Best Shouts Poems
No one screams, no one shouts, no one to cry.
No sobbing wet cheeks or damp eyes to dry
No one to stop living, nor wish to die.
No one can deny both took the chance to try
No one need to ask the other the reason why.
No one dares think of how time took to fly.
No one stops the blank stares into the sky
No more rules and laws of love to comply.
No other words unspoken but "Sweet Goodbye".
w07-07-19
"The Lord is risen!”*
keeps on reverberating
as vibrant resurrection-shout
for life-transformation
conquering old nature
vanquished by God’s salvation-might
toward empowered service
wrought by the Holy Spirit.
“The Lord is alive!”
ceaselessly echoes
jubilant resurrection-truth
along faith-perseverance
smiting doubts' grip
through Scriptures' assurance
bracing against angst of confessed iniquities
to radiate Christ's light.
“The Lord reigns!”
serves as blissful resurrection-triumph
for fruitful kingdom-involvement
propping labour of love
with earnestness verity
girded by the Saviour's faithfulness
for worshipful adoration
around heavenly fellowship's bliss.
*Luke 24:34 Saying, The Lord is risen indeed.
I thank You, dear God for Your love, sending to me Your Son Jesus Christ to be my Saviour. Thank You, dear Jesus, for dying on the cross, being buried, and rising again to save me from hell, granting me eternal life. I trust You. I put my faith in You while I repent of my sins. Thank You, Holy Spirit for enlightening me that only Jesus Christ can save me, and satisfy my soul. Keep me staying in Your victorious will by Your grace. In Jesus' name. Amen.
April 9, 2018
Edited on April 3, 2022
1st place, "Easter" Free Verse Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh; judged on 4/11/2022.
1st place, "STRAND PICK E, any theme, any form" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 4/25/2020.
Featured as one among Poetry Soup's "Poem of the Week" on April 29-May 5, 2018.
Sensory reveries float feathery,
Softly, through my summary treasuries.
There are flashes, small splashes
that wander in random dashes
between my head and heart.
Some precious memory stashes
often break dark and apart.
I will feed on photo books
hoping repair requires but a look.
It often ends with me shook
by a bittersweet sharp dart
and the smart of its hook.
As I age, I feel little doubt
time neither shouts or pouts,
but sprouts all feelings once jolly
to cultivate seeds of melancholy.
Poetry Lives, Dances, Sings and Shouts
Poetry lives, breathes into the soul of all that see
arms wrapping eternity tight and soothes very deep
No end to enchanting verses in its massive sea
magnificent beauty showing great, one may just weep.
Poetry dances , to mellow flows and tunes
colors that fascinate and sing to wanting hearts
Lyrics that rival, romance of Junes brightest moons
begs imaginative reader's love from the start.
Poetry sings, with brilliant notes perfectly in key
about living life, love, heartache and very much more
Gifting joy, healing the sad hurts of spirits lonely
traversing with its happiness distant shore to shore.
Poetry shouts, join in this great marching parade
set your heart out to hug all those needing relief
Its the cake, the apple pie life has sweetly made
rewards generosity and faithful belief!
Robert J. Lindley , 4-29-2016
13/12 rhyme scheme.
Syllables Per Line: 13 13 13 13 0 12 12 12 12 0 13 13 13 13 0 12 12 12 12
Total # Syllables: 200
Total # Lines: 19 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 133
Bill's a conservative
upset that Meals on Wheels
and Medicaid face possible
cuts in America's budget.
He yells to colleagues
who also have money that
we shouldn’t mess with
elderly folks who depend
on one good meal a day and
shouldn’t say no to the poor
when they need a doctor.
Making these cuts won't make
America Great Again.
Making these cuts will make
America sadly inhumane.
Let’s break some day-old bread
with the old and poor and
revise that budget again.
Donal Mahoney
Underclass ; a running box that middles
the center of a (not)living room.
Kidney table; an African girl beams
down into the smoke
an ashtray of burnt souls.
Faces full of thin beer admire
the box lights of the estate,
double binds, grins, hopless rutting.
Far ; the black flat of fields
owls and air, silence.
