Best Unsung Poems
Vivid flashbacks from bloodshed battles
his soul still ravaged by devious dictators,
cries from fallen comrades still echo in his mind,
but he continues to walk upon a path of pandemonium.
Reluctantly he ventures forward with
vengeance portrayed through embers
engulfed within his frenzied eyes -
reflecting his mother's irreversible tears.
He is no mercenary nor a moneymaker,
just a repentant drifter, preparing for bedlam.
His purpose in sight, he closes his eyes,
but struggles to erase his thoughts,
as the sins of his ancestry inflict his mind.
Angels attempt to light his path with harmonic chords,
but demons cause havoc strumming broken strings.
Entering the kingdom of dry fountains,
where God has no influence,
he is afraid to inhale its corrupt pollutant air.
Charcoal clouds rumble,
before horizons shed unwelcome tears.
Before him platinum priests preach,
as court jesters dance with sly grins,
hiding metaphorical daggers behind their backs.
To his right overfull hospitals have no beds,
as penniless patients plead to be cured.
To his left the self proclaimed vain king
sits on his cardboard throne,
throwing dollars into a blazing fire place.
To his side his tyrannical hypocritical queen
hides behind her simulated smile,
oblivious to her narcissistic prince's incest desires
towards her clueless imbecilic princess.
It's an endless loop of greed cultivating corrupt seed,
which continues to breed nefarious creed.
Miserable masses attempt to break free,
but their liberation is dissected by cretinous henchmen.
In the marketplace of Machiavellian thieves,
merchant pawns auction fragmented dreams.
Sold to the biggest idiot!
His eyes full of disbelief, now rage with anarchy!
Intoxicated knights raise their half empty glasses,
as he calmly walks into this man made sand castle.
Gifts the cunning conniving cook some cyanide,
which he empties into his delectable broth.
Both watch as the elevated ones savour it like dogs,
perishing dramatically to their deserved downfall.
Beyond his childhood playground,
now with rusty swings and slides,
he places a crimson rose upon his mother's grave,
kissing her untouched headstone.
Expressionless he walks into the distance,
as storms wash away weak foundations.
Silent One
25 July 2018
Unsung Hero – The Soldier
Warily he stood at the corner,
Wondering which way to turn.
A weary smile on his faded brow,
As he held out an old worn-out hat hoping for handouts,
A few miserly pennies or perhaps, even a piece of bread.
This once proud soldier,
Now reduced to being a petty beggar,
Was a remnant of a cruel war;
Where he once stood side-by-side with his comrades
And helplessly watched them fall one-by-one.
Cruel memories haunted his saddened heart,
As he each day he desperately tried to survive,
Wondering if it would have been better
If he too on the bloody battlefield had died -
But there was no real answer.
Maybe it was good that he had done his duty
Fighting for those who couldn’t.
But now he was forgotten and forlorn,
With no honor, no glory,
He was just a nobody.
With warm tears streaming down his cold cheeks,
Even now he thought of his fallen comrades,
Questioning if they were really in a better place -
What if?
Why?
His thoughts about his tortured past
Continued to cling to him,
Like the tattered coat
He wore during the day,
And used for a pillow at night.
In his mind, he was still on the battlefield,
Only this time he battled invisible foes -
A mind growing feeble, homelessness,
Hunger, loneliness, and most of all –
Not having anyone to love him.
9-16-2014
Unsung Hero – My Mom
My Mom has always been unassuming, never flashy,
But her name deserves to be up in bright neon lights.
My magnificent Mom, Olegaria, is my hero!
In her eyes, no one is a zero,
And she is a blessing to all who crosses her path.
Successfully raising her own five children,
She also helped to raise all the stray children in her neighborhood.
Her guiding motto is “You can’t believe in God and
Not care about others - whether it is people, plants, or animals.”
An extraordinary human being, generous to a fault,
She would give her last slice of bread
To anyone who needed to be fed.
Nothing, including her time, is too good or too precious
To share with family, friends, and even strangers.
Often she’d sacrifice her own happiness,
If it meant that others would be happy.
