Best Well Fed Poems
A field of wheat cloaked in dewy silence
the orchestra tunes up with avian arias
bullfrog basses and a choir of cawing crows,
xanthic sunflowers turning their heads to better see,
the daylight trajectory commencing with lazuline layering,
a breeze glissandoes on harps of oak leaves
tomorrow is now today,
and I am grateful.
An officer of the law taps on my door
my breath and heartbeat screech to a sudden stop
preparing for the next-of-kin speech, or
where-were-you-on-the-night-of-the-23rd interrogation,
instead she informs me my car is ten inches in the red
and with a smile suggests I move it before I get a citation
pulse resumes as oxygen reunites with lungs,
and I am grateful.
A mask sitting by the front door; my ticket to commerce
the media replaying riot scenes, lockdown measures,
sporting event cancellations, worship restrictions,
death tolls, closed restaurants, and drive-by graduations.
Yet I am virus-free, housed, gainfully employed,
surrounded by family and electronically socialized,
I have my necessities: I am well-fed, well-loved,
and I am grateful.
written 30 Aug 2020
Categories:
well fed, thanksgiving,
Form:
Free verse
I know that I’m not perfect, just go and ask me wife.
At times she’s kind of said - I’m the bane of her life,
but on her better days she wouldn’t trade me for a thing,
and sometimes she has even thanked me for the ring.
Sometimes I overlook a mite and pile clothes on the floor;
leave a beer can in the lounge room or forget to shut a draw.
The toilet seat might be left up; grease in the bathroom sink,
and of course I cop a barrage - “Don’t you ever bloody think!”
I put up a slight defence I s’pose to save me on the skids,
I reminded her I’m not as bad as either of our kids,
but remarks like that cause suffering; the vote goes three to one,
so I had to do some crawling for the damage that I done.
The crawling that I had to do is behind their Mother’s back,
but once again a big mistake saw her leading an attack.
In a request for gaining brownie points I should have chose a cat,
but the kids insist they wanted me - to buy them a pet rat.
We snuck this rat into the shed and they both named it Brad,
but our female ‘Sergeant Major’ went completely bloody mad.
She really stuck the boots in; especially into me …
making promise of a firing squad if neglect soon came to be.
But both the kids then promised to satisfy their Mother’s rage,
that Brad will be looked after; well fed in the cleanest cage.
They pampered Brad for two months - treated like a king,
then the novelty wore off - Mum was doing everything.
So at the dinner table Mum declared she’d had enough.
Maintaining to our children that it has got too tough.
He’s too much work for one and because that one is me,
he’s going to have to leave and the kids did half agree.
Then Mother added furthermore, “I’m sick of his daily mess,
and right now I note he’s eating, and drinking to excess.”
Me eldest boy then quietly spoke, by adding “Mum you’re right,
if he didn’t eat and drink so much, he could stay is that right?”
Mum responded firmly, “Correct, he could stay for evermore,
if he had used better manners and cleaned his mess off the floor,
now go to the shed and grab the cage, and in the car put Brad …”
“Brad!” Me youngest ‘fella’ bawled - “We thought you said Dad.”
Categories:
well fed, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Down where the lavender wisteria blooms.
For the first time this spring, and early in the morning
I heard the whip-poor-will sing its intriguing tune.
Later, when I looked out the kitchen window.
Birds of many species were swarming freshly filled birdfeeders.
House finches, red cardinals, and sparrows as well
Doves upon the ground nibbled and were well fed.
Birds' melodies mix with the sighing of the pines.
At the faint light of spring's dawn
How nature's symphony fills the morn's air
An awakening of all my senses,
Beauty exploding everywhere.
The Whip-poor-will's haunting call,
Echoes through the misty hollow
A song of deep mystery,
A melody touches my soul.
Wisteria petals dance with the gentle breeze,
Their fragrance intoxicating,
As the birds flit and flutter,
Feeding on the bounty
In this moment of quiet reverence,
I am reminded of the interconnectedness,
Of all living things in this world,
Bound by the threads of existence.
