Best Supremely Poems
Broken People
I wish to be with the broken people.
The get in your face challenge me people. The sometimes hidden sitting in a dark corner kinda people.
The “Don't you love me?”
I wish you seen me sorta people.
People just being real people.
Not having to have it all together people. Them doing their best to figure it out people. Dancing and singing without the smooth moves people.
I don't care about the color of their skin, or what others think of as their sin. No need to be perfect to win.
Seeing and listening is where I'll begin. Beyond appearance of fat or thin. I only know what I know
I've never been where they've been.
We'll start
with our broken smiles
it's the best we've got.
It might seem like so little
still I think it's a lot.
Through life's struggles we've all fought. Lessons needed learning
experienced not taught.
Real is real it couldn't be bought.
So forget the fake people,
the all about perfect hair and clothes people. The I live in the right neighborhood and drive the right car people. It's all about me, top of the hill people. They only hang out with the supremely cool people.
those too important to talk to me people. Thinking they're the best of the best kinda people, when all along they are merely Sheeple.
Ba ba baaing, thinking they are strong instead of feeble.
I love characters
people who are unique.
I look under exteriors to gain a peek.
Strength of lions disguised in meek.
Unconcerned with fab or being chic.
Worth listening to if allowed to speak.
The stories they tell will make your eyes leak.
For in the end
we are all broken
stumbling and choking.
Disguising hurt with our joking,
victims of others and their poking.
So look close maybe you'll see
eyes that aren't blank
hearts that aren't empty.
Who we think of as complicated
in the end might not be.
They might push when others come close,yet they are affectionate times three. Each just a bit afraid and broken. All the while wishing
and wanting to be a part of something. If only we choose to see
those on the fringes are a part of the we. All we have to do is let them be.
WRITING IN A BLACK PERSPECTIVE
Why is it that someone's pain is felt pleasure to another?
I arrived with fears. I cared to find a friend, anywhere
But I wasn't taught to be my own; no school helped me to look within
I heard of God of deep blackness; with words, inciting light
One voice, one eye in our universe
My voice to converse felt crippled.
My family pools held many colors; warm as Caribbean sea breeze
Each person was of significance. Two were like gazelles, alluring
One was as dark as night, the other was near blinding white
Those in between were earth tones.
I looked out beyond decked windows. Multicolored Christmas lights blinked
Nonchalantly in dark of morning; snow was falling, and had covered bare
limbs of a cherry blossom tree- such picturesque view, i decided:
'On this most snowing, all white reigns supremely pure, as the black of night.'
The irises of my eyes were dark brown pools, merging with black pupils...
I was cinnamon; yet found solace in my shade of dark, no harsh light
Soft was my dark. No more depression lurked within. Mine eyes, my ears craved
Transparency; then came clarity. I understood triggers triggering depression
Revelations were as treasured as exercise. Fresh air, rain, sun, I was in awe of
My Higher Power's helpful hands- simplicity and clarity were blessings
I needed no Prozac.
At the start of a new day, I'd submerge in warmth, and baptize myself
I would bring soothing light to mesh with quiet dark
I would lounge, meditate, and pray. Sometimes I'd sing or hum a tune
I'd go fearlessly in the dark, knowing when not to rush
I'd go fearlessly near blinding lights, knowing where to focus.
Who am I? i am as soft as the sinews of you; yet steadfast
A dessert flower with dew of faith- even in winter
I am a flower, thriving like evergreen...
Amid histories fiercest touch to my roots
I know of grace, granted by the Source
Transcending me to live as never before understood.
I need not cry out my fears, in ways that let others fear
I must cry out injustices, so that others, too, may sing
I go fearlessly to face my fears, knowing scars are lessons learned
And good visualizations are as friends, not foes.
*
Soft, still, the silence heaves
I inhale, the Spirit breathes;
Flowing, growing Christ bestowing
Life and strength surpassing knowing.
Scented, soothing, respiration
Taking in His inspiration;
Filling, feeling Christ exalted
Love and Grace supremely vaulted.
