Best Usefulness Poems
Azure-accentuated ambiance awaits aspiring artists
Baby’s birth brings blessings, blowing boredom-blues
Cool calmness charms circumspect chefs to create cuisine cravings
Daybreak dos and don’ts discipline drivers from direction-dazzles
Enlightenment-exercise empowers engineers in their endeavors...
Fiery fluorescent fearlessness fuels firefighters’ faith-fortitude’s fervor
Glowing grace of God gears guardians for guiding governance
Hope highlights health-helpers’ handlings midst heightened heaviness
Illumined instructors inspire with their influence-iridescence
Justice-jubilation juxtaposed with jurisprudence-judgment joins jury...
Kaleidoscopic kindness-keys keep kinship’s knot kindling
Light’s luster leads liberation-lovers to lift the lamenting and lowly
Morning’s majestic magnificence moves mothers with mercies'* might
Nourishing nurses’ nurture and nature negates night’s negligence
Overwhelming opportunities open officials for output-optimization...
Peace-packed period pulls prayer-partners into Providence presence
Quality quotes quiet the querulous' qualms and quixotics' questions
Redolent reflections refocus reviewers against regretful reveries
Spiritual songs by soprano soloists shut silence-stillness
Triumphant thanksgiving tops tight timetable of tenacious teachers...
Ultimate urgency upholds undaunted umpires unto usefulness
Verses vanquish vanities vying against vision of the victors
Watchfulness warmth wakes the weary to welcome words of wisdom
X rays of ‘xpertise ‘xamination x-out ‘xpectations for a Xanadu
Yes-yells yearn for youth yielded yeah-yowls from yesterdays’ yets
Zion's zephyr zooms the zealously zestful to zenith of prize-zillions!!!
*Lamentations 3:22-23 It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning:
great is thy faithfulness.
Abecedarian and alliteration forms
July 28, 2018
Edited on May 19, 2022
1st place, "ABCEDARIAN POEM" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger; judged on 6/4/2022.
Why drowning when there's
the ability to swim in me?
Why sleeping in the cold woods
with a match box in my Jacket
and an Axe below my head?
Why the self condemnation
when I'm a billion miles ahead of a billion?
What exactly do I see in my inner mirror?
Is Life embracing or pointing a finger at me?
I see a pretty one of huge significance
with effective duties like an Angel.
But also, I see the ugly one
dust to sand, stone to rock
that's just its living sequel.
I view a perspective
rough but sweet; challenging but interesting
which is exactly my gospel.
But then, I see them as temptations
and tests with no ability to repel.
I notice when walking through red coals
I never let my tears be my Life's panel
but the submission of my adaptation becomes so parallel.
I'm mind blowing and noticeable
like a newly-sewed apparel.
But day and night, I posses a tag with
just one label.
No matter the task to stay beautiful
nothing stops that quest to excel
but I see a limitation to
just a specific ordered function
like the ringing bell.
I'm staying elegant and attractive
making all long to be part of my counsel
but my usefulness, worth and confidence
no self awareness to propel.
Beginning as crude
coming out as a refined Jewel
but still, reality seems so cruel.
What exactly is my mirror saying?
Is my Life that of a Damsel or a Camel?
This, I just cannot tell!
Being a God-blessed Coffee tree
I have a privilege status in my country
Aside from being functionally free
I’m sought-out as Christmas fixture for December glee.
This year, I’m a decorated Christmas tree in an Orphanage-home
And I’ve witnessed the Lord’s love exercised inside compassion’s dome
Along kindness with packed gifts upon comfort’s foam
For youth who once in the streets did wantonly roam.
Delighted am I to behold blessings shared and given
Making abandoned kids receive provisions in their new-found haven
Merrily unwrapping presents tied with care, constantly proven
From donors contributing cheerfully, verily joy-driven.
In my commitment this holiday to signify the Saviour’s birth-celebration
I stand with the conviction to serve my purpose, full of jubilation
Praising God that in my beauteous fortification
Special children courageously smile midst their difficult situation.
“Oh, Christmas Tree…” I hear such song addressed to me with prayer-ray
An ode acknowledging my usefulness in blissful triumphant way
Not only as a Christmas celebration-display
But most of all, to honour God* in my tasks every day.
*Judges 9:9 But the olive tree said unto them, Should I leave my fatness, wherewith by me they honour God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees?
December 12, 2018
12th place, "Screwed XIX" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Rob Carmack; judged on 1/2/2019.
