Best Self Sufficiency Poems
There are many birds that gather
In my yard all through the year.
However, there is one I favor.
I wait for her to reappear.
You'll not find her at the feeder,
Like the others on the dole.
I think her mama taught her
Self sufficiency is the goal.
She and her faithful hubby
(Oh how that guy is trained)
Have come back to their love nest,
On my porch where it remained.
She showed him how to mend it
And he worked hard at his task.
Aything at all she wanted,
All she need to do was ask.
Their nest abuts the ceiling,
I bump my head before I see
If the little ones have hatched yet,
But if not they soon will be.
Once here, their mouths will open
And will never close again
Until they're big as their own parents,
But they're never offered grain.
No, it's bugs and bugs and more bugs.
They keep Mom and Daddy hopping.
She tells him they have mouths to feed.
There is no time for stopping.
While he is gathering the food,
She's shoving it into them
And passes him when he returns
From committing insect mayhem.
Now Daddy gets the job of feeding
While Mama's on the hunt.
In this nest of well fed children
You will never find a runt.
She grabs all of the mosquitos
That her little beak can hold.
Her mate is going out for more,
She doesn't have to scold.
You will not find better parents,
Human ones or otherwise,
Than these precious little swallows,
With a love that's supersize.
You would think they would be happy
When these youngsters leave the nest,
But they start another family
Busy swallows never rest.
Any villainous mosquito
Won't have a chance to do me harm
While these persisting swallows
Have a nest on my old farm
By: Joyce Johnson 6/17/03
Thanks be to God—come one, come all!
When one's greatest belief is in one’s self, limits emerge on human relief,
No joy. No sorrow. No hopeful feelings about this day, or morrow.
A vacuum of useless disbelief.
When 'science fixes all'—becomes the general rule, led by denial and utter doubt,
“There exists no God,” exclaims a sea, of haughty self-sufficiency,
empty robots knowing no assurance, as they shout.
If there exists no God, look around—at all He keeps in harmony:
Birds in the air, fish in the sea, trees breathing life giving possibility.
And humans, living and loving fearlessly.
The world demands a Savior strong, in balance to unruly throngs.
Our faith fills gaps the Creator allows, to test free will and sacred vows,
All while His love for Atheists lives on.
Thanks be to God—come one, come all!
11/24/2018
see myself doing it
see myself living it
see myself going down that path
see myself heading towards that direction
step in right direction
step in new direction
change is needed
change is desired
internally motivated shift
in thought process
internally motivated change
in direction
self-sufficiency is key
self-accomplishment is goal
towards creation of self-betterment
Silent is the echo as pride shouts
selfishness causing pouts...
self-conceit triumphs over jealousy bouts
self-glory reigns with discontentment clouts
self-reliance wavers upon attacking doubts
self-pity maneuvers toward false humility-routes…
The echo returns not indeed...
as self-sufficiency does arrogantly succeed
self-exaltation declares me-I-my-mine creed
self-inflicting pain midst guilt continues to breed
self-denial actually hoists covetousness and greed
self-love matters most, not recognizing God with His deed.
In the shattered mirror of hollow empathy, I see fragments of myself drifting,
Like ash butterflies dancing in the cold wind of unspoken truth,
And their words—"I can't empathize"—are silver arrows piercing through
The illusory veil of superficial consolation, revealing the inner garden
Where I alone grow the cucumbers of wisdom, where I water the flowers of courage.
And I hear footsteps fading away down the corridor of memory, the steps of friends hurried
To their daily markets, to the Turkish dramas that swallow their evenings,
Leaving behind only the echo of a pat on the shoulder and a worn-out phrase
"Don't worry, it will all pass"—a devalued coin in the ATM of compassion,
While I remain here, in the fortress of self, counting my resources.
Ah, how strange this revelation—that in the absence of foreign comfort
I discover my own healing hands, my own wellspring of strength!
Like a tree finding water in its depths when the sky refuses to weep,
I learn to be self-sufficient, to measure my garden of limits with steady steps,
To cultivate my own remedies, to be my own sun and my own rain.
I no longer knock on foreign doors begging for understanding like a crust of bread,
But build from the bricks of imperfections a temple of maturity,
Where the echo of my steps resounds with fulfillment, not with a void to be filled,
Where each scar is a medal of self-sufficiency won in battle,
And where loneliness is no longer a fear, but a throne from which I contemplate my strength.
