Best Well Meaning Poems
It's never anything big, just a nagging defeat
Of wanting to be exclusive in your ambit,
For in your eyes, I see an opportune disguise
Living as a friend of genuine vibes gone awry.
It was the zealous-moon you adored with glee
When romantic vibes you scripted about me,
Fussing about moon-spot of slight imperfection
Looking at my face, hinting coy comparison.
When I lauded our pond's white lotus flowers
You admired silence of the ripples in water
Singing praises of existence so ephemeral,
Never denying you compared it to our love.
Being impulsive, you stole a rose from garden
Handing it to me like borrowed ardent charm.
As I held it in gratitude for its delicate beauty
It pierced my heart with its anguished thorns.
You take me places, pleasantly well-meaning
But when I get there, I'm left feeling alone
For you traverse a lone-orbit on your own
Leaving me to tangle by your rotational force.
When you ask me, if love still burns our flame,
I simply want to say, love has changed its name
For time has falsified what we once meant,
No more can I bear brokenhearted sunsets.
January 29, 2018
First place: One in five contest by Joseph May
Placed 2nd: Strand select 11 by Brian Strand
Thousands of gentle caresses, soft touch,
From the potter’s hands to properly guide
Tenuously stretching sides he might crush,
If too much pressure his fingers provide.
Young heart made of clay, forming on the wheel.
To guide your unfolding, our sacred charge.
Push we must, yet your own shape you reveal.
A careful balance, an impact so large.
Kiln’s searing flame awaits, the piece’s trial.
But before, time drying, forming in place.
Away from well meaning hands and anxious smiles.
Then ceremonial paint brushed on face.
Tempered by scorching waves of heat, the bowl
Gleams triumphant, a grail to hold the soul.
3/5/16
“Trust in the LORD*.” Such declares God’s sovereignty
Along His leadership as the supreme Almighty Deity---
We must bow to Him with humility
Submitting ourselves to His authority.
“Trust in the LORD.” Such affirms God’s greatness
Along His omnipotence while manifesting gentleness---
We must shine through His goodness
Consecrating ourselves to His graciousness.
“Trust in the LORD.” Such reverberates God’s warning
Along His rebuke against unbelief, doubting, and complaining---
We must repent with sincerity’s well-meaning
Yielding ourselves to His reigning.
“Trust in the LORD.” Such speaks of God’s demand
Along His precept attesting promises so grand---
We must meditate His Word, whereupon we stand
Dedicating ourselves to follow His command.
“Trust in the LORD.” Such asserts God’s compassion
Along His mercy upon us during our affliction---
We must abide in His will midst COVID19 situation
Laying ourselves to His perfect and wise action.
“Trust in the LORD.” Such announces God’s requirement
Along His statute for us to show our joyous fulfillment---
We must comply to His faith-building agreement
Committing ourselves to His soulwinning-empowerment.
“Trust in the LORD.” Such assures God’s victory
Along His triumph in our obedience to proclaim Gospel story---
We must rely on His might while praying to overcome worry
Surrendering ourselves to His control for His glory.
*Psalm 73:28 …It is good for me to draw near to God: I have put my trust in the Lord GOD, that I may declare all thy works.
March 21, 2020
Formal forms feel nice and safe
But meter makes me sweat
Sometimes rhymes will grind and chafe
And stresses makes me fret
Perhaps there is another way?
I need to be diverse
Panzer stanzas made of clay?
Or flirt with loose free verse
...
To write without rules? Freedom!
The shackles of rhyme snap open
And clatter to the floor
The ball and chain of meter and rhythm
Slip off and roll away
Through the septic puddle of conformity
Clunks against the cell wall
The solid steel door unbolts - one - two - three
And squeals open
Rust flakes bursting then falling
Metallic leaves onto a metallic forest floor
A breeze washes in - washes away the stale air
A poster of Dr Seuss lifts, then flaps, then rips
Then blows away
Daylight streams in - bright - white - blinding - searing
As fragile eyes adjust, the outside free-i-verse reveals itself
Freedom? Yes. But what chaos!