When the Lord gives His bountiful blessings, the least one can do is be grateful..
An afterlife in heavenly abode awarded
Based on Biblical born-again experience
Christian choruses in choral cadence
Days of delight by delving deep in doctrines
Enriching encounters that encourage me
Friends forever and familial functions
Godly guidance and grand gestures of grace
Helpful homely ambience that holds me up
Insightful intelligent interpretation of images
Joyfulness found with a Just Judge
Keen kinship with the King of Kings
Limitless love of the Lion and the Lamb
Matchless Master's mystical mercies on me
New life necessarily found on the narrow road
Oasis of overflowing opportunities
Pleasant promises on this pilgrimage path
Quiver of qualitative quiescence
Remembrance of Royal righteousness
Succour in the Saviour's sweet snuggles
Tireless teamwork and thankful testimonies
Unswerving unblemished utensil of usefulness
Victorious vessel of value and valour
Watchful warrior with the Word as a weapon
Xtremely xenial with xpectation of xquisiteness
Yearnings of yesterdays and Yuletides
Zealous zest to reach Zion's zenith.
07.15.2020
"The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow with it." - Proverbs 10:22
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ." - Ephesians 1:3
My heart is soft like fragile clay
To bend and move within Your hands
Emotions grow, then fade away
As life is changed by Your commands
For You alone, O Potter, can
Make usefulness from my weak clay
From dust and ashes You made man
You made me who I am today
And as You wisely fashion me
And I am changed by what You say
Unchanging truths You show to me
You leave impressions that will stay
And these impressions strengthen me
My clay is hardened–starts to stand
As You continue molding me
How glad am I within Your hand!
So blessed am I to be transformed
Into Your vessel, pure and clean
That all the wonders You preformed
Within me might be clearly seen
An Ode to Turkeys
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
I
There was a time, year one thousand A.D
U.S. turkeys faced a brand new plight.
Usefulness seen.
Native American's hunting delight.
The white meat of a turkey is quite lean.
So much healthier than man knew before,
Nothing one ever could say,
In any way,
Would make Americans free turkeys anymore.
II
Thanksgiving comes and goes.
Wild turkey gobbling slows.
Ben Franklin watched their plight.
Nominated, though laughter did flare.
Turkeys beneath the moonlight
Were beautiful out there.
Ben suggested, turks as the nation's bird.
But eagles know, it was not so.
And turks in history endured this nations birth.
III
Although wild turkeys can run fast and fly,
Toms might in spring be found.
Fluffing, dancing around.
Caruncle and waddle shiny, bright red
Courting the hens, showing off, prancing, not dead.
Although turkeys fly strong,
The hunters by day kept watch in the fields.
Until, Old Tom, no more sang passion's song
And hens under bushes sat on eggs long.
When chicks hatched out and played their mother shields.
But on Thanksgiving Day...
Run away!
Note: Carolyn, thanks for the video suggestion. It is very funny. I decided to post the link
here. The HISTORICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1213z9KHNs
(TIME HEALS ALL: We do LOVE you, MOTHER ENGLAND... from you we were BORN.)
The HYSTERICAL one is found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnLyqBtU_F8
ENJOY the FUN!
Today, upon the ground, I found a rusted nail.
Red and yellowed since its use,
It was caked and swollen; cracked lines top to bottom
With one turn in its body where last it was removed.
And the head was tilted slightly from a blow
Received when it was first employed and put to use.
I pondered of the purpose it had served
And the structure it had helped to hold and form.
I recognized its shape having spent many days
With hammer in my hand and blueprint in mind.
I have straightened many that were pulled and bent
And drove them to serve purpose.
Once this nail had value and function was providence.
Now, it fills a wrinkle of my palm
And leads me to wonder….
What will someday become of me?
Will a member of the generation born this day
Look upon me and speculate my past,
And weigh my usefulness against my keep?
Will I present as bent?
And, will the balding gray and shortened step
Persuade them I have passed my day of worth?
Or, will they look about their world
And see what I have made?
So much from just one rusted nail.
4th place in "Darn I Wish I Wrote This" on 6-26-12
The Galilean sun smiled down
upon the dusty little town
and lingered o'er one humble spot,
a peasant's home and modest shop.
Long shafts of light fell 'cross the door
to lay bright carpets on the floor
where children played in perfect peace
about the shop. Their joy increased
each time they caught a glimpse of Him,
the carpenter who worked within.
