Best Peopleheart Poems
From my heart to yours,
you are a precious man,
from the very first time,
I read your work,
it was not hard to understand.
The trials you endured,
the pain, and the tears,
locked away,
you found your Saviour so near.
Let no man or woman,
who dwells on this earth,
spit on a heart so sweet,
all I can say,
is they have the nerve.
Walk tall my friend,
may the wind,
always push you forward,
and pray for the lost,
and the foolish cowards.
I don't know what was said,
or who is to blame,
forgive them dear friend,
and ask for the same.
We as a people,
have a journey of our own,
each, and everyone,
should know right from wrong.
Continue on your path,
you have much to do,
and remember the devil,
will use a few.
I call you friend,
as many here do,
and from my heart to yours,
I wish only the best for you.
Michael Jordan, you are a special kind of man.
One that I am proud to call my friend.......
One if ever needed would not turn his back...
I have never met you, but I can say,
actions speak very strong...for you are willing
to reach out, and help...to me, you have what it takes
to be a lighthouse for others....
I share thy chains oh Farah!
in my hands and heart they hurt.
I share thy stains from afar
for my skies are red and tears fill my pot
I feel the frailty of thy fatherland,
in my heart lays the fallen palestinian.
I feel the fratricide in thy fatherland;
the innocent bloods speak to me: a nigerian
Though my hands are hanged
to the cross of continental border
yet my pen is pegged to thy prayer pad,
together we can end the yellings in yonder
I share thy shoes oh Farah!
walking in the hope of a bright future for all palestinian,
I share thy ship, sailing from afar,
cruising with the compassion of a noble Nigerian.
Though my eyes my have dark circles
And my hands have become hardened and blotchy from life
My worth is valued
I have seen the discarded past of war and men
Progress accelerated through fields of gold
But at heart I am not old
I may sit by the window dressed in holiday attire
And my legs have become thin as wire
Amongst the fragrant lilies my family gave me to watch
I smell the dreaded aroma of mossback clothes
Fermenting old pudding idle and stale left in the bowl
But at heart I am not old
I hear the cries of sadness weeping into the afternoon
Have they cursed themselves for their inability to roam?
Helplessly strapped into a existence alone
Time passes with the speed of molasses
Lying beside the bed are the old mans glasses
But at heart I am not old
Human suffering lost floating in their room
In need to rest for this weary soul entombed
I can still remember parts of my younger days
My husband and the children we raised
Though I struggle to stand tall
I won’t fall
But at heart I am not old
Her mind wanders with every pause, every space
Between the lines he writes
She is taken to where she never thought she’d travel
To where fantasy seems a reality
As eyes so affix themselves to the words, the meaning
The heart gets a hold of emotions
It races, increasing, with each word, each syllable
With deep breaths, to this place she returns
The heated midday sun is cool compared to her now
As words transform her quiet day
Into a raging pool of need and want
She so succumbs to the overpowering lust of sensuality
As her discretion is cast aside
Her eyes close upon the very last word read
Her heart and body tremble
As a quake, undeniable to all,
Takes her to the apex of poet’s mountain
And back again
Returning her to her world
And to the next poem to read
Walk here with me
Along a strand of island in the sea
Let your heart drink like a leaf
From this mighty river
That shaped the world's relief
Listen to his name
Hear echoes of white colonial history
The burden of shame
Edging the teeth of fame
Chew it down to the middle bone
Feel the tension rise it
Like pimento fragrance preserving the night
Of Egyptian slime pits
And the prince denouncing privilege and place
Not so, not so here
For him who took up the cudgel of our race
The farmers boy
Built brick by brick from a builder's dream
This native scion ... out of the Maroon's citadel
This bewitching monument of St. Ann.
Ah Booker did you know
A man with bigger head for a mightier dream
From Panama to Ecuador
From Costa Rica to Brazil
Did your heart like a drum pound
Boom, boom, baba boom
When he clenched the lock of Africa's door
When every pulpit in the street
Became a university of our history
And freedom in every African child
Was Marcus Mosiah Garvey
Booker, did you see his kingdom
His black institutions
Like a galaxy dreamers could touch
His ships
On which the brothermen still wait
Like an armada sailing
From rubber baron shores
To pyramid pinnacle
They were his Icarus
And he our Daedalus
That could not shake the minotaur
But, Booker, did he not say
To look for him in the wind
So now you know why I never sleep again
His footprints are still here
Clear as the foment of nineteen thirty eight
This is where he carved his name
Not just on the printers page
But on the honor of all the age
Making us dream of civil rights
And human rights
And Rastafarian flight
And reparation for our plight
And above all he taught me
A little black face lover of his fight
Never to bow
My mind to the whore's tradition
Never to yield my soul
For I am a nobler structure that my rank here
I am the prince they striped bare
The Moses that have not see my red sea yet
The child still
Enthralled with the splendor of every sunset
As the Wind blows my hair,
I realized that LOVE is somehow unfair.
while sitting in the Balcony,
I can hear a different symphony..