Repetition, imagery, metaphors and repetition - still there
And rhyme and meter!
Where should they go?
What if I get it wrong?
How will I know?
I can't take it in!
...
The door swings and closes - safe and secure
The chill draft now whispers - certain and sure
The shackles await me - to hold and embrace
The ball and chain staring - a well meaning face
Perhaps structure and form aren't really so bad
Free verse is trendy, or maybe a fad
From now on I'll stick to what I surely know
Rhythm and meter and rhyme true to flow
Or maybe I'll try again tomorrow...
(Entry for the "flirt" contest)
Hello, Farrah....
It's 7Am here, and cold
Just awoke, with,
Oh, Here We Go Again!
Fever, Pain, Confusion,
And Lots of Other Groovy Things
To Keep My Mind Busy...
Many more people know of you
than a few days ago....
Did you ever hear of Rod Mckuen?
Professional poet/ musician/songwritter-
One of the reasons I love poetry...
Not only will you understand him, you should
enjoy him.....Sorry about your work load....
My French is rusty.....I'm pretty good in geometry though;
received 100% on NYS Regents Exam when young-
an unheard of thing, scores in college of 97-99% for the term's work,
and it seemed easy as pi (joke- pie, etc....oh, why am I explaining it,
sorry, I forgot who I was talking to.......) Hope you have a happy day.....write an
indepth poetic bio?? I'd love it, so would many others....
you are known in literary circles here now, I'd venture to guess....
surprising, the power of words, n'est pas? Je ne sas pa, rien du tout....pardon
my spelling and french......it's unused since early 1960's (ancient history) What
city are you in? Ever travel??? A favorite destination??? Any questions about
the enigmatic nature of "Americans?" We're really well meaning, just sometimes
seems we might misinterpret, or misunderstand things obvious to others (and
vica versa....) Do you get to see movies??? Need books to read?? I got a library
of 10,000 books, at least, being handicapped gives me too much time on my
hands, and my health leaves me precious little of a future to expect. I have lots
of funny stories. I hope you are okay....I never met anyone so brilliant in 57 years
of living. Youf friend in poetry, tom."
Crying into my pillow each night
Tears for a sorrow that burns like an acid
Eating it’s way through my senses..through my soul.
The pain sears through me like burning coals
No peace.
Hard to get my mind clear and rational
To put those things into perspective..
Or so I am told by well-meaning others who do not know,
The suffering of my existence; my inability to cope
No peace.
My head throbs in almost a familiar rhythm
A melody of self-pity, for regret, for salvation
And the tears, still flowing, now echoed with muffled sobs
For the agony is nearly more than I can withstand
No Peace.
I pray to a God I do not know, nor care to
But no one else is there to listen to my pleas for comfort
To make right all those mistakes
As there are so many choices and I haven made the wrong ones
No Peace
So the God I do not acknowledge, lies silent in the stillness
And the burning within begins to subside
As grateful sleep falls upon me at last
Until another night comes, and the thoughts begin again
No Peace.
F~ Fullness in Faith
E~ Excellence in Ethics
A~ Appreciation in All
R~ Rejoicing in Rest
D~ Dedicated and Determined
O~Optimistic and Overflowing
W~Wonder-working and well-meaning
N~ Noble and Natural
" For there are no shortcuts to knowledge,
to wisdom, to understanding~ these must be
lived, must be experienced by each and every soul."
Edgar Cayce 830-2
They stream in, seeking liberty
hoping for some sympathy
America once extended a welcome
Today the outstretched hand is seldom
Leaders neglected to check the newcomers
for police records, to view their true colors
We let in too many criminals, too much crime
with neither good reason nor rhyme
A perfect storm ensued
migrant murder and corruption
dominates the news
giving well-meaning Americans the blues
A tragedy could have been averted
had not government shirked its sworn duty
But now there are mass deportations
narrowly backed by a jilted population
We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
No we may never have fought in a great war,
or saved a soul from the snapping jaws of death.
