Best Plenteous Poems
Come oh come to harvest home you thankful!
Rouse your tongues for your barns, so big and bountiful;
All grains and gains are safely gathered in with ease.
For your plenteous portion, oh praise the Prince of peace.
Come you thankful who dwells in God’s own field.
Worship Him whose wealth and wisdom we wield;
In tears and sorrow, wheat and tares are together sown,
But in harvest’s hour, in joy, we reap wholesome wheat alone.
To You, I God of harvest, we thankful will come!
With harps and hymns to Your holy harvest home;
Singing with Your holy angels on the street of gold,
Gladly bowing down to You, the Shepherd of the fold.
the beach’ll be a blast
of sand and surf
relax,
of surf and sun
enhance.
the ebb and flow,
a slow
down swish
of flow and romance.
the embrace
of salty air,
that we share,
and seaside beat
of gulls and feet.
a splash
of feet and hands
forming castles
that retreat,
with each push and pull
of the seashell
adorning,
ocean core.
a retreat,
seaside beat,
hot in sun,
a breezy-beachy blast
of romance,
complete with clinking
hurricane glass.
paradise of piña coladas
and sunny smiles
under attentive palms.
back in the sea,
the swish of waterfalls -
plenteous and frothing.
marvelous
enchantment
of vertiginous
waves pulling
me away
from the shore…
5/2/2022
GUESTS OF EMBERA DRUA
We are guests in this village on the Chagris River shore.
Tribe members of Embera Drua twist palms of Panama -
embrace us each, with this wreath of scented flora,
language barriers break down with food and dance.
In this jungle we’ve no need to be formal in dress,
the natives share achiote seeds to redden my lips and cheeks.
And fresh coconut chased down with sips of sugar cane,
plenteous Panamanian fruit, hot lunch served in banana leaves.
Before we position our eyes upon the treasured trades
we are invited to join them for some entertainment.
Our acquaintances in tribal wear, write lyrics upon
their dirt floor ballroom, with calloused feet.
Dressed in paloma skirt and cotton taparabo, men and women
invite tourists to dance with them, as drums pulse and flutes charm.
We will remember the stilted homes of our friends,
dogs lazing underneath the floor, abundance of fruit trees,
a school in development so students can remain with parents
instead of placing sandals upon feet and leaving their family home.
Our dugout canoe glides back to the shore of lily pads,
we swim with invigorated thoughts and gladness.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Compassion* kindled by faith
Ignites reaching-out kindness
Sharing gracious hope aglow...
God’s blissful love radiates blest peace.
*Psalm 86:15 But thou, O Lord, art a God full of compassion, and gracious, longsuffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth.
Syllables Per Line according to PS Syllable Counter: 7 7 7 9
March 2, 2022
7th place, "LIND30SU" Verse Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on 3/17/2022.
The Harvest Is Plenteous*
Written: by Miracle Man
1-9-2020
In chasing filthy lucre, notoriety, or fame,
We allow these to take us out of God’s game.
We accumulate earthly goods, all timely spaced,
And in this pursuit, allow God, to be displaced.
But nothing in life comes without affixed cost,
Shouldn’t we be witnessing, trying to win the lost?
Of what importance are earthly things we pursue?
When the harvest is plenteous but laborers are few.
As I look at prophecy I believe time is short,
Until God’s declares time finished and HE’LL abort.
Don’t let other things suck the air from the room,
But watch and pray for the return of the groom.
*Matthew 9:37
“Then saith he unto his disciples, The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few;”
Christmas Rebels
It was about a weak
After that night walk
The unknown dangers,
Made known, turned me weak,
I was managing myself,
After my heart was pulled,
From where it sank,
I was yet in the oven,
Of my haven,
To dry up the coldness,
And the wetness,
Of that fearful night loneliness,
Today is Christmas,
The whole mass,
Was joyous,
Every home, glorious,
Meat was plenteous,
Rice and beans.
Was every homes means,
Children bouncing in,
New goat skin jackets,
Mother’s dressed in costly
Beads and all the way,
Father leads.
For Christmas had taking over,
Taking over the African Shrine,
It supplied a joyous sunshine.
Our pockets were full of cowries,
Like a goldmine,
Happiness was mine,
For the usual war seemed
To be hidden, and our teethes where like,
“Forever opened”.
Oh! Joyful, blissful, plentiful Christmas.
Providing joy each time it surface,
But joy has a slender waist that breaks so soon.
Christmas night came, so we visited
Our beds as night rang it’s bell,
(To be continued in the next, same Poem).
The New Tomorrow
Shopping street posh boutiques, perfumeries and cafes plenteous
something for all to eat and drink. My wife has gone to buy a dress
and I wait with a glass of red wine, as usual, when we are out and
about in town. There are no cars in this street and children are free
to fool around, I look at them and wonder what the future holds
for them now that the world is about implode. When they are only
allowed to express an opinion that is the norm. Should they fall foul
of this edict and, the powerful listens to their thoughts, they will be
pushed out as the spoilers and have only themselves to blame, for
not being submissive. And the new adults will be conditioned to
have no mercy for losers of this sacred joke of an evil democracy.
But the edifice of human greed will fold one day, nature will see to
that, reek destruction that few humans will survive. So play now
little ones tomorrow has nothing to offer but the suffering caused
by your antecessors who willfully took his pleasure and left you to
suffer the consequences.
I thank GOD my SAVIOUR, the Lord Jesus Christ...
Door of eternal security Who Himself is the key ---
... the Way* toward life eternal reigning with gladness
abounding in the goodness of loving kindness
ever redemptive, truly glorious in the beauty of holiness
indeed transforming me from sinfulness' filthiness.
I trust GOD my SUPPLIER**, the Benefactor Father from Heaven...
Door of timely provisions Who never closes---
...the Source of blessings so plenteous in His mercy
bestowing compassion grants of generous sufficiency
along His forgiveness with purging clemency
ready to meet my needs toward stewardship's decency.
I triumph in GOD my SANCTIFIER***, the Holy Spirit...
Door of holy testimony for service-freedom flight---
...the Cleanser against guilt along righteousness' grace
purging me from iniquities, warming my soul by His pardon embrace
upon His truth's justification, I should claim, devoid of deceit trace
while triumphantly conquering frustrations in the Christian-race.
*John 14:6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.
**Philippians 4:19 But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.
***1Thessalonians 5:23 And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.
April 9, 2018
Edited on August 13, 2021
1st place, "A Brian Strand RHYME ME" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 8/14/2021.
Featured as one among Poetry Soup's "Poem of the Week" on October 7-13, 2018.
Through the glistening sunshine, he rode, the masked man,
His face dissembled, but held high in pride.
No one would dare ask what his name or history was,
Neither did someone know what beneath the mask, lied.
For what they knew he was the greatest warrior of the king,
Presumed humility and kindness to the people,
A true fighter in defending the truth,
Instances to prove his courage were inestimable.
He got down aside a patch of plenteous roses to pluck one,
The one which appeared special, with a fragrance to invigorate,
As he was on a quest, to find his soul mate.
This town he was going to was the last in the kingdom, Rubek.
Though the maidens in the kingdom were beautiful, no doubt.
His search in the previous towns had went in vein.
Though he was honored and renowned,
Scared of how his face might be they did refrain.
While he was on his way, Rubek had got the news
Maidens gathered-“What if he looks like a devil’s son.”
“His face would’ve been burnt, scraped during war.”
“I can’t marry him”, they cried in unison.
The masked man arrived, stopped right in front of them,
But when he asked for marriage they all had their heads bent low.
He discerned their answer for silence prolonged,
Sadness concealed under his mask, he rose to go.
Then one of them came forth from the crowd,
Observing her beauty and grace for a second he froze,
She said-“I’d consider myself fortunate to have a companion like you.”
Within no time he knelt, gave her the rose,
And then he threw up his mask for all to see.
Some maidens fainted, others cried in distress,
The masked man turned out to be the charming prince
Who took her hand and declared, “She will be my princess.”
Lovely freshness showcases God’s wonders
Great Spring’s grand blessings, awesomely beauteous
Dulcet chirpings prevail over thunders
Gardens* assured of yields, indeed plenteous.
Fields cheerfully welcome budding bliss-sprouts
Below clouds like chiffon yearning for grace
Farms gladly gear themselves toward growth’s routes
Propelled upon heavenly power’s brace.
Re-birth highlights genuine spiritual spring
Marked by the Lord Christ’s resurrection might
With revivals that Holy Scriptures bring
Prodding souls toward transformation’s height.
Springing hope’s lace tied to faith fluorescence
Edifies new life’s marvelous essence.
*Isaiah 61:11 For as the earth bringeth forth her bud, and as the garden causeth the things that are sown in it to spring forth; so the Lord GOD will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.
March 4, 2019
7th place, "APRIL 2019 PREMIER 9..." Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 4/26/2019.