They say love is Blind,
maybe it's true,cause true Love is Hard to find.
Some say love is Everywhere.
so maybe Mr.Right is just somewhere..
The love we feel is so hard to explain,
maybe it's the trust we cant really maintain.
The emptiness of one's heart
can someone offer him/her a fresh start?
i think,love is like a lullaby we hear everyday.
and trust is one of it's strongest proof they say.
If I'm stranded in an island,
two sets of footprints, it's all i want to see in the sand.
like in a shell ,feel the carved pain that is in me.
Is it just me? or most of us are just too blind to see?
while making this poem,i can feel my heart beat,
wiping my tears, & wishing our two hands will meet.
Until now, no one has the key,
The key that my heart wants to see.
While i was crying, no one has wiped my tears.
is it hard to cast a glance & forget our own fears?
someday, somehow, someone can sit w/ me to watch the sunset.
& he will be someone whom i LOVE, i bet.
I hope someone will like reading this,
& value what they shouldn't miss.
His smile was as warm as the summer sun.
But his cold-cold heart chilled the soul.
Debonair, golden hair, he often had to run!
Those notches scratched in his paltry pelt,
Lay evidence of his lusty embrace.
He was a hit and run, son-of-a-gun.
Many young women,
Slapped without a trace.
A new fair maiden fell for his heat.
He ripped virtue out, with a lusty hold.
Surprised at the end, not even a friend.
Her heart suffered.
The serpent’s sting –
All alone in the winters freeze,
Seething, in woman’s scorn.
- Loved and left without concern -
She had esteemed him, true.
What to do?
The answer soon was clear.
Death paid the toll in the winter cold.
Her sorrow would forebear.
Debonair, golden hair,
He no longer had to run!
Her smile was as frigid as the winter’s freeze.
And his cold-cold heart lay icy, still.
Death caught this man who left with fast feet
No more notches would he carve in his strap!
She grinned as she patted his manly pelt.
That winter of his frozen golden hair –
© February 13, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Relationships these days are infections
A lethal dose of a particular association or connection
Lust attacks the heart while sex immerses the mind
Lost on the path to marriage because true love is hard to find
A relationship has pros and cons
So many broken bonds
Couples try to respawn
But instead a break up responds
People don't know the difference between love and IN LOVE
Love is supposed to be to heart as hand is to glove
The glove covers the hand
The IN LOVE feeling covers the heart
Relationships these days rarely paint pictures
True forms of art
The epidemic is getting worse
From human to horse
But not all relationships are bad
Not all are sad
However not all are good
As well as glad
Don't know what relationship means look it up
Discover the history of the "hook up"
Dates, phone calls, sex
Then what's next
Cheating
Beating
Break ups
Make ups
Bring it full circle
Like the glasses on Urkle
The boy named Steve
Since Genesis with Adam and Eve
This feeling is more than an epidemic
More like a pandemic
Causing emotional pandemonium
Elderly fear of sodium
Younger generation
Moving quick no hesitation
To make relations instead of relationships
Trying to be grown
Time sure has flown
So I write this poem
To cure the epidemic in our home
Look through the "windows" of my soul..
See their "pain" as it takes its toll.
My heart beats with each tear dropped.
Try as I may they cannot be stopped.
Hoping one day my heart will be filled; with you again.
With the purist of love, that we once had; until the end.
You're walking on a tightrope.
My fragile heart is in your hands.
Its glass, held together by super-glue.
It was shaddered by another man.
With each babystep you go further,
with my heart held above your head.
Be careful not to loose your balance,
one wrong move, and my heart is dead.
But you're closer to your destination
as you've ever been before,
and I know that if you make it,
together, we can aim for more.
Its natrual to be causious,
but be careful not to look down,
for that will make it harder,
and you'll fall to the ground.
You know what you're doing,
so I'm giving you my trust.
And the power to break my heart,
in the obsticle of love or lust.