So I listen to the Whip-poor-will's song,
Though brief, letting it carry me away,
To a place of peace and harmony,
Where the wisteria blooms forevermore.
Categories:
well fed, spring,
Form:
Free verse
When Billy Bob Bunny turned one,
his mama said, “Listen up, son.
I’m sure you could get
away from a net,
but beware the guy bearing a gun!
If a gun-toting farmer you see,
you must hip hop away instantly.
If he has good aim,
you might end up lame
or worse yet, rabbit stew you will be.
So do please, Billy Bob, take good care
that you don’t end up being the hare
that loses his life
so Farmer Jack’s wife
has a soft rabbit stole she can wear!”
But it wasn’t Billy Bob’s habit
to listen to his Mama Rabbit.
Without using good sense,
he hopped over the fence,
saw a carrot and started to grab it.
Farmer Jack spied that rascal. Oh, my!
From a gun, bullets started to fly.
When a shot nicked his ear,
Billy fell down from fear.
Then he heard a small sound like a cry.
“Please don’t shoot at the bunny again,”
cried the farmer’s sweet daughter, and then
Billy could feel her
stroking his soft fur,
and at night he was placed in a pen.
Mama came to the pen and she said,
“You are trapped. I’m just glad you’re not dead.”
Though no freedom he had,
Billy Bob was not sad.
“I’m a loved pet,” he said, “and well fed!”
The moral of this story is: You can tolerate any condition as long as you are loved and well fed!
Categories:
well fed,
Form:
Limerick
In the breathing forest came memories of my youth,
Nothing more than happiness shadowed by the truth.
The rising sun pulchritudinous like the smile on her face,
Let me think of her once more of pure and simple grace.
In the center of the wood lived a solemn rose,
Surrounded by a cruel weed which prohibited it to grow.
The weed was not considerate only thinking of itself,
Hurt the little rose not caring of how it felt.
Now the rose has grown up and overtowers the weed,
Making it undernourished and causing it to bleed.
Through tolerance and patience the rose has been well fed,
And for the spiteful weed, he gained a brand new bed.
Glancing to the falling moon, I've realized what I've done,
I've killed my inner self by following the sun.
I only hope that things will change far before the end,
So that the enemy I have gained will turn to be my friend.
1989
Seventh Place
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 15 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Third Place
YOUR PERSONAL FAVORITE, NO. 2
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
Categories:
well fed, 5th grade, love,
Form:
Quatrain
Burnt Into Ash My Sad Soul Looks Far Back
In youth, my spirit was a climbing vine
dressed in green leaves upon white oak tree
Seeking light, I was walking a true line
in shade of path that was truly free
Storms weathered sheltering branches
bringing sun's hot beams upon my head
I sought more, took gravest of chances
of true love's blessing and being well fed
Once cast upon dirt and parched ground
my legs found needed strength to run
Racing winds sent that deceiving sound
soon, I forgot the heat of blazing sun
Burnt into ash my sad soul looks far back
Long ago, in tree's top, I was once on track
Robert J. Lindley, 7-14-1999
Categories:
well fed, age, change, destiny, history,
Form:
Sonnet
Walk With Me
I said, "Look at the mess I've made."
He said, "Take my hand and don't be afraid."
I said, "But I feel so ashamed."
He said, "I love you son and you're the reason I came."
I said, "What about those dark days ahead?"
He said, "My love will be nourishment and keep you well fed."
I said, "I'm not brave tell me what to do."
He said, "Believe in me and I'll carry you through."
I said, "Okay Father, teach me to be a man."
He said, "I love you my son now take my hand."
I said, "My soul is Yours for eternity."
He said, "I'm proud of you my son, now walk with me."
