Best Willing And Able Poems


Premium Member Darkness Where Now Poe and Raven Reside, Part One

Darkness Where Now Poe And Raven Reside,
(Part One)

As the Raven cross into the dark pits
Those in torment went into heaving fits
Its shrieking calls, alarms even down there
Far worse its image to dying souls scare 
With great trepidation some turned to Poe 
Begging, master far away make it go
Poe only smiled, saying, come now my pet 
I have far, far sweeter work for you yet.

As Raven lands on Poe's black-stone table
Spits out two bloody and half eaten hands
Asks, does this remind you of that fable
Promising keys to kingdom's treasured lands
Given to a man willing and able
Freeing princess, her captor's sword withstand
Where death's deeds and bloody might enables
Morbid masterpieces of art so grand.

From all around, their banter brought loud moans
From wretched sinners in that dark hell cast
Raven spoke in wicked, evil tones
I toyed with her, to make my pleasure last
Poe commanded, Raven, please no more of that
We are here to enjoy the pleasant scenes
And in our deep joy, grow lazy and fat
Let us not her poor soul thus so demean.

Raven again spoke, come now we need pain
And louder wailing that soothes a black heart
For what good is torture