Best Plight Poems
a resilient soul
hoists his drooping wings
dreary but dreamy
soars far
so high
he keeps on searching for his illusive dreams
regardless of the storm and height of mountains
goes through miles away
in his equanimity
straight with vision of sunrays
on plight are failures
not too bad
tries again
the mighty swords in his heart
so much patience and love help him to survive
in every vicissitude and kinks of his life
oftentimes
we can get the melody of what we want
if we allow the cacophonies to come
Dec. 5, 2012
Form: Suzette Prime
First Place
Contest: Suzette Prime: Prime Numbers and Philosophy
Judged: 12/14/2012
Poet Sponsor: Suzette Crous
She wakens to the most ungodly ring tone-
her husband's cell phone left there by her bed.
And next, her damn alarm clock's blare is fed
by noise of the neighbor’s lawn mower’s drone.
At work, suppressing groans, she is a clone
who answers e-mails, and with silent dread,
takes clients' calls. Guff fills her pounding head;
again and then again that ringing phone!
Then finally she’s home. Ahhhh. . . . time to dine -
except the children cannot break away
from Face book - and the oldest starts to whine.
Her hungry spouse then walks into the fray.
Amidst it all, as if to underline
her plight, that neighbor’s dog begins to bay!
For Cyndi MacMillan's
TIMELESS YET CONTEMPORARY, A SONNET THANG
Alliteration is awesome;
thanks to thee
it effortlessly erases evidence
of spoonerisms.
Spooky.
Written February 29th, 2016
For the Spoonerisms Contest hosted by Roy Jerden
created not by God but man
harsh ridicule he endured
abhorring the mere site of him
people pursued a “monster” in perception only
carrying torches and weapons
angst festered within a tormented heart
sentenced to a life of agonizing loneliness
without committing a crime
abandoned by a thoughtless creator
his arduous trek to find him began
dwelling in caves, crying
hiding his hideous appearance
from a bitter world that rejected him
just one simple hope had he
find a companion to share affection
with prayers unanswered
suicide his only choice to escape solitude
broken-hearted, he faced demise in a conflagration
upon the northland’s glacial ice
cold as society’s treatment, hot as the fury in his heart
Raven was Death. She dwelt in death. She lived on death. Ages past, she had worn
the blue-black, purple, feathers of the raven and dined on royalty at Tower hill. A
tumble from grace had lodged her here in this fragile form. No more would her maw
drip ruby red, no more would her caw fill the mourning, or her soaring flight slice
the air like a Frenchman’s sword. A Raven, with clipped wings, was she.
Centuries had passed since she, in her feathered form, had feasted on the King.
**Bran the Blessed, giant, King of Wales, had been her down fall. Cursed was she,
as she dined on his eyes, in the field of battle. Ah, what did a raven know
of the curses of man. But, she knew now. Bran's head was placed,
as a talisman, on the grounds of Tower Keep in Londontown. She,
transformed, cursed, walks the night in this beautiful, weak, human vessel for
as long as, Bran's name is remembered.
Her satin-sandaled feet hold her earthbound. Just as superstition
holds her clip-winged brethren in the Tower courtyard, Bran's Curse holds her here.
No longer can she fly, but, she is free to roam. The churchyard calls her. Ashen skies no longer welcome her, but the gravestones, spade-shaped like the tails of carrion feeder, beckon. The evening corpse has arrived. Draped in mourning weeds of black, her death-like pall, luminescent in the moonlight, her lips a tell-tale crimson, she arms her self with a firebrand. The bluish steel glistens. Death with a gun, certainly, one could see the
over kill? She laughs. Looking skyward, she calls. “Husband*, children…”
she mimicks the caw of her unfettered kin. “Come to Ma Ma..dinner is served.”
*Raven's mate for life...or death? ;)
**Bran is the Welsh word for Raven/ King Bran the Blessed
***A NIGHTMARE
This poem covers the greatest story ever told
Greater than all the kings and all their gold
This story will bring about deep reflection
Starting with the Immaculate Conception
Of all the stories this is the greatest of all
A complex child born in a simple stall
Quickly the news covered the land
A virgin would be Gods right hand
Inside of her womb a God to a son
Imagine this story has just begun
Everyone knew this child was born to design
Just open your heart and look for the sign
Harrod was driven by fear of not being so great
The first-born son was Harrods fate
Jesus escaped the King and awaited the call
To become the greatest glory of all
This is my master this is our Lord
He is the wielder and we are the sword
He chose his disciples of simple men
Hear tell one was straight out of the pen
The Pharisees called on Pilot the king
At the end he said, “I wash my hands of this thing”
I wonder if when Pilot stepped up to the gate
Jesus washed his hands to seal Pilots fate
Or if he opened his arms to welcome him in
Forgiving Pilot of all of his sins
We took our Lord then nailed him to the cross
As far as humanity that was our greatest loss
But through all the loss just look at the gain
Bought by our Lord through sacrifice and pain
Over 2000 years after this child was born
He came to the prison to make my heart warm
Gave me a gift then our Lord set me free
I reckon the rest would be up to me
As you dress up the tree and hang up the lights
Think of the story of our Lords plight
Young, gentle and in bondage
This innocent bird flew towards the promised land
Her frame petite yet powerful
Her eggs beautifully nested when transported from Calcutta
The sight of the new turf welcoming
A dream of hope and fair go brewing deep within
Day and night she laboured for payments equating to peanuts
The breadth of whips ploughed her like a bull in the harsh fields of Nadi
Her eggs now fertile
A pretentious malnourished glow adorning her face
No snug mattress at night
No baby shower
The scorching sun and the liberal rain
Her only companions to clad her in celebration
Cooked, then drenched, then burnt…
She finally delivers a dead bundle of tears
Her tragedy apparently not so sensational
Urging her overseer to order her back to the fields in four days
The memories of the dead child
Not at all dead in her head
Cold and depressed she refuses to present herself
Maternity leave a term alien on the ‘girmit’ fields
Gathering courage from ‘Durga’, she dares to speak of rights
Perhaps the very last time she spoke
The overseer, insulted and beats her near death
Lying in the fields with broken limbs and essence
Her veil the only bandage
To cover her wounds.
