Best The Fact Poems
My black hair,
short and black skin,
identifies me that am
a black man from Africa.
The fact is that am black.
I asked you
I needed to hear the answer
It wasn't a joke at all
It never was
All of the questions were supposed to help me to decide
I heard it now
I heard it loud and clear
No you can't ever be mine
Even I would turn the world up side down for you
You would never ever be mine
I was shocked
Everything I did was all for nothing
I'm helpless
Yet I have to keep my promises to you
Now here I am
Writing, Trying, Doing my best to face the fact
That you will just never be mine.
Villanelle : Who rules what is or what’s not after the fact
Who rules what is or what’s not after the fact
The first poem struck wasn’t it a cry of hope
Words gushing from constricting throats militant act
Who must with calipers measure the creative act
Draws hot blood choking in dungeons where poets lost grope
Who rules what is or what’s not after the fact
Who lays the laws down robs the poem from the poet
Post-mortem never reveals how thoughts in body cope
Words gushing from constricting throats militant act
Words feel through emotions un-thought by Eliot
Though Bousono makes poets mindless on tight rope
Who rules what is or what’s not after the fact
Words at random plucked by the senses speak with tact
Not so Essay on Man by Alexander Pope
Words gushing from constricting throats militant act
Songs of joy set to music in dance speak not slack
No Aristotle could glean rules where poets dumb mope
Who rules what is or what’s not after the fact
Words gushing from constricting throats militant act
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
In Bethlehem's manger, a humble abode,
A savior was born, the son of our God.
No sleigh bells, no reindeer, just a star shining bright,
Guiding the wise men through the tranquil night.
A babe in a stable, no grandeur or gold,
Yet His story through ages, a timeless unfold.
Not Santa with his beard of snowy white,
But Jesus, born beneath the starry light.
No beard of white, no gifts in a sack,
But a promise of salvation, no myth, just a fact.
A promise fulfilled, a Savior's embrace,
To redeem us all, bringing love and grace.
No chimneys to climb or stockings to fill,
Yet hearts overflow with the joy he instills.
In the stable's warmth, a miracle unfolds,
As the greatest story of salvation is told.
Parents, let truth be the gift you bestow,
No need for tales that in falsehood grow.
For Christmas is more than a mythical tale,
It's the miracle of love that will never pale.
A narrative profound, with unmatched worth.
No need for pretense, for the truth is divine,
In the heart of Christmas, let God's love shine.
As we gather 'round with loved ones so dear,
Remember the reason, the message is crystal clear.
Christmas is not about a man named santa,
But the miracle of God's redemptive plan.
Am bent over making a deep impression.
From the sweetness of my sweet expression.
Am contained over painting in your heart my dear inscription.
I am exhausting my thoughts that you may get a clear description.
In your very eyes i see the source of my inspiration.
I am compelled to confess I LOVE YOU for real beyond imagination.
The Fact(s)
It started with a poem.
Penned in by mistake.
Then it ended up in a letter,
that later turned into an email.
That was forwarded,
not once but a thousand,
and then ten million times.
Then someone was asked,
what it all meant.
They were floored by the fact,
no one knew.
But some did,
and some took action.
Some gathered,
while others spent.
Some prayed,
will others chose to laugh.
Respectful of no one,
nothing is as it was,
and the old have no bones,
left to gnaw.
Awaken the lazy child,
staying in the basement...
living on the meat sized portion,
of the daily bread,
at the discretion of their
own parents,
busy making a living,
before they die.
A level field of uncommon valor,
that has no heroism in it at all.
One no better the next,
cogs in the wheels...
of a larger machine.
Then broken and left,
beside the road,
rotting...
on their way,
to nowhere.
When the earth ceases to be
Who knows when the earth will cease to be?
Surely it will some day come
Might not be our time but it will.
When the earth rotates no more?
Who knows when the earth will rotate no more?
Which of the three sides will ye be?
The right, the left or the foremost in the race
When man's life reaches its peak?
Who knows when his own life will?
At that moment where will ye be destined?
At the peaceful garden of delight or in the welcoming boiling water of
hellfire
Know now that right is good and left is bad
As at now where do you stand?
In this life who do you work for?
For your riches and wordly enjoyments which will suerly betray you using death
or for God and that Faithful Day.
