Best Revising Poems
1.
Rumor has it on heavens above,
Among the angels’ divine sphere,
That God after very much though
Decided in man’s life to interfere.
2.
For He has observed Man’s mistakes,
That lately, too many came to be,
To endanger the whole of creation
Act with which God can never agree.
3.
So, the Lord has most recently chosen,
The book of life before long to reprint
Revising certain of its very old chapters
While others out will leave, He did hint.
4.
The concern of humans is now to know
Which chapters the book will not contain,
Which are going to be, somehow, revised
And which intact will forever remain?
5.
What was heard through the vine though,
It was Man’s huge and unbearable vanity
That made our almighty Lord and creator
Finally, to exclude the chapter on humanity.
6.
The reason our God in His infinitive wisdom
Reached such an unexpected for Mankind conclusion,
Is the fact that Man during his reign on earth
Has hurt our planet with his insensitive intrusion.
7.
It might still be time for Man overall to be saved,
If he started correcting his many mistakes soon,
Beginning by respecting life and the whole planet,
And stop behaving as a dim-witted buffoon.
© Demetrios Trifiatis
20 October 2022
-
* According to a UN report, We are in an era where
climate change isn’t some kind of future hypothetical but a present concern, and nobody is going to be untouched by it, therefore, measures must be taken immediately to save ourselves and the planet.
-
** This is my 3300 post on Poetrysoup.
I would like to thank the site and all my fellow poets!
Distorted buildings where the wind men walk,
I asked myself what i thought, i couldn't say,
My frustration had driven all light from the day,
All heat from the garden,
And all dust from the shelf.
I was bare of thought
I ate repetition for breakfast lunch and tea,
It was a morning so crisp
When i wrote my first list-
to change the world.... but i couldn't,
So i sat and i curled.
I drew triangles across lines and lines,
I wrote stories, songs and rhymes.
I fell, i slept, i was helpless, i wept.
I had no gut, and i had no name,
I watched the wasp die till no life did remain,
and i only felt empty, and i only felt cold,
i grew that day, the day i became old.
I wrote a poem that alleges
that I left her a little too rough around the edges,
and would I kindly try to rewrite.
So, all night long, I added and deleted,
moved around and repeated,
till she finally said, "Yeah, that feels just about right."
The crux of my jigsaw
is plastered on my face.
In scribbles of mine, I find-
a younger mind in my place.
Time's lapsed without define
as I read these words of mine.
Semi-confused and struggling,
Do I revise? -oh, this is puzzling.
What say you, my friend of mystery?
Do you rearrange the past,
or grant amnesty?
Post as is, or adjust its mast?
Touch the voice of the lost,
or leave her voice with a cost?
The past's sound disassociates
from present mind, to recalibrate.
My temperature is rising,
the heat has stained my cheeks.
The hue is bent on disguising
anything below the surface.
My secret is capsizing,
I’m camouflaged by the Sun.
There is no compromising
pwhen the heart so loudly speaks
that your whole life it’s revising.