Best Sow In Poems
Images of children dwelling in developing world
In plight of poverty~~ some two billion strong,
Fly a flag of existence, waving distress unfurled,
Crooning mournful song: is this where we belong?
Struggling in parched lands of bared dreary sights
World they live in is the world they have known,
Where days of emptiness cede to dreary nights
Churning nightmares as dreams vacant bemoan.
Wishing upon an angel~ I would endeavor to plead
For turning places despaired into domains of hope,
For means to educate, learn skills, write and read,
For rewriting will of destiny, while striving to cope.
If I could bend sorrow and the fate of tomorrow
Seeds of knowledge I’ll sow in the dreaded woe
Marveling the fields of wisdom sprout and grow
As minds edified glow, defying misery’s shadow.
My wish for peace echoes benevolence spurred
As hymns of unity in the temple of goodwill toll
And calls of equity from endearing hearts heard
Reverberate harmony in euphony of sublime soul.
I wish upon a candle, for world to join a sing-along
Lauding pledges of love to spur the youth on and on
Cheering to acclaim: this is where the kids belong~
In benevolence of hearts, over seven billion strong.
June 13, 2022
Placed 1st: If Only My Wish Would Come True Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
#2 Rumi Quote:
If you are irritated by every rub,
How will your mirror be polished?
________________________________________
Be not perturbed when life presents hurdles,
Nothing worthwhile comes sans struggle;
Do not tag every challenge unjust or unfair,
Blemish on your mirror, not a reason to despair.
Read not a rub, always, as a rub of critique,
If it’s uninformed, there isn’t much to heed;
Stay the course, amity speaks for your deeds,
Judge not harshly when repentance pleads.
Endeavor mindfully, to learn from mistakes,
Sow in every failure, seeds of sweet success,
Find your happiness on other side of regrets,
Be not irritated by life’s every give-and-take.
Reject ego and pride; introspect, reflect,
Mend your ways, adapt to realms of change,
Look in the mirror, measure your progress:
Is your today, better than your yesterday?
Grass is green, flowers bloom, bees are buzzing
The sunshine gleams so bright, warm and golden
The sky is blue and clear, almost here is the spring.
Here is jolly March wind playing jokes with fun
Turning umbrellas inside out, fragrant fresh air
Whispering in each ear to wake up seeds soon.
Never mind March! You are not bad, or in anger
You are only blowing the winter away for April
It is the rainbow month of spring time shower.
Lots of pretty flowers bright with lilacs and daffodil
The shining roofs, summer in light, winter in shades
The little clouds go by with the windy warm April.
Oh, happy sounds of May! Hum of the buzzing bees
The song of gentle breeze, chirping of birds younger
The days are warm, by the evening fresh air cools.
Spring- the taste of prosperity, of adversity in winter,
The twig bare in winter, in spring green with glitters
Spring is recognized not by men but by plants sooner.
Month of May comes, makes to blossom all lusty hearts
Like herbs and trees do to bring the fruit and flourish
Boost lambs and lovers to spring and flourish in lusty deeds.
+++
August 22, 2014
Form: Free Verse
Fourth Place Win
Contest: Season's bliss by Regina
God Bottles Those Tears
Shed For
Fallen Roses
In Memory Of a Friend
Written: By Tom Wright
5-17-00
Sleep,
Lay heavy o'er the room.
Fading fast, a single Rose,
That once you held, full in bloom,
And some will say, it's too late to cry.
Now,
It's faded petals lay cast.
As papier-mâché, before a crafters broom,
Whose time has come at last?
And some will say, It’s too late to cry.
But now that your Rose has gone
May you not too long lament?
Or dwell on things; perhaps you failed to do,
While her life was yet unspent.
For this, It's too late to cry.
As you stand at open grave site,
Through mind, thoughts come rushing.
Foremost, a cherished Rose is gone
And eyes, with tears are flushing.
But for her fate, you need not cry.
So forego mourning this lovely Rose
Forever from your gloom.
Perhaps, God had need to cut this flower
To brighten some Heavenly room,
And for this, shed tears of joy.
It's said, our shed tears are bottled
But for this Rose, may you soon refrain.
Let your tears be shed instead, for those,
Now lost, while they remain.
Ere it truly becomes," Too Late To Cry ".
Psalms 126: 5 " They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy "
You could call me a goat in heaven
Yes I am the goat that waters and watches the crops in Gods garden,
for it is still early to sow and work as much as I want.
