Best Vim Poems
Grace-full is the lily born of virtue’s milk
Inspiring me with petals pure in my hour of need -
Vow and vim of passion vivid and empowering as I
Imagine the strength of soulful surrender while three
Nails were driven into a suffering so great -- selflessly You
Gave Your mortal life so I may live despite thorns and thirst
Grateful is my blossom watered with Your blood and tears
Opened with a faith unfurled by Light I venerate
Devotions trumpet from a callous soul once solus - jubilant the
Lifeless root that stood futile in fertile remorse before I
Yielded my yoke to the hands of merciful Love; please Lord
Grant me the fortitude to face my sorrow - Your
Resurrection reminds me of the sacred sacrifice endured
Accepted with the courage I strive to possess -- though I
Cannot conceive.. I believe in the circle of contentment; the
Essence and embrace of God’s white whorl of salvation
Susan Ashley
June 1, 2021
~ N/A ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 16
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Tenth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Giving Godly Grace
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
A period of youthful vim ferments
as coruscating golden flecks in eyes
that mesmerise and tantalise, give rise
to secrets in my breast to stir, foment.
The xanthous tresses that cascade torment.
My eager and impressionable sighs
that echo every pirouette and pliés,
a fleeting intercession of lament.
A maverick when it comes to amour
and quintessentially a rakish cad.
Unrequited love longstanding rancour,
but finally become your paramour.
An enigmatic smile ever so sad;
your broken heart I gladly give succour.
The Setting Sun
As sun sinks low at eventide
I sit and gaze across the lea
at open spaces far and wide
and hear soft voices calling me.
There’s something ‘bout this time of day
when curve of earth the sunlight bends,
and one by one the stars display;
a soothing peace and calm descends.
As silence falls upon the land
my tranquil thoughts will turn within
and ponder all the schemes I planned
when I was young and full of vim.
The silent voices in my mind
remind me of the long lost dreams
that yesterday I hoped to find
but somehow lost in life’s extremes.
The fading light from setting sun
and growing shadows that it cast
reminds me that these thoughts rerun
are but a figment from my past.
I now look back and think upon
the dreams to which I ne’er replied
and ponder where life might have gone
as sun sinks low at eventide.
April 23, 2021
Oh, make my Christmas bright with gaiety,
with scents of cookies baking and the tree,
a fir bejeweled and lovely in its trim
of silver tinsel sparkling from each limb.
Oh, make the Yuletide shine with harmony.
Yes, make it ring with laughter and with glee
as crowded round the organ, family
sing “Jingle Bells” and “Deck the Halls” with vim!
Oh, make my Christmas bright.
And make it ever gleam that I might see
those glistening faces smiling back at me
around the fireplace as day grows dim
and all recall the miracle of Him
we’re reverencing. How fond my memory!
Oh, make my Christmas bright.
For Nathan a's Christmas Joy Poem (new or old)Poetry contest
I attend to my garden each day-
though a tedious task, it is true.
With the seeds of ambition, I pray
it will flourish for me and for you.
Do you know how it prospers my dears?
With the sunshine of radiant love,
and the moisture of falling wet tears,
intermittently splashed from above.
And by nurturing it with the swell
of bright hope for each new shining day;
the faith fetched from my deepest dark well,
it will grow in a glorious way.
Then, by weeding it daily, it should
give new seedlings room needed to grow.
Quick removing unwanted dead wood-
left uncluttered its beauty will show
As my blooms open wide in the sun,
all their colors will blend bright and dim.
I’ll caress them so gently, each one,
and breathe deeply its fragrance, with vim.
Through the Summer, my garden will spread
filling spaces so barren before,
and not fearing the Winter ahead
it will flourish and thrive even more.
Now, I know with the coming of Fall-
my old garden will soon fade away.
But, through Winter's sleep, wait for the call-
to awake on a reborn Spring day.
October 6, 2014
~1st Place~
Contest: Garden Inspirations
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
Judged: 04/20/2022
~5th Place~
Premiere Contest: Any Poem You Are Proud Of
Sponsor: Mystic Rose
Judged: 05/20/2017
~1st Place~
Contest: Screwed VII
Sponsor: Rob Carmack
Judged: 12/03/2015
This is the tale of a soul reaching out to others,
but receiving a cold shoulder wherever she goes.