She had Velvet eyes, Satin lips
Silk skin … Seamless hips
Threaded her way into his heart
and Stitched his mind up Tight
But the Needle Point, was coming
Pricking… with all its might! …
… Posed her Textile-smile
Watched Fabric – flow
All the Lycra-while
Sticking Velcro …
and Ribbons and Bow
… he didn’t know
she was only after
Every Scrap of his Taffeta
He thought she was quite fetching
… didn’t know, she was just Window-Dressing
‘can’t hold the Cushion, when Pins, Push and Shove
a man, can’t live on just a Thimble-full of love! …
… can’t move the heart of a Mannequin
… your living doll is running around, again …
… Window Dressing …
He was an honest man
nothing up his Sleeve
but, he had a gold-band
said, ‘Honey, Marry Me…’
… and he Wrapped her in Furs
Draped her in jewels
Lots of Cashmere
… she left empty Spools
She took his Tape Measure
and Material Cut
kept Sharp Scissors
for her Designs … but
… He’d seen the Hem Ironed
and Sew and Sew
He knew the Pattern
and which Embroidery to go…
… the last Fringe turn
and which Bolt to throw …
She sat in front of a Vanity
brushing her Gossamer hair
Basting in her Veiled beauty
like no Wool was there …
… to see her Window Dressing
To see him Yard-Catching
the Collar and Cuffs …
… He’d seen enough !
He saw them thru the Window
Zipper and Buttons undone
He had to stop the Fashion Show …
… then he dropped his _ _ _
… Velvet eyes, Satin lips
Silk skin… Seamless hips
Threaded her way into his heart
And Stitched his mind up Tight
… but the Needle Point came Darning
Pricking, with all its might …
…’Cause you can’t move the heart of a Mannequin
but your living doll won’t be running around again …
Oh the heart tears.
It beats and throbs.
Well springs of light lanterns
Weave and bob.
Still, darkened grime rimed
portals glare,
sad, empty-eyed adults stare.
Oh the heart tears.
Its pulse expands.
Forced back;
dark dwellers disband.
Replaced by children’s crimson cheeks;
lollipops, pigtails, skipping feet.
Small hearts, so precious,
small hands so bold;
reaching out the world to hold.
Oh the heart weeps, it weeps for joy,
but only for one girl or boy.
I kneel in tattered clothing by the path of my Lord,
Waiting for his stone heart to set me free,
My knees grow sore for long is his journey,
With my head bowed,tears of anguish falls down my cheeks,
Icy hygroscopic rains beat upon the field,
leaving my fertile land desolate,
The harsh winds of uncertainties pierce my sorrowful eyes,
As the hope that i long for gets out of reach,
Vultures of the fiery sun feast on my stale flesh,
Leaving my tongue to shout in the pain of my failures,
My teeth are stained with the blood of regret,
As I live on the thorny fruits of the plains,
Off the distance do I hear the hoofs of his horse ride by,
As I walk on my knees to his side,
The cry of freedom do I shout for ,
As I raise my bound hands to his sight,
But filled with the pride of the heart he spits into my pain,
With contempt and hate in his eyes he darts off,
As I am left kneeling in my sorrows,
Waiting for his next ride along my path,
Where are those innocent faces?
I’ve been searching to the entire places
For some people happiness is just an illusion
They are hiding from the agony that is given
People watch people talk
With their heart closed in everywhere they walk
Throw away their intimacy to the water
And in their loneliness they stop gather
You just get upset too soon
Why keep hiding on that empty room
Still thinking that others done anything wrong?
And guarantee that your principal has made you strong
People forget when they are happy
With their money and all the jazzy
Sometimes your words are lack of wisdom
And family is a threat to built your kingdom
A little bit of danger will rise up their anger
Their heart and mind are always in high temper
People rise people fall
Only time will prevent them all
You’re nothing but a gold digger
Use weak people to make you wealthier
Once you find gold you keep digging for more
Treat people like soldier of toys good enough to control
The bigheaded psyche is in every angle
Their heart is worst than the devil
Only stick to their theory
The bigheaded psyche is a mad psychology
Your voice initiates pandemonium; a series of butterflies taking flight in my chest.
Your smile reeks havoc with my nerves, a sight that always takes my breath.
Your touch is like a gift from heaven, a token from above,
every segment of your aura has contributed, to make me fall in love.
Moulded to the very definition of sublime, sculpted as prescribed:
you possess beauty unparalleled, no one is as you are inside.
Honestly ambitious due to intellect, with a sensitive soul:
everything I would wish for, but my heart bears your beauty’s toll.
I cannot compete for your affection as I don’t match up to your perfection,
to tell you I loved you would serve only embarrassment - I’m just one of a collection.
Maybe it’s timidity, but I’m loathe to express what I know:
my dejected heart strains with pain and forlorn longing, every time you go…