Best Upliftingwords Poems
My dear poet-
I am forever grateful to you
For allowing my body
To be your page
Letting your words
Ascend on my temple
And descend
On my feet
How long will I thank God
For giving me you
As our passionate and artistic sessions
Gracefully formed poetry in motion
Lord knows
My body yearned
And needed the eloquence
Your poetry provided
Our poetry combined
Gave birth to volcanic verses
And flood-like rushes
Of the most liberated conversation
My poet laureate
Thank you for allowing
Your art to transcend
Into poetic actions
Your ability to allow
Your love to flow
Like a pen on paper
Amazes me
When poets make love
Sacred books
Unlock their meanings
And the majestic powers of words
Fill the universe
With marvelous expressions
Our collaborated efforts
Awakened the most powerful of poets
Who long ago fell asleep
Happily summoned with the stars
To congratulate our poetic bliss
When we made love
Our poetry was forever
Imprinted in the hearts
of all poets
past, present, and yet to come
-Written and dedicated to a very dear poet (R.C.)
© Monique McDowell 2008 All rights Reserved
I serve the Lord
By the things I do
I am his servant
These words are true
My eyes have seen things
Only evil men know
My heart has lived places
Only evil men go
My mind has thought things
Only evil men think
My lips have tasted things
Only evil men drink
I have lived places
Only evil men live
I have gave orders
Only evil men give
I once traded my soul
To live in a flask
I lived in the shadows
Adorned with a mask
My truth is my honor
My words are my plight
I serve the Lord
By the words that I write
I no longer grow old
By the light of the moon
No longer is my soul
Swimming in a spoon
I serve the Lord
By the things that I do
Have no doubt in your heart
These words are true
Once in a miracle
Through the words of a rhyme
A sinner found Christ
And stopped doing time
Set free on a mission
To enlighten your soul
I follow the Lord
In search of my goal
The man that I was
No longer exist
He died the first time
My wife and I kissed
Inside of a box
I decided to pray
Stepping out of the darkness
Embracing the day
I serve the Lord
Through the words I write
Your soul is my mission
Serving God is my plight
I don’t criticize or judge
That’s just not my way
I simply bow my head
And for everyone I pray
The prayer is quite simple
It’s a spiritual bath
I just ask the Lord
To enlighten your path
The brighter the light
The lighter the Son
When this life is over
This job will be done
I follow the Lord
He guides my path
It’s all very simple
No complicated math
I serve the Lord
In all that I do
If you wish to know why
It’s because I love you
Now when King Josiah came to the throne
he was no more than eight years old.
But little Josiah had much to do
as hearts in his kingdom waxed cold.
For the peoples' hearts had turned from God
with idols in the land you see.
Yet Josiah knew this was not right
but clearly wrong as wrong could be.
So as he came to his sixteenth year,
Josiah did that which was right.
He tore down the idols throughout the land
and found favor within God's sight.
Now God's great house had become run down
but Josiah had it in mind to restore,
to turn the people's hearts back to God
and worship Him as did their fathers before.
Hidden within the temple was God's word,
for so long had it's knowledge been thought lost.
As Josiah heard the words which were read,
he realized what God's people had lost.
So Josiah read the words of the Law
to people gathered from across the land.
They set their hearts to do that which was right
and be humbled under Gods' mighty hand.
Now, there was nowhere a king like Josiah
nor has there ever been to this day.
Let your heart be toward God like Josiahs'
and He will keep you in all your ways.
Reference:
2 Kings 23:25
And like unto him was there no king before him,
that turned to the Lord with all his heart and
with all his soul, and with all his might,
according to all the Law of Moses;
neither after him arose there any like him.
Everything is not what it seems.
Am I awake or is this a dream.
As I replay these thoughts in my mind,
I’m picking up the pieces traveling back in time.
The sunset on which I’m gazed.
What people do and say I’m never amazed.
The words that aren't heard,
Are the words most feared.
Things are not always as they appear to be.
No matter what you think you might see.
Our eyes alone will tell the truth,
But our actions and repeated history now that is our proof.
You ask what is deception?
To me it is our self-examination.
In my conscious I’m feeling guilty I got to know what I did.
After finding the substance to truth, it grounded me like a kid.
I got to save what’s left of my soul,
I cannot let this deceit win control.
The illusion that my insides see,
My faith allows me to be free.
I sought my destiny beyond my mind,
And without fate had hoped to find.
As I look in the mirror at my reflection,
I’m changing me completely without hesitation.
We live in a world they claim that its secure;
But this illness of deception has no cure.
Proverbs 6:16-19 No one who practices deceit shall dwell in my house; no one who
utters lies shall continue before my eyes.
I’m tired of self inflicted misery,
That would be the real travesty
In my life I made so many mistakes
Only God can judge me and know my fate
Only pain, loneliness, and sorrow make a home here,
But I do have a heart that cares
And it is constantly warring and tearing me apart.
