Best Time Is Ripe Poems
A plea of the unborn child to its mother.
Wake Me Up
When the time is ripe, awaken me!
I long to see your world.
How many blessings there will be;
They're soon to be unfurled!
I'll see you with my eager eyes,
Your soothing voice I'll hear.
One day I'll thank Jehovah God
that you have kept me near.
I want to grasp your finger, please,
and feel your warm embrace.
I want to heartily reflect
the smile upon your face.
I want to learn to walk and talk
and say my ABC's.
I want to learn of animals
and count my 123's.
I'll learn these things if you teach me,
yes, I will learn them so.
I'll hug you tightly every day
and never let you go.
I'll need your comfort when I cry;
At times, life can be rough.
However, I think you will find
Your love will be enough.
In fact, I'll bring you days of joy
where you are feeling pain,
and just as you have cared for me,
You'll see me do the same.
When time is ripe, please, let me live;
I want to wake up too!
I want to live a joyful life.
I want to cherish you.
Please wake me up when time has come.
Please don't send me away.
A precious gift you now possess
Miraculous each day!
Chanté Walker
2/22/20
Golden Sphinx on its wings,
soaring high, soaring high,
smouldering smoke all around,
flying to azure sky.
Gleaming white, the horses neigh
victory be our desire!
strike the cymbals, draw the swords,
let Sun glisten on sapphire!
Chorus
through the fire, through the fire!
riding through the fields of fire!
Tarry not, the time is ripe,
we have all we require,
golden sphinx circles around,
he is on to enemy lair.
March on! through blinding smoke,
know no fear, nor quagmire,
Hope greets, where the brave go,
raise the victory to admire!
Chorus
through the fire, through the fire
riding through the fields of fire!
4th placement
Chariots of Fire, Lyric song contest
Sponsor John Hamilton
Written 24/07/2020
In the world of gloom and negativity,
Like the shadows of guilt, evil is lucid,
And glasses of truth is shattered
Like drops of gore on a deathly desert.
The good old days will never return
For long gone they are like medieval ages,
And the years will come when the time is ripe
And poised are the hearts of men with memories.
Virtue and vice will cease to survive,
And goodwill is void in the end of time,
Why dying to live when we live to die?
Well, what is a world without enigma?
This is where the strong devours the weak
Sticking tongues on frozen poles of negligence,
As the youths shed blue blood
On the golden grounds of sordid beings.
But remember, hope is not lost when terror diminishes,
But whose fate would soon be sealed?
And famine spreads on fertile lands
As justice hides, concealed in pretense.
Why shall men seek elevation
When their cursed nature is against satisfaction?
Our actions be eggs in the throat of a goose
Living and moving forward—in reverse!
To fathom the concept and purpose of nature
Is like hoping for peace whilst preparing for war...
O mighty heavens of the solemn sky;
Of life, of death, of good and evil,
Make us decipher this enigmatic life
Before it fades before our eyes.
#POET_AY
23rd of February.
©'2020
There is enough strife and despair all around
The wounds of discord are open and bleeding
The turmoil is rumbling to burst any moment
The time is ripe for all of us to build bridges,
Mend fences, and make the world, a better place.
Forget the unpleasant past and bury the hatred
Without wasting the precious present reminiscing
Enlarge the heart to accommodate one and all
To live and let live be our never-ending hum
The time is ripe for all of us to build bridges,
Mend fences, and make the world, a better place.
At no time opt for an eye for eye attitude harsh
Instead cultivate fondness for things and beings
Offer the other cheek without any confrontation
And conquer hearts by strengthening the bonds
The time is ripe for all of us to build bridges,
Mend fences, and make the world, a better place.
The life is short and no one knows when the
Final call comes, without any notice sudden
Leaving no chance to express one’s regrets
And to repent or to compensate the wrong
The time is ripe for all of us to build bridges,
Mend fences, and make the world, a better place.
Let us act, act in the living present; earnestly
Concede no moment to escape; insensitively
Seize every opportunity that comes our way
To make way for a harmonious living lovely
The time is ripe for all of us to build bridges,
Mend fences, and make the world, a better place.