Sure, secure the Spirit wind
Where flows the Sovereign;
God revealing Christ resplendent
Hope and purpose codependent.
When He breathes upon the morn
Hope has dawned and life is born;
He my all in all shall be
From now unto eternity.
Job 33:4
I don’t know how I lived so long
without poetry by my side
to uphold enfold and console me
as time went passing by
how did I miss the gentle kiss
of rhythms all around
the sound of rivers rushing
and rolling tides with waves unbound
the chirping birds whose secret words
were music nonetheless
even though I did not sense
the Whole-iness of being blessed
nor did I see the unity
between poetry and the stars
always missing the meaning
of whom and what we truly are
the miracle of miracles
why anything is here at all
was supremely overwhelming
for a man like me so small
nor did I hear the Sound of the Spheres
Homer’s Odyssey or Tennyson’s Light Brigade
was never too clear with Shelly and Shakespear
and the mystical magic they made
while metaphors and similes
enjambment and free verse
were all just mumbo-jumbo
to me one giant curse
but slowly and imperceptively
I felt a change within
as words became more meaningful
and a strange new kind of friend
and it took a while to learn to smile
on a haiku in the woods
but time’s been kind and let me find
rhythm and peace inside
my poetry and manhood
© Terrell Martin, 02/26/2025
My dreary life shunned, a chance to escape;
atop glacial peak, glorious vision.
Oasis amongst the frigid landscape;
found sanctuary, almost Elysian.
Colorful fish dart, despite intrusion,
in clear blue water of idyllic lake.
Grand oaks' enclosure heightens seclusion,
if this be a dream, no wish to awake.
Surmount gnarly trunk, in bosom I nest,
relax for a spell, savour treetop view.
Ponder existence, I truly am blessed;
alas, paradise, soon time to eschew.
'fore starting descent, 'fore limbs are unfurled,
shut eyes and breathe deep, absorb nature's sounds.
This close to Heaven, at top of the world,
touch of Creator supremely resounds.
------------------------------------------------
(C) 12th May 2017
ABAB-CDCD-EFEF-GHGH rhyme scheme
10 syllables per line (howmanysyllables.com - but had to remove apostrophes in fourth stanza as it was mis-counting)
For Brenda Chiri's Mountaintop Lake contest.
(3rd Place)
Used the following word(s):
#1 treetop view
#2 colorful fish
#3 clear blue water
#4 nature's sounds / sounds of nature
can you imagine yourself a young girl from Nighastan?
who is thirteen, and never stepped foot in regular school?
toiling day and night, taking care of siblings and housework,
her smile reminds of fresh-bloomed rose, no cameras capture.
can you imagine yourself a young boy from Labonga,
works in a factory for hours and hours since he was eight?
he is still respectful and humble, polite and thankful,
happy as a lark if sometimes he gets to fly a kite.
wish we were supremely gorgeous princes and princesses,
wearing sparkling gucci outfits, flying in private jets -
(talking how to support the poverty-stricken third world)
we watch their lavish weddings, their destination travels,
and secretly sigh for extravagant life we don't have!
met some of those amazingly courageous boys and girls,
who do not complain about their uneventful tough lives,
they accept their hardest journey with humble compliance -
thank god sincerely for their meager plainest possessions!
I imagine - if I had the power to change the world,
I would make their world blissful. surrounded by purest joy,
I would hold her dainty hand, and pore over fairy tales,
I would run without bounds in the open field with the boy.
those children would teach me to be grateful with simplest things,
and to smile joyful smile which nobody can ever snatch.
Poet's Notes: The poem is written on the model of Shakesperean sonnet (14 syllables in each line - exception being there are four Quatrains instead of three).