While Mamacita is very humble, forgiving, and non-judgmental,
She is nobody’s fool and can be a fierce lioness,
Quick to defend her values and those she loves.
Caring mothers like her are especially rare today,
And should be declared national treasures.
Because of her powerful influence and the solid values she instilled,
I am a stronger, kinder, more conscientious, and better person.
My Mom helped me to see life in a more positive
And compassionate way – to treat people
How I would like to be treated.
Even though she is not a regular church-goer,
She prays several times daily and her home is her altar.
I thank God every day for blessing me with this wonderful mother,
And for her continued presence in my life.
Mom, you will always be my hero!
07-30-2014
Contest: Tell Us About Your Mom (12-28-2015)
Sponsor: Judy Konos
Placement: 1st
Contest: Unsung Hero (07-31-2014)
Sponsor: Carol Eastman
Placement: 1st
What now of heroes can I speak
Who raise the mild and loft the meek
Bequeathing glory, love untold
With ne’re a thought their heart unfolds
A spirit bright so kind are they
Their own life’s pain they hide away
Their selfless gifts cast near and far
They’ll hand you moons and cast you stars
In what choice god you do believe
He’s planted in them kindness seeds
With selfless stealth they will achieve
To garnish souls with ruby beads
Intentions oft misunderstood
They only know how to do good
Altruistic warrior hearts
Empathy is their unique art
Incognito these ones remain
Actions speaking louder than fame
Gifted with words to comfort pain
Casting rainbows, banishing rain
Unsung heroes they will remain
Singing their songs without refrain
Broken angels with hidden wings
Healing souls whilst weaving heart strings.
November 26, 2017
Written for “Hero” Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
What's behind the terse, unspoken sound
One that abruptly inserted a period
Invoking a sigh in the middle of a sentence
Was it the uneasy voice of her heart's lyrics
Announcing your song is still incomplete
Or ambivalence of despondent music
Reluctantly strumming devoid of melody
Perhaps it’s time for your bashful words
To complement echo of the unsung verse
Disclosing explicitly to her anxious world:
You saw it in the smile of her cheerful eyes
And heard it from symphony of dulcet vibes
And felt it in the ballet of her delicate touch
When she held you close in an intimate hug
While mellifluous whispers of love spoke
December 8, 2021
It’s said that only the good die young.
So many souls with hearts of gold we’ve lost!
How many heroes now have gone unsung?
They’re taken with no mercy. At what cost?
We cannot know the good they would have done.
So many souls with hearts of gold we’ve lost!
They lie in cold hard graves beneath our sun.
If only they had been allowed to bloom.
We cannot know the good they would have done.
How swiftly do they sometimes meet their doom.
And all their loved ones have to show is grief.
If only they had been allowed to bloom!
Each sprout not let to even grow one leaf!
What utter waste! They had so much to give,
and all their loved ones have to show is grief.
Each sprout not let to even grow one leaf.
It’s said that only the good die young.
What utter waste; they had so much to give!
How many heroes now have gone unsung?
Written 5/27/2013
Ode to the Unsung Hero
I salute the devotee of his craft
who diligently pursued perfection
with no recognition
but remained true to himself
and trudged along but lost
to the dynamics of politics and the bottom line
He was not in his time and space
of Fame
I lift my glass to her , the Fool
who trusted them with her better idea
only to lose it anyway
but remained true to herself
she knew not how to play
the devious Game.
To the saints unselfish
who cared for humankind
but were overshadowed
by fanatics religious, emirs and kings
Heaven was not theirs
to Claim
The writer not read
and the artist well dead
the writers of music
and the musicians who longed
to play their songs
and share in their glory
but not to be.
So let us applaud them loudly
they remained true to themselves
let them bask in the sunshine
if for only a brief time
or at least until
the sun goes down.
Mid Summer Standard Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
July 18, 2017
I thought for a moment that
he never felt the PAINS,
When he beared the
burden of our guilts and
STAINS.
You can't imagine what he
went THROUGH,
for him to wipe away all of
our sins THROUGH.