Words and phrases
are misconstrued,
meanings attached
which cloud the issues
which she wishes
to address.
A passel
of jaded poets condescending;
who sear and cauterise
synapses
of intellect, and
in the
bud,
it’s
vim.
I
don’t
give
a
rat’s tail anymore.
Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2019
REPOSTED 11 July 2021 with white space added between the lines.
POET'S NOTE: The expression with reference to a rat that I use in my shaped poem, could perhaps be related to a phrase ‘don't give a dead rat’ from Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1884).
‘The Mouse’s Tale’ (which was my inspiration for this concrete shape) is a shaped poem by Lewis Carroll which appears in his novel Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Though no formal title for the poem is given in the text, the chapter title refers to ‘A Long Tale’ and the Mouse introduces it by saying, ‘Mine is a long and sad tale!’ As well as the contribution of typography to illustrate the intended pun in this title, artists later made the intention clear as well.
A lover most capricious is the wind.
At times he goes to Meadow. He exhales. . .
Beneath his breath, her grasses’ blades are pinned
until he’s spent, and then, away he sails.
He’s been to visit Forest many nights.
He gyrates through each tree, whose every limb
responds by rustling leaves, and this excites
him even more. He moans and gusts with vim!
But lust is inundating when Queen Sea
meets Wind. She surges when he starts to wail.
Her body rolls and rises. . . . Ecstasy
the times he comes as Tempest or as Gale.
But I prefer the side of Wind that’s soft. . .
when he caresses me with gentle waft.
(116 words for the personification contest of Caren Krutsinger)
Before the lovely heat of an old stove,
a recluse sat; outside, a whining wind
had now begun to bluster as it wove
itself among the trees. Undisciplined,
it ripped remaining leaves from every limb
which trembled helplessly along its path.
It twisted through the woods with wicked vim,
upturned soft, quiet snowfall in its wrath,
unfurled snow’s swirling flecks upon a pond
of porcelain nearby a little shack
wherein one warmed himself as morning dawned.
As wind blew on, the grizzled lumberjack
sat whistling to its icy tone. . . . steadfast.
The madness of December cannot last.
Hollow odes lament where waves crash depthless
Oh! How ocean lacking light spills woe so!
Lackluster grays wail unkempt longingness
Lone stander bleeds the dreams of times ago
O'er the screaming wind, a seagull's bleak cries
weeps of cloudiness usurping the day
Heaven's warmth obscured, and now coldness vies,
overwhelming where vast emptiness slays
Left purposeless, wavering dark takes hold
looping tight a lynch-like corrosive noose
Otiose life sucks vim where sharks enfold,
wrecked in sunless abyss of night let loose
But Sol, unconquerable, beams once more
and the lighthouse sings, full of birds from shore!
(6/10/18)
A Grisly Tapeworm
In Anger and in Hatred, a Tapeworm I see
Unless internally hosted, its Life will not be.
From egg it starts Life, ‘fore an adult worm
Fed on Host’s blood, it gains a portly form.
While finer or fatter, greedy Worm gnaws,
The wretched Host, pale and thin he grows.
Then the anaemic Host, too ill to live a day
Falls in the dark pit, where there’s no ray!
*
The same story is true of a Man with Hate
Hate soon embraced, is an iniquitous mate.
So, I avidly learned , my temper to narrow
Perspective being that it eats man’s marrow.
To nurture it in Heart, Hate will grow so big
And wiggle one’s Dignity; like a tail of a pig!
For, Anger grows so fat that Man is in sorrow
By eating all his vim to leave a man hollow!
*
To internalise Hate is to eat a sharp blade
That curves from inside while fast you fade.
It spins some mortal blow in its incisive poise
That fates and finishes by its hushed noise:
The structure curves in, trusses cut and gone
He falls on the floor with not a single bone!
*
Hearken ye therefore, Hate begets dearth
Piety Mad Haters who know no inner mirth!
For, to lavish in Love, denigrating foolish Hate
Bestows inner Peace or sense of pure sate.
Gimme not filthy wealth, gimme not lucre
I’m a happy man giving Love and Succour!!
JM
31st Oct’ 2013
She spoke to me
about the semantics of shame,
the seduction and flame,
the name of the pain,
lunatic loop of lost meaning,
complaining of symptoms remaining
robust and teething
weighing upon me
morning through evening
like a stoney smoke stifling,
misidentifying the madness
of this sadness as inherent illness
primordial and permanent,
the face of Her wisdom
a jewel of enlightenment,
a catharsis burning on the coals
of my ingrown crown,
Her voice vouches for my vim
as she says to me with a cerulean sympathy,
The Mind must make Itself
as a heart must learn to heat the soul,
emote to promote the promise of your pulse,
you are not a puzzle
you are a powerful purpose,
emotions are the lights of your eyes
the colors of your concepts,
the verve of your values,
find no shame from your sensitivity,
make love with your intensity...
J.A.B. 2023
A picture appeared on my phone today,
on the proverbial page I perused.
A view of an evil most vile,
villainy veiled behind verve and vim.
Sadists from Auschwitz,
smiling in a storm.
Shoulders shrugging,
to shield from the sky.
No hint of the horrors,
the Holocaust they heralded.
Not haunted like the humans they harrow,
but hyenas, howling, in high humor after the hunt.
Their consciences clear, their cruelty concealed,
their cheer chills me to the core.
They caused such wicked calvary,
a calamity that echoes into the current century.
Yet they dare to delight,
while they deal in death and dread.
Their depravity so deep that they grin,
as they decry virtue and destroy millions.
But what mortifies me more is,
how mundane their mien.
Will we fear the next fiends fittingly,
or in time... if their faces feel like friends'?
A- Appreciate the love between you
B- Believe in their inner beauty
C- Console them when needed
D- Delight in their presence!
E- Encourage their works and dreams
F- Faithful-not a sometimes friend
G- Give to them, more than you receive
H- Hug them with joy and gratefulness
I- Integrity with them in a must in all matters
J- Jump at every chance to celebrate their success
L- Love them not only as they are, but for the blessing, they are to you
M- Merriment must be shared, as often as you can,
N- Nirvvana~let the peace of Nirvana bless you
O- Optimism be your shared outlook
P- Play your hearts out!
R- Respect each other's point of view
S- Sunshine! Do be this to one another!
T- Treat each other’s hearts with kindness
U- Uplift them...when they are lonely or down
V- Vim, provide plenty to each of them
W- Well-being in you both is a must
X- Xenophile you must love all nationalities
Y- Yearn for each others happiness
Z- Zest, be the spirit residing in each of you
1/25/2024
A- Appreciate the love between you
B- Believe in their inner beauty
C- Console them when needed
D - Delight in their presence
E- Encourage their works and dreams
F- Faithful not a sometimes friend
G- Give to them, more than you receive
H- Honesty with them always
I- Integrity with them in a must in all matters
J- Jump at every chance to celebrate their success
L- Love them not only as they are, but the blessing they are to you
M- Merriment must be shared,
N- Nirvana~let the peace of Nirvana bless you
O- Optimism be your shared outlook
P- Play your hearts out
R- Respect each other's point of view
S- Sunshine! Do be this to one another
T- Treat each other very often
U- Uplift them...when they are down
V- Vim, provide plenty to them
W- Well-being in you both is a must
X- Xenophile- you must love all nationalities
Y- Yearn for each others happiness
Z- Zest, be the spirit between you
10/19/2020
Opus# 1
If I was part machine, a steampunk woman, or a steampunk dog, or a steampunk cat,
I would choose to have a machine heart, so I could be less soft.
So my feelings would not get hurt so easily, so I could
Stop crying inside when people get mean and mad,
Or a tsunami kills a bunch of innocents.
I would also choose machine eyes – big round soft brown ones,
Because of the floaties I have in my older green and hazel eyes.
Floaties could not get into steampunk eyes, right?
I would choose bendable, new steampunk machine knees.
They would jump and summersault and do cartwheels and
Other stuff I can no longer do after tearing my ACL and
Meniscus which never got fixed, because it happened
At work and Workman’s Comp told me at my age,
Surgery would not be smart.
They would call me Steampunk Annie, and I would
Run up and down alleys, saving people from the robbers,
And the drug pushers, and I would kick the drug pushers
In their petootsies and make them cry
Because they would not have steampunk eyes
Or anything. I would rock the Steampunk
World with sass and vim, and be
The super hero I know I can be!