Best Preachy Poems
I have met some wonderful people on SoupVille Lane.
Without this extraordinary and fantastic poetry
community, our paths may have never crossed.
I just want to let you all know (you know who
you are). Who has supported me continuously on my poetic journey.
That I don't take your support and friendship lightly.
Especially during these difficult times. Being away from family can be so sad and depressing.
I log into the soup and find laughter, inspiration, encouragement, and kindness. Just having you in my corner has meant the world to me.
Some may say friendships such is this isn't real,
I beg to differ. What is friendship?
Opening yourself up to another, being your true authentic self, I have done that with some of
you and I consider you a friend.
One thing about friendship is, you have to be
a friend to gain a friend.
Some friends go deep, and some don't,
but my (soup) friends, we have poetry in common, and I feel we are friends because of our shared love of poetry.
With that being said, is this place perfect? No
Because we have feelings and feelings get in the way.
But we should strive to be respectful no matter what. If I come off as preachy, I apologize; the things that I express, I say to myself first and foremost. Just sharing my insight and personal reflections. I know 2020 has been bad for us all.
I hope and pray, 2021 is much better. Happy New Year, my soup friends:-) Alexis
12-26-2020
I thought it would be fun to pretend to translate
a yakuza-enka (gambler folk song) by Shintaro Katsu,
to be sung with gravelly grave seriousness.
Nobody seems to love me
Or care about my pain
My sandals are all worn out
I sleep out in the rain
I am a lonely bugger,
A blind and lowly bug
I have no home, I always roam,
I'm practically a thug.
My name is Zatoichi
My life is never peachy
I tap along and sing a song
As sad as it is preachy.
The only time I'm happy
Is when I'm betting dice
But if they try to cheat me
or fail to treat me nice
I show them quick my blind man's stick
Can flash with bloody slice
I cut them all in pieces
It's quite an awful vice.
My name is Zatoichi
My life is never peachy
I tap along and sing a song
As sad as it is preachy.
Quickened Pace
~~~~~~~~~~~
In the day rapidly approaching
a rapture of which there shall be no more…
of parasitic encroaching
the minds of men
bent on sin…
“Love wins!”
I have read
from beginning to end
the books of many men’s sins
Their concepts galore, human explore
inept are many books of madness
cause of lives of much sadness
Ah… one book of precept
no variance,… of love kept
the Master recipe…
through it’s crystal truth I see
myself in the mirror…
mirrored Chrystal looking back at me
Ah… throne of grace
I see… I am quickened by quickened pace
I look into a familiar amazing face
the Chrystal truth of amazing grace
I see another face…
bought of amazing grace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Warning: A view from human concepts might find the preceding poem
a bit preachy, as sub consciously this terminology has emerged of human
concept for purpose of discrediting wisdom when it is imparted of Godly
precept. While wisdom imparted on the level of human concepts is declared
to be the only source and means of conveying knowledge. “Two Logics!”
(Isaiah 55:7-11) (The Christly mind vs. the human mind) “You have the
mind of Christ!” You May use it!
Selah….
Grace Paces in four faces
…………………..
Graces in four faces
of trinity, three paces
living in life races
a lion, a calf, a man, an eagle
A flying eagle…
complete and legal
Ah….Loves grace intervene…
by and by one shall wean
of Mothers milk
to Fathers meat
one shall complete
by grace, amazing feat
Meanwhile…
Love’s dear child
in love meek and mild
a serpent spent and beat
shall soon retreat
as grace absorbs life heat
A cycle of seven
Love’s blueprint of heaven
earth cycles seven/eleven
of whorish bevvies
Sub consciously…
Human concepts grievous
+++++++++++
Warning: A view from human concepts might find the preceding
poem a bit preachy, as sub consciously this terminology
has emerged of human concept for purpose of discrediting wisdom
when it is imparted of Godly precept. While wisdom imparted on the
level of human concepts is declared to be the only source and means
of conveying knowledge. “Two Logics!” (Isaiah 55:7-11) (The Christly
mind vs. the human mind) “You have the mind of Christ!”
You May use it!
Selah….
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
The Present:
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
A knock at the door...
( I don’t believe in doorbells)
What appeared to be a man and his wife
were standing off the steps on the lawn
The man had a nervous, stern look on his face
and his partner had her hands clasped together
tightly at her waist; glancing back at the street
as if she wanted to run away...
“Good morning my friend, how are you doing?”
(Not too good and I’m not your friend either)
“I’m a friend to all people who need the Lord
Do you mind if we come in and visit a while?”