There are many birds that gather
in my yard throughout the year,
however there is one that I favor.
You'll not find her at the feeder
like the others on the dole.
I think her mama taught her
the value of self-sufficiency.
She and her faithful hubby
(Oh how that guy is trained)
have come back to their love nest
on my front porch, knowing they
are welcome.
She taught him how to fix it up
and he worked hard at the job
so it looks like new.
Anything at all she wanted,
he was more than willing to tackle.
Their nest abuts the ceiling, so
I bump my head before I can see
if the shells have broken and the little
ones have put in an appearance.
Once here, their mouths will open
and will never close again
until they are as big as their parents.
Its gnats and gnats and more gnats
that keep their parents slaving.
She tells him they have mouths to feed,
and there is not time for stopping.
While he is gathering their food,
she is shoveling it into their wide open beaks
and then passes him when he returns.
The feeding job is his to continue.
Mama is now on the hunt. They are both
proud of their well fed offspring.
She grabs all of the mosquitos that
her little beak can hold and now
her faithful mate is going out for more.
You will not find better parents,
human or other wise,
than these precious little swallows.
You would think they would be happy
when their youngsters leave their nest,
but they turn around and start another family.
Any villainous mosquito,won't have a chance
to do me harm,with these vigilantes on the job.
I will miss them when they leave this fall
but they will be back again in March or April
of the coming spring.
Power in the hands of a woman? Wow!
She can wreak wreck worse than
All the fires burning in satanic hell
Or she can turn her hell into a paradise
With super powers invested in me
It would be a minuscule to almighty's, yet
The aged would be eased of any physical pain and
Their struggles would be behind, their peaceful days ahead
The lives of the physically challenged
Would be comforted in their self sufficiency
Food would be substantially dispensed between
The rich and the poor so that no one dies of excessive surfeit
I would make every orphan be adopted in a kindly home
Babies and children would be warm in comfort zones of love
I would love to see them playing truant with the whispering winds
And hear the echoes of their loud shrieks of joyfulness from the parks
Evil thoughts and indisciplined speech vindicate my patience
So, instantly I would create havoc and punish the uncouth with
Vipers, lizards and cockroaches spluttering out of their vile words
I would delight at my powerful energy till waspish tongues are rectified
I would indulge in devilish treats fanning my sweet tooth with
All the forbidden desserts that would ironically relinquish me of obesity
I would fly free across the globe feasting my eyes on unexplored treasure troves
My childhood dream would miraculously come true when my super power explodes
June 7, 2016
Lewis Raynes
three issues are at stake in poetry writing at present: first, whether or not we can write an emotionally charged (subjective) material/topic such as love (loving, not loving, not being loved), freedom, and justice effectively with artistic objectivity. This is more complicated by the notions of choices (and voices,) individual self-determinism, self-sufficiency, and individual sanctity over collectivism.
Voices say this: Humankind have Choices, Choices have Consequences, Consequences have Risk or Reward! It is those Voices (heard or unheard) and Choices (risk or reward) that make lines or volumes and make us who we are as Poets--living and dying with our Choices!*
Second, we poets are of a tender-heart, vulnerable, and victims to violent shifts of response and emotions that relationships bring to us. We are sensitive, however, so being, we are beneficiary of human benign neglect and gross oblivion around. We do a great deal out of something ignored as trivia!
Third, whether we poets are misfit in a misshapen society or we are misshapen at a misfit time, really I am not quite sure myself! But one thing I am certain about is this: the poet struggles with SOMETHING more than his/her own myth: to be able to see the relations of the unrelated, to curve out a creative originality, and to muse about if pleasurable pain (painful joy) is bearable and if living and loving truly is ever possible of to date! For no wrong life can be lived rightly!
Poet,
Less than that, what good is Poetry for?
*Listen to the Poet and Folksinger Leonard Cohen's "Choices"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBDKKFJuXos
Form:
A God of the Past & the Future
“1 Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,”for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. 2 I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 4 ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” 5 He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”
Rev 21:1-5 NIV
Although world history is taught
As the history of civilizations,
God is in control of the past and the future,
As can be seen from Genesis to Revelation.
God created this earth and the heavens,
And will destroy it with fire as well.
The earth and heavens will be made new,
That’s what John the Revelator did tell.
Human history had a definite beginning
And faces a glorious future too.