His face was gentle, eyes were kind;
and as He worked, He did not mind
their ceaseless chatter, endless play
nor did He find them in His way.
Their laughter rippled round the room;
they scattered sawdust with a broom.
the wood chips falling at His feet
became for them a fishing fleet
or beds and chairs for little dolls,
a manger or a cattle stall.
Surrounded by the commonplace;
and yet, uncommon was the grace
with which He faced each daily task
as if all Heaven lay in His grasp.
A carpenter He was by trade;
the wood responded, unafraid.
beneath His hands each piece was formed
into an object to perform
some deed of usefulness or skill,
the needs of men to fitly fill.
Precise He was in all His craft
from oxen yoke to shepherd's staff
to couches for a nobleman;
he was a careful artisan.
Each part was polished, sanded, ground;
no painful splinters could be found
to pierce the flesh of those who bought
the items fashioned in His ship.
There wood was sacrificed for man
beneath its own Creator's hands.
Does it seem strange that He would die,
suspended between earth and sky,
upon two rugged beams of wood,
this carpenter whose work was good?
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
All the eagles soar increasingly circular overhead my umbrella.
All the elephants thrash inconsolably tasting of trees umber.
All the earwigs buzz inexpressively surrounding oracles with uncertainty.
All the evil makes illness triumphant over the unclean.
All these expressions say ignore details obey the unusual.
Animals like everyone have inelegant needs overcome by uptrends
all may embrace but illusions may overturn their usefulness
and we extravagantly take impressionable judgments opting for unawareness.
He is my almighty, my always, my armor
He is my blessing, my breath, my boldness
He is my comfort, my carpenter, my compassion
He is my divinity, my devotion, my delight
He is my earth, my eternity, my enlightenment
He is my faith, my fulfillment, my future
He is my God, my gift, my grace
He is my hope, my heart, my heaven
He is my insight, my inspiration, my inner guide
He is my joy, my judgement, my Jesus
He is my king, my kindness, my keeper
He is my light, my love, my laughter
He is my maker, my music, my morning
He is my necessity, my nurturer, my night
He is my openness, my oil, my offering
He is my purity, my praise, my peace
He is my quest, my quiet, my quivering
He is my rock, my redeemer, my rest
He is my shepherd, my sight, my sensitivity
He is my truth, my treasure, my theology
He is my understanding, my unity, my usefulness
He is my value, my vastness, my virtue
He is my worth, my warmth, my wisdom
He is my xenia, my xenas, my xenodochy
He is my yearning, my yore, my yesterday
He is my zeal, my zenith, my zest
He is my Jesus, He is my God, He is my Holy Spirit
He is the One I love… He is my everything
Yesterday, tomorrow and today – always
He holds the key to death and the grave
As well as my eternity – Praise His holy name!
Matthew 16:13-19
King James Version
13 When Jesus came into the coasts of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?
14 And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elias; and others, Jeremias, or one of the prophets.
15 He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?
16 And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.
17 And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven.
18 And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
19 And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.
Tell Me, Who Do You Say That I Am Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
April 22, 2021
My laptop is a very pretty shade of purple,
I open her top gently and dust off her keys;
Calmly I press the start key and wait patiently,
And I wait patiently composed in myself and full of hope.
I am humming when at last I am connected,
The internet is before me and I am on my way;
And then it happens, "internet connection lost,"
Oh gosh and darn it I start the whole process once again.
And again and again I try but not quite so calmly,
Okay finally here we go I am on my way to creating;
On my way to poetry soup and to writing a poem,
And then it happens, "poetry soup is not responding."
I am ready to throw the computer out the window,
I scream at my laptop, "your usefulness is used up;"
Off I go to have a tea and to smooth my feathers,
Kitty has been watching me and decides to give it a whirl.
_______________________
March 22, 2015
Poetry/Light Poetry/Patience
Copyright Protected, ID 03-656-205-22
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance LaFrance
Written for the Standard contest, Computer Poem Contest
sponsor, Carol Eastman, Judged 2015
First Place
Featured poem week of 05/05/2019.
Peace
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.”