Yes I am the goat that plants and waters the lemon grasses in Gods garden
for with full blessing,
I am anointed and paid with.
You might call me, a mere goat,
but my seeds are my grace.
Whether you like it or not.
Yes, I am the goat that harvests the crops in Gods garden,
for I have sowed and planted when the morning was still rosy, young and new.
O! what a shame!
it hurts you now,
for you boldly said to me, laughingly;
I am an untouchable lion on earth.
Now you are been rewarded with counterfeited blessings.
Oh! sorry, my dear losser,
now you know it’s pretty worthless,
for you thought I was a goat,
for sowing in heaven and not on earth.
Oh! It’s too late to be a goat like me.
Woah! you are begging and crying now;
for your entire insignificant and insipid attitude has turned your fat bank account into a pot, filled with fart.
Oh! Sorry, too late to sow in heaven,
for this is dry season in heaven.
I pray you will be able to wait till it is raining season in heaven,
so that you could be a humble goat in heaven like me, and sow abundantly fruitfully.
Johnny was a lover of God's country
who roamed cherished land because he was free.
A skilled outdoorsman with backcountry charms,
he donned a burlap sack with holes for arms.
To wear rugged shoes was quite a blessing,
for barefoot he'd trek, soles without dressing.
He wore a useful pot upon his head,
books have depicted, historians said.
He was kind and gentle to all God's life,
though he was childless and had no wife.
He escaped wild beasts, slept under stars,
and had tales to tell along with scars.
As an optimist with fistfuls of seed,
he ceased moments to meet a future need.
Crisp and delicious, he loved apples' taste,
pocketing precious seed to sow in haste.
Imaging orchards graceful and wild,
he planted new life with faith of a child.
With settlers he'd barter for basic needs
blessing them with the product of his seeds.
From Pennsylvania to Iowa's ground,
Johnny's living legacy can be found.
1/20/2021
Daystar – 7-29-24
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Daystar
Dawn births David’s promise in my heart where your pure love abides
Aroma of Emmanuel, Morning's Star, God with me, The Word
Yahweh’s welcome, eternal teddy bear with arms opened wide
Sweet Lamb of God, miracles of sacrifice your watchword
Tender shepherd you gather this headstrong lamb with parables of life
Alpha and Omega, you rebuke all my midnights,
Redeemer of my stubborn heart – you sow in me Christ’s light
Maybe
It’s best
Or maybe it’s better to believe
God wishes
To spread His spirit
Like dandelion seed to wind
Where it lands
It should stay
Resist the story of Ham
Embrace Eve
Mission not
In masts of ships or cannons shots
Nor with whips, coins, crowns, holy books, fighter jets
Or in a noose of love
Allow
The flower
To settle with its own face
To root and sow in a fertile place
Bloom in heart
Take shape with all its local smells and colors
A bouquet just for you.
After becoming confident
(das ernest frank gent) handled ignition
jerryrigged knobs, levers, motors,
nameless other parts quintessentially,
set registers to “understand” vital www xy zone.
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A blitzkrieg capstone detonated explosive forcees
generating horrendous instantaneous jolt,
Krakatoa lost mighty noise,
outrageous phenomena qualified regarding
tremendous unearthly violent
whiplashing xing yawping zeitgeist!
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Imagine; The giant from Jack and the beanstalk, deign
Paul Bun, or the Jolly Green Giant,
straddling an imaginary line
between fall and winter. Therein lied the rub
(a tub tub three men in a tub), a question of mine
if pecking peccadillos peculiar per pretend puppies
engaged in any...Snoop...doggy style spine
tingling homosexual behavior,
no who matter intimated naked playtime also flourished
amidst can dyed cornicopia of good 'n plenty eats
contrasted with paucity,
life and death, Halloween evolved
as a celebration and superstition with wine
woman and song. Such weaning of the hallow,
or hallow of the weaner originated
with ancient Celtic festival of Samhain,
when village people would light vanity of bonfires,
and wear politically incorrect costumes
to ward off roaming ghosts of inept leaders
if necessary rivaling Tarzan impressions
swinging on a vine.