Categories:
well fed, faith, inspirationalson, me, love,
Form:
Free verse
I am a child
Like the one you tuck in bed
The one you kiss on the head
The one who gets loved instead
The one who is so well fed
I am a child
I am a child
Like the one who gives you joy
Your pretty girl and fine boy
The one who gets every toy
The one who none dares annoy
I am a child
I am a child
With no home to call my own
The cold reaching to my bone
Hunger pangs, all that I’ve known
In tattered clothes, I have grown
I am a child
I am a child
The pavement my only bed
Dreaming of a piece of bread
With a small heart full of dread
My life hanging from a thread
I am a child
I am a child
With no gifts beneath the tree
With no hope to be set free
Wanting like YOUR child to be
Why, oh, why, can’t you love ME?
I am a child
I am YOUR child
I am GOD’s child
Remember me this Christmas….
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I'm privileged that Norma Nashid, founder of Restore a Child, has asked me to be an ambassador for the organization to help raise awareness of the plight of less fortunate children around the world. She asked me to write a poem for their newsletter, and I am sharing her FB post regarding it here with you.
(The poem below was written by Eileen Manassian Ghali, a professor of English at Middle East University in Beirut, Lebanon. She dedicated her poem this Christmas to Restore a Child. Her mother, Angel Dikran Manassian was my favorite teacher and my first teacher in school. Now I get the honor of enjoying the beautiful writing of her daughter, Eileen.--Norma Nashed)
If you are interested in finding out more about this humanitarian organization, please look them up on FB. I will be writing an article soon to highlight the plight of Syrian Refugee children in Lebanon. I hope my Mama would be proud of me!
restoreachild.org
http://ymlp.com/zMiueR (latest newsletter)
https://www.facebook.com/RestoreAChild
My poem will be published in the next edition
Categories:
well fed, child, love, rights,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
A part of what you are to me
Knowing you are free to be
apart from me
and yet
I am no longer free
to be alone from thee
so hold my heart my love my soul
for you are all that keeps me whole
Upon this sea of life and storm
I hold your love to light and warm
my every breath
on every turn with you I yearn to be
to hold you close to feel you blink
your breath upon my face
refreshes me as we embrace
and then I sink to deep contented sleep
a well fed cat
in Summer sun
whose furry dreams
have just begun
paws atingle purrs aloud
whisker flicking joy and proud
as only cats can be
Categories:
well fed, animals, friendship, love, pets,
Form:
Iambic Pentameter
On a parched outback plain,
there is a winding course.
Red gums line the banks
of a once water source.
But sand is creeping quickly,
through drought and failing rain,
so the flora must adapt,
on a parched outback plain.
The black box struggles on;
desert pea seed needs rain.
Quandong wants the wattle
to fight through the dry again,
but when it gets too parched,
life finds the boiling sun,
can be a bridge too far,
so many do succumb.
The living and the dead
keep standing side by side.
One is dressed in green;
one gray with life denied.
One shade for a traveler;
one hollowed out instead;
and accompany one another -
The living and the dead.
On the floodplain of an anabranch
where the soil is dry and dust.
The salt bush remains prolific
where beneath them is a crust.
Parts of nitre bush are dying,
but the rest keeps struggling on.
There’s skeletons of invadors;
sun seered now dead and gone.
Skeletons line the shrinking water
of carp that are deceased,
and carcasses of kangaroos
from starvation has increased.
A feast for roaming goannas,
who scavange on the dead,
beside ravens and the eagles,
until the living are well fed.
The living leave the dead
in their struggle to survive
as they search for greener pasture
once the rain does finally arrive.
The cycle starts it’s journey
that’s been hanging by a thread,
and new life that’s in the ouback
to keep living needs the dead.
Categories:
well fed, environment, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Now he said
My frustration is well fed
But her attention didn't hear
How his desires bled
Then she continue to wait
For the one of her fate
And his words are late
As they slept in silenced state
Whenever herself, she asks
Who is the one of her dreams
Out there in the vast, he bask
Hidden away in the sun's beams
Categories:
well fed, absence, allusion,
Form:
Vaasokht
Upon a tattered pillow, day or night,
He sleeps through happy hours without a stir;
Tail wrapped around and paws tucked out of sight
Beneath a purring ball of gray-striped fur.
