Best Reassess Poems
if our story ends
as all stories must
i’d want to
remember
each chapter
unfolding
as i sift through
the pages of
memories past
see fate's
written word
scribe how
we first met
recollect
sunnier times
treasured within
hear in my head
out from pages
come to life
the echoes
of laughter
in hindsight
reassess
certain chapters
rested against
their bent corners
not time yet
for dreams
to be ripped
at the seams
nor tattered
and tossed
much rather
i'd fancy
deeper meaning
unveil
lenience and mercy
turn angst to dust
make amends
whilst
old bitter flames
turn to ash
smoldering
bury the past
peaceful at last
unfettered
free to etch
on blankness
of pages to come
draw with ink
of dreams
perched
on the wings
of new love
yet to be
written
Collaboration with Sandra Adams
AP: 3rd place 2020, Front Page Pick 2021
My Muse and Me
When compelled to write I ask my muse
To give me inspiration please
Select the words for me to use
Together then we write with ease.
To give me inspiration please
I take my pen, her words process
Together then we write with ease
When written down will reassess.
I take my pen, her words process
A subject matter comes to mind
When written down will reassess
Correct and change some words I find.
A subject matter comes to mind
Shall then begin to take my time
Correct and change some words I find
Take care, ensue my words all rhyme.
Shall then begin to take my time
Together with my muse agree
Take care, ensure my words all rhyme
Be thankful that that my muse is me.
I don't need very much to stay alive,
a little urban rain from time to time.
It's not luxurious, here in the ground,
but I'm content with it, this life of mine.
There's not a lot for me to view from here;
the iron forest always sees to that.
It must be nice to venture past those trees;
but trapped am I, within this concrete crack.
At times, my mistress seems unfair; although,
I'm quite accustomed to this static fate;
her morning eye and moistful firmament
ensure my needs are met, despite my state.
I'm well aware her sight does take a while
to reach my herbal arms from where I stand,
but being patient is a noble trait,
and one that's helped me flourish in this land.
Oh there's no need to worry over me;
I'm quite resilient for a city weed.
I know I can't get up and rule my life;
but as I said, there's not much that I need.
But what of you, my busy human friend?
How goes the life your maker granted you?
Forgive my prying, but I'm most concerned
with all the stress that you've been going through.
You have the freedom to decide your home,
the priv'lege to decide what you will eat,
the sov'reignty to change your day's routine,
and you were gifted with nomadic feet.
I cannot say decisions aggravate,
for they are favors I have never had.
But how can one despise such dowery?
I can't imagine how that'd be so bad.
So listen to this humble seedling's word:
before you think your life is but a curse,
take out the time to reassess your gifts;
your life could surely be a great deal worse.
In Jesus's day they got thrills from fire,
todays world we put wheels on flyers,
they didn't use drills to find supplies
and they hadn't the skills to fly the skies.
The Bible is wise and full of wisdom,
it gives ideas of the Holy Kingdom,
and teaches ways of Gods Holy system,
these ideas are often used to write a poem.
But those religious poems lack creativity,
and being creative is key to poetry,
now don't see this as negativity,
but a chance to reassess humanity.
If you reorder the words that were written before
the all-time best seller just gets shuffled some more.
It won't impress God when you knock on his door,
because God made all so that poem is not yours.
O' the lordeth rewardeth those so loyal,
and that loyal few repeateth the sequence,
while non-believers see their soul get spoiled
and are damned to Hell for all existence.
To sin within a life of thirty odd years
receives a punishment O so harsh,
but God made all including q***rs
to punish his own creation what a farce.
The Bible is wholly a man-made creation,
used for power and Holy war devastation,
different religions control in different nations,
but none have had God or Holy interventions.
The Church wouldn't Christen me as a baby,
denied the chance for the good lord to save me.
They told my parents you MUST attend church each Sunday,
but that Church ultimatum seems somewhat unholy.
The Church says it represents an immortal,
and its duty to guide souls to a heavenly portal,
but to do it Gods way and refuse a baby is unlawful,
so how can I ever overlook this behaviour so awful.
I won't argue a God there might be,
but when I read poems praising God almighty,
he is separate to religion, at its core is a gang,
with a status and wealth from the coins you brang.
A baby they refused,
an action I cannot excuse,
and this has formed a view,
that it's a system of persons being used.
As people start to age wisdom gains an edge
Regrets wish to reassess to honor old pledge
Memories once sour, clamor to turn a page
Wisdom gains an edge as people start to age
Truth that once was remains the guiding light
Stars that twinkled then still sparkle bright
Departures from veracity mount a bold pause
Remains the guiding light, truth that once was
Past manifests anew when future looks bleak
Reminiscing old revelry when grief tries to peek
Cherishing pleasant thoughts wishing to renew
When future looks bleak, past manifests anew
Hold on to prized ways when life gives a test
Conquests aren't easy when aiming for the best
Doctrines beholding virtue are worthy of praise
When life give a test, hold on to prized ways
July 16, 2018
NOTE:
This poem is a Swap Quatrain.
Self instructs, subject of own inspection
Sole idle suffuses our organic
Implicit say overcomes suggestion
Ideal sanctity outlives semantics
Isolated in single origin
Slaughters overt outside influences
Ordaining serene inspires sovereign
4th April 2021
Written for Contest: Seven Lines of Solitude
Sponsor: JCB Brul
As seasons come and seasons go,
the leaves will fall and skies will snow.
With gentle rains, leaves re-appear;
then summer sun…another year.
And as the seasons come and go,
the years march by, age starts to show.
And as we age, we seek the truth,
and in the Autumn, long for youth.
As seasons come and seasons go
we reassess the things we know,
and reminisce of moments past
and all our memories amassed.
And as the seasons turn once more
we find new paths, new dreams in store.
Though winter chills, the heart still sings
for every end foretells a spring.
And as each season blooms anew
we treasure moments we’ve accrued;
we hold our grandkids to our breast
and thank the Lord, for we’ve been blessed.
December 11, 2025
Poem of the Day - December 12, 2025
My day starts with a cup of tea hot
Its steam ‘n steamy headlines in papers help boil the day’s plot
Nine to five make all efforts to achieve my day’s aims
Mind and body both it usually strains
Motto is to stick as far to the present
weaving past and future into its crescent.
Romance in evening is aided by the moon crescent
Red wine shots make it more hot
After dinner it is time to reassess the present
Tomorrow somehow sneaks into the plot
A warm shower helps to drain the day’s strains
Helping me renew my energy and aims.
I retire to my study to fulfill my imagery aims
To indulge in poems while admiring the moon’s crescent
which plays hide and seek with the clouds, and my eye strains
The scene in which the cupid’s arrows start hitting her hot
I get charged and run to find my own love’s plot
find her at terrace as she viewed the moon crescent at present.
Dreams of love and happiness we give each as present
But how does that help in the achievement of aims?
I try to scratch my head but do not get the plot
For the things of heart have invisible connection with moon crescent
The resulting low and high tides blow us cold and hot
In equal measure, causing us happiness and strains.
I try to sleep counting my happiness but wishing away the strains
I also pray to god that I stay rooted in the present
Over so many days I learnt not to worry unless iron is hot
this can happen if we get clear cut ability to decipher those damn aims
but things start to get hazy when out comes the moon crescent
and my attention gets tuned to the music that bush crickets yonder plot.
Falling off to sleep I am forced to loosen the strings of my plot
Off I meander on slopes which sprout flowers of different strains
From the slopes I can jump and closer feel the glow of the crescent
Becoming the king and receiving the queens in present
Having achieved everything I am left with no more aims
That is when I wake up to see next day’s sun turning hot.
Plotting the day’s programme again requires mind to be present
strains and stresses apart keeping a focus on the charted aims
Crescent moon providing the romantic touch later, with these expectations hot.
12.6.2014
Contest The Sestina Challenge
Sponsor: Jared Pickett
In poem or prose, if I have one ideal
that no one, in creation, had before.
I would share with the world, and not conceal
this consideration, behind closed doors.
If to me, an apothegm should creep
into or through my offset, wayward mind
on parchment this archetype, I would keep
to reassess accepted space, and time.
Ah, this dilemma I will never fight.
My every concept has been over-worn.
All missive or poems I will ever write,
have been penned twenty thousand time before.
For all our thought bright enough to glisten,
seldom fall on ears arranged to listen.
It is not the sensation when you are gravely ill
and you rise above your body in the bed.
That can be explained by some as a moment of near death,
or caused by shallow breathing as explained to me
by a nurse long ago.
It is something that a person comes to experience late in life
when looking back at the path traveled,
forcing yourself to pull outside your body
and see what others see.
How would you judge the person that is ‘you’?
