Best Soulfulness Poems
I'm that my words and pen can't express my weakness.
Nobody could have foreseen I felt such happiness.
My bald secret is now included in my poetic liveness.
I'm at a loss for words to define my soulfulness.
All that I do for you is for you and your uniqueness.
To be clear, you were born to bestow our joyfulness.
Had sent a blessing to us thanks to God's holiness.
Son, you depict nicely how a son may have lightness.
My duty will always be to offer you matchless.
If you're in the lamest rule, you deserve my promptness.
You lifted my artwork to an extreme level of skillfulness.
Everywhere I fit, you seem to follow me with firmness.
Regardless of where I am or how I manage my illness.
The ghost that lurks within me is a mystic elusiveness.
Of inspiration and creativity that is in my mind flawless.
It just takes one look to confer my focus and cleanliness.
Claim anything you envy, but don't leave me clueless.
Yet, I am aware of how grateful you are for my lavishness.
Even the urge to craft your own way has uniqueness.
With all my resources, knowledge, and awareness.
All have a role to play in preserving our rising family spotless.
Sway to the beat of my soul and embrace my closeness
Allow yourself to widen your eyes; your destiny will be harmless.
I drew the full moon for you to retain your greatness.
Without question, I admire you for your graciousness.
My son, I'll outline your disparity and avail your tactfulness.
I meant to say that you sparked my thoughtfulness.
Consider that I'm always aware of your level of attentiveness.
I can tell from our relationship around gleefulness.
Even if I die, you will have a piece of my warm-heartedness.
Placed first in the contest
Written: May 04, 2021
All Yours (Jun 10) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
I found my soulfulness
at an early age. My depth
of spirit, creativity, self awareness
is free flowing. In written words, deep
inspired poetry allows touching
emotions to be. To drift. To float.
Constant soul-searching of my inner life fervor _
Meaningful poems release weeping sorrow
and pain. I let go of my reflections from the past,
the very essence of me. I lay each
sorrowful and sad word bare. Bleeding. Upon a
white page of paper. I create spiritual poems. Poems
of my faith and beliefs, words heartbroken and weary.
Poems full of tears. I lay open my heart and my inner
soul stirring soulfulness.
____________________________________
April 2, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/Soulfulness
Copyright Protected, ID 04-659-150-02
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, Soulidified,
sponsor, Verlena S. Walker, Judged 05/2015
Fifth Place
True beauty defined by that which is isolated
The loathe for that which is natural.
An internal abhor, despising her vivacious soulfulness.
It is the pigment she is hated for
It is the excessive melamine they are repulsed by.
The sophisticated ignorance to the elephant in the room.
Colorism a global entity, more real than you and me.
A liable source of self loathe
Colorism has become viral, Colorism has been global since the beginning of time
Greater than racism, infiltrating the walls of tribes.
We have become colorists. A world paved by yellow. For yellow will forever pay.
She shall not become a victim of a cultural appropriateness
An intersection so feminist in touch with her melanic beauty.
Her revolution has been revised
The revolution must be televised
A black lily rare close to extinction
A blossom in a debris of hate
Victimized by the color of skin
Rejected by those that look like us
It is not that we aren't but it is because we are darker than the night
It is because we shall not stand to be rejected for what the Creator created us to be.
Black blossoming with beautified pride
My revolution is being televised
Colorism shall not be the death of a natural darkie
Colorism shall be the rise of an extraordinary phenomenon.
Colorism is mutable with a unity
Breaking barriers of pigment seclusion
This revolution will be televised
True beauty can never be defied
It is not in our pigment
But in our inner being
Let sophisticated wisdom go viral
Let the "Darkie" be televised.
Tin-tin®
On Being Soulful
Spiritual moments
on being soulful
find their certain
metaphysical aspects
when one seeks a
deeper meaning
and a sense
of true joy,
by connecting
with one’s soul
that lies at the
very core of all
human beings
and their
individual existence
on this
physical entity,
we all call
and know, as—
Our Mortal Earth,
Our Mother Earth.
Thinking about
and truly
understanding the
special elements,
and the wholly
transcendental nature
of one’s self-ego,
whilst mastering
the spiritual art
of self-reflection,
whereby—
one finds
His or Her
true ethereal sense
and begins
to see
Mortal Life
entirely unfettered,
and without any
human falsities
and obvious
facades of deceit—
that speak directly
to the
essence of
balance and harmony,
and the
true cosmic
passion and purpose
of the
spirit of soulfulness.
It’s this
that brings
all of us
in the end
closer to
God’s Kingdom
and to
Almighty God Himself.
Amen.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
December 22, 2018 (Verse)
A life with you, lived in the blossoms
Showered together by rain, greener in the autumn
Close to your heart, a place with immense beauty
Where we lived together, loving being our duty.
Your look exhibits smiles, of infinite pretty flowers
Your fabrics caressing my body, sensation lasted for hours
Your fragrance rooted in my breath, seems to have immortal power
We cuddled each other endlessly, conjoining our loving minds
Love within growing stronger, our dreams met a thousand times.