People wave to us, but few know who we are
and most on a good days run could care less.
Like the organ grinder's monkey from days of old,
we have been repeatedly trained to do a task.
We do a job few would even consider doing
and most would not even attempt to try.
A job burdened with ever growing responsibility
due to the minutia of a ever expanding bureaucracy.
A grossly undervalued, underappreciated profession
designated part-time by thoughtless administrations
that mouth how important we all are once a year
only to persecute us for every trifling thing later.
If you are lucky enough to survive a number of years
without resigning or becoming a sacrificial lamb
on the altar of a fearful self serving public face,
you will get a tiny pension for your devoted service.
We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
The tolerant souls that routinely put up with
a few rude demanding manipulative parents
and their insolent misbehaving little darlings
just to be able to serve the greater majority
of decent well meaning thoughtful parents
and the precious treasures of tomorrow
they have temporarily entrusted to us.
Like a hamster running on a little wheel,
we go around in circles every single day,
but unlike the hamster we must summon
every instinct and learned skill to insure
every turn we make is executed flawlessly.
We are kept aloft on our spinning wheel
by the deliberate hands of a caring heart
and the many small souls seated behind us
that come to trust us not to make a mistake.
We are the one person in their little lives
that are not allowed to ever let them down
for neither of us may be able to live with it.
We are their school bus drivers...
Doctors make their routine rounds each day
Well-meaning zealots come in the room to pray
I sit here sharing tears with you
I wish there was more that I could do
To fight the cancer, they can do no more
Your body has lost this hard-fought war
There is no other course we can pursue
I wish there was more that I could do
You are far too young to leave this world
How can I carry on without my girl
I would do anything to help pull you through
I wish there was more that I could do
I watched you release your last breath
No miracles were left to ward off death
One last kiss before the final adieu
I wish there was more that I could do
The 'Beloved Community'
by
Rick Folker
One beloved community
in God's world
Where each soul honors
the Image of God in the other
Where neither Jew nor Greek
Woman nor Man
Delivers the 'manifest destiny'
From Sinai's peak
Where all are called to Isaiah's mountain
Eunuchs and lepers
Publicans and saints
Lips humbly muttering prayers
they cannot speak
Where all observe Jesus from afar
On lonely Gethsemane
Sweating blood
For the sleeping, satisfied, selfish crowd
The torpor of disciples, deaf to the
Impending flood
One beloved community, Or...
Some fairy tale kingdom struggling
To become a living thing or tossed in the trash
Or the mountains where "used-to-be"
crumble from sorrow
into a mournful ash
And well-meaning Christians hurry
For shelter, cowering in sack cloth
As the complacent sleepers of Gethsemane
creep back
Into the darkness, covering their ears lest they
AWAKE! to the night that is far gone
And hear of light and justice
Escaping the righteous rebuke of
WRONG! Wrong! Wrong
One beloved community
That Martin gave his soul and his life for;
A King who was prophet and priest
Whose dream was smothered in the still-born birth
in a would be manger in some slum in Montgomery
Where no sun rises in a forgotten, hopeless east
'Move to the front please'
One beloved community
shattered and now praised
for its greatness, its whiteness, its bravado
and hubris in soul-grinding waves
Ignoring the please of the blacks and the browns
and the braves
One beloved community that exists
in a dream
And one loveless community that ends
in a scream with a lone,frightened individual
Praying to be redeemed
The icy shards hold true,
drawing blood from
his well-meaning hands,
but he does not relent.
Let go your wretched grip!
Your grasp is no threat
to the frozen chambers
and years of glacial torment
cutting raw again
into scars so old,
there is no more pain,
and no more life in me.