(Yes I mind and I don’t need YOUR Lord either
Is that your wife with you and why is she nervous?)
“She is a member of my church and it’s her first time”
(Ahh, I understand now! She’s a virgin then?)
“Well I-I don’t know...Yes, she IS a virgin sir!”
(You said you didn’t know at first. You sure she is?)
“Y-yes I am sure! Are you a Christian my friend?”
(There you go again calling me a friend and yes I am)
“Pardon me for saying this but you don’t seem to be”
('Judge not that ye be not judged’ How bout another?)
W...('For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God')
The lady was sweating now and wringing her hands...
The Virgin backed away clumsily
and the 'Preacher' followed...
*Bible References:
Matthew 7:1
Romans 3:23
Charity starts at home
don't
we say?
Be kind to your kith and
kin
come what may.
A family's not only your
safe
haven
Tis pals your very own
roots
Water these shoots with
love
devoid of hate
So they bear you
sweeter
fruits.
Maybe you'd say that's
not so
easy
but perhaps that's coz
you just
too busy
Or your clock just don't
chime
for quality family time?
For if you can't make
time for
a letter or a hug
Then let my poem give
your
conscience a gentle tug.
And if this may sound
like a
preachy homily
Deserves much more
mention
and affection the family
If you can make time for
so
many other things
some of them not even
worthwhile
Try discover the
happiness
family brings
Just a tad modify that
routine
lifestyle.
My words in crystal clear
clarity
sing compassion is
likewise a
charity
Charity need not be for
strangers only
Find out who needs help
in
kindred and family
Ties of kinship severe not
Value the relations
you've got
Your siblings, cousins
from
your family tree
and all else that you call
family.:-x
Ta Ta Ta Thai Thai Thai Thei Thei Thei Ya Ya Ya
©Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty, 10th November 2014
Ta Ta Ta Thai Thai Thai Thei Thei Thei Ya Ya Ya
Danced the prince of Ku and Princess Ki Ka Hu Hiya
They fell into a ditch
As black as preachy pitch
That’s the kick, brick and brick, cat and mouse, yea yea yea
Prime pretty play
Dream deeper day
Live laughter loud
Prune preachy proud
See silly stay
Pick poignant pay
Love lines loiter
Mind moves matter
Verse vivid voice
Charm creates choice
Shrewd style speaks sound
Grace grows grand grounds
Mystic mind moves
Gracious gifts groove
Cryptic calm croons
Beauty brings boon
Gain groovy grip
Time tickles trip
Wise wonder works
***** question quirks
Ask apt aura
Feel fine flora
Meet millions more
Subtle soul spores
Prize poignant proof
Taste touching truth
Bright blossoms bloom
Rich rapture rooms
Taste telling times
Right ripples rhymes
Leon Enriquez
24 May 2015
Singapore
Sometimes it is hard to know what to write or when to write when you have just about every
thought possible flowing through your head. I wonder, "Should I please the public with
how "poetic" I am or should I please You? I know what the answer is but at times I'm
worried about being liked or whether people get me. Is my belief in Your Son too far
above their heads or will they get it? Should I even worry about public opinion? Of
course I know as a follower of Christ, sharing my testimony and telling them about the
Lord is what I'm supposed to do. On the other hand, have I become to preachy and
dull? Am I shoving my beliefs down their throats? Then I realize, didn't Jesus make
himself of no reputation? Everybody thought that He was weird, blasphemous and not
qualified to tell them anything when it came to how they were living. I'm only here to do
what He wants me to do, nothing more, nothing less. If I do my part, the right people will
hear it, love it and appreciate it. All I should do, is write the word and leave all my
"rambling worries" to Him.
Our forest habitat
gusts breezes
across our skins,
as darkness slowly turns
toward bright sky light.
My son
who cannot walk
nor speak his name
talks vociferously forth and with
and adding as this morning breeze
together part of Her embrace,
playful tickles
across his advocating happy Yanging face
teaching out and taking in, as possible
what and whom is impossible
for any of us to see,
whether blind as he
or sighted as we
might actually hope to be.
D is an avid scooting son
toward virgin forest greetings,
able to smell and feel morning seasons and rhythms
of days and night,
dark and persuasively gusty bright
flow of solar and lunar breezes
across our democratic EarthBound skins,
nurturing solidarity
older than concrete avenues toward cities
of overwhelming unforesting,
unraveling
tribes producing what once was nutrition,
good food more than fake food,
healthy love of gusty bright mornings
over toxic repressed-yin darks,
nightmares of climate acclimation
to separating multi-sensory linguistic pathologies.