A living passion that glowed, whenever our eyes met
Desirous thirst engraved within, revealed itself then i bet
Gentle touches through the bodies, hastily, its her soothing fingertips
Delectable and soulfulness, i found, the taste of your lips
A blissful glory of love, closely entangles our eyes
Lustful and intimate souls, find and bind their ties
Every tide in our bodies, when builds up the the amplitude
Every lurid desire then awakes, the amatory deeply blued.
Not just so platonic, not just is thirst my dear
Whatever the heart desires, that truly is love my peers
No dams shall ever hold, the boundless matters of the heart
No words shall ever define, it in its truest verse.
From the beginning of time,
some souls are paired from their origin
Though two life's separately led,
like twins, a supernatural event
caused by destiny
The feeling of one another's pain, health,
goodness and accomplishments
A soulfulness of realness,
a confidence never to be broken
Divine grace has brought two mortals
together as angelic friends;
bestowing an awareness
of a heavenly being
as they watch over one another
without speaking -
yet knowing
of the others quandary
A kind, quiet
love of graciousness
and serenity
My blues, haunting sounds I take out on my acoustic guitar.
Spiced up melodies, finger picking out my blues my way.
Those bends, holding down a string, subtle scooping of a note,
Hitting the sweet spot on those bends, oh those bends I play.
The blues I feel deep within my bones, freeing my soul way down.
The licks mean something when they come out of my guitar.
Picking is my way to release my pain, developing my own tone.
When they come out, the only soul I have to play with is my own.
My face says it all, soulfulness, sorrow, love and the getting hurt.
Sounds of my blues come from within, deep within my heart.
Singing all the sadness,and pain, the disappointments of my life.
The experiences made me who I am. You can hear it in my voice.
I have to go deep down to the depths of my soul where sun shines,
And muck is stored deep within my gut. A sad lonely place, blues.
Expressing with music releases all my pains that needs to come out.
My face says it all, a soulful bluesy release valve, creating calm within.
01/31/2013
For Becca Lucas's contest, "Chasing The Blues Away"
Love, the voracious blush of wine rosé brushstrokes, coloring heartstrings amidst a peaceful soulfulness.
One Liner About Love Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
Written: August 14, 2025, for Contest Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
*******
I writhed in the womb of a necrotic hush,
a stygian silence where barghests lurk—
My slack-jawed soul, sodden with oblivion lull,
clanged against the obelisk of despair.
The wound, a molten mouth of aurora,
sizzled with sacred suction—
a fipple of fire, ineffable and fecund,
where pestilence pirouetted with puissance.
I danced—yes, I danced—
in the desiccation of my demise,
a gavotte of soulfulness,
My blood is a rubicund aria of rapture.
Alabaster bones bore the torque of truth,
Each fracture is a triptych of ephemera and flame.
I was a poltergeist of my former self,
grappling through the noosphere multivocal maze.
The stench of bygone hexes clung to lava rock,
But I, stalwart and sinewed with mettle.
careened past the clamor of puerile pabulum,
past the gossamer glamor of grief.
I was broken—yes—
but bold enough to resuscitate,
to regale the necromancy of my rebirth,
to supplant sorrow with the sacred sizzle of self.
Now I stand, an empyrean echo,
a veridical vestige of velvet versatility—
my heart, a burnished niche of noble hope,
My spirit resembles a smooth, celestial sunset.
Let the world scrutinize my scars,
They are not grotesque—they are garrulous.
They speak in tongues of alchemy and amaranthine ache,
a quixotic quiddity, a quintessence of comeback.
Once I knew to laugh
with the abandonment of youth;
unmindful of shocked gasps and disapproving glares.
Joy and merriment the wings underneath my laughter.
For the sublime buoyancy laughter gave my soul, I laughed.
My laughter rivaled the mocking bird and the nightingales’ songs,
the preening peacock and the soulful dove!
I laughed only as laughter was made to be laughed.
Once I knew to cry
with the soulfulness of babies;
unbothered by the harassed looks of parents and bystanders
Pain and sorrow the momentum upon which my cries were bore.
For the cleansing balm crying did to my soul, I cried.
My cries rivaled the African wailing mourners and dirges,
the screeching prison sirens and booming thunder!
I cried only as crying was made to be cried.
Once I knew to trust
with the faith of a newborn baby;
regardless of the worth of the belief.
Devotion and commitment shining beacons of my trust.
For the confidence and steadfastness of beliefs, I trusted.
My trust rivaled the faith of the Christian prophets ,
the unshakable trust of Christ in God and His disciples!
I trusted only as trust was made to be trusted.
Once I knew to love
with the passion of God;
blind to the failings of my love.
Adoration and dedication the wheels that pushed my love.
For the enthusiasm and commitment of passion, I loved.
My love rivaled love as portrayed in Song of Solomon,
love that made God send His only Son to Death!
I loved only as love was made to be loved.
The Art
The art of music reveals the soul's effigy
The overture that eternally imparts its recital
To amplify our harmony with ageless elegy
To Give....
To give the great crescendo to all that we can endure
Through tone, and pitch - notes from our melodious score
Saturating the beholding forte of the hearts core
To Share....