In dark seclusion
gathering strength to burst forth
when the time is ripe
The hunter has become a guide for the birds,
his two faces
against two wings.
He has chopped down trees
to make a post
with small dried branches
for the birds to roost.
He has broken off flowers
to decorate this small tree
to cheer the birds.
He has put small stones
and large grains of wheat
on plates
so that the birds can eat.
He has constructed
posts with pencils
and towers with posts
from the ruins of the towers
so that the birds can take cover.
He has appended signatures,
each one different,
on dry leaves
with his two faces,
no one noticing.
After some time,
chasing the birds one by one,
he blows like a wind,
saying that judges and prosecutors
are his friends.
The birds, like many others,
quickly understand
and when the time is ripe
they emigrate
exchanging one thing for another,
finding another country,
agreeable people, trees,
grains of wheat on plates
and flowers of all colors...
while living peacefully there,
the hunter is of two faces
against two wings.
by Uzeyir Lokman CAYCI
Mantes la Ville - 1998
Traduit par by Yakup YURT en français
French free verse translated into English free verse
by Joneve McCormick
She's just a mall goth skank in Courtney Love's flesh. Digital jail bait. Open wound scissor sisters. The cure is deep inside. Divinity embedded within skeletal matter, salvation within my hands. Lobo Cristo devoured his flock. Carved em' up like the bread of God. Disfigured Christians dancing and twitching to their own rhythms and convulsions. When the time is ripe, I'll cut some moonlight into your belly and spill you deep into the soil, Cuz my blade is thirsty and clean. I'm prone to get ugly, grimmy, and mean. Rabid Believers and their closed casket ceremonies. Remember, nothing you do matters in the end. Everyone will be forgotten at some point. Wasting your last breath on a Virgin whore, as you aspirate upon your own gore. Holy Ghost Sedo-masicist on the TV screen. Just contaminants within the cultural confines of American decline. If you're not apart of the herd, you'll be apart of the hill. It's all neurological at this point. You wouldn't hate me so much if you'd pull your own weight. Bloated belly and tetanus, You're just a panhandler outside of Heaven's Gate. Lucifer's warm amber light, like electric sugar. Warming my bones to the core,... Cascading comfort and enlightenment within tranquil notes. Down the hall, screams of a woman. By her own lacerations. Visceral.
I ran, I chased
On faces of mortals, I paced
Unbridled success, I sought
To the lips of men, I listened
Wickedness laden my star with dust
Releasing a dirty downpour
Borne of kwashiorkor
Bulging beacons of famine
Things ground to a halt
The future no longer sure
Confusion built its nest on me
Like a spider’s web spun around its prey
As I meandered away
Into the abyss of failure
Ardently, searched I for answers
Then came the day of the star
For in my quest, found I wisdom
Eyes opened! Success is in my DNA
As I settled in, Understanding set in
Ignorance bowed to the superiority of Information
The invite of light put darkness to flight
For the journey from unknown to certainty
Is first within, then without
If I can build the right habits
I’ll experience a bright destiny
Excellence in the little things
Will magnify in the big things
Delegation is a show of confidence
Not an admittance of Incompetence
Wealth is a mindset not paper-set
My path to financial heights
Lies in alleviating the people’s plight
For when the rubber meets the road
Leadership is simply about service
Behold! The gathering of Leaders
Designed to make our world better
The orientation has expired
Our minds yet perspire
Time is ripe for action
To help build a better nation
Birthing ideas to counter frustration
Bathing confusion with requisite solution
Leaders, we have received a gift
Which has consciously given us a lift
The race is not to the swift
But God on our behalf is swift
The world now desperately needs us
To make the shift.
We've been expecting it
for some time
Now the fateful change
which we expected with wonder and terror
has finally come to fruition
Yes, the change has come!
Standing on our small
blue globe
realizing that the universe
is finally paying some attention ro us
We have been chosen
by a higher power!
The time is ripe and
the sky itself is
crying out: The change has come!