There, watch, the clouds part and light shafts blackest night
particles of doss drift through a ray of white.
Ah, revelation unasked for, and unwanted,
coming endlessly unasked, and never daunted.
I see the bitter blight of man's neglect lay
upon the once fertile field of summer hay.
I see a mighty ocean writhe and foam, die
and n'er a voice is lifted, n'er an angry cry.
I see children put their parents out to die
and parents who accost their children with lies.
Ah, revelation unasked for, and unwanted,
coming endlessly unasked, never daunted.
My sisters and I are slaves,
Slaves to a harmful culture
That forces us to marry before we are grown,
At age 14
At age 9
At age 6
At age 5
Our mothers cannot vote
Nor can they save us
From the fearful and evil old mullahs
Who would turn my generation into suicide bombers,
Nor can they save us from the men
Who would have us before puberty,
Who force us into the terribly hot clothes,
Who punish us for being female,
Who deny us education,
Who would stomp on our smallest wish.
http://100percentfedup.com/6-year-old-muslim-girl-forced-to-marry-to-settle-islamic-family-feud-video/
Glorious human race!
Monstrous machines
unto globe thou place.
Surpassed grandeur,
overwhelmed with grace;
Heaven's territories
thou subdue 'nd embrace;
Surmounted all mysteries,
summits and space.
Yet, thy mightiness,
perfection never pace;
Tiniest Coronavirus,
fail thou to face!
THE PLIGHT OF MAN NO ONE UNDERSTANDS---
The plight of man no one understands;
His spiritual self is fused;
Together with physical man;
His flesh often is totally used;
To promote the wrong choices;
Often not hearing those voices;
As for his judgments clouded;
Often misguided by those wrong choices;
That he formed to choose;
Place recognition of the conditions;
Thought of compliance never to lose;
Paying homage to the piper;
The one playing his horn;
Screaming policies and views;
Help to deliver positive and better news;
His spiritual self is fused;
Together with physical man;
His flesh often is totally used;
Judgments come, judgment calls;
Remembering all those sins/wrongs I’ve done;
For no one is perfect, except Lord Jesus;
For He took on my sins;
All my unrighteousness, changed to blessedness’
Now I’m His next of kin;
Yes I no longer hide my face;
For you see now I’m a sinner saved by GRACE
So my brother/sister my fellow man;
The plight of man no one understands;
11/05/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2018
A Poetic Plight
Poems never read, never shared
for no one cared
The heartaches, sorrow, despair
no one was there.
Nothing hurts quite as much as that
it knocks one flat
A crossroad the poets are at
head in hands sat.
The poets pray to God on high
and angels sigh
Then write the poems in the sky
they’ll never die.
Looking up to the stars at night
poetry bright
Answer to a poetic plight
poets delight.
*+*+*
26th May 2023
An altercation
metal and metal
one way
street.
snow plough
joy rider
squares off.
© Harry J Horsman 2020
Take away this negativity.
Banish it with my Goddesses light.
Protect this witch's family.
Heal them with your aura tonight.
End a troll's bigotry.
May the laws of karma stop this fight.
Destroy the anger inside of me.
Learning to forgive...can end my plight.
Let there be prosperity.
Absorb magic from the moonlight.
When the news of a child is heard by the parents,
They buy a lot of presents.
For their cute & little child,
Who's skin will be so soft n mild.
And finally when the child is born as a girl or boy,
They buy n give them many a toy .
They take so much care of them,
& keep them happy upto the brim.
They fulfill all their wishes that are needed,
And buy all the necessary items for them to be feeded.
And as they start going to school,
They give them all the important instructions n tool.
They are given valuable lessons,
At starting and ending sessions.
But as they start to grow,
Their tolerance began to get low.
And this makes the parents feel sad and gloom,
And they start falling in their mental sickroom.
And with passage of time they becomes a woman or man,
And thinks that they could do whatever they can.
Thus , this thought comes to their mind,
That their parents would make their ways shrine.
So when all the properties come to their hand,
They made their their parents life fully banned.!
And they leave them in an old age home,
To make them sleep in a rubbish foam.
And then the parents realized ,
That their child was the biggest reason of their demise.
But now no option was left alone,
Rather to die together in an old age home!
..
By alfia ahfad