The Mound of the Hostages car bon mot dated
(by this amateur sigh hint hussed)
at 4,500 to 5000 years old, or there about
suggesting Samhain celebrated long before
first Celts arrived in Ireland
about 2,500 years ago with no cleats boot riveting clout
Samhain (pronounced /'s??w?n/
SAH-win or /'sa?.?n/ SOW-in,
Irish pronunciation: without,
or possibly Greek to this doubt
ting Thomas – [s??u?n?]),
a Gaelic festival marking the end,
when pollination ceased to flout
ushered advent of harvest season,
and beginning cust tomb of caw king grout,
discussing the epic winter of Gilgamesh,
or the "darker half" of the year,
when one feasted on giblets and sauer kraut
Halloween rooted er beer reed in ancient biers
caravansari doggedly exhumed along route,
66 (the third beastly 6
My tongue is one of english's many offsprings,
but the bitterness of life has thought
me to speak the language of tears.
I learnt a language
that accurately express my despairs.
When I'm lost for words weeping is
my speech.
The tales of my pain reveal as I
fluently weep.
In the proximity of my voice you stood and let your ears consume my
pleas--
you heard my cry,
but you deny me your sympathy.
I built your pyramids and your bridges
for free
so I cry to you for you owe me charity
The good book said knock and it shall
be open
but I'm still standing behind close door.
The tears I speak is the language of
the poor.
I know the tears i cry will water my
smile,
and let my cheeks blooms with
laughter,
for they that sow in tears shall reap in
joy and live happily after.
I’m lost, you lost, we both lost.
We like two trains on different tracks
Going the opposite directions
On an open field full of nothingness.
Our minds are now that of
A blank canvas on which the
Creativity of the world can
Be splattered on and left to dry.
We have not the ability to make
Things happen in our lives but
The ability of putting the seed
That we hope doth sow in the
Near but yet so distant future.
Collaboration with Marcello Eans
Why are you all bound and determined to destroy me?
What have I done to you that makes you hate me so much?
I’ve given you life and provided for you families.
You’ve done nothing in return but ruin what you’ve touched.
Timber – and my limbs fall, leaves will wither.
Paper bags & adult mags, end result is litter.
Trash & filthy waste, landfill in my face.
Trees, an endangered species you can never replace.
Forever you’re chasing wildlife for game, not need.
Carcasses scattered abroad, they get shot & bleed.
Prodigal sons, generation of wasteful people.
Ungrateful & insecure, you alter your facial features.
I don’t feel the least bit guilty for causing earthquakes,
Or, from the mountaintops, raining down fire and ash.
I watch with a grin as you all try to claim your stake
And find a safe place where you hope to avoid my wrath.
Tsunamis that misplace mommies, families divide.
Airborne sicknesses and death hide in mudslides.
The pains of hurricanes, reminiscent of Genesis
Wipeout the lifestyles of the wicked & innocent.
Just as man is never satisfied, destruction isn’t either.
These disasters consume life to make you believers
In that you reap what you sow in this life of lust.
Return from whence you came, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Old furniture thrown away,
hindrance in life.
We gave the best
teaching knowlege.
We sow in the rain,
we have drought
in the sunset.
With the belief that “I reap what I sow” in every situation
What matters most is my pure heart and honest intention…
Am I motivated by God’s love or by personal ambition?
May I find myself pleasing Him with my earnest dedication.
Knowing that I reap what I have sown in term of sacrifices
What matters most is for me to go through the right process...
Am I gaining or wasting in my experiences?
May I find myself engaging in wise choices.
As I regard that I reap what I sow with bountifulness
What matters most is my diligence coupled with zealousness…
Am I toiling well or enjoying pleasures of slothfulness?
May I find myself enriched with good works’ fruitfulness.
Since I reap what I sow, and such applies to loving
What matters most is my right attitude in giving…
Am I truly a blessing to others or in selfishness’ delving?
May I find myself reaching-out while God’s grace, receiving.
Because of the usefulness of sowing-reaping creed
What matters most is my truthfulness in word and in deed...
Am I merely showing off or striving for excellence as I lead?
May I find myself doing my best part, devoid of greed.
Thus; for me to reap what I sow joyfully
What matters most is my sincere goal purposefully…
Am I aspiring for the temporal or the eternal gloriously?
May I find myself living for God in serving people gladly.
*Galatians 6:7 Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.
April 28, 2018
Taking a handful of their hair amid my palm I began to drag they
Screaming unto the cliff's edge while Bobby, held their prince at bay....
Grunting like a sow in heat his little horn gasping, for another days breath
While as her banshee queen pleads for just one more kiss; these waterfalls waiting
Melting skies poetic time seems ? Reverberating love's tears he cries heaven sighs, goodbye.