D's life is liturgy of love
blemished only by occasional aversions to entrapment
and suffering alone
when we might become possible
to produce healthier webs of cooperative nurture
together,
Dad and D
as We.
Daranyani D,
celebrating sacred forest winds
as feminine matriarchal principles
gracing his brown naked skin.
Diversity of days and holonic nightdreams,
democratic nutritional pluralism,
principles of forest reweaving civilizations
older than cities
surrounded by fading cultures of wealth
through deforesting this EarthTribe Morning
which,
on its very best warm gusty day,
has become worthy
of concelebrating Daranyani D's
forest optimizing breezes,
liturgies of EarthTribe's
Secular Out and Sacred In
brightest elder
matriarchally principled
(0)Soul bilateral sacred brain-dance,
Elder RightBrain
Still-PolyCulturating Light-RainDance
Choreographies Sacred (0)Sum EcoPolitical
BiCameral Green-Dominant.
Just like his preachy, but basically happy, ElderDad
co-eco incarnating
our forest habitat
gusts breezes
across our naked wrongs and rights,
as darkness slowly turns
toward bright returning sky light.
Like Jesus I'm prophetic,
I've come to set you free
by loving the way
ignorant men cling
to their prejudices
Love you indiscriminate
of right and wrong,
sin and not guilty
Blow your mind utterly
and completely
Bend the human condition
towards reunification
Leave ninety-nine well fed
and go after the one instead.
Through peril and
brim fire, I'll prove
without being preachy,
loving me is all you need
For the freest form of free.
Follow me, and I'll follow you,
we'll turn circles around
revolutionary ideas
sell communists
on capitalistic ideas
Won't stop until
Shangri-la sits smack-dab
in our living room
our front door the pearly gates.
Tempt fate. Let me love you,
instead of requistioning
you to a place you were
already created from and
no matter what decision
you choose
You shall not be banished
in a godless place
Love you in a way that
surpasses understanding.
Place an exit sign in hell,
pull the fire alarm and
send 911 to the rescue.
Tempt fate, let's love religiously,
Connect spiritually
and change the conception
of love's connection.
Agape Redefined
I keep an eye out,
for her to clue in.
Open to watching, instead
preachy explanation.
But months have been lost,
to a standard doubled,
Because of my member.
Of course I question her words,
when chaos is pointed,
with me flinching.
(for Matt's contest was made in 45 seconds the phone rang, which ended it lol)
Sense spacious silence speak
Prize primal pattern peak
Void vets vibrant vile voice
Cream clumsy changing choice
Toilsome thoughts tunnel time
Meet moist motionless mime
Feel fond fancy flavour
Opt old odd off-odours
Form fleeting formal face
Glimpse gaudy grinding grace
Face funny faulty fix
Meet most memory mix
Mull mushy momentum
Treat taut touchy tantrum
Unhinge used unseen urge
Ply preachy poignant purge
Edgy echoes ease etch
Sanguine sadness soul sketch
Impact indulgent ire
Messy moments meet mire
Languish lavish laughter
Adjourn ample after
Listening lastly lurks
Jumpy jest justly jerks
Sober sleepless soul spice
Promptly puzzles pure price
Numbing nonsense now nibs
Tasty touching time trip
Nimble nasty notions
Pace placates proportion
Time travel through twilight
Indulge instant insight
Lift lasting lustre loud
Petty plots pretty proud
Ply puzzling poison pill
Size spacious silence spill
Leon Enriquez
17 October 2018
Singapore
He lives his faith simply, humbly and honestly,
he does not sit in judgment nor is he preachy,
neither does he act sanctimoniously in any way,
he teaches himself to be God-fearing and saintly.
Politicizing religion, claiming moral ascendancy,
piously pretending from the pulpit that he is holy
yet, demonizing anyone who dares to disagree,
he is the perfect picture of blatant hypocrisy.
Never complaining even while accepting blame,
when transgressing he feels a sense of shame.
He applies the rules to others rather severely
but to himself reserves loopholes and leeway.
Not content that he forever remains the same,
he confronts his flaws and fights to right them.
He hurls accusations on just about anything
yet he is more wicked when no one is looking.
The lowly saint is cognizant of his human frailty,
holding no pretensions, his life an open book.
The hypocrite is the guardian of our morality
while he keeps a mistress hidden in the nook.
The saint knows he is weak and tries his best,
the hypocrite thinks he is nobler than the rest.
The saint is worthy of emulation, dead or alive,
the hypocrite is worth nothing except to his tribe.