You can't imagine the
whole of the SHAME,
when he left all his fortunes
and FAME.
His head was punctured by
THORNS,
and his body was tortured
untill his cloth was TORN.
They put the nail throught
his hands and FEET,
even as his imaculate and
pure heart BEAT.
He cried out all of tears
from his EYES,
untill his eyes were as dry
as ICE.
They piassed his palm to
the STAKE,
For all of human SAKE.
He didn't have to do it, but
he did it ANYWAY,
for us to change from our
evil WAYS.
He really love us so much
that he took our PLACE,
In sacrificing himself for the
whole of human RACE.
He died for our sins as if
he's the ONE,
in expense of our freedom
cos he WON.
He was humilated in front
of MANY,
And as dejected by MANY.
They gave him the heavy
cross to CARRY,
with so much hatred and
MOCKERY.
He was whipped and
scourged so HARD,
that his screems can be
heard from 10 YARDS.
The stood there at calvary
and watch him DIE,
After all the false
accusations and LIES.
Even when he screemed '
IT IS FINISHED',
The whole world knew that
' IT WAS FINISHED '.
His blood paid that great
price for our SINS,
For us to be free from our
guilt and SINS.
He died bearing the burden
of our INIQUITY,
for the betterment of the
world and all HUMANITY.
It wasn't easy for him to do
IT,
But at d end, it was worth
IT.
Dear Paramedics…. With this poem I admire and honour you
For the occupation you have chosen
Doing a job that so many of us just couldn’t do
You are first on the scene
Dealing with behaviours, emotions ,wounds
Raw human reality of the ultimate extreme
Absolute panic ,violence, sadness, trauma
Complete devastation of the worse kind
Horrific situations and sights etched eternally in the mind
The job has many rewards l assume
Ones of gratitude,positive outcomes, births
Kindness and great appreciation for the Paramedics worth
Then there are the driving skills required
That alone a dangerous mammoth task
Getting to the scene quickly and safely…. not an easy ask
I have never required an ambulance
Nor had any involvement with one
Yet , l value the Paramedics role above and beyond
Accolades and recognition are more deserving
For the unbelievably important position you hold
What you do in our world is worth its weight in gold
I just want you to know how valued you are
Acknowledging and praising the great job you do
So from the bottom of my heart l say a massive “Thankyou”!!
Unsung poem
Orange of twilight
fades into darkness of night
my poem misjudged...
Heart cries in despair
no readers and no comments
emotions unheard...
A brilliant sunrise
hold my pen as sparrows chirp
words silently flow.....
Written July 5th, 2015
For contest by Marvin celestial
Hullo, folks!
Do you hear me?
You didn’t hear me when I was dying.
At least hear me now, when I’m dead and buried.
I am, as you know, Jinesh,
Buried here—in this churchyard at Poonthura,
Buried on Sunday—
Like Solomon Grundy!
I did hear you when you were crying—
During the recent floods,
Rushed to your help,
Saved more than a hundred of you.
You all praised me, called me a hero,
Lined the street I lived in
With posters, flex boards, banners and whatnot.
Now you all know that I, as a pillion rider,
Was hit by a passing truck,
Which further ran over my helping hands,
Crushing them—
Thus, adding grievous injury to injury!
I lay there on the roadside,
Crying aloud for help,
Which fell on your deaf years:
You were all busy, all in a nervous hurry—
Off to Timbuktu!
I wept and cried for help, by turns.
But I was left there to die unwept and unsung,
Though I had been honoured.
Now you all may say: RIP
But, you see, I remain restless!
