Best Volunteered Poems
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Leaning against the ropes, eyes swollen half closed
Its been a long fight....
Blood dripping from a dislocated jaw
Body beaten and bruised; taking a few more blows
Crowd screaming; colourful figures; cloudy sight?!
Knocked down a few times but, not counted out yet
Not yet; still standing to catch a second wind.... ~
My foe is fierce and relentless, the best in the world
This worlds, undisputed heavyweight champ
At least over most of Humanity; never lost a fight to the faithless!?
Been the prince of his ring for thousands of years....
Almost had them carry me out; flat upon my back, in the early rounds
Until the undefeated “One,” showed up and volunteered to become
“My Corner ^Man.” ~
Been doing somewhat fair since yet, still, a tad bit fuzzy in my head....
Absorbing blows amid a fight like this but, I Am, still standing
And I get my punches in also; sometimes, I even win a round or two?!
My corner Man said; “The Real Champ.” ~
"Just wait for the right time, he'll open up, and when he does
Then, put him on his back; hit him with a left and a quick right
Another left another right and then, use your cut....
....I promise you, I shall gladly count him out, for you ~
Just hang on, we've got him, right, where, we want him!?"
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....“The Title ^Fight”....
In honor of our new baby blooms, you are cordially invited to our annual tea. This year we are serving a plethora of herbals, for your sipping pleasure: Peppermint pep, Chamomile comfort, Rose repose, are among them.
This year we are serving the local honey with lavender and lemon (optional); it will relax you to promote your
tea-time bliss.
We also have a poet for your entertainment, as one of the Poppies has penned, quite a bit of wit!
Cinnamon and ginger have graciously volunteered; to regale you with some spicy stories.
The Vanilla beans have baked some wondrous sugar cookies;
they’ll surely delight your palate.
We’ll be decorating with morning glory vines and aromatic, tea roses; It’s only appropriate.
Come one, come all and gather with us; for some flowery delights, herbal and tasty cups of tea.
RSVP to Snapdragons by March 1st.
I am a white, middle class, American male; raised in a white, middle class American home. I would not say that my upbringing included a lot of diversity.
I remember talking to my brother, Jimmy, just before he told my father he was gay. Jimmy told me about the inner struggle he wrestled with in first admitting to himself that he was homosexual. He said he thought it was wrong; it was sinful and something he must avoid being. Once he realized that being homosexual was not a fault but an innate sexual preference, he decided that he would not live a life of lies. He, therefore, decided to tell his family about his sexual inclination. It took a lot of courage to tell my ex-marine father.
Afi is a beautiful, strong, black African woman; raised in a black, African home. Afi will admit that she is not overly charitable and not likely to do volunteer work. When she first came to the U.S., however, she was appalled with how our society treated its AIDS victims. In Africa, Afi would tell us, AIDS patients were embraced and cared for, not shunned and outcaste like here in the U.S.
Jimmy was not a promiscuous man. He only knew a few sexual partners in his too short life. Jimmy was a very intelligent and artistically gifted man. He was doing post–doctorate research in Iraklion, Greece when he first started showing symptoms of having AIDS.
When Afi volunteered to be an AIDS Buddy she made it clear that she did not want to be paired with someone who had full-blown AIDS. The organization was so hard pressed to find someone with a profile to match Jimmy’s intellect and interests that they begged Afi to just meet him, just once.
Afi says that within an hour she was no longer on a volunteer mission; she and Jimmy
would be friends regardless of a commitment to the Buddy system. Jimmy and Afi
remained best of friends for the two remaining years we were blessed with his presence.
It has been 15 years since Jimmy passed away. I am still a white, middle class, American male; from a white, middle class American family – only now, we have a beautiful, strong, black, African sister in our family.
It was during WWII
Japan ruled
Koreans obeyed
Japan ordered
All Koreans
Walk up to Shinto Temple
And bow down to the picture
Of their emperor
Are you kidding?
My father scoffed
My God is god of Jesus Christ
Him will I only serve
My father was taken to prison
My brother Hi-Seung volunteered
To join the military
To have his father released
He left home
As a vibrant 15 year old boy
He returned home
As an injured 18 year old man
He died a year later
Before he died
I looked forward
To every tomorrow
When he died
The light went out of my life
He was my best friend
My heart still yearns for him
More than sixty years later
I wish there is a place
Called heaven
So that I can hold his hand
Look up to him with smile
When I get there
Even though
It was so long ago
It still holds the place in my heart
The one I reserved for special moments
with him
The times before his health
got the best of our relationship
Back when my grandpa
was able to be my
grandpa
It was my first parade
and one of his last
The Halloween of
2006.
There was
tigers
and lions
and bear
oh my.
but there was also the usual
witches, and monsters
but most importantly
there was my grandpa.