Do you feel like everything bad in your life is your fault
I’m unable to complete an apologetic sentence
But it is all in the name of repentance
All these words don’t take away the pain
It feels like a down pour of cold rain
I never point the finger because I’m the one to blame
But I have learned to never live with shame
Even if it is four letter words
It stings inside so badly when they are heard
There is no place for them to go put stay and hide
They tend to crush the spirit agonize pride
To me words hurt more than a hit
The real truth is I do not want any part of it
It does not matter if it is in person or on the telephone
Stick and stones may break my bones
I know misery loves company
But words will forever hurt me
So many heroes, I have know
So many heroes’ names untold
The greatest still is kind
Loving and even smarter then he knows
He holds the love of so many
But no one loves him more then I
His oldest Daughter, Sarah Jho
So many lives have change for the words he wrote
Some find it hard to believe such beautiful words come from
A man who stutters so very bad
But make no mistake the most amazing poet of our day
Stutters as he tries to read the words he wrote
The greatest hero I have know has overcome so many pains
He battled drugs most of my life
Now years clean and he is back in my life
Hepatitis was the next test
But with no surprise as I knew he would
He won that test
But saddened still nerves
Would die and he can labor no more and he feels a useless foal
But my hero do not worry for what God has in store
For a poet’s hands are meant to write
Hold a pen, and dance on paper
To create a piece of art
God has chosen a new path for my hero’s life
THE PERFECT PRAYER
I was leading the service at church Sunday night.
We were deep in the throes of a spiritual fight.
The preacher was gone, emotions ran high.
My first thought was no, but I knew I must try.
When it came time to pray, I wasn’t prepared.
I was feeling the pressure as everyone stared.
In searching my mind for guiding direction,
my wondering eyes made an easy connection.
He was a principled man who never said much.
Most knew him for his compassionate touch.
Before I could weigh all the risks it involved,
I had asked him to pray, my problem was solved.
He reluctantly agreed with a nervous little smile,
then started in, “God…” and paused for a while.
He struggled intently for words to compose.
As each moment passed, the room-tension rose.
A silent prayer, not what I first had in mind,
but we all had one going for words he could find.
A long awkward silence; I had counted to ten,
when he finally yelled, "Help!" and a quiet, "Amen."
Laughter burst out over what had occurred.
He summed up our anguish with one masterful word.
This spirit-filled man, I had put on the spot,
had patiently waited for the answer he sought.
Our healing began from that heartfelt plead.
When we give it to God, He knows just what we need.
With hope now replacing any thoughts of despair,
I thanked him for praying the perfect prayer.
The Perfect Prayer was based on a true experience I had at a high-school
youth retreat. The scenario was slightly different, the impact was the
same. This piece, one of my favorites, has been published in several
publications. Sometime, I think, we make prayer too complicated.
Right when I thought I had figured things out,
FEAR sauntered in and introduced DOUBT.
The twins came over, DISMAY and DESPAIR.
Then APATHY appeared. Does anyone care?
DISGUST and DISDAIN knocked on my door.
DISILLUSIONMENT laughed at what was in store.
ENVY and PRIDE cried unanimous cheers.
DOOM and DESPERATION were invoking my fears.
DEFIANCE brought a sign reading, “Come watch him fall.”
A gruesome and grotesque masquerade ball.
A party complete full of Demons and Ghouls.
This chaotic nightmare was void of all rules.
I ventured outside away from the noise,
despondent by actions that EVIL employs.
I sat on the porch with my hands on my face.
The stench of DESTRUCTION dispensing DISGRACE.
I cried out, “Dear Lord, what more can I do?”
I jumped when a voice said, “It’s all up to you.”
I gathered my senses and offered a seat
to an elderly woman, who lived down the street.
“That’s quite a party you seem to be throwing.”
I nodded my head, “It just keeps on growing.”
She leaned in and whispered, “They run in packs,
carefully planning these full-scale attacks.”
I asked her the reason they all showed up here?
She said, “You empowered the illusion of FEAR.
Without you to help them, their power is weak.
They gather up strength from words that you speak.
What you don’t understand, regardless it’s true,
GOD gave authority over Demons to YOU.”
Something made sense in what she had said.
She changed the perceptions I had in my head.
So, I stormed in the house with COURAGE and PEACE,
screaming, “It’s over! This party must cease!”
CONVICTION paraded as FAITH filled my heart.
In the name of JESUS, I demanded they part!
Their revelry turned into howling and shrieks.
A bellowing ANGST echoed out from the peaks.
They whined and moaned but followed command.
HOPE cleansed the room and TRUTH took a stand.
My new found friend was no longer there.
I shouted out “Thank You!” into the night air.
Hearing my commotion, “For what?” asked my wife.
“Your church-lady friend may have just saved my life.”
“You mean GRACE?” she questioned, “Didn’t you know?”
“GRACE went to heaven almost two weeks ago.”
I took her hand and we knelt down to pray,
thanking GOD for the POWER in WORDS that we say.
Golden pieces of beauty jump from your pen and onto your notepad.
Some time modest are your words and sometimes scantily clad.
I love to jump head first into your art and have a little something
new sink down in my heart.
Your poems I read today (and as cliche as this may sound)
they took my breath away.
You breathe life into the art of the majestic word.
They reach the one who has read and the one who has heard.
May your words spread far and first near,
touching every heart and branding every ear.