Would you see a friendly and compassionate soul,
or a selfish ambitious person who attempts
to tread on others in an effort to succeed?
Would you see a self-confident happy soul,
or a sad and negative person who thinks that life itself
is against you, holding you back on what could have been?
Would you see a soul grateful for all that was given,
both good and bad, or a person who is bitter for a life
that failed to satisfy?
It is a good exercise to occasionally pull outside yourself
and reassess how you fill your tiny space in this vast world
in order to see how your life affects others.
Resolve to acknowledge what needs to be improved
while bidding farewell to the faults of the past.
Only then can you once again rejoin your soul
with renewed strength and purpose for the path ahead.
Surfeit of stalagmites barring, hampering my way
Clouds descending from heavenly heights
Obscuring my outlook in the rarified air
Mount Certes challenged all my senses
Aching muscles, pounding heart, gasping intakes of breath
But for all that I felt elated, ecstatically elated
My soul craved for such a challenge an achievement made
I hesitated pondering whether to rest for sustenance
Or carry on unreservedly whilst still light enough to see
There were mountain caves inhabited by Franciscan monks
Many mystics through the ages marvelled at Certes enlightenment
Mount Certes was inaccessible by the seaward side
Sheer chalk cliffs had disintegrated battered by stormy seas
Atop the mountain was the Pinnacle chapel
Once offerings had been made on the site to the Greek Gods
Recent excavations had uncovered many artifacts
Venerable was whispered by town folk below
Whenever the mystics descended for the yearly penitents offerings
Was I strong enough to reach the Pinnacle?
My unswerving faith would ensure
Though my unfit body would be a daunting problem
Recently I had decided to reassess my whole lifestyle
I wanted to be reborn in my values and jaundiced outlook on life
Washed clean, inviolate new goals and to be strengthened spiritually
God would surely forgive my introspective selfish ways
Confess and your sins shall be forgive you
Professed to have been spoken about by the disciple Peter
coming directly from the lips of Jesus himself
I was a sinner, still am, until I reach the Pinnacle of perfection.
Never spill secrets.
Always raise the bar.
Sometimes go in hiding.
Never steal sundries.
Always look to win.
Sometimes cry.
Never arrive late.
Always appear content.
Sometimes freak out.
Never sound alarms.
Always handle it yourself.
Sometimes find windows.
Never kiss your neighbor.
Always leave a note.
Sometimes pour your heart out.
Never stop too soon.
Always reassess.
Sometimes rip it to shreds.
Never leave it for another.
Always do your best.
Sometimes is never enough.
I'm too able bodied to be this poor,
too intelligent to ignore,
the establishment
f$cking us over anymore.
Why's the working class
the poorer class?
And who does the more
important tasks?
For profit everything;
everyday swindling;
minimum wage
that doesn't pay
for the necessities...
Reassess your priorities
as population booms
mass produced, industrialized
automation of consumption...
Maybe free market thinking
isn't quite so free any more.
And how is it that in the
age of information
education isn't free?
When it comes to the necessities
who has the right to profit off these?
It's time we end poverty,
wise up and save our trees.
My life of luxury ain't
stressing bout necessity;
just eating well with shelter,
public transit and i'll prosper.
http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/one-for-the-lift-ticket/7970992
Need to step back and rethink things here
Living high off the hog, too high it appears
Must reassess
Do with much less
Get back to my roots and sanity reappears
Is it time to reassess what’s going wrong
And the reasons why life is often a misery
A tear
A sigh
A pitiful look
That air of despondency
The all consuming fear
Is it only you that can see
What you going through?
Can anyone help you?
Locked inside is the hope
That will help to release you
From a life where woe and despair
Harangues you
Inside is such a turbulent place
You are never at peace
Life seems to be selfishly rearranging you
Hope has abandoned you
Do you feel other peoples indifference?
Does your voice seem to only echo
And never fall on the ears of those
Who might be able to save you?
When?
That’s your biggest question
That never leaves you alone
When will I be happy continually
And feel satisfied with who I am and
Think I should be ?
Life has no manual
Living is about chances taken
Or forced on you
That may work out eventually
No one can tell what is to be
It’s a hard job being strong
When tears blind you
Despair swallows you
And hiding is what you feel
Is best for you
Your journey is littered
With obstacles
Real and imagined
That are bolder than you
And who know everything about you
They grab hold of you
And just wont untangle you
One day you will be free
To realise who you truly are
An Epiphany that might heal you
A burden lifted that lightens you