January 23, 2021
For "Can You Imagine" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
God is supremely graciously good
to all that He owns as His own
among all the nations that He made
for Israel, He will shake even His known
Behold the Lord commands in His voice
to divide His precious from those of no account
even the pebbles are God's own formation
loving them so dearly like to His divine fount
Everyone who believes in Jehovah God
is called precious in the Lord's own heart
nothing shall separate His love from them
specially joined uniquely in no small part
As with Job so with every believer in Christ
for Satan is held in God's sovereign chain
so it is equally for every believing child
God's in total control so Satan has no gain
God's sieve is taken to shake about
all that exists around the nations
but all of God's pebbles are securely safe
for He has a place within His holy station
(“For behold, I will command,
and shake the house of Israel among all the nations
as one shakes with a sieve,
but no pebble shall fall to the earth.)
Amos 9: 9 ( ESV)
light penetrated dark, sound birthed
the Word ~ p o e t r y
a superlative emitting that which changes
emerging when ripened as verse
speaking to people faraway
unlocking alphabets from minds
to glide, fast fly, jump or slowly crawl, landing
at destined places, swords or aces
I am Poetry ~ weep or whimper not for me
existentially dancing, enthralling, glancing at
blank paper to be embroidered in ink
ruby red, black or olive green
free flow I from fingers fragile, artistic or sturdy
regulate me only for joy or exploring expansion
perhaps for judicious judgement
I, P o e t r y ~ sequins of Love convoluted or rayed, in service
purifying emotive sentiments conditioned, romantic, missioned
Heart is my home where rest my letters, forms
cadences, couplets, epics
in non-bewildered intelligence visioning dreamscapes
divine, liberated from bandages, buckles, bondages
alive is my Supersoul breath giving voice to electrons
protons, neutrons which fleetingly capture
essenced life through observed elixirs
as Poetry, I witness action followed by pure
stillness ~ transcendental whirlpools in orbits
my limbs reach language lyrical or plain
burnished and wise
cherishing recitals in sacred spaces
I activate thoughts and visions remaining
supremely unattached attuning words
for Grace ~
undulate imagination in perfect waves
misty, clear or intricate, intriguing, unblemished
gratifying, swivelling, sizzling in my own
fire or ice
I, Poetry, consummated
voice the W o r d
At some point you are going to need to impress more than a few friends with some burnt toast. I used to have an old, heavy-gauge chrome-plated toaster with a dial to adjust doneness from 1-5. I took a Sharpie and scribed a 6 at the extreme. The pointer doesn’t actually go there, but it is useful for indicating my intent. It works better than the 5 setting which merely chars the surface. But 6 chars it darn near all the way through, enlarging the pore structure to retain even more melted butter. You gotta be cautious not to overuse that feature because it’ll burn the toaster, as in overheating the thermostat and melting the whispy wires. No more toast for you. Back at the store they were quick to figure out your attempt to exceed the capacity and the clearly worded statement in the ownership contract will be pointed out to you, that glamorous document with the curly-Q decorations making it supremely authentic like a stock certificate from the 1960’s. They replaced my toaster once, but the second and third times I only got a stern look of reproach. The manufacturer has black listed me through my credit card so now all my toaster purchases are cash only.
Thanks to the assistance of the Eternal Holy Spirit
The understanding of both the realities
The words of the heritage of faith
Able to grow in the life of the Church
Through the contemplation
Study of believers who ponder things in their hearts
Is in particular theological research which deepens knowledge of revealed truth
From intimate sense of spiritual realities which believers experience
The Sacred Scriptures grow with the one who reads them
From the teaching of those who have received
Along with their right of succession in the episcopate
The sure charism of truth
It is clear therefore that
In the supremely wise arrangement of EternalGod
SSacred tradition
Sacred Scripture
And the Magisterium of the Church are so connected
Associated
That one of them cannot stand without the others
Working together
Each in its own way
Under the action of the Eternal Holy Spirit
They all contribute effectively to the salvation of souls
1122015
If you believe professional athletes
should punch their Free Speech Rights out
when they punch in their employment clock,
Why is it fair
to also believe
you have not twittered out your violent
and racist
and sexist
Free NonViolent Speech Rights
when you laid hands on
and pledged your crossed-finger heart
to Presidential FakePatriotic AntiAllegiance
to One First Native MultiCulturing Nation,
for which it stands
under God,
not so much idolatrously and supremely above?
With growing equity, not supremacy,
and WinWin cooperative liberty,
not competitive WinLose violent
and ballistic
restricted TopSecret mega-loyalty corporations,
and for ecojustice of, from, and for All
Species
and climates
and cooperative health care giving and receiving
ecopolitical reassurances
patriotic for ecojustice
inter-network nationed
Sacred Earth,
Headed toward polycultural-endorsing Free NonViolent Speech Outcomes
and away from MonoCulturing Twitters
cheerleading Mindless Speech
as AntiAmerican Outputs,
Indulged and over-invested in too-Yanged ballistic word choices,
not suitable for young non-violent ears and eyes,
as if such were super-calorie patriotic expedited delicious
flag waving
and wearing
and wrapping,
rather than anti-matriotic hearts of loyal-honorable matters
of and for healthy Earth climates,
both inside sacred Twittering
and outside polypathic healthy-wealth
ecopolitically incarnating.
You choose fake patriotism news,
but we,
both Left and Right,
permaculturally prefer
keepin' it realtime jazzy gospel,
Sacred Matriotic Revolutionary Rhythm
and Timeless Blues.
Patriotism is about commitment
to freedom
and justice
and equity
and mercy
and love
and compassion
and justice,
and not at all about feeling bullied to act in ways
that could only betray the integrity of your commitments
to freedom
and justice
and equity
and mercy
and love
and compassion
and peace
and justice for and with All Earthlings,
singing and dancing our best rhythms
as yet timeless blues.
The Swimming Hole
A burbling tuneful peaty burn
Like amber whisky flowing clear
Where darting minnows twist and turn
Is soothing music to my ear.
Between the banks of rushes green
Below the falls a deep dark pool
Where lads who come to swim are seen
Enjoying fun and keeping cool.
I paddle in the flowing brine
Where icy waters cool my feet
And ripple through my toes, sublime.
A feeling rare, supremely sweet.
The swimming hole, a place to be
When sun is warm and spirits free
I spend a quiet happy day
And watch my worries float away
The sky is so dark
The pitch of the evening night
Softly colors start
They begin to blend inside
Light pink, lavender, and red
They all start to ride
To flow through in the lost night
Bringing hope again
Dancing the colors do spread
So lovely morning begins
Now even peach comes
Master, the one who made this
Reigns supremely high
Crafted the prettiest sky
All colors accounted for
Slowly sky brightens
And everything turns blue shade
Waiting for the night
So another show will post
And sky will color again
Russell Sivey
Once a nation
Supremely white as driven snow,
Singularly Christian, white and male,
Purely untarnished, and aglow,
Grandeur unparalleled in fairytale.
Hence a grievance
Punitively bold as bloody hellfire,
Potently prosecuted in seats of power,
Oppressively waged against objects of ire,
Prisms of nonwhites seeking justice in the hour.
Now a leader
Colossally void as sterilized weaponry,
Glibly sanctions white phobia and rage,
Lethally enflames this proto-fascist fancy,
As corporations provide aid to the rampage.
Thus a faction
Devoutly for leader, they stand down,
Steadfastly ready for the order to kill,
All woke-ish elitists, and enemies black and brown,
That white men reclaim their rightful place at the till.
Violence of mind
Shocks no one in America,
Where thugs are part of romantic lore.
With our ascendant authoritarian replica,
Are we ready for what washes ashore?
Published in Dissident Voice: 01/09/22
All around the wide world,
a new flag poised to be unfurled,
when all the peoples obtain sympathy,
we can live as one upon empathy.
Even the haters, ignorant and violent,
will be brought to thoughts pertinent.
First they must have safety,
and then control over their economy,
Only then will they be set free.
But without structures to support empathy,
war will rein supremely.
And human's inhumanity to each other;
on flame's embers we'd smoother -
everyone and all together.
If we don't spread empathy expediently,
and distinguish it from sage blither.
Then, we are cut apart by a social scissor
Toward empathy, yea must all come hither.