~ Attributed to Francis of Assisi
How many years
Of Sunday sermons taught me
How easily
I can get away with it all
How terribly unfortunate
Some Jew took the hit
How comfortable
My soul and how
Small
O God
Why not indulge me
Can’t I be so bloated
I’ll support the dropping of bombs
On third-world rejects
So I can afford to drive a vehicle
Big enough I can drag into it my
Weighty carcass
Can’t I be so busy so drunk so drugged
I’ll never have to know
About anything regrettable
Can’t I amass a fortune
Skim off a soup of hedge funds
Leave a world of debt
What money’s left in foreign accounts
Tax free
But hey there’s still sales tax
Isn’t there
Racial superiority
Can’t I speak in ebonics to prove
Ebony rules
Can’t I don white sheets to prove
White’s better
Can’t I evade the border patrol to prove
Medical help’s free
Who’ll they follow back
To Tijuana
To remorse
To the cross
To alt.sex.bondage
Not me
How many years
Of indifference taught me
The usefulness of
Looking aside
Giving up
Coolness
No worries
Peace
~Thanks Always Returns
My God, I thank Thee for protecting me, securing my salvation
Transforming me through Thy omnipotent conversion
Guarding my soul by Thy mighty protection…
…So I can dwell in heaven’s mansion.
My Lord, I praise Thee, satisfied with Thy grace
Fortifying me upon Thy Scriptures’ brace
Granting my heart great peace, devoid of any worry-trace…
…So I can make it in the spiritual race.
My Commander, I honour Thee along Thy assured victory
Strengthening me in Thy ministry
Arming my faith by Thy truth and Gospel story…
…So I can win as Thy soldier against unrighteous infantry.
My Saviour, I adore Thee for being my light
Guiding me from worldly blight
Meeting my needs, responding to my plight…
…So I can pray in sweet communion’s delight.
My Teacher, I learn from Thee as Thou chasten my idleness
Correcting me toward effective usefulness
Awakening my selfishness by Thy warning against slothfulness…
…So I can bear fruit in Thy bountifulness.
My Master, I esteem Thee while Thou uphold my commitment
Working in me toward profitable stewardship’s engagement
Rewarding my labour by Thy encouraging assessment…
…So I can serve well according to Thy commandment.
My Christ, I worship* Thee in my spirit’s glad revival
Ushering me to Thy altar of glorious fellowship-upheaval
Empowering my service by Thy compassion’s divine festival…
…So I can obey with love for Thee, waiting earnestly for Thy arrival.
*Psalm 29:2 Give unto the LORD the glory due unto his name; worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness.
September 11, 2019
1st place, "Write a Psalm" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina Riddle; judged on 9/26/2019.
Love is an infinite definition of how the mind, body, and soul work collectively for the greater good of the heart. Love is not an emotion; nor a feeling. It's justification that in this crazy world of ours life has a meaning. A reason to coexist in this universe. An answer for why we count the ways. Does she love me? or Does she love me not? Love is a compromise between what your eyes witness and what your thoughts perceive. You see; you can stare down beauty and at the same time think it will not fulfill your soul or grant you pleasure. Likewise, you may be disgusted by the sight of; but know it is the right kind. In the vagueness of its broad definition it is unpredictable. Yet it is the only power whom alone can cleanse the seven deadly venoms that sin our anatomy. Love is a decision. Shall I, wont I, may I, can't I. Its concept is understood, but in its usefulness is a paradigm you may never understand. Love is an action. You can say it but will you do it. The fire of turmoil; to fight for it will you go through it? Love is a continuous cycle of make ups and break ups. I love him, I hate her.
It's an infinite definition of how the mind, body and soul work for the greater good of the heart. Therefore, I feel sorry for the broken hearted because they're broken in their minds and shattered in their spirits. I feel joy for the kind hearted. Because, they have experienced what many have never
felt...A sure thing in an unsure universe, something true in a house of lies. And I admit, it's sad if they're the ones you know. Their happiness is murderous with your jealousy killing you slow...
This is my closing song,
My concluding dance,
Bidding my final farewell
You have given up on me,
No longer do I matter to you
And so- I give up on myself
The one promise I ever believed
Was made by you
The one promise that was most important
You broke
You swore you’d never leave
And always be there
But now you’ve left-
Never wanting to return
And you aren’t even saddened
It’s apparent you do not need me
I have filled my usefulness
And now on empty
I am left abandoned
On the long forgotten
Desert roadways
Left to decay in the boiling sun
I sing my last words
Dance my last step
Towards the edge of the cliff
The end of the knife
The barrel of a shotgun
And the open bottle of pills
Closing my grand performance
With one last whisper on my breath;
“I’m sorry, my love…”