It’s beginning to look
a lot like Springtime
Everywhere I go
The grass is now green
no mud in between
Soon-it’ll-be-long-enough to mow
It’s beginning to look
a lot like Springtime
Flowers are in bloom
Yellow daffodils
Tulips always thrill
Get-out-of-your-stale old room
It’s beginning to look
a lot like Springtime
There’s-a-certain-something in the air
Couples are holding hands
strolling along the sand
The-time-is-ripe for-a love affair
Poetry Day #4: Australian Sonnet
-end of the story-
An old woman sits in the rocking chair and smokes a pipe,
For silence and smoke will be the only things to fill the room.
“Hello there, young one, you want another story, I assume?”
Patting her knee, for she tells her stories only when time is ripe.
The little child nods and sits upon her knee, eager ears ready,
As the old woman’s lips tap at the wooden pipe once more.
“I’m glad you’ve returned, so I shall tell you a time of before.”
The child smiles as she begins her tale, her voice steady.
What a grand person the old woman was, telling such a tale,
Words flowing from her lips as if they were the sweetest honey,
The child drinking it eagerly, as if it was worth more than money.
Time passes once more as the story takes the child without fail.
When the old woman sees the child asleep once more,
The old woman closes her eyes, her pipe falling to the floor.
I once had an idea
Thought completely off the wall
Replacing the piggy bank
I would have myself a jar
And instead of silver coins
I would deposit tokens
Coded different colours
For every conscious effort
A bright visual reward
An investment in my health
Or maybe more in kindness
Or just any goal I’d set
Couple years since my first thought
Brainchild still sounds rather good
Time is ripe to implement
AP: 1st place 2021
Posted on March 3, 2018
In the bottom of my heart, there's a rose planted deeply
She was the same rose that charmed the soul of my memory
She came and gone so hastily in the pages of my history
My only consolation is that she passed beautifully
Though, she's gone long time ago, in my heart she'd always stay
For, she's my summer and spring, my night and my day
To have her once more is what I always pray
That one day she would come and never go away
One day when time is ripe, when it comes the right season
I wish that she will come and bring back my prudent reason
For, without her, I deeply doubt my will and my volition
In my heart she'll always be my final disposition
Faithfully, I long that day when we can make a brand new start
By that time I should make sure that we will never be apart
For, deep within my heart, she is my greater part
I will always cherish deeply, the rose inside my heart
March 30, 2023
The Rose Inside My Heart Poetry Contest (1st place)
Sponsored By: Mystic Rose Rose
Sunbeams on windmills,
fields with row upon rows of sunflowers
such painted tapestries by Vincent.
Such boldness in his art
yet his mind blown far apart
was to end his day in such
tragic circumstance.
Appreciation was not of prime
and of time, such was the madness
around you for the driving you
to your insanity.
Such roughness in the beauty
you did transcribe with a wealthy
palette of colors only now truly
appreciated.
A master so many years before your
time, your works so extraordinary
without their suitors then, now perhaps
the time is ripe.
Such a talent misunderstood
for sanity left you in blues and greys,
but will they hear the cries you left
behind and ever set you free?
25th June, 2012 (c)
Stirred.
Blurred.
Deferred.
A haze of thoughts.
In the raw.
Unprocessed unpolished.
Ethereal feral.
Impulses really.
I might drown.
A sea of ambiguity.
Random content
in my private universe.
At times, I can’t be bothered.
At times, I want them loud and clear.
At times, I want to scream and be heard.
Ofttimes, in time that can’t be rushed,
ofttimes, so deep they must be mined,
my words must form within a forge.
I capture what takes shape and worth,
from medleys of thoughts sublime
that seize their moments; coming forth
to shine as lines when flames combine.
I cannot say, before their time is ripe,
the fullness of my thoughts, voiced without fear.
I'll wait a while for words that set alight,
that frame them, read aloud for all to hear.
To capture rhyme, and then to set in place
as treasured memories of grief or joy.
To speak my mind with clarity and pace
in metered euphony that I'll employ.
Now, heard aloud, at last I say my part;
what's written need not die without a voice.
Once polished, may it then be known as Art?
The verdict will be in the critic's choice.
And so I write -- so that I will not die
without a voice for all I could not say.
Unburdened and uncluttered, let me fly
full-fletched in colours, darting into day.
AP: 1st place 2022
Collaboration with Kirk Tierney - based on my poem 'Writing Is How I Connect'
Posted on September 2, 2022