With thanksgiving on my lips my God and king will I exalt
I sing and rejoice on my journey to the temple of Yahweh
To lift praises with the multitude to the Alpha and Omega
How the deer pants for streams of water in a dry domain
So my soul pants for God, who grants cool water to drink
How my tears have been my food all my days and nights
Oh where is your God? My enemies never cease taunting
Unafraid, I poured out my soul to my Savior, my Adonai
Thirsting for his love like streams in the desert of Negev
Soul, why so downcast deep within me, why such ennui
Only Yahweh can deliver you from iniquity's temptation
For I shall yet praise my God among the festive throng
*A paraphrase of Psalm 42
Saviour Jesus Christ, God Almighty revealed Himself:
Creator reaching down to me with His compassion
Redeemer, ransoming my soul from sin's penalty...
Imparting divine nature, transforming me by His omnipotence
Publishing His preserved precepts that proclaim His purpose
Testifying about His love filled with grace, mercy, pardon...
Untainted Word, Scripture* upholding my faith midst turmoil
Restoring, refreshing, replenishing me ceaselessly
Exalting the Author of truth and the Source of life everlasting.
*2Timothy 3:16 "All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness."
February 18, 2019
untitled haiku, excited
nervous shouts
we all rush and collide
hummingbird’s lost flight in a house
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(c) sally Young eslinger 1/19/21
Voices of fire, booming,
crackling explosions cry out their sulphuric elation.
Another celebration, of every nation and
baby new year’s rattle rings out to the heavens;
transition is sometimes sweet; sometimes sour.
Hopes ride high for the coming months; dreams’
are revived by Father time’s passing.
Like the phoenix, he will rise again;
his labors fill the days and nights of mortal illusion.
It’s said that, we create our own reality;
if so, why does he labor through every incarnation?
Could it be that we are he?
Fire shouts to our collective subconscious
and we are renewed;
an opportunity to create peace lies ahead.
Happy New Year it cries; a new reality waits.
Daylight swerves around the road
Shouting from corner to corner
Morning comes alive
The traffic starts rolling
And people start flowing
I walk briskly up the road
And walk along Market Street
The layover vendors are just waking up
And some of them are escaping the night rush
A big broad woman hanging over her stall
With yam, banana, pumpkin and everything in the mix
shouts at the man behind her
As if she has somewhere urgent to go
“do you have any cologne?”
And the man calmly uttered,
“Mi no use cologne”
The body sweat drips form her face
And her grouchy voice sets the tone for the day
He looked at her with a subtle grin
While he tries to take in everything
She speaks loudly above the stench
And looked desperately for early morning shoppers
I walked down the bare empty street
With no emotional feelings
Just recuperating from yesterday’s pain
That made me feels a bit lame
I did not see anything to console me
And the pile of garbage lined up on the street
Was enough to disgust me
I kept walking along Market Street
With no single thoughts running about me
Only the morning I could see running in front of me
And I could hear a distant song
beckoning me to come along
The market people start to set out their stall
To catch the early morning shopper
They too were reminiscing over last night’s sales
That kept them waiting all night
It’s Sunday morning for heaven’s sake
What were you doing up so late
The angry man ferocious yawn
nearly blow up a terrible storm
The Chinese wholesale store
Lined the street from door to door
There is no local business here anymore
And it is very hard for the locals to sell their clothes
Oh I am thinking too hard,
no it’s just that I hate to see people suffering
They were selling in the market all night
And it’s not the price you want to pay
To earn you’re living all day
People come and go but the regular people
Shouts are part of the daily show
Come and shop with me.
Buy all you can from the people you meet on market street.
There is a voice within me, one that whispers doubt and shouts despair in the silence of the night.
It tells me that no matter how hard I try, I will never reach the goals that seem unattainable.
It convinces me that I am unworthy of love, that kindness is a gift I do not deserve.
It weaves stories about how I am destined to be excluded from the warmth of humanity.
The burden of a past that feels written against me weighs heavily on my shoulders every day,
A history stained with inadequacy and rejection, with failures and unfulfilled desires.
I am not smart enough, beautiful enough, or capable enough, the voice tells me endlessly.
I feel trapped in the snare of doubts, like a shadow following but never leading.
I believe that everyone around me harbors a silent disdain, especially other women,
Who seem to embody everything I feel I will never be.
This voice tells me I am a failure, a burden, a shadow of what I should be,
It whispers that I will never have what others seem to possess so easily—belonging and love.
It paints a world where I am an intruder, uninvited and unwanted, a wandering soul.
Sometimes I feel that my existence is a mistake, one that no one would ever mourn.
This voice convinces me that the world would be easier without me, that my departure would bring relief.
Yet despite these harsh thoughts, there is a deep desire to feel whole and loved.
This voice, though loud, is not the only one; beneath its weight lies a gentler truth,
A truth that says I am more than my doubts, more than the fears that surround me.
A desire to find light in the darkness, to discover my own worth and inner strength,
In the silence between heartbeats, I wait to discover that quiet truth that will set me free.
Let's go shopping today
drive our fancy cars, smash guitars
as you listen to every word I say
Shopping malls all so crowded
teenage angst, as the innocent walk the planks
and ignore the rebel who's shouting
Crave a big mac
mustard and ketchup, no time to play make-up
how can I get my future back
I guess it's all for nothing
all our leaders nothing more that cheaters
never did anything, but atleast I said something
My father once fought for something yea
all we do now is argue, and misuse
but hey, I guess it was my idea
Who's shouting today
all the preppies, just the yuppies
who wave a flag of anti-gays
What's justice anyway
is it in their platform, making us conform
but I don't wanna play
in their game
Rebels use to burn yea
they use to mean something, when truth had a ring
but I guess it's all gone by the way
I can't complain
My father and I are still here
trying to bring some light, into this fight
to win equality away from fear
but that was yester-year
Just an empty streetcorner
cameras shy away, though we're here to stay
I guess it's back to south of the border
Lust, longing and greed
Through frenzy, craze and rage
Damage, destruction and depletion
The hallmark of emerging culture
Nature’s blood thirsty hawks
Out in the open, unchecked
Consuming all, preserving none
Mindless and moronic swarms
Voracious, hungry and mad
Making earth barren and bare
With fires, famines and floods
Digging graves of the unborn
Perpetuating thirst and hunger
Sworn enemies of the planet
Mantras, shouts and slogans,
Alarms, concerns, pretensions
Catchy crowds of activists
Yield nothing but display
A routine and repetitive affair
A pastime for politicians
Events of pomp and show
What to do, where to go
Darkness al around
Virtuous and conscientious
The enlightened souls
Among human creatures
Have saved the world in the past
Let us pray for their resurgence
Destined for the dew drenched dawn,
Awaiting alabaster aura, amazing asters,
In every color, crimson and copper, cerulean
Bold, blazing beauties, bringing brilliance,
Stardust silence, soothing sounds, stillness
Come to life on the crazy clasp of craftiness,
Trembling truths, tugging on tomorrow…
Meant for milky way music, melodies, the muse,
Awakening attentions, alive with the awareness,
Today is not the temptation of tantalizing tones,
Burdened by breathless, blistering balances,
Weights warming the wise and wishing wishes,
Insights into inspirations, inviting inklings,
Creativity, crisply clothed in colors of connection,
Flavors filled with feelings, finding forever….
Fated to feel like the focus is on fresh finds,
Dated dreams, destroying the darkness,
Lifting the life so that listening to love lasts,
Beyond the brilliance of bright bouquets,
Into invitations for imagination and intimacy,
Thrilling tired tones from totally losing,
Exhilarating, exciting, enthralling easy lights,
Shadowed by serenity, splashes of seas, sentiments…
Miracles and wonders, wistfully playing wisdoms,
Arriving amid the summer’s ashen dusk,
Captivating creation, casting shadows across colors,
Breathtaking blues who bask in lasting lavenders,
Prayers praising, psalms partaking of promises,
Given to the God loving, glorified givers…
Together, we can find tomorrow and all its tides,
Abiding in amazing suggestions of solace, silent sounds.