To share the unison of our lives in common
The Maestro lifts our spirit beyond the raindrops that fall
To shelter and lighten the load of us all
To Embrace....
To embrace the air we breathe, the sweat we engender
The times of our joy we muse to cheer
The sunless hours of despair and fear
To Become....
To become what we feel
What we know - who we are - why us
To play the cantata, the fugue, the opus
The Pinnacle....
The pinnacle star of our absolution is music
The worthiness of our quality
The celestial harmony of knowing our reality
The Music....
The music of our substance set us free
The Rondo of our song, the Tremolo of our Rubato
The Oratorio in the narrative of life's flow
Transposing....
Transposing ourselves
To be mingled as the fish to the sea
In the concert of life's great ocean so free
October 19, 2020
Completely Your Choice (29)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
My inspiration is Joe Bonassamo's cover of Midnight Blues
with fantastic, amazing blues guitar playing and voice
~ and my lyrics go like this ~
its dark dark in my soul at midnight
and I'm miles from being well
tried to sleep but drank instead
from my open window a guitar is wailing
the jazz club down the street is rocking
the midnight blues
and I am swaying in the midnight dark
dark, dark like black ink
cannot sleep cause I'm down, down low
so dark in my soul I am lost
and I take another drink of bourbon
and I am swaying in the midnight dark
dark, dark like black ink
cannot sleep cause I'm down, down low
so dark in my soul I am lost
and I take another drink of bourbon
this drifting guitar captures me
wraps me in a warm blanket of soulfulness
and I am swaying in the dark
miles from being well
and I am swaying in the midnight dark
I can feel the guitar's soul
the players fingertips upon those strings
he squeezes every note and makes it linger
as it drifts in the midnight dark
dark, dark like black ink
and then his voice soothing, oh so soothing
like a lover whispering
I can feel the guitar's soul
the players fingertips upon those strings
he squeezes every note and makes it linger
as it drifts in the midnight dark, the darkest night
dark, dark like black ink
and then his voice so soothing, oh so soothing
like a lover whispering
like a lover whispering
as I sway in the midnight dark, dark
dark as ink, dark, dark like black ink
and I am falling, falling, falling, falling
lost in his voice
his guitar
like a lover whispering
as I sway with my imagination
to the . . .
midnight blues
oh the dreamy, dreamy
midnight blue
Change is Graceland when
you're close to the edge.
Future memories, wonderous stories,
our tales of tomorrow, yesterday and
today awaken words on living pages.
10 percent emptiness minus the
realities of life--pauses--serves to
endear one's flight into discarnate
realms periodic of physical death to
prime prisms of Guiding Light.
Poignant captures of succulent end
times by planet Earth preferentials,
reveals our tortoise track to
conscious soulfulness.
Unknowing of any capsoul life
formula for existence, I lean heartily
to penitent painted pasts,
custom framed nowness, astro
travel to great beyonds and acute
awareness's of never befores.
The trip to bountiful.
Many days have gone and past us by,
Still in my memory
live cherished stories of an angelic voice
and a girl named Emily.
A young lady of no more than sixteen years
with a beauty few could see.
With tattered clothes and dirty face,
she lived in poverty.
But a blessed voice was given to her
like an angel, heavenly.
She sang out from an innocent soul
with love and harmony.
She shared her gift and praised God's name.
Light shined on Emily.
Though, she could not enter the house of God,
with clothes and face grimy.
On street corners, she sang to the Lord.
Her songs carried from sea to sea.
Until all the countryside knew the angelic voice
from a girl named Emily.
She brought God's message of peace and love
to all with hearts to see
beyond the station given in life
to the gifted Emily.
Then one cold day in the little town,
a young stranger blew in to see
if he could get a glimpse and hear the song
from a girl named Emily.
He walked the streets from dawn 'til dusk
listening for her melody.
When he heard her voice he was not prepared
for it's soulfulness and beauty.
He fell in love with the angelic voice
and fair girl immediately.
He did not see the dirt and rags
only beautiful Emily.
The stranger was a handsome prince
from across the sea.
The church members who ignored the girl
now all loved Emily.
She bestowed on them love undeserved
from the heart they would not see,
and sang for them in the same church
where she was once refused entry.
Emily married the handsome prince
and moved across the sea.
But she never forgot from where she came
and her life of poverty.
Until the day before her death, she sang
for all, songs heavenly,
and gave her fortune and riches away
to children in poverty.
She used her gift to spread love and joy,
this girl named Emily.
Her life to God was a gift returned,
the song of Emily.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, June 4, 2012
for Heroes and Heroine's Contest (David Williams)
Aging like a fine wine (if I liked wine)
Narcissistically loving, proudly broken
Daughter of the Pryors, Moe and Vickie, soulmates
Lover of calm breezes running the first of 10 miles on a Sunday morning
Who feels invincible in that moment and defeated, small, and petty the next
Who fears for her children making their place in a brutal world
Who would like to see America from a motorhome, or Spain on foot
Resident of the heart, living in the soulfulness of early ink-black mornings
Stampeding and triumphant
1/29/19
Writing Challenge 2, Bio form
Dear Heart