Best Ordinary Poems
Snow is falling and floods are flowing,
people dying and children keep crying,
but he's just an ordinary man,
sitting there watching TV.
Icebergs melting and penguins starving,
men in suits talking and big guns firing,
but he's just an ordinary man
playing on his smartphone.
Storms blowing and seas are raging,
children starving and refugees leaving,
but he's just an ordinary man
at home warm and free.
He seems confused,
Daffodils no longer bloom in Spring,
bumble bees have stopped buzzing,
butterflies have stopped floating,
confused birds have stopped flying and
factories have plumes of smoke burning,
but he's just an ordinary man
sitting in his garden all alone.
So who is he to fight?
He just follows the rules he is told.
Instead of trying to be something he is not.
Because he is just an ordinary man.
The Silent One
Simple musing
11 January 2018
Today was a good day
Today he walked on legs unbent
And erect spine of a man intent
On stilling the cacaphony of monotony
And smoothing the callouses of convalescence
For today, we both forgot
The wasting rate this cancer's wrought
Today, he teased and squeezed and poked
Fun at his trademark old school jokes
Laughter's remembered warmth evoked
Today he drove his rattling truck
His feet sure on the pedal's pump
And carried boxes of tradebooks and tools
With hands that know weighted control
Today, without a splint or cane
He tamed steps of receding pain
Today, through a briefly calm sea
He is the man he used to be
So today, I can foresee
The luxury
When days like these
Are ordinary.
1/23/21
An Acrostic Sonnet inspired by United Colours Yellow Poetry Contest of Silent One:
Orange, which is not such a favored hue,
Rarely decorates hills, streams or plains.
Does orange matter? Well, in road work lanes,
It paints the bright cones guiding cars on through!
Not very much else does that color do!
As a terrorist alert, it’s made gains.
Really bright, it highlights, but makes bad stains.
Yet I love Cheetos, which are orange too!
Ordinary yes, but it's the new black!
Red and yellow birthed it; that‘s quite grand.
Autumn and Halloween gives it glory days.
Not to mention also this: we can’t lack
Getting its one vitamin named C, and
Evenings are best when it sets skies ablaze!
he said, "I am an ordinary stone" ~
in one nocturnal rendezvous
and vanished in sky's tenebrosity
before her hands could reach
to embrace him ~
a gentle gypsy wind
dulcified her dolesome heart
and set her to slumber
a shooting star arrowed
in elegiac ebony evening~
and as she opened her eyes
she found a stone that dazzled
midst the darkest night behind her
10 May 2022
A Brian Srrand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
8th Place
Every Day,
My Father got up early
And sat there, in the dark, like a mushroom,
And thought, and thought, and thought…
And... grieved...
He would not be the hero that he'd hoped,
An ordinary fellow with flat feet...
What DID he think? enveloped in the pre-dawn hush?
Perhaps he thought up all the ways that he would live the day,
And do some thing for everybody else... why? Just to pay
The
Deal He Bought.
To do something he hated, to provide…
To do something he loved, just to provide…
Perhaps he grieved for sons
He feared would fail him,
Or grieved for lonely life lived long in misery,
Or grieved for death's shadow… long, and inching closer
But, No.
I think that was his Pure time,
When stars were still alive, and shed a light
That could not yet be lost in day's grand smear of Sun,
When the silent house made the homely sounds
That only he, at that hour, heard
When the dark enfolded him, and was his blanket,
Reassuring him, that he would have the strength to face
Another day, another week, another year,
Like every Ordinary Man Does,
With slow faith,
And quick fears.
The whole world is a series of miracles, but we're so used to them we call them ordinary things. ~ Hans Christian Anderson
In the aching of a silent tear,
Soaking through laughter’s voice,
Gentling the darkness, the fear,
With music who sings of our choice.
Rustling in the light, softly glowing,
Wonder beyond our imaginations,
With Him, there is a still knowing,
Breathing joy, the heart’s sensations.
In the hunger of a fervent yearning,
Risking, chancing, expressing…
Spirit’s prayer, the soul’s discerning,
Remembering the value of each blessing.