New Year
Dreams lie unfulfilled in my rueful nights,
the seconds, minutes, hours and days all draw
empty boxes, lists inked on paper white,
promises of plans I made, stout hearted,
in ignorance of the years gone before
when youth's resolve lay stillborn, unstarted.
With new old resolutions, stringless kites
fly out in fanfare on each New year's day,
'till deaf to all applause they fade from sight
to jink and ride the winds of circumstance.
'Just like last year', the well meaning friends say
knowing full well that none stood any chance.
Dreams lie unfulfilled in my rueful nights,
with new old resolutions, stringless kites.
For contest 'Cornish Sonnet', sponsored by, coincidentally, Craig Cornish
December 20th 2015
Distressed, I attest,
Like not blessed,
A voice in my head,
Said out of bed,
So I was led to
A quiet church,
As owls sang out,
Midnight gone tombs,
And my tears appeared,
Death beckoned long
finger nails of distraction,
And so I gazed upon an open Abbey, with folk awake that caused a shake, God botherers with likely guitars, a melange of niceness where only grief was sat. So I drifted in, hiding behind tissues
of my own life lies, and sat prepared to run, quite prepared and scared, from that worse than death, the well meaning Christian. Then as I sank into the pews, staring up from rotten shoes, my woes, my blues, I saw floating in midair, a man, with dark blooded hair, and I knew then I was crazy within my distress, not blessed. But as that thought, which came to nought, crossed my elitist demeanour, I shared everything he felt, and at that moment, beyond compare, exquisite agony my problems became less than my being, now seeing Christ. Never one to take miraculous moments without scepticism, I stood disbelieving, a rescued Thomas who had seen, unseeing, still unbelieving.
So I walked with much chagrin
towards the font my eyes had
seen, to find rational reasons,
A reflection, some explanation,
for why of all people this soul
of mine, might be saved by
one whose face I had denied
for so long, that no song could
ever write my wrongs, and there
in a Pentecostal moment, I
gained insight into the wind
that came at night, where no
delight was held for me,
an agnostic changed now for
all eternity. A man unworthy
of that name, came to faith,
kicking, screaming at how
unfair, it was to find that God
was really there, and worse,
so much worse, he knew my
name, and despite my attempts,
cared enough to save my day.
@Andrew Carnegie, Bessay Lighthouse, 28th December 2016. A true story.
If you would like to know a bit about me and my poetry please click this link below:
https://youtu.be/Ic_V7aX4xbk
As you flee behind you hear
Your hate filled screaming foes
Pillaging and burning
Their tutored hatred beyond reason
For no reason
Loudspeakers hastily erected amongst the rubble
Play a dirge of victory
As they hold a pyrrhic parade
As you flee to who knows where
North, south, east or west?
Don't know. Don't care
Just away
Unknown lands ahead
There be monsters?
You only hope you've left them behind
As you flee you see the broken crowds
A caravan of the barely living
Some men and children in uniforms
Now just costumes
Clutch their weapons that failed them
The debris of war litter the poisoned earth
Twisted metal entomb twisted flesh
Broken souls pass by
Your town is gone
Your home is gone
Your family - alive or dead - gone
Your life - your past - gone
Your food - the last scrap - gone
Your water - the last drop - gone
Your hope - gone
You have nothing
But you are not nothing
As you flee become the seed
That penetrates a fertile land
And makes it grow afresh
You may fall on stony ground
As many will
As you flee you reach the well meaning camps
A pale shade of existence
Living in forgotten limbo
As you flee strike out to promised lands
Schizophrenic peoples that both welcome and revile
As you join their underclass
A scapegoat for all their ills
Cast aside your skills, your art, your education
And toil and sweat on the work that no-one wants
And when you finally accept this is your lot
Toil and sweat for your children
Who can never understand your struggle, your journey
But carry the seed of your people
Maybe one day they will return home
And rebuild
Entry to the "travel light" contest
Written 12th January 2017