***
Unsung Children
Somewhere deep inside you
Behind the patches and the plasters
Of your broken heart
Somewhere in the shadows
Lays the summer of your soul
As timid as a naked flower
Before revealing the splendour of her petals
To the world
Somewhere running under the rivers of your veins
With the same fragile courage of porcelain
Your tenderness is stronger
Than any army’s rage
And I wish I could take you
Hand held out into the sun
Show you how the cracks and scars
Will be your deliverance
Turn those solemn sorrows faded burdens
Into the breaking clouds of blessed rain
Washes away the ugly stain
Till you see yourself again
Somewhere in the soil and earth of being one
The rooted light and love patiently wait upon
Waiting for the moment
When you burst out from behind the grey
To stand your own salute to the overcome
And I wish I could discover
The realisation of who you are
The exponential trigger
Which would shoot you out to your freedom
With the truth in the splendour of your sacred flower
Leaving you amazed and unafraid
In the libation of your own illumination
To see
All which you couldn’t believe
And which disbelief has bidden
All which you were forced to disbelieve
And which believing has so hidden
Behind the plasters and the patches
Of your broken heart
I know that I am unable
To wipe away the anguish and your pain
But if I could for just one moment
Ask you look into this mirror
For you to see yourself
Once again
You would see the salt in your tears
Are the shinning diamonds
Of your heart
In the unsung forgiveness
And the sacrifices
You have made
“ Wake up my precious loves
“ Slowly steady the nightmare shall recede
“ See
“ With me
“ My precious loves
“ How wonderful
“ You really are
Dedicated to all my friends and my unknown companions
Who as children suffered abuse in any form
It is our lot, to be the un-understood
The cold ignored and the lost forgotten
And an embarrassment to moralities fickle truth
We do, however, have each other
“ X ” Col
I salute the devotee of his craft
who diligently pursued perfection
with no recognition
but remained true to himself
and trudged along but lost
to the dynamics of politics and the bottom line
He was not in his time and space
of Fame
I lift my glass to her, the Fool
who trusted them with a better idea
only to lose it anyway
but remained true to herself
She knew not how to play
the devious Game
To the saints unselfish
who cared for humankind
but were overshadowed by
by fanatics religious, emirs and kings
Heaven was not theirs to Claim
To the writer not read
and the artist well dead
and the musicians who longed to play their songs
and share in their glory
but not to Be
So let us applaud them loudly
they remained true to themselves
Let them bask in the sunshine
if for only a brief time
or at least until the sun goes Down
A song unsung is not a song
Until the music plays.
And the verse meant to come alive
Is just a meaningless phrase.
But there is no song without the words
That give meaning to it all
And to separate the two will bring
Nothing you’ll recall
But if the two are blended
In a very special way
Something magic happens
That you don’t see every day.
You’ll find rhythm in the music,
And a rhyme for all the words
And if you listen closely
Angels can be heard.
To put it all together
May seem a mighty chore
For what you’re really looking for
No one’s heard before.
The words may come from wisdom
Or from deep within your heart
And the chord that brings these words to life
Requires a very special art
Then, when you think it’s finished,
And all the work is done
Just give it one more edit
And then enjoy the fun.
Written by John Posey
04/02/13
We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
No we may never have fought in a great war,
or saved a soul from the snapping jaws of death.
People wave to us, but few know who we are
and most on a good days run could care less.
Like the organ grinder's monkey from days of old,
we have been repeatedly trained to do a task.
We do a job few would even consider doing
and most would not even attempt to try.
A job burdened with ever growing responsibility
due to the minutia of a ever expanding bureaucracy.
A grossly undervalued, underappreciated profession
designated part-time by thoughtless administrations
that mouth how important we all are once a year
only to persecute us for every trifling thing later.
If you are lucky enough to survive a number of years
without resigning or becoming a sacrificial lamb
on the altar of a fearful self serving public face,
you will get a tiny pension for your devoted service.
We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
The tolerant souls that routinely put up with
a few rude demanding manipulative parents
and their insolent misbehaving little darlings
just to be able to serve the greater majority
of decent well meaning thoughtful parents
and the precious treasures of tomorrow
they have temporarily entrusted to us.
Like a hamster running on a little wheel,
we go around in circles every single day,
but unlike the hamster we must summon
every instinct and learned skill to insure
every turn we make is executed flawlessly.
We are kept aloft on our spinning wheel
by the deliberate hands of a caring heart
and the many small souls seated behind us
that come to trust us not to make a mistake.
We are the one person in their little lives
that are not allowed to ever let them down
for neither of us may be able to live with it.
We are their school bus drivers...