Of this we can be certain,
Because God’s words are trustworthy and true.
The Lord knows the end and has revealed it,
To those who choose to seek.
The old will give way to the new;
The proud will give way to the humble and weak.
History had its beginning,
And will have its end as well.
The prophets acted as historians,
And the future so often did spell.
God sustains all His creations
By natural laws that are good,
But some humans choose to ignore Him;
Their self-sufficiency not understood.
The rise and fall of kingdoms
Is in God’s powerful hands.
The great controversy between good and evil,
Man only partly understands.
God is A God of the Past and the Future;
Time stands in between.
Christ has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows;
Our stranded history will soon be nothing but a dream!
Copyright © Maureen LeFanue 2012
www.maureenlefanue.com
I'm peaceful and still,
Waiting for the storm to pass.
Relinquishing my desperate will,
Soon I'll move again at last.
Take me with you,
For my bleeding heart holds me back.
I'm distracted by daydreams of youth,
Knowing it's the biggest thing I lack.
I was dripping with passion and desire.
Self-sufficiency led me down the path,
But I got lost and fell deep in the fire.
Burned and broken, controlled by the hateful wrath.
I get dressed but my scars still show.
It was never supposed to be this way.
With my head held high and my spirit down below,
I will manage to smile brightly for you today.
You deserve light, so my ghosts I'll lay to rest.
The tragedy was caused by what was harmful before
I ever got there and it was only a test.
Without any reason to keep the score.
It's gone and as much as I want to forget,
The fire that kept my soul at bay.
I am thankful that my death I nearly met;
It makes me stronger for you today.
‘TURQUOISE-- INTUITIVE PAUSE’
Mixed hues of green and blue- Peace, calm a tranquil view
Retiring from the world at times- a temporary loner paradigm
Refreshing compassion, aquamarine cool—swimming serenity found in the pool
Teal feminine sophistication—intelligent whims of imagination
Open communication between heart and soul—spoken words are seldom whole
An independent and spiritual grounding—Caribbean healing often binding
Tranquillity, beautiful shades of serenity—crucial escape from noise and stupidity
Sequential self-sufficiency necessitated – realms of reality obliterated
Surfing the tides of modern humanity—breakers surging our living profanity
Rushing neglected creative domains—prevailing insanity inescapably remains
Our poise and intuitive shade turquoise—we need to shut down on intolerable noise
Flood out the deluge of untamed insanity—restoring cerulean peace replacing our vanity
To be self-sufficient is an admirable trait
Not needing to depend on anyone is great
Being able to set one’s own course each day
Free to express opinions, to have one’s say
In my way of thinking opens heaven’s gate.
Written November 29, 2022
submitted to "Bitesize No 56" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Line Gauthier
Tuff love he provides
No harm to a child he cries
Self-sufficiency he teaches
Compassion not lacking, just hidden
Success is their forward contribution
Tuff love they provide
You go to Vegas
or the Riviera of France
in your best James Bond suit,
and the women
in their famous slinky
gowns rub their bare
shoulders against you
as you stand at the
table playing Baccarat.
The dealer has dark
flashy eyes but
doesn't care. You just pass.
You tinkle the ice
in your clear vodka drink.
It's a romantic cold,
a scarey worldly cold
that assumes your self-sufficiency.
You are lonely
but that's how you
are supposed to feel,
how you feel most skillfully.
You win, you lose.
The house takes you.
You try to read
the mind of God.
ANTITHETICAL
What would you do if offered affordable beach property?
Sounds good... lest supposing proviso be toxic wasteland and poverty
Prospects of owning transformed – the choice unappealing
Investment and value revealing—negating negative feeling
Daily investing in self-sufficiency, effort, greed and selfish pride
Rewards we may reap, perchance-- a few accolades confirm that we tried
Diversifications, independent autonomy, have natural appeal
Contrary principles, lasting effects— steal...cunningly conceal
Feeding compulsions of selfishness, at odds with our free spirit
As we try to escape erratic persuasions of worldly limits
Repetitive mental and emotional garbage-to love or be loved
Divided homes, divided lives, small minded, lopsided – gloved
To endeavour affections, serenity—empathetic, exuberant life
Compassionate spirit, sense of commitment—conviction, not strife
Not just ideas in our heads or our sentimental heart
Ideally... working through implications of life that keep us apart
Copwright©2013--- Kim van Breda