Best Weepers Poems
Imagine all the people
who trade in human life,
imagine all the reasons
given to this particular vice.
I visualize the rivers
that run with coagulated blood,
I visualize the tyrant
that stir the waters good!
Imagine all the evil
where nightmares are conceived,
imagine all the weepers
locked in harmony.
I visualize a great peace
when man is down and out,
I visualize a yearning
to stir up warring lout!
Imagine all the carrion
fleeing this earthly scroll,
imagine all the zombies
them humans without soul.
I visualize the populous
with only one track mind,
I visualize the despotic master
not too far behind!
Imagine all the wrongdoers
that wait for the morrow,
imagine all the innocent
with aggravated sorrow.
I visualize his disciples
locked in earthly battle,
I visualize all intellect
smitten with ancient prattle!
Imagine all the dreamers
that dream in psycho colours,
imagine all the dead ones
John Lennon and others.
I visualize the sky
that reflect the sombre waters,
I visualize the time
they’ll be no virgin daughters!
Imagine all the children
born with colour blindness,
imagine all the peace
driven by human kindness.
I visualize a new order
maybe for the best?
I visualize the establishment
being put to the test!
Imagine all the people
with lives of eternal bliss,
imagine all the barriers
created when living with this.
I visualize heaven here
in this heathen place,
I visualize the angel
in pure virgin white lace!
Imagine all the new born
scanner pattern at birth,
imagine all of today’s crime
eliminated through death.
I visualize a dossier
of PLC news speak,
I visualize authoritarianism
of every aspect!
Imagine all the cloning
created for human part,
imagine all the respect
donated to this particular art.
I visualize the unscrupulous
desperate for existence,
I visualize the farm of haste
the plough of insistence!
Imagine, Mother Shipton
prophecies all came true,
imagine only one statement fails
the end of the world.
I visualize even then
common sense will prevail.
I visualize only Jesus Christ
will forecast the ultimate end!
© Harry J Horsman 1993
Categories:
weepers, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
My verse has been chosen as Poem of the Month at Sherborne Abbey!
The curious offerings of sacristans
Are given in obscure humility
The symbol of the cupping of the hands
Enshrines the essence of this mystery
The dawn unlocked; the turning of a key
The mystic world behind the little door
The mourning weepers, watching, silently
The quiet foot upon uneven floor
The layered shadowed centuries; the pass
Of long dead worshippers before the throne
Slow shifts of coloured pools of stains of glass
Soft drift of latticed light on pillar stone
The empty candle, thirsting for new oil
Unscrewed and filled, screwed up again and lit
The hidden corners, carved by masons’ toil
In which a wary flickered flame may flit
The covering, uncovering; each fold
Of linen and of altar cloth an art
Within the starch of white, on marble cold
The space to hold His living, beating heart
Here, understated wafers wait in line
For blessing, as an unblessed congregation
Here silver, water, light, and red wine shine
Anticipating sacred consecration
Here eye, and hand, and mind, seek symmetry
In objects placed, in psychic ebbs and flows
Seek that perfection only God can see
In right angle and scented mystic rose
When all are done and gone, her hands will shake
The fragments of His flesh on holy ground
Shed drops upon the earth its thirst to slake
Pour water through the light without a sound
When all are gone, all blessed with wine and bread
There, in the East, where better men have trod
She kneels and presses to the step her head
And, lost in awe, she speaks these words to God
I am that ancient soul you always knew
A part of you, from when time first began
The I am that I am, the that in you
That serves thee, as I will, while still I can
I come to you as Christian, Muslim, Jew
Agnostic, Gnostic, Druid, Angel, Man
The cupping of my hands I give to you
The curious offering of a sacristan
© Gail Foster 2016
Categories:
weepers, blessing, god, mystery, psychological,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
WRAPPING IT IN PURPLE
-For Prince
Black onyx handsome,
Small is beautiful,
Soft campy creature,
Definite in feature,
All chiseled, boned,
Talents honed,
And used for a king's ransom.
A royal purple mist,
Rained down on fans.
A thousand in the cast,
(He's never going to last).
Sing, Hip hop, do yer dance,
It's really yer last chance;
And maybe you'll be missed.
Let's do! Let's go crazy!
Count sheep, fall asleep,
Red flag, Swag dance, Sweet feet!
Tap it, Rap it, on a side street.
Keepers, weepers, of the dark,
One chance to make yer mark.
Sigh or sing, no time to be lazy!
Speed of light, day or night,
You know time can't be defined.
Check it off, count loves,
Hope you hear the cry of doves.
Yer wanting all yer extra time,
Kiss it in yer billboard climb;
A nanosecond dove in flight.
Burning up your axe,
Ending up an icon,
Pay your ticket, seeum,
In Hollywood's museum.
Paisley is the handle,
Stiff, dripping like a candle,
Just a manikin in wax.
No birthday's, no gray, or wrinkle.
In purple paper, wrap a lost chord!
You float above a cherry moon,
Wing it, sing it, it's your last tune.
Spirit vaporized, name that's canonized,
And all your data to be analyzed.
Precious purple, a periwinkle sprinkle.
Always cry for love, never cry for pain;
Elevé, do rise, caught up, surprised!
Don't stare sleeping there,
Death upon the stair.
No liquor, no last flicker,
No barcode, no heart quicker,
An April snow has left you sleeping in the rain.
By Edlynn Nau
© April 23, 2016
Categories:
weepers, loss, purple, rap, star,
Form:
Elegy
Unquotable quotes – VI
(Note : A good many of the « epigrams » in this sequence of quotes are a take off on other well-known short poems, proverbs, sayings or expressions faites, etc . The rest are my own epigrams.)
All the world’s a stooge.
Paint the town red with blood.
Swing low, Sweet chariot ! Coming to carry me on throne !
Turn the other back for a slap on the back.
Can you turn your nose up while sitting on your high horse ?
Finders keepers, Minders weepers !
Black holes also suck white souls.
A bun in the womb is worth ten in the oven.
Cleanliness is next to Godzillaness.
Garbage cans are not rubbish bins.
What goes up must bring Heaven down.
We are all stinkers under the arms.
We are all sewers under bums.
We are all lovers under mums.
We are all beggars under alms.
We are all killers under arms.
We are all believers under psalms.
We are all thinkers under norms.
We are all schemers under qualms.
We are all bribers under palms.
We are all runners under bombs.
We are all rotters under worms.
We are all liars under gums.
We are all swimmers under foams.
We are soldiers under uniforms.
We are all writers under thumbs.
One need hardly fear the extinction of Life on earth through environmental or climatic catastrophe : inter-religious contention will get the job done well before-hand.
Cricketing jargon
« Style mahu kala tida-apa ! » (Doesn’t matter if you’re given out so long as you managed to play the right stroke !)
This « tongue-in-cheek remark » in Malay pidgin is often used in Malaysia-Singapore to describe those batsmen who surrender their wickets in style, i.e., batsmen who are sticklers to the art of playing textbook strokes irrespective of whether the ball is engaged by the bat or not.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Categories:
weepers, environment, fun, humor, humorous,
Form:
Epigram
The bleeding of my eyes cannot
be over emphasis as the a weakness of my heart.
i have been brave thousand times to stop the
black sky from darken my heart, yet my
braveness was sold in penny days ago in public.
Your father has sold his soul to the bar
where his father refused to accept defeat thousand times.
My son, mother is weeping as my pen is bleeding.
the Debts has accumulated in a very high rate
And your sisters have returned from school with their back
on the back of the house weeping like weepers
Yet, all the burdens and the cross of this home
are rested upon my shoulder to bear in pains.
Things has fallen apart and mother aren't happy.
the tuberculosis has began his romance on your father
After the last taste of palm wine he had last time
And i don't relish the prospect of getting him treated
All the time he would go back again with drinking.
I am not writing to ask you of money as you may think
But for you to come home to murder the madness
Created by his mad attitude in the midst of madness of the day.
Son, remembering where we started before the dark cloud
Where mankind eyes divided our dreams of perfections.
I saw the show and reflection of our difference in you
Knowing in your presence my hunger for love would
Be banished and my murdered tomorrow received love
in the eyes of those who laughed at me.
Mbajiakuwas here yesterday with a clapping lips.
Clocking the tress in the compound with his words
But i told him of your fathers madness and he hurt me .
Son, they made me a monster of loneliness
The day i and your father became strangers.
Your father is no longer receiving treatment because all
That i have saved is gone.
My life, a divided of two by two
without a resounding adjective to qualify the nouns.
Son, i am broken in pieces !
Mother is dying in silence as if she has no one
to console her in this dark side .
come home son before your sisters are sold to get
Your father treated as planned by your uncles.
I will be waiting under the tree where you grew up to welcome you.
YOur mother.
Categories:
weepers, abuse, anger, art,
Form:
ABC
Distort countenance portrait
inside the frame of my face
Looking at Mona Lisa smiling as
Leonardo da Vinci paints the
world in black and white,
and then he put it on a Axis to
revolve around the sun that
sleeps at night.
Blankets of clouds deeply stain
with grey dye.
Dry rain flaking off the edge of
the mourning sky.
If the Rainbow was really a
Bridge I would
Walk across and set the sun
because
After the blue-sun set the day
die.
Old red tears crystallize in all
the weepers eyes
Black feathers falling with
echoes of angel cry
The colours black and white got
soul that is why we all going to
live to die
Categories:
weepers, feelings, pain, racism,
Form:
Rhyme
ENOUGH!
Hark ye preachers of doom lovers of despair
Enough about the blue rose!
Enough I say enough!
Enough about that harbinger of heartburn
that flatulent burner of forehead and cheek
that lurker in tenebrous places – abandoned old houses
banks of the Styx
That lurker must die of morbid thirst!
I champion I give you the white white rose
that late light comer
brightener of every corner
that white hope when hope is nearly gone
Hear you serial moaners
weepers
groaners
Behold if you dare
(I think you secretly love your blue misery)
Behold the white white rose
Categories:
weepers, funnyblue, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Jeepers creepers can’t believe your peepers
Sweepers keepers jumping josey leapers.
Gleepers fleepers dallying with sneepers.
Reapers heapers willful wonder kneepers
Sleepers greepers foremost firstly weepers
Deepers sheepers giving golden fleepers
Cheepers zeepers living with grim reapers
Jeepers creepers can’t believe your peepers
Categories:
weepers, 1st grade, 2nd grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Educated fools make rules that tell you and I what we should or should not do
Rules needed to continue to burry you under the edification of demons
To resurrect menus of abuse from a time of misuse
Just like Stalin and his socialistic science
A super human I mean ape is behind this
The majority wants to blind us letting us use our own binders
Manufacturing an army of one kinders
They say we are weak so they play finders keepers
Leaving man kind to turn into sheepish weepers
Destined to be believers
Enlightenment is no longer enticing us
Instead we just role the dice and cuss
Cause we are man made erected in a cave
Just born yesterday
An ancestral clock ticking no body feels the licking they are getting from there master
No more disaster no more devastation the majority stands on the sidelines awaiting
Blackened lips shoot out spit and all ears perk up to hear
Clear illumination shown in high definition
Wasting a generation still not raping but taking yes taking the tasty suckle youth
Not asking to write this new dictionary of hope
Im not a dignitary but I hold up my post
Not to boast shout outs closed
Putting on my cloak of quotes for awhile
If we off then we off lets go off in style
Categories:
weepers, black african american, education,
Form:
Lyric
Hey! How come you're using my Banderella cook?
It's mine now. I found him in my wife Liza’s nook
Finders keepers,
Losers weepers.
Use tenterhooks and cook your fatty goose in gook.
Categories:
weepers, fun, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
Sometimes, what you find in a study can only be expressed in the way that you walk it out. Occasionally, one can attempt to explain in words what his recent studies have revealed.
Many things that we have already learned are no longer fresh, and yield much-to-be-desired for a fulfilling life.
I must say that when I chose Him to be the one in whom
I would chose to put my faith, I did not discover him through
study or research. Nor yet was it a religion that I submitted to, but rather a relationship to which I was drawn. It was face-value acceptance and His words that both arrested and captured me.
This then is my feeble attempt at communicating the present freshness that I am finding in Jesus Christ.
**************************************************
He's busy, but never harassed or hurried.
He is more gracious than I ever realized;
More forgiving than I ever understood;
More merciful than anyone can imagine.
He doesn’t mind washing the feet of his followers.
He delights in serving, not taking from, his disciples; He's so practical that he likes fixing their breakfast.
Sometimes, he answers before we even ask the question.
He's more patient with me than I am with myself. He
gives me more of everything when I have nothing left.
He weeps with the weepers and reveals himself to the seekers.
He gets amazed with our faith, and races to our rescue.
He marvels at our doubts, and loves us no less.
He sleeps in storms and awakes when we call him.
He loves to bring peace and security to me.
He commands everything to be still in me.
He offers love to me and takes away the fear.
He gives me calm and poise, wiping away every tear. He causes me to clearly see, and quiets the storms at sea.
He calls men and women to forsake all and follow him.
He demands first place in our hearts. Who does this!!!?
07102009; 080221PSCtest, Your Personal Favorite Poetry Contest. Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
Categories:
weepers, bible, christian, dedication, first
Form:
Prose Poetry
Here I was when you were born
With tears in her heart, she bore you.
And now you became the black sheep,
The rotten egg hard to crack.
You made pains in her heart
Accusation fingers dare point on her face
Blotch in her heart becomes visible in the dark night.
And her smile became disgusting
When it rains she found it hard to hide.
I was here when you smuggled into the house
Smelt the footsteps and the dark night howled
Next was crying of innocent blood
Sprawling on the bare floor, in the room beneath
And the money gone, gone with the wind.
I was here when the executors came
I saw when you smuggled out.
Their bright snow light couldn’t fetch you
Up you run, faster than the cheetah.
But you forgot that unknown eyes were on you.
Men trembled in fears at the sight of you.
Lord of the night, heartless, you are.
Rendering most people fatherless at the breath of anger
A lot you pushed into poverty smiling
Reaping where you didn’t sow
Remember the falconer cometh soon
And the universe has it judgment
Power lies not in the bullet jammed in the barrel of the gun you hold.
I remembered her advice to you
She warned you against crime
But the ears was too hard to heard
Because it taste to be perished.
Your maker seek your soul
But it was too far to heed
I, your creator cry loud sorrowfully
How be it that the falcon disobey the falconer.
Now is the time
The deed is done
You were caught by the law
And all the quarters you tormented by a sign of relief
Soon you would be among the weepers
Down there in the pit of hell, .
(JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT)
Categories:
weepers, addiction, universe,
Form:
ABC
I pluck hair out of my head,
have been for weeks.
Black hair
Real depletion. mind has been dead for days.
So I say, let the weepers cry another day.
Ill catch myself
the mind that falls.
Ill swing my arms before she breaks.
Oh I will,
I always do or will this be the last towel with **** smeared across it.
the last hair plucked the last tobacco chewed. the last screenplay to finish.
Ill catch him, I always do.
finish the damn deed, write and write and breathe.
Categories:
weepers, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Trust Again
Why doubt now, when in the past your trust has been your strength?
Why doubt now, when knowing love will prevail at length?
Why doubt now, new promises, new hopes will be in vain,
When doubting still you cannot see the love that's there so plain.
Face the future smiling... weepers never win,
Make up your mind to trust anew,
Forget about past sin.
Forget the hurt,
Forget the pain,
Remember love, and love again.
Categories:
weepers, lost lovelove, trust,
Form:
Rhyme
You'll never guess what I found at the dump.
I found and soon sold an antique gas pump.
It was made back in 1943.
A Man gave $100,000 to me.
I sure was lucky to meet that antique collector.
Having this much money is like drinking nectar.
Two days later, I met the man who threw the gas pump away.
He demanded that I give him $50,000 but I refused to pay.
He said he's in over his head in debt and he keeps getting in deeper.
He may need the money but I say finders keepers losers weepers.
(This is a fictional poem)
Categories:
weepers, funny, humor, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme