Best Novices Poems
How Dare We Ever So Boldly Speak Out
Let me write in obscure and chaotic words
stirring waters tepidly unknown
Yet my spirit refuses to admire such birds
or the massive flattery they are now shown
Why yes, some of us write from poetic hearts
with passion and not merely for fleeting praise
We that sail the seas, using understood charts
are now thought to be in an insane craze!
O' that we dareth to sparsely use archaic words
in poems as way of joining with the past
O' what folly, not wanting to be in a modern herd
or be afraid of those that so love to lambast
Cry thee, to thy Gods of confusing adulation
while we carry on in our simple ways
Content with depth, not writing for modern adoration
full of faith that truth and heart in poetry pays!
Robert J. Lindley, 4-27-2017
Note- Old poet, simple slam and quite tired of elitist criticisms
of poet novices, true hearts writing in understood words and
some that seek to exalt themselves by tearing others down..
Yes, this is a slam, but one done in a simple,reserved and more poetic style.
Both of us were damaged yet, we tried
literal broken lines.
He was right winged and I was left winged,
I hid under his, we lifted with mine.
Both of us were needy flights, wing singed
like Icarus we fell down
I was left winged and he was right winged
I lifted him and yet he held me down.
Both of us were novices at love,
pigeons with tried, tired roles.
He was right winged and I was left winged,
his sheltering wing took such a toll.
Both of us were desperate for love
so, we nested for some long time.
I was left winged and he was right winged
yet, down we fell, when we wished to climb.
*Dedicated to all the damaged ones who tried.
COVID-19
A Sequel To 9-11
Written: by Tom Wright
10/19/01- 4/3/2020
During trying times,
We often search our dark lonely passageways.
Finding scant light
To help us through our days;
As faith's novices,
We often consider that sight
With anguish, fear, and utter disdain;
Faith, prompts us to believe the glow at tunnel's end,
Is our ray of hope, not the last train?
“He who has health has hope,
And he who has hope has everything”
Arab Proverb
Some days are soft and pretty, like pale lilac
Others - cold as ice and dark like charcoal black
While some days preserve your peace of mind
Melancholy takes over some, leaving you in a bind
Today, your high spirits might be serving the perfect afterglow
Fears, rage, and uncertainties might hold your soul hostage tomorrow
One day, you could be imagining yourself on the final stepping stone to success
Achieving that dream might feel like boiling the ocean on the next
But that's life - a carousel of perspectives and sentiments
Some training the novices, some draining even the toughest presidents
Here's where you remind yourself of how you made it this far;
About how many bad days you fought through without a scar
And how you didn't ever surrender - being an unsung superstar
So, collect these triumphs to build yourself stronger than ever before
And remember - you must live the bad days to love the good ones even more
His workshop looked neat.
Unlike many others who prefer dusty feat
His tools are arranged in order.
Within a tool-line with a border
He took one at a time.
And placed back in a manner sublime.
Many novices around him he had
To learn from him, they were glad...
In this day and age you've gotta be positive
To combat the negatives, it's your prerogative
Tell silly jokes
Smiles they provoke
Mission accomplished, here's to all you novices
© Jack Ellison 2015
Many
contestants;
great,
small,
experts,
novices.
Many
entries;
masterworks,
masterpieces,
chef d'
oeuvres,
magnum
opuses,doggorels.
Well
experienced
Judges
with
wonderful
tastes for
poetry,
Ready and
eager to
have my
lines
examined.
With my
blunt
pencil and
grandpa's
dictionary,
I worked
hard to
pen down
this
doggerel.
With my
grain of
faith I
thought it
could win
me a prize;
How
wrong i
was! Oh
what
vanity!
I should
have
known
this earlier,
This is a
contest i
just can't
win.
Riding high on the limpid waves
Rising high on the shimmering presence
Blue waters of white marbled chequers
For the eternal hymns of wayward heart
The golden domes invoking a saffron path.
Novices of thoughts and sunshine abiding
The golden swarms of vibratory atoms
The hush of pilgrims on the circular pitch
Tearing apart structures of egoed ditch.
Give vent to destinations of beauty & liberty
The concerns of soul now past its restrictions
Illuminate a glance bereft of the inner tumult
Saluting the Guru’s presence in a silent rebirth.
Abecedarian poems are also known as alphabetical sequential writings.
Being deviously different and difficult to
Compile, compose and complete. Consequentially combining
Determination and deviant, driven poets devote determined time, and
Exercise extreme etymological enthusiasm
For forging a fitting composition that
Guarantees generous grades, and gracious responses.
Hardly a task for hapless or haphazard hit-and-miss
Inexperienced, indolent authors with illusory intent to
Justify or judge poetry. Justification requires a jury of
Knowledgeable critics, possessed of a knack for keeping
Lyricism and logical, laudable linguistic language in line!
Many Poets, maintain a masterful grasp of their manuscripts.
Narrative is not so noticeable in novices, nondescript, nor
Obscure, opinionated obdurate writers, and
Poor penmanship, periodically proves this point!
Questionable quills quite often quake at
Recording random rational and rhetorical rhymes.
Skill sidesteps them: sends some to settle for success on some other site.
Taking time to tackle and test their knowledge may
Unknowingly, undertake an unrewarding undertaking for
Views vary - very violently and vociferously at times,
When writers, with witticism, warmth and wisdom, waffle to
X rated Xanthippes or
Yield to the yells and yammering of yahoos, yokels and
Zealous zealots! Zesty writing of an alliterative ABeCedarian is zany!
Rhymer. November 16th, 2016.
Hope / Faith
Or
Light at the End of the Tunnel
Written: by Tom Wright
10/19/01
During trying times,
We often search our dark lonely passageways.
Finding scant light
To help us through our days;
As faith's novices,
We often consider that sight
With anguish, fear, and utter disdain;
Faith, prompts us to believe the glow at subway's end,
Is our ray of hope, not the last train?
sweetest melody
sends chimney swifts cavorting~
novices confess
Same is the day same is the place
In similarities there is something to trace
Today is going to best saying the shining rays
lets search for novices in old ways
Smile please, no, put a wide smile on your face
Hug & kiss your love before tying your shoelace
Why this drama of being grown up and mature
Can't we , be the kid who dream more hope more
If blue is your favourite then wear it now
Adore the person you see in the mirror and say Wow
Passionate about photography take your phone out
Click the moments from window of bus without any doubt
Travelling is what you wish pack your bags & explore
Book a ticket now what are you waiting for
Love to celebrtae Pop up balloons cut the cake
Dont postpone memories that you want to make
Seeing the scrumptious cake if your mouth can't resist
No one is looking, forget the diet just take it and eat
regretting fights with loved ones if you are feeling tragic
Say a Sorry , let this little words doing big magic
Waiting for an occassion to meet friends and have fun
Call them now instead or just surprise them
Feeling like wriiting open your diary without any delay
Pen down your feelings ahh you have lot to say
People thinks they have whole life to do these stupid things
They don't know behind these stupidities a life they are missing
From that busy life a little time you need to borrow
Everything is in this moment , there is no tomorrow..
live now love now smile now
Neophyte
What can I say the pot plants in the yard are fed tiny rain drops
saintly tears of a girl rejected by the abbess to join the order
because she detect a wild sensual abandonment behind eyes that,
at first glance, are mirrors of chastity.
The abbess knows the young girl is not seeking god rather she seeks
shelter from the raving craving of her body, the relentless dreams
so alive she feels the weight of her fantasy lover´s alabaster body,
a young priest at the local church.
Sacrifices, in god´s name is always demanded by religious orders,
and mother superior has a quota to fill, but she is not looking for
troubles She needs compliant novices, Indian girls from the slum
who will forever thank god for escaping Calcutta´s poverty. They
will be slaves of Jesus and married to him, clean his underwear
endure ignominy for three square meals and a bunk bed to sleep in.
Twenty steps, I thinks not,
The energy I have not got.
Eighteen steps sounds a bit better
Then again I must write a letter.
Sixteen steps is perhaps achievable
But my computer program is retrievable.
Fourteen steps I may make for you,
But you will have to make them too.
Twelve steps, now we are getting somewhere
But where that is I know not, nor care.
Ten steps, yes I' ll think on that,
But I have already walked the cat.
Eight steps, now you are really talking
But what shall I do while I am walking.
Six steps, that sounds more real,
But then again, how do I feel.
Four steps I will think about
But I think I hear a shout.
Two steps, I think that's a dance,
I really don't think there's a chance.
One step and that's to bed,
Activities there, you read my head.
Copyright Mandy M Tams 2011
Not my first Richard but my sixth.
soup lost the first ones when changing something on the site.
when posting still a novices and scared...
Chalk dust swirls, a constellation of knowledge.
The classroom hums with potential, electric.
Each mind is a universe, expanding, colliding.
Every lesson plan is a map of uncharted territories.
Every student teacher is a seed bursting with promise.
I see curiosity flickering in earnest eyes,
passionate souls wading through seas of theory,
and watch epiphanies bloom like sudden sunbursts.
I smell the sharp tang of inspiration and doubt
and feel the weight of shaping future generations.
Each eager question demands an answer
and irresistibly ignites my wonder.
I breathe in dedication and exhale guidance.
My experienced hands gesture through pedagogical labyrinths,
guiding novices with eyes bright as morning stars.
But I am not content with mere instruction,
I seek to kindle flames that will burn eternal.
A forest of ideas, methods, and transformative moments
surrounds me and offers a world alive with learning.
Slowly, my carefully crafted lessons yield their secrets,
stretching minds in all directions.
I dissolve into a grove of educators, chalk and whiteboard,
into textbooks and technology, into the open minds before me.
My role I had considered fixed and defined
takes flight and soars with a thousand possibilities.
I grow limitless and merge
with this luminous tapestry of teaching and learning,
united with the endless cycle of education.