May your work one day be displayed in extravagant frames
and be known as the man that we know now, the magician of words.
Last name Fraser. First name James.
Form:
Politically correct I’m not; if you seek precision you ought,
find the time, to define the rhyme of perfection
in words you’ve sought.
A simplicity of words I am; I do not write for status or glam,
I pen my mind, whether thoughts callous or kind,
truthfulness you’ll find.
Paper is more powerful for me, not keystrokes of a PC you see,
a pen in hand, is more commanding and grand,
when writing on demand.
Following the norm is *****; I allow the pen and paper to steer,
a symphony of life, thru every memory and strife,
of a mother, daughter and wife.
Technological progress I dread, only because the pen is now dead,
so take heed in my words, though seemingly absurd,
but a poetic pen should always be heard.
Form:
Write a poem with words from the heart
Jot down a sweet memory so you may never part
Remembering the days gone by
Sweet smiles and tears you've cried
Forever cemented to live on these pages
Sentances meant to defy the ages
Return to them when you need a smile to replace a frown
Or just to remember the path you've gone down
Echos of happiness, pleasure, pain and guilt
Words woven together just like a quilt
Feel the warmth as you wrap them around
Soft protection from the cold hard ground
Memories of moments you just cant forget
Keep writing your words and never quit!
Protected by your caressing arms,
"Move on, or let go."
These are the words I hear,
as they ever so softly slip off your sweet tongue.
These words are becoming,
the only ones i know.
A shiver runs down my spine,
as you speak these words so kind.
Advice with intellect,
no judgment here,
Not today.
You take my hand,
"We can run away," you say.
Away from ignorance,
away from pain.
"Take my hand, we can leave today. Just trust me, there will be much better days."
These are the precious words you say.
Form:
Suddely when it gets tough to breathe and so it seems
that no one hears your call,
"Whisper" and fate will lift you up from your downward fall.
Even though you don't know who I am,
there is a piece of solid ground where we both undoubtedly stand.
Then suddenly and fragile in a carefully constructed plan,
in a world where life evolves,
fate will often guide your hand.
Real or imaginary and the most important of all,
destiny has a chance to make the last call.
Truth tells us a story of a fragile life that fades away.
Maybe tomorrow or maybe even today.
But you will change the color of the big wide open sky,
and put all of your fears far, far behind.
Holding your head up high,
you take the ride of your life,
in a rough sea of waves.
You grip the very guiding words of the very truly wise.
There is suddenly a fragile moment in all the world of time,
where we all lose grip of a strong hold rope,
but fate will very well be there to often give us hope.
Every now and then, the solid ground we walk everyday,
becomes as fragile as the sand along the shoreway.
Fate will lead a path and light a spot for us to stand.
When your hands can no longer hold a pen,
to write what your heart speaks within,
shout forever unto the wind,
and your words will be carried miles and miles by your friends.
Then suddenly and fragile as dreams may be,
painting pictures in your mind,
there is forever fate that will grant your wish one last time.
You ever live a life full of mysteries and
Just wonder.....
Who are you destined to be and what kind
Of things you were destined to do....
Coming across with people who open the doors
To success... so every new accomplishment
I hold up a fist symbolizing my individuality as a human
Person but think about it harrd it really means
The success of a young blacc youth....
Who is Mel some may ask......I who you call the most efficient with words with
sympathy converting into harmony and as my words of metaphors enlightens
thoughts in ya heads....the progress to my Panamanian dream becomes reality.....
Ladies and gentlemen I present to you what is called
Reality in the making.
Walking in the light in which I can say if I aint getting noticed let myself be
Burring my past and creating a new beginning
Remember No sacrifice equals no victory
And as my epitome of taking my poetry
reflects a hidden talent within me I hold up my fist once
More and say I don't hold up not only for the skin color
Of for the broths and sistah that made history
I hold it up because of my individuality and
Stand as a successful brotha to become history in the making
And as I live under one nation and its under god
As the blood rushing my vein burst out the color red white and blue
I repeat myself again....I hold up my fist not because of my broths and sistah who
made history
I want to make history
And when making it to the top I look down on my haters as they struggle to make
their way to the top
Im over the edge so I say.......Who ARE YOU?
My iPod’s playing my favorite song.
I don’t remember all the words at the moment
But I recall how it goes.
“Look at the stars…”
I lie on the grassy hill
And carry on what it tells me to do.
It’s 1:30AM but they haven’t come back home.
Just the moon in still-life
As the painter looks on.
It looks so alone on a Wednesday night.
No one wants to be left alone.
I know I had to do something.
I wrap it in her favorite colors,
Blue and pink with a white bow on top.
I show up at the party wearing khaki pants and a wrinkled shirt.
The tie is the only thing in common that night.
I couldn’t leave without telling her “Merry Christmas!”
I feel out of place but a friend makes me want to stay.
She opens the box.
“Is it something shiny or goes around her neck?” Everyone reacts in awe.
I tell her “It’s nothing big but I…”
With eyes so vibrant, “I love it!” she says.
She hangs it in her bedroom wall and I now remember so clearly.
The words magically appear as I see her there,
“Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah, they were all yellow.”
Form: