When her mind is under attack.
Her secret is a thought that keeps her mind sane,
Her secret’s her defence in the night,
Her secret is the special power of seven,
When her mind is stuck in a fight.
This is not a new poem however was written on a whim and has never been entered into a contest, i think ot suits your contest. :)
We quarreled, argued, fought but she was unfair,
"Write me a poem then Shakespeare", she taunted.
Then threw pen and paper on the table as a challenge.
"C'mon Lover", she snarled trying to hurt me, "get busy."
I picked up the pen and tried to think of something to write.
I glanced at her and saw her victory already shining in her eyes.
"Try that thing you're always counting syllables over. Seventeen only.
You should have that crap down and ready by now."
No haiku would flow from my pen no matter how hard I pressed.
Realising for the first time that no one ever wins a quarrel, I paused.
I wrote for a moment, not needing verse or count or rhyme.
My poem for her was brief and cruel and compassionate and true.
I folded the paper and handed it to her. "You win", I said walking away.
On the paper I had written; I love you.
MRS. CATHY NEEDS SOME SNOW
I called up the thunder; I called up the rain;
I left a message; and gave them your name.
I left a deposit; at Your Rent to Own;
As soon as they get some; they'll deliver it home.
I e mailed the Governor; with request for some snow;
But nobody answered; they're busy you know.
Frosty the Snowman; says he'll try his best;
To grant you your wishes; for this special request.
I got in my car; and drove in the dark;
To that special place; where angels do hark.
I entered the union; of Unity Hall;
They said they can do it; they'll give you a call.
At Natural Disasters; they all agreed;
They guaranteed me; you'd get what you need.
I yelled up to Heaven; I asked for the boss;
St.Peter then told me; for you there's no cost.
Early this morning; was a knock on my door;
Good God it was Elvis; singing let the snow pour.
Cathy my dearest; worry do not;
Sweet heart I'm on it, with all that I got.
Why do people walk away
Am I so easy to leave
Despite the effort and the love
Too often, I grieve
Do I do the same to others
Have I done so in the past
Is it just life’s complications
Causing good things not to last
Perhaps, there’s no awareness
Communication nowhere found
That’s caused this dark blue feeling
I keep losing so much ground
Insecurities take over
Not knowing where I stand
I know that I need people
Like the beach needs the sand
I hugged my sons today between the chaos and play.
They normally rush through the everyday hugs
(the quick pat, while they pull away, kind of hugs),
but I cried today, heard about too many sons dying today.
An everyday hug is not what this mother’s heart needs on a day like today.
I rarely think of my own needs in my day-to-day life,
but in these hours, as my world orbits far away from other worlds,
I need to embrace my boys, fully and completely curl
them around me for all the moms that will never again
hold their sons with an outpouring of maternal abandon.
I need to take my boys in my arms, snuggle them close,
feel their youthful glow within their wise, yet tender, souls.
I need to touch the rough-and-tumble scrapes and softness
of their boyish skin nestled in my arms and smell the lingering
sweet of shampoo as their hair brushes against my cheek.
I remember how I felt an indescribable, unconditional love
when they were born, the bond of mother and child
that even death cannot break.
I need to hold them again like they were babies wrapped in my arms,
to reach that part of them that is a part of me.
If I can, I will hold onto them a little longer for all the grieving mothers,
before they slowly start to pull away, asking, “Mom, can I go play?”
Written 6/6/20 for Craig Cornish's
Hug Contest
If I drove to the mountain top,
could I talk to God?
If He spoke when I reached
would He say I treat the planet odd?
If I swam to the ocean floor,
could I talk to a squid?
If he spoke to me when we met
would he speak of the damage I did?
If I flew to the trees to visit the birds,
could I speak with an eagle?
If he spoke to me when we met
would smog render his voice less regal?
If I slunk down to the grasses
what would I say to the snake?
If I tried to speak to him when we met
could he talk back, or did our DDT remake?
If I were like a Doolittle I would talk to all,
to find how we have hurt the Earth.
I would take that knowledge and teach all people,
to preserve and share this world from birth.