He volunteered to help
with the small monsters
of classroom 301 that year
which would also be his last
so he was able to walk with his
even if he kept stopping
to pick up candy
along the way.
walking with him
along the crowded streets
past the sirens of the firetrucks
and over the steep hills
will forever beat any memory
of
trick or treating
passing out candy
or the endless Halloween parties
for that was just a moment to enjoy
now that his old age has hit him
hard
there's no more walking
no more dressing up for Halloween
just to see a smile on the face of
his grandchildren
his little monsters
That moment will forever hold my heart
ten years ago was
the last time
this witch
had her
nun
of a grandfather
walk beside her
I volunteered in a soup kitchen to help the needy;
the homeless and the lonely, the addicts and the seedy.
For me in the kitchen, it was a place to socialize,
while I was helping out with many others doing likewise.
Susie James who is a single girl had trouble finding work.
Susie volunteers her time so, she is not one who will shirk,
helping out and giving smiles when handing out the soup,
and so becoming well respected in amongst our group.
Alas Susie admitted, with some sorrow in her voice,
when it comes to men she is forever making a wrong choice.
Susie explained that men she’s drawn too always have to lie,
for they are either married or have partners that is why.
So when a young man unbeknown has entered to assist,
Susie’s eyes were roving and she just could not resist,
to call this handsome man across to us and he didn’t balk,
and I heard the conversation as the pair of them did talk.
The first thing Susie asked him; “Are you a married man?”
“Not in the eyes of man”, he said, when answering dead pan.
‘So this man’s not married’, Susie smiled. ‘That’s a start at least’.
“Do you work?” And he replied, “Oh yes, I am a priest”.
In a covered wagon he travelled west
For every ailment he had a cure
His miracle oil he claimed was the best
People he conned were the sick and the poor.
In remote towns he would set up his scam
Helped by two' friends' in the crowd for his trick
Who' volunteered' but were part of the sham
Arthur the cripple and poor sighted Mick.
But they were fed up of his trickery
And exposed him to the crowd in the town
The conman shouted" Mick what can you see"?
Mick said "nothing, I heard Arthur fall down"
Snake oilman was speechless and he went pale
The townsfolk seized him and threw him in jail.
Written on 30th December 2018
Gripped by transgressions in life of destitute
Withdrawn she lived in deviant troubled youth
Orphaned long ago by her own living parents
When in substance abuse she buried her soul
Distancing benevolence as church-bells tolled.
Abdicating love, she traded for buzz of lust
Forsaking trust to bolster deceptive purpose
Relinquishing sapience to forces of insanity
Finding her pleasures in discarded emotions
Someone volunteered on disgruntled streets
At midnight hour agog in tumultuous alleys.
Yet, her vacant heart was soon transformed
When jettisoned chorus found her repertoire,
As she spent nights singing hymns of joy
And read stories aloud in her mother’s voice
Cherishing how she swayed in her father’s arms
As the song of her own womb sung of a new life.
From place to place she went scouting spots
Where kind-hearted people lived downtown
And there she went when the church bells rang
As she said a prayer after a very long time
Asking for blessings as her newborn baby cried
On a stranger’s porch near a posh high-rise
Hiding long enough till someone took notice,
Swiftly thereafter from the town she vanished.
June 17, 2020
Placed 2nd: Thesaurus – Abandon or Abandoned Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Based on true stories in the United States
My life has been adventurous and very far from mundane,
Though at times I've held the short end of the stick, to my disdain.
If there was any dirty work or heavy lifting to be done,
Guess who had to do it? Yep - I was usually the one!
Even as a kid I usually received the short end of the stick.
Guess who in choosing sides was usually the last one to pick!
When teachers asked for raised hands for our knowledge to grill,
Guess who was never called upon to display his cognitive skill!
In the service I had more than my share of onerous KP.
Guess who scrubbed pots and pans? Yep - it was usually me!
I made myself scarce when bodies for guard duty were needed;
Guess whose plea of inconvenience with the Sarge went unheeded!
I never volunteered for anything in the service - that was taboo,
But Sarge always said, "I want you and you and guess who!"
At times when drilling, the Sarge I didn't always endear.
Guess who he chewed on to get in step, gnawing on my ear!
I'm a little wiser as I near the end of life's treacherous trail.
Some still try to hand me short shrift but more often than not they fail!
When I was much younger, such things I really did deplore,
But now I've mellowed somewhat and it doesn't bother me anymore!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I believe
Because I don’t know
I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west
I know spring follows summer
Summer follows autumn
Then winter
But do I know God exists?
No, I don’t
That's why I believe
Why do you believe?
Because it gives me hope
It gives me strength
To march on with my life
My mother believed
She lost first three babies
Even before they could walk and talk
During WWII
She lost her son when he was 15
He volunteered to join Japanese army
To save his father from prison
After the war he came home injured
And died a year later
After liberation from Japan
His oldest son was labelled a communist
In the democratic south
Police harrased her
Day and night
'Where is your son hiding?'
'I don't know, Sir'
Was her only reply
During the Korean War
She saw her husband walking away
Between two soldiers
Never to return
All through her married years
She was harassed by Japanese police
Harassed by North Korean soldiers
Harassed by South Korean police
But she marched on
With her head straight
Her heart in compassion
She prayed without ceasing
Asking God for strength
To march on with her travails
She lived to ninety two long years
And left this world
With smile on her face
It’s another sordid workplace affair
Organized by the dashing and flamboyant Pierre
There should be a warning to beware
Bad week to start any diet – o what despair
Millions of calories everywhere
On one side a mountain of chocolate éclair
On the other a huge tray of Camembert
It was hard enough to squeeze my derriere
Half-way out of this big cozy armchair
Till I managed to park myself elsewhere
Next to the cheese tray I do declare
There’s more than enough to share
I volunteered to sample so let them stare
Trying to look casually debonair
As my butt widens with each bite I’m aware
No one ever said life is fair
AP: 1st place 2025, 2nd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on November 19, 2018 for contest WRITE A POEM ABOUT CHEESE sponsored by BARRY STEBBINGS - RANKED 8TH
I’m in a psychology class and as part of it we filled out several, detailed, personality evaluations. They said these were helpful in forming a psychological profile of the freshmen classes each year and of particular interest were these COVID years.
The professor said she’d be available, before finals, to review them with us if we were interested - and I volunteered. So in our review we’re going over my results and she says: “Your trauma history could produce this constellation of wit, wiriness and attachment-anxiety.”
I flinch, irritably, thinking, my “trauma history?” What, “trauma history?” Wondering if - maybe the professor was looking at the wrong paper?
She read my reaction and the consternation on my face, started flipping through the papers, and said, “According to the history you submitted, your father was killed when you were seven and you were hospitalized for...”
“OMG” I thought, blanking out what she was saying, “How could I have forgotten THAT?” Even for a moment. Then I sag with this oppressive, blanket-like wave of guilt at having put the crash so far out of my mind.
“The dismissal of childhood trauma is quite normal,” she said, putting her hand on my arm, “You have to put trauma out of your everyday thoughts - to get on with your life.” She assured me. “It’s quite normal.”
How many blind sides do I have? I wondered
The Autumn sun shone with golden magic
The warmth of the embrace was seen from afar
As I stood along the fence in the valley below
Inside the house are tales akin to tragic
A son had volunteered, never returned from war
The brother, when burgled, lost a limb & elbow
The mother took a job in the town's law practice
Came home too tired, to enjoy bird or flower
Tend her husband, then disabled son in back bungalow
This is the story of every house, of Al & Beatrice
Clark & Diane, Everett & Flo, by year, month, hour!
The house glowing under God's sun, hides tales of woe
Once a soldier young and strong,
Fought away from home so very long,
Proud to be a volunteer,
Leaving all who he held dear.
Risking life and facing death,
Each could be his last breath,
Did his duty across the sea,
For his country, for you and for me.
Now this soldier has grown old,
No longer so strong or so bold,
His days are numbered and are few,
He knows now what he must do,
He is still fighting like years ago,
Again he has volunteered to go,
But not to some distant foreign fight,
But to Heaven’s bright loving light.
I know I have been on repeat for 15 years
I lost all my originality when I was sick and stolen from
My guess is it poured out along with my soul and fears
chasing after my sanity as it flowed away in tears
Its hard to come up with inspiration when your on pause
trying to justify the actions of those who love you
or at the very least come up with a justified cause
one they could of chases based on misinterpreting something they saw you say
or do
But best laid plans and lost causes your once dream life was taken from you
with nothing but a barely believable story that I can only take accountability
for not being strong enough to stay in the right when they made moves to take
my light and say it wasn't true
confused in the dark is not a reasonable place to figure out culpability.
The only thing I have left in me because I shed my soul daily I dont save up
because I cant promise all good every day so let it go good or bad send it
home
and start fresh the next day but I can't shed the memory of the darkness and
the way out it stays in me like a circuit loop in a conduit.
So I can travel in the darkness to shed light on those who stay there and
hope they find hope to search for light because follow me or you when its
their fight is not the best way.
all this said and I am still not right I no I may be meant for darkness to help
others overcome.
if thats true what all the pain to keep me here
so much inner strength it takes to just find a smile and a way to help others.
heal
when all I could been is gone why is that the deal
unloved and alone for 15 years fighting a war that free others.
but dooms me to something that I cannot hate or regret only dred
Hope that i did bot deserve it that I volunteered otherwise I may die in
clovers
But surely it is hell that waits for me.
I feel so unheard I pour out words that are not great
but they would carry meaning spoken to anyone strong and meek
from ear to ear of peasants and kings
and these words will carry a truth for all who truth seek