Dancing through the winds so faint,
Grace overflows the twilight dreams,
Wise like the moon who has no complaint,
As she fades with her soundless beams.
Flowing on the seas, lulling the memoirs,
In soft pastels like the rainbow’s cloak,
Ordinary things glistening like the stars,
As they kiss away the dread night can provoke.
Pearls of compassion smile into the wind,
Washing away the heavy scars of doubt,
Destined for moments His love designed,
Fated to shine with devotion and never burn-out.
It is actually love that makes my life worthwhile.
Love I can’t describe invites me to give freely.
Without love inside, nothing can make me smile.
It is the love I give away that motivates me – REALLY!
In His life, Jesus taught us to think of others,
Refusing to be selfish and greedy, egotistic…
Because He taught us all about being brothers,
And, the humility He teaches is quite simplistic.
Love fully, with an open heart, unguarded by walls.
Listen to the gospel which reminds us to walk in grace.
Believe fully that Jesus comes when His child calls.
Know that this love He gives is a love no doubt can erase!
When I leave this world and meet the One who saves,
I pray that I can honestly say, my life was never ordinary,
Because He made us servants for Christ, never slaves…
With Him inside, there’s more love than necessary.
His love, His light, His gift of eternal life…
That is enough to cause me to be wise,
To give my heart and soul despite the strife.
Because, I know - one day, my soul will arise!
I want to be inspired to write
a song people really want to sing;
I want to be inspired to compose
a requiem for the King;
But, I’m just an ordinary man
doing the best I can
at writing poems
that have no homes.
I want to be inspired to find
a cure for this cancer thing;
I want to be inspired to reach
out for the golden ring;
But, I’m just an ordinary man
doing the best I can
at getting by
with the good old college try.
I want to be inspired to lead
a revolutionary coup;
I want to be inspired to be
the best at everything I do;
But, I’m just an ordinary man
doing the best I can
to make ends meet
and not live on the street.
I have the motivation;
I’ll put in the perspiration;
I can give it concentration;
But, I lack the inspiration;
Inspire me.
What will it take to inspire me?
I want to be inspired to write
a song people really want to sing;
I want to be inspired to compose
a requiem for the King;
But, I’m just an ordinary man
doing the best I can
at writing poems
that have no homes.
The Invisible unpicked the stitches
holding the broken pieces together
like loud music Love spilled like poetry
from the ordinary heart
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Searched within the walls of my feeble mind
In brain matter scattered, but could not find
proof that orange is just humdrum,
To this conclusion I have come -
if orange is ordinary ~ I'm blind.
Brighter than most, it stands out in a crowd.
Bold enough not to be bullied or cowed.
Tones of setting sun refined.
Shade of ripe cantaloupe rind.
Don't accuse it of being brash or loud.
Lilies and tulips massed in flower bed,
More lovely than roses of crimson red.
Tangerine citrus and its zest,
fruit that many consider best,
Breakfast juice, orange marmalade on bread.
Not ordinary is orange to me.
If you think so look again and you'll see
Orange vest could save your life -
Fields of yams and pumpkins rife -
Coral breasted robins who fly so free.
:::............:::.............:::.............:::
3/4/16 Color Contest: Orange
Sponsor: Silent One
It was an ordinary kind of day,
You had left me to go to work
And drop off Denny at school
A factory klaxon was sounding
In the distance; and I pictured the
Morning shift dragging the night's
Dreams inside
Outside, the peach trees we had
Just planted, bowed to each other,
As though acknowledging their taste
And then that picture on the mantelpiece
Brought night in to the breezy light room,
Tugging at my shirt collar like a debt
But I turned away to the blue sky; and
The bowing peach trees asked why?
Ordinary Precious Stones
Buddha saw it first
but as is his way never let me in on it.
The stones, rough, unfinished,
ill sized tribute to chaos, beckoned.
I closed my eyes
It started to take shape in the mist.
Each stone should have its place
separate yet dependent on the others.
