Best Owns Poems
Shark, the contortionist cat, is sitting catty-wampus today.
His head is north, paws west, crossed in a weird southwestern way.
Wearing his glitzy tiara and a feathered boa of blue.
He will not take direction, and has a secret kill room, maybe two
He drags these little bitty animals up, and leaves their bodies for me.
Usually headless when I step on them, sometimes in two or three.
He brings snakes, rabbits, squirrels, moles, voles, and other critters too.
Shark, such a prissy haughty character. I am his clean-up crew.
The devil is defeated
And now he's on the run
God kicked him out of Heaven
And now to earth he's come.
That cunning crafty serpent
He'll lure you into sin
With promises of better things
For your soul he wants to win.
He'll tempt you with a magic potion
That promises you a thrill
But all he wants is your soul
To take to hell and kill.
He's a deceiver and a robber
The father of all lies
So be on your guard, stand fast
He's the master of disguise.
The time for him is running out
Since the day that he fell
Don't listen to his voice of sin
It will take you down to hell.
The devil is defeated
And now he's on the run
God kicked him out of Heaven
And now to earth he's come.
Our Father Owns It All
By Betty Harp Butler
Our Father owns the cattle
On ten-thousand hills-
The sheep in every fold.
The birds are His messengers.
Daily He sends them out-
With their joyful songs.
We can listen to them and behold.
We too are His handiwork.
We were the crown of all creation.
He made us for His fellowship.
What a joyful, joyful gift-
People for all the Nations!
I gazed at a rainbow so bright and lovely in the distance
I wonder .... is there gold at the end of the rainbow
Here I sit at my window and admire its beautiful colors
If it is .... gold at the end of the rainbow ....
Who put all their gold there
11.11.2012
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Red dirt chases the single-laned tarred roads,
For kilometres past the horizon.
Wrapped in endless yellow canola fields
With lapping barbed wire fences.
Authentic, wise eucalypt giants stand guard-
They have lived
And will always live in the years of the forgotten lands,
They define terra-nullius.
They lean over, offering shade from brazen suns.
Oh, how the creeks know the Australian sun,
Their beds have slept
And will always dream of the time before the stolen lands.
The land owns terra-nullius.
The kookaburra calls to the morning,
With all its glory,
Sings the song of ancestors
To city buildings
That will never live to care about
The roots of the Narraburra Hills,
That wear olden-day graffiti rock art.
Those hills whisper in their valleys
Of the way they’ve lived
And will always live overseeing
The overtaking of terra-nullius.
Who Owns the Day?
Awake carelessly;
No connection to the internal dialogue.
Floating, a gentle space of minutes.
I wonder, how do I join the day?
Oh, go ahead, just pick a project,
find meaning in your life!
Hurry, make good use of the time!
The ego rattles on.
Fear stomps in.
Do I have a mission, some higher calling?
Have I missed it?
How do I fix the day I’m wasting?
His voice calms my mind.
I’m in the stream flowing with life,
it runs through me.
Lord, what a glorious day!
Who Owns a Poem?
Could I call a poem – a poem
if I titled it as such
or would this egocentricity
cause the poets to turn on me?
Words - shifting sands - rolling stones
shadows cast by meatless bones
memory’s nostalgic noose
tormenting the bottled goose.
Three shelled game – poet as pea
always writing – never free
ink stained apron – wordplay runes
clandestine nom de plumes.
The pen sits mute atop the truth
expressed beneath its tip
manipulated poetic pawn
lost amid a coming dawn
Thrusting blindly at the night
stalking shadows in the light
scratching words in sand, on stone
for his poems he cannot own.
©6/17/2017
submitted to – The Creative Collective Anthology Series – Poetry Contest
YESTERDAY HAS MY HEART
I scribe these words to my dear Ms. Yesterday
Lest she remain unawares of how I’m doing since she walked away
Pardon me for preconceiving that she might care
But in my life a lady like her was remarkably rare
She is young in heart, body and soul
And to remain youthful was her one and only goal
I’d run with her in the morning and walk at night
And the funny thing is the moon was out but she made the sky bright
My dear Ms. Yesterday if you care to know how I am now
Just think about the sodden sorrow any loss can endow
My tears are the only gift my sadness has to give
And probably will remain so as long as I live
So Ms. Yesterday, must I remind you of when I watched you leave with my heart
You packed it in your luggage which a gentleman wheeled on a cart
Suffice it to say my dear I was overwrought and am not doing well
However, I would be faring a lot better if this note was delivered to you in hell
© 2010.…..free cee!
Nations; all studying their own history, as to reclaim back others land grab
Mother Nature; it's ok, when it comes to earth, I've got this one in the bag
Who owns your grave in Brisbane?
Who signs for internment of body to ground
With undertaker becomes the owner
Though someone else owns the grave
He or she are not the owner?
A friend of mine buried her hubby
in a triple deep grave and then
Discovered she’d have to ask the son in law
To go to her only grave, just when?
So you are in the nursing home
And then you’re buried by them
You probably paid for the plot they bought
When strangers to God they send
So auntie is in the ground over there
With her are Arthur and Rick?