A small pile of bone dry leaves lay
nestled, protected between two roots
It was a sorchingly hot sunny day
all the trees desperately needed rain
The land that had been without water
for so long was parched, all around
saplings drooping, dying for its lack
dust freely blowing, coating everything
The couple strolling, locked together
arm in arm, paused to admire the view
then settled on a fallen log, huddled
as they smoked, chatted and then kissed
The man pulled her up into his arms
carrying her futher down the path
thoughtlessly chucking his lit cigarette
which landed on the small pile of leaves
Slowly the pile started to smoulder
wisps of smoke curling up in the air
a gentle breeze playfully fans them
small flames start to lick and spread
It hungrily consumes the plenteous fuel
first one tree then yet another it lights
soon the woods are blazing with its fury
it leaps from tree to tree, rapidly spreading
Catching the couple by surprise it devours them
and passes on, fiercely burning all in its path
by now firemen are fighting the advancing flames
struggling to douse it or bring it into control
Not succeeding, it has too firm a grip
raging it grows ever more gigantic
acres left scorched in its wake
carcasses litter the blacken land
All seems to be totally lost, when
caring mother nature takes a hand
the wind swivels round creating a retreat
and so, slowly the fire dies of starvation
From the black canal,
I awoke into a beast of light.
Eager wishes through my very blood and soul,
an illusion as my memory told.
An illusion so real it seemed so true.
A beautiful woman with plenteous silken hair,
stood bare from end to end before my eyes and
flowered a smile, as my memory told.
The thirst of my soul rose, I moved near to touch her
and she vanish.
I turned and there she was bare from end to end before
my eyes.
She laid in china blooms,pure and simplistic,
as my memory told.
An illusion so real it seemed so true.
I laid next to her and she cradled in my arms
with eyes entire.
Her lips were sweet to my desire,
as my memory told.
The harping angels rose, devil passion wrestled the tides
of fate and drifted in.
She moved in circles, and the circles moved, moved, and moved.
My body mart to a motion not of my own.
In the heat of passion, I awoke from the black canal into a
beast of light.
Spring is not all blooms midst attacks of blight
Smiting hope-filled buds as pests strive to reign
My garden loves the Season’s festive sight
May it be spared against bacterial pain.
Spring welcomes birth, but why the threat of dearth
Struggling with rust and leaf spots not to trust
My heart longs for plenteous harvest mirth
Much yield to behold fruitfulness from dust.
Spring invites hope, yet health status is at stake
Shaking pollens toward allergy rise
My immune system knows what it does take
Might as well maximize weather-surprise.
Spring with glowing zest presents downside crest
My blest outlook for it settles the rest.
February 18, 2023
3rd place, "Spring Is Not All" Sonnet Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Michelle Faulkner; judged on 3/2/2023.
"Christmas is not just a season, but a state of mind. To cherish
peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy is to have the real
spirit of Christmas."
- Calvin Coolidge
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Christmas season is the time for singing holiday songs
and choirs praising Jesus, our Savior, in reverent hymns.
They honor the child who was born to right man's wrongs.
The glow of candlelight flickers as each flame slowly dims.
It's a world in which white quilts cover bare tree limbs.
* * * *
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With joy I welcome the sweet silence of new-falling snow.
In virginal purity, it tumbles, appearing so velvety soft.
Crystalline flakes frost the panes as I look out my window
and see somber gray clouds, hovering in the skies aloft
while children build a snowman across the village croft.
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Mantles are carefully draped with boughs of holly and pine
as lights are strung and ornaments hung on Christmas trees.
A golden star on the tallest branch shines gloriously divine.
Gathering near the fireside, families are making memories.
The scene resembles a snow globe full of winter fantasies.
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Christmas delivers a message of hope and peaceful repose,
first gifted to the entire world on the night of Jesus' birth.
In the spirit of the season, poets are motivated to compose,
verses that express the magical mood of joviality and mirth
where goodwill and brotherhood spreads across the earth.
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Writing Challenge - Write A Christmas Poem
11/30/22 ~ Contest sponsored by Constance La France
Africa mother Africa
Africa of scrumptious haven
Slowly stretched
Into an unscrupulous savannah
Africa of whom my grandmothers
Now sits and cry
Singing her present gore
Silhouette against her ancient glory
Your blood flows on our streets
And on our streams
Your beautiful black blood
That in time past flows in our veins
Africa that birthed warriors
Of ancestral citations
Now puppets of millennium recantation
The sweats of your toils
The scars from your slavery
The cry for your freedom
How come this has now
Transformed into a mastery
Of your present folly
You whose back was bent
To pack from her plenteous plantation
Now breaks in the continuous bid
To pick form her present carnage