Best Suffers Poems
The Lady Suffers
What of the slow falling of morning dew
rain that sets a cold shiver upon you
A sky that dances to yet mock anew
goodness and gentleness surely your due!
Can earth dare to ever this one reproach
promises of your sure sweetened approach
Pretty maiden of your innocent ways
sends joy into glorious summer days!
What of wind that so evilly blows
away all sacred words that you compose
Dares wickedly ruin your pretty hair
disrupt loving mood of my lady fair!
Nay, Nature careless , so very cruel
made up of harsh acts that so rashly rule!
Robert J. Lindley, 08-24-2014
Poison is poison
Construction and destruction
One who takes suffers
ONE WRONG EVERYONE SUFFERS.
Rhythm of beats appease the fillings
Collaboration of strings makes the
Jingles,
This could sound simple.
It takes lots of tissues to archive
We human issues.
Many believe in the pistol as
A principle.
The mystical truth is hard to
Proof.
You that inflict trigger wounds,
A camp of religious gurus can
Never predict your doom,
Its certain to also come as
Wounds, in combination of all
You shoot.
This days I look,
Why’s the clouds not deep blue,
And the sun sky blue?
Do you reason this too?
Some day breeze would freeze.
But, this the only sea were we
Drink,
We are familiar with the foot
Prints on the bridge,
How come we would eventually
Sink?
Only nine eggs left on the crate,
This middle one looks bright and
Brave,
Why would you want to smash
On the gate?
There would never be a trace to
Replace.
This is what have been meditating,
Pardon me, I still insinuate.
As night fall till dawn, will this
End suddenly despite her glamor
To our kingdoms call.
It’s a rough decision for the manager
To shut His industry when no sign
Of bankruptcy.
The KING’s speech is my wish,
I can’t doubt His will.
Imagine fire our worst enemy
I use him without limit.
In deep reasoning man has no
Meaning,
My soul only can predict,
If you test for tea certainly you
Have a tin of milk,
I rest my case on HIS feet’s.
AKEWUSOLA HABIB.
One kid kicks the chair.
Everyone loses recess.
Children begin to despise Kid One.
Teacher explains peer pressure is best way to control Kid One.
Kid One loves Her Power.
Kid One relishes everyone loses recess.
Kid One kicks over six chairs and throws the computer
Breaking it into smithereens. Whole class gets whooped.
Principal speaks to teacher, who is now also despised by students.
Principal is optimistic there will be a change.
Teacher will not back down.
Teacher has no other power but her Kingdom, not about to give in.
Kid One breaks window by throwing a desk through it.
Whole class loses recess for three months.
All parents are sent a part of the bill to pay
To punish their children for not pressuring Kid One to stop.
Teacher still has her job.
Height of injustice...
black boned, minstrel faced
leaves broken with ice,
veined as a frosted puppet;
neither old nor new, but changed
and leaving, the cold makes
me stamp and circle in rage;
I can`t stand the weight, stand the weight...
That man in the white shirt.
You know you see him just as I do.
His heavy eyes and dirty pale skin.
I wonder what his story is.
His hands rough and cracked.
I wonder how long he's been drifting.
His appearance rather deceiving.
I see you cringe at his stare.
Does he make you feel uncomfortable?
Looking out from behind his eyes I wonder what he sees.
A life similar to the one he once had.
No one starts out that way.
Are you curious to if he's okay.
Where are his loved ones?
Does he know that he is loved.
Such thick skin he has.
A life on the road.
I wonder, does he even want to let anyone in.
A life of desolation truly a wonder to behold.
Could you imagine the stories this poor soul holds.
We all have our ups and downs.
Just because you have nothing does not mean you came from nothing.
And even if you come from nothing doesn't mean you mean nothing.
That man in the white shirt could be your brother, your father, your friend.
He's no different, only human like yourself.
That thick skin does not make him fearless nor without pain.
Please I ask you, put yourself in his shoes.
Would you want to be treated the same..
(((o)))
Gootle suffers depression
It is due to recession
His bank fails between red and yellow
Under orange impression
)))o(((
Form:
THIS POEM WRITHED OUT OF THE HEART;
BASED ON A TRUE STORY
AS PEOPLE OF THAT GREAT CITY
ARE TORN APART..
I AM A NEW YORKER
I was in a quarantine when my dady died
That night.
I saw my mom lost all emotions— fear, fantasy, failure, depression, OR WHAT?
My dad failed to fight...
I am a proud New Yorker,
My dad, a medic, who read out to me
Anne Frank’s Diary and told “my heart,
Record...Anne Frank lives in her art”.
He had to read out to me last few lines.
DAD? WHEN? WILL YOU?
Let me go too, to you.
My mother failed to cry that night
Four of us observed quarantine,
It was April, 9
Medics did not turn up in the morning
They said they were overdone that morning,
My father’s sculpture lay heavy on the bed
And perhaps on my mom’s Chest,
Medics said, “we would do our best”.
Mom could not touch him, she fears not
When dreams turn to dust;
But she feared, she could not lose us.
In plastic wrappers, that evening
My dad departs,
“Virtuous soul mildly pass away”
GOD! TRUST ME — IT HURTS.
I am a proud New Yorker
A medic’s daughter,
I have a young enough brother,
Death does him, little bother.
In Plastic wrapper my dad leaves unloved
I remember, I used to kiss him
As he would leave for grocer, or, to his work,
Or, awakening out of a daydream.
Today he leaves in a plastic wrapper:
Does Statue of Liberty holds aloft
A Beacon of Light for this poor New Yorker?
A person suffers with his problems
And thinks, he can control them,
He works hard or has deceiving,
He stores money as a shield.
He feels disappointment when he finds,
His achieving target is totally different,
He can enjoy only happiness but
Money isn’t enough to control grieves.
Surplus money is also a problem,
He looses his trust and suspects them,
All relations are coming to rob him,
His patience becomes a new disease.
He suffers with worry and searches peace,
He follows religions and donates the money,
Religious people think he is a good person,
But he is under pressure, seeking salvation.
He went to follow a religion for his control,
But feels disappointment that religious people,
Are also wandering for donations to collect,
Against their services has different treatment.
A poor comes for his belief, he is honest,
Works hard and controls his patience,
But a money lender finds money grows money,
Money and religion both has a same problem.
Noone is surviving extra days to change time,
Noone can control time produces circumstances,
Every game ends when time comes and realises,
Death is a last destination, Noone can control it.
Stealing your joy
I bought pleasure
Taking your courage
I spent on my fears
You gave me comfort
Embracing my love
Charming every season
No matter the weather
Never saying a word
About how much you hurt
That's how I learned
Love suffers alone
When every hug rests
Upon empty shoulders
April 23, 2018
The people who truly believes
And honors the word of God
Suffers the most in life
No one tells you
These things, or even
Warn you about it
real life wasn't real nice
so conceal and disguise
and let fly many lies
which fill minds and survive
'til alive and realised
as real life which feels nice
as real dies out and hides
deep inside where it thrives
as real memories arise
of reality and life
when these guys telling lies
showed their nastiest side
and true colours dark and sly
which have changed over time
to a bright light and blue sky
seen as nice now and kind
as real lies are real life
now that real is denied
as real memories in me
most alive aren't supplied
to the outside kept inside
cus if I let them fly
it means I am not nice
and they don't fit the vision
made by lies as real life
with its feeling of nice
which is now factualised
as the reality prized
with such loving delight
and people weren't evil
just so damn bloody nice
and I alone know of the lies
that I must never speak of
because lies are now life
and real life has now died
twisted up tightened twice
what was real wasn't nice
but what's real now delights
twisted up to entice
so now sinners are saints
from when saints weren't alive
and the saints are the sinners
but are saints through their lies
which means the nastiest people
are the best at disguise
whilst the honest real people
become those telling lies
because nasty memories will be wiped over time
replaced by nice ones,
whilst nice ones keep the nasty alive
the nice speak of nasty and are seen as not nice
while the nasty speak nicely and con you for life
honesty suffers and pride comes from lies
I think I'm now wiser since I realised
for me honesty will always suffice
because lies are for people who should get a life
*well done if you followed that, (the real and the lies interchange, the lies become real and the real becomes strange, the unreal becomes real and the real unreal, like a really rapid wheel stopping still, ha, paradox wordplay, if they all agree to disagree, then all agree and disagree, and therefore all agreed and none can disagree yet all do disagree, a metaphor of life and lies)
Post-term pregnancy perturb my health,
For to put to bed, in this place, is sacrilege.
The king has made ready his swords
For the neck of him, who dare to birth.
Known truth is a pregnancy, seeking escape
Into the world of obscurity.
Truth like the light detained under bushel
Is seeking manifestation, to make man free
From the yoke of the cruel slave lords.
The man suffers, that hoards the truth.
Even God suffers,
for it says in scripture,
that God repented of having made life on earth,
and that it grieved him in his heart.
Think about that!