Burial sites with spare plots in the ground
Old auntie don’t want em one bit
Don Johnson
This old lady had to threaten to go public about the fact she paid but didn't,
have her own grave, that the son in law owned it and had bought the next 3 deep one
alongside it, now had graves for 5 ... but he signed hers back :)poor fellow him...
Every People bears a mouth and two hands,
No one born with mouths and single hand,
Feeding all people time to time is divine no disputes,
People trust on God but fail to know his actions is the dispute,
Starving turned into the worst of death,Malthus feared,
Malthus forgot-divine,God's plans and his two own hands,
People born not only to consume and wait for next meal,
People born also to toil and to make,Engels,challenged,
Hunger is a magic, put down some thrones of kings,
Hunger is an illness for which still tracing a cure,
The food in one plate enough to consume for Two,
The food in two plates enough to consume for two by two,
The food in four plates enough to intake Four by two,
Tiny black ants creeping beneath stones remain survive,
Eating peanuts like for God feeding each and every live,
But no good owns,owned by God is the truth all to believe!
Who stood the trees?
Who made the honey outta' bees?
Better still, the flowing waters
He is God and that's all that matters
We're brilliant.he gave us brains
The Umbrella, he sends the rains,
Check out those guys,he made them handsome
OMG! Isnt he awesome!
Look around and see the science
For the science he gave us finance
See those girls, he made them beautiful
And that's it, He is wonderful
Can't you see, he's everything
Out of nothing, he made something
We're living, that's his breath
This is all that matters, he owns the earth
Wait a minute
I'm not finished
Look at his works
No one could beat it
He is God and that's final!
God made the stars
Man made the cars.
God made the skies
and made man wise.
God made the fish,
man made the dish.
God made the Sea
man made the tea.
God made the moon,
man sweats at noon.
God made the earth
and gave men breath.
God made the Sun
man made the gun
God gave us light
man made the fight.
God made the bee
man gets honey.
God made birds tweet,
man get the sweet.
God made the rain,
man gets the grain.
God made the cloud
why are men proud?
God made the word,
man made the sword.
God made the rock
man made the shock..
God made the beasts
man makes great feasts.
God made the boy
man made the toy.
God made heavens,
man makes covens.
God is... final,
man is temporal.
God made all things,
man made somethings.
God made the man
who owns the man?
God made all these,
men annoys me,
for they just preen
on things...not seen.
I would like to meet the man,
who claims to own a cloud.
I’ve heard that after a beer or two,
he’d yell out drunk and proud:
“See that cloud over there?
The one beyond that tree?
Well that cloud is mine, ya hear?
Its rain belongs to me!”
It could be a tale that’s told to those
whom logic and reason rule,
but I know of three men who’d say
believe the drunk old fool!
“Now how is that?” three young men asked,
“What rights have you to that claim?
Is that cloud quite loyal to you?
Only fools think clouds are tame!”
“You’re wrong! You’re wrong, all of you,
It’s just like you own your cars.
Who are you to tell me what is mine?
Does Orion not own his stars?”
“Prove it to us! Proof! Proof!
Let us see it with a sober eye!”
“Alright, okay, if it’s proof you need,
but you should know a drunk don’t lie.”
The three got up and followed he
who claimed the cloud was whipped,
As they walked, those men agreed,
that last drink he should’ve skipped.
Beneath the cloud he raised his arms,
and spoke his vocal twitches:
“Cloud, rain floods upon these men,
and drown the sons of bitches!”
Those three laughed at the drunken man,
until they felt a drop.
Then another, and then it poured,
the raining wouldn’t stop.
Water rose above their necks,
one of the three let out a cry:
“Why is it that we’re swimming here,
while you stay comfortably dry?”
“I told you dolts this cloud was mine,
and a fool you made of me!
Quiet now, and drown in silence,
for soon your Maker see.”
“Make it stop, we believe!
This cloud is surely yours!
No more will you hear from us,
just please, close heaven’s doors!”
The rain stopped quite suddenly,
ending the three men’s pain.
Walking away he turned and said:
“I’ll bill you for the rain.”
Yes, I would like to meet that man
If he brings his cloud to town,
for there are a number of fools living here,
all of which I’d like to drown.
If Hell makes u relive ur Greatest pain repeatedly
The pain of Lost Love is what mine would be
The Devil keeping only sad love songs on the jukebox
Watermelon Sugar is the beginning of his playlist
The Devil is a cheeky bastard
The silence of the record switching draws her memory
Her voice sounding like echoes in a cave
Bringing her back into my arms
My memory turns it to reality
Her soft lips & cold skin vanish from my embrace
As the next song begins to play
An old black man's blues riff plays like out of the jukebox
Drowning the sound of my heart breaking again and again
Yet, screams of tortured souls who reside here are heard
The Devil tortures my soul with flashing memories of her face
Going insane with grief and pain losing her over and over
When the next song ends
My hell begins again
The memory of her on the porch glowing in rays of sunshine
Gazing at her neck as she disappears into thin air
The needle sets onto the track of the next record
Leaving my heart in the last memory
The whine of an old steel guitar accompany my sobs
Lonesome Blues strums my heart strings for an eternity
With no end in sight
No comfort is to be found
When the Devil owns a jukebox
He can play whatever song ur heart desires
I will accept my hell
Because it is the only place I will ever be with her again
Even if it ends after every song.