Well-fed, secure, and free from any care,
A king within the realm of simple ways,
He comes and goes at whim, with pompous air,
And eats and sleeps and plays away his days.
We toss upon our lavish king-sized bed
As nightmares echo worries of mankind-
We, harvesters of knowledge, amply fed,
Go starving for the food of peace of mind.
Sleep well, "dumb animal," sweet feline pet,
While "Homo-Sapiens" pays wisdom's debt.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Mad As A Hornet - Sonnet
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged:12/01/2015
===================================
I am "Mad As A Hornet" because with all our super
intelligence and outstanding accomplishments, humans
have still not been able to achieve peace and tranquility
in this world.
Categories:
well fed, corruption, humanity, life, society,
Form:
Sonnet
I know sometimes your way seems dark and dreary
I know sometimes your body may feel worn and weary.
And yet you press on, you keep spreading God’s word
You refuse to rest until his voice has been heard.
A leader, a guide, a shepherd steeped in love
Whose greatest desire is to live eternally above
You teach about Heaven, you illuminate the way,
You live as an example of God’s love each and every day.
You are a bridge to the Lord during troubles and trials
And you depend on Jesus to help shorten the miles.
You preach about Jesus who is the ultimate answer
Whether the problem is financial, emotional, or terminal cancer.
You are a good Shepherd who loves tending his sheep
Though some are scared, some worn, some battered, and some weak.
But each of them know that you are available twenty-four seven,
To comfort them, to cry with them, to reach out toward Heaven
When a sheep starts to wonder away from the flock,
You gently prod him and lead him right back to the rock.
You’ve sought The Lord's guidance and carried your cross,
You’ve done His will and prayed no soul would be lost.
And as your reward for the work that you've done,
When your sheep are well fed and the good race you’ve run
When this life is over and each battle has been won
The Good Lord will say, come on home, JOB WELL DONE!
Categories:
well fed, faith, inspirational, life, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
Jesus came
was slain
crucified died
he's alive
Jesus is risen
we forgiven
compassionate friend
untill the end
father spirit son
three in one
Bibles read
well fed
sing
to our king
pray
everyday
Jesus' style
to reconcile
Happy days
God's ways
peace be
with thee amen
Categories:
well fed, faith, forgiveness, history, inspirational,
Form:
Rhyme
There are many birds that gather
In my yard all through the year.
However, there is one I favor.
I wait for her to reappear.
You'll not find her at the feeder,
Like the others on the dole.
I think her mama taught her
Self sufficiency is the goal.
She and her faithful hubby
(Oh how that guy is trained)
Have come back to their love nest,
On my porch where it remained.
She showed him how to mend it
And he worked hard at his task.
Aything at all she wanted,
All she need to do was ask.
Their nest abuts the ceiling,
I bump my head before I see
If the little ones have hatched yet,
But if not they soon will be.
Once here, their mouths will open
And will never close again
Until they're big as their own parents,
But they're never offered grain.
No, it's bugs and bugs and more bugs.
They keep Mom and Daddy hopping.
She tells him they have mouths to feed.
There is no time for stopping.
While he is gathering the food,
She's shoving it into them
And passes him when he returns
From committing insect mayhem.
Now Daddy gets the job of feeding
While Mama's on the hunt.
In this nest of well fed children
You will never find a runt.
She grabs all of the mosquitos
That her little beak can hold.
Her mate is going out for more,
She doesn't have to scold.
You will not find better parents,
Human ones or otherwise,
Than these precious little swallows,
With a love that's supersize.
You would think they would be happy
When these youngsters leave the nest,
But they start another family
Busy swallows never rest.
Any villainous mosquito
Won't have a chance to do me harm
While these persisting swallows
Have a nest on my old farm
By: Joyce Johnson 6/17/03
Categories:
well fed, naturelove,
Form:
Narrative