Secret eyes
hide behind a smile
the jokers grin
masking a deliberate betrayal
Misdirection and diversion
the covert sneak offender
working in the hush-hush
thinking the fooled
will never know any better
Trust the stiletto
when the lips are sealed
and silencing
is the fault of liars
when they are revealed
How the sleepless ballet
tip toes through the night
swirling in a caul
of suspected lies
but the eyes of deception
know full well the game of smiles
petulant tears
and angry retribution
Deceit engenders separation
the waltz of togetherness
never makes its connection
inside the embrace
something still remains hidden
and truth and deeds
form a treacherous liaison
and out of sight is out of mind
Who will ever know
who walks within the cloak-and-dagger
the perplexity of a tale-to-spin
and then fears the disclosures backhander
do you know
did you know
and panic will find a certain innocence
when lips become unsealed
communications with an uncertain reticence
but silence
is always the fault of liars
when they are revealed
Scientists have established the fact,
that all dinosaurs looked pretty the same,
Just some idiots- with lack of the luck,
Assembled them in the different ways!
POEM 14 THE FACT ABOUT LIFE
THIS IS A OLD WISE TRUE FACT ABOUT LIFE
EVERY ONE WANT YOU WHEN DOWN AND OUT
DON’T BE SURPRISE OF THE FRIENDS IT WILL BRING
WHEN YOU ARE UP, YOU ARE UP YOU WILL
BE TREATED LIKE A KING OR A QUEEN AS SUCH
WHEN YOU ARE DOWN THEY DO CARE
YOU WILL SEE JUST HOW MUCH.BUT
A FRIEND WILL ALWAYS BE
A FRIEND TILL THE VERY END.
BE WARE - BE WARE
EVERY SMILING FACE IS NOT
YOUR FRIEND !!“THAT IS “VERY” “VERY” “TRUE”!!!
BY: MR. JERRY BIG PAPA WELLS
Life with love is full of miracle
without it appears to be not human
it is the love that makes a life dynamic.
Going for love is duty of every human
dutibound in love is lovely and dynamic
love is a quality of God and it is a miracle.
Love is a natural thing and makes one dynamic
it brings two near and it is a miracle
simple fact is that to be in love and be human.
Miracle of love thus makes one human and dynamic.
Dated-14.02.2019
Part 2
Blog
The serpent or illusion, is the the mind’s imagination, that led us away from our
Agape fact. Into a fictitious world of the wildernesses of our minds. This wilderness was
invented by the imagination of the mind.
We are unconscious of our Agape fact, unaware by our lower mind’s logic, lost in the
reasoning of fictitious imaginations of the mind’s invention. We are for the most part,
unconscious of our paranormal heritage, lost in an invented consciousness of mind’s
logic.This lower consciousness of mind’s logic, is incapable of the higher logic of the
paranormal essence, being on the level of only the natural manifestation. We are, for the
most part, paranormally unconscious, if you will, lost from the paranormal, conscious only of
the natural. We are living from our mind’s illusion, and not from our Agape fact. We need to
be fully conscious of the paranormal and subconscious of the natural so as to regain our
cosmic(spiritual) minds. For the Agape mind, of which I speak, is well able to govern natural
minds. For the nature is Agape, freedom and fairness on a level for all concerned!!!!!
Dispute the fact,of the ill-mannered man.
His eye's obscured,
he don't understand.
So things are cofusing,
well it's not so amusing.
Your world is full of,
the ungodliest pleasures,
nightmares, fantasy's,
and obscene jestures.
If you could know love,
from a humble childs heart.
You could fit in society,
and make a new start.
Oh but you have not found,
the goodness within.
Your bite is yet deadly,
without piercing the skin.
You've done your part,
you know we can't stand.
Dispute the fact of the ill-mannered man.
Robert Dale Taylor
air does not reply
air does not supply
air does not react
air states not one fact
what air does actually do
is force me to get a clue
next time God Sprinkles me with that Rare Specialty
i will treat such a Blessing as a Rare Gem and not allow that icy fear to successfully wrestle me.....
A heavy rain wipes away the history of a pavement.
On a splashing surface it dashes off
an abstract and flowing script.
Watermarks thunder fleetingly
only to ricochets away
to stir the wordless with more fluid symbols.
I have seen rain write on mud,
moving punctuation marks around
with a drenching aplomb.
Symbols mix and meld
until an exclamation mark explodes
in a shower of meaningful spray.
I guess everything is a poem
as long as you don't call it one.
Writing is what the poem does
after it lands somewhere.