They should not attract attention for themselves
but become a part of a greater beauty.
I touched each stone, listened to its passion,
rolled it, positioned it so the sun would
augment its finest facets. Allowing them time
to adjust, to relate themselves one to another.
When each stone hummed in wind coaxed OMMMMM
I rested, placed the Buddha in the midst
of these, now precious, stones.
Each morning I look out on the Buddha
in the midst of his rock garden, see the
sun creep over his shoulder glancing off
the facets of those most ordinary
precious stones.
Submitted to – Precious Stones and Gems – Poetry contest
Sponsor – Anthony Slausen
11/14/2014
An angel touched my heart today
She gently whispered "I can't stay
But I can help you find your way
when skies grow dark and clouds turn grey."
Ordinary she was, and had no wings
because, you see, angels are many things.
Her heart was as big as the moon above
and filled with an extraordinary love
She said "hold my hand, I will take you home
I don't want you to be alone."
Thank you, dear angel for sensing my need
and giving me an exceptionally beautiful deed.
There goes my hero, he’s ordinary,
like in the Foo Fighters song
Carries no airs or graces,
makes me feel like I belong
A family member perhaps,
even a workmate, or friend
Someone who can be trusted,
on whom I tacitly depend
There goes my hero,
out in the rain mending a fence
Standing at the back of photos
not overpowering the lens
Cleaning blocked up drains,
unafraid to pick out nits
Struggles in the charts for decades,
without any major hits
There goes my hero, she’s loving,
rears her dead sisters child
Puts the kid through college,
works nightshifts and smiles
Seeks nothing in return,
a little thank you will suffice
Salt of the earth person
that only gives solid advice
There go my heroes,
all extraordinarily mundane
Not looking for recognition
having no time to complain
I’m certainly not one of them,
comfortable on my own ground
Real heroes have stamina,
going forward round after round
Could be my hero’s Cobain
who blew out his brains
Cared damn all for money
and even less about fame
To Honor My Hero Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
07/31/22
We used to go to the store together.
Picking out vegetables was her Glory,
‘Let’s get a nice, Vibrant one!
No, not that one, THIS one!’
She would say.
She aimed for the vegetables
When we arrived,
Like a kid aims for the cotton candy
At a carnival.
Vegetables!
And then, I would try to be efficient –
‘You get this, and I’ll get that,’ I would say
But, ‘No, I want to come with You,’ she would say.
‘Let’s go and look at the vegetables first,
You always like that.’
‘Okay!’ and then she would aim for the peaches,
Fresh and sweet and not on the list,
Just after she’d said, ‘okay, let’s stick to the list,
Mother Mary says to get everything on the list
And nothing else’
And, when I would ask her about it, she would say,
‘Mother Mary says it’s okay!’
So, our lists were never set in cement,
Unless I went in by myself,
And then she would say, when I got home,
Or out to the car, if she was waiting there,
Did you get me bananas?’
‘NO,’ I said, ‘they weren’t on the list’
And ‘oh,’ she said, crestfallen, ‘I asked Mother Mary
To TELL you to get them, and she said yes…’
So, I would rush back to the store, or rush back in,
If she was out waiting in the running car
With the window open, and the A/C on,
And GET THE BANANAS,
And she liked that.
So, we used to go to the store, and now,
I think I will take her along with me,
Now she is gone,
And get her advice – it is always good advice,
I am not especially good at picking the ‘right’ vegetables…
9/4/2017
It was ordinary when I ran laughing
dreaming sweet dreams,
completely..
see me there, young!
hair flowing..
singing.
And what of it,
what of self?
I care less and less
yet seek to live
find happiness
or what I knew of it.
Shake my collar down
another day to work, feed my needs
and those of dear ones.
Yet I began to wonder, one day
is there anything God-like
in ordinary?
I see tired bees, selfless in toil
never again to fly..
do they yet smile..?
and..
is there a message in this
for you and I.
See me there, young!
hair flowing..
so ordinary...
yet singing still,
like a bee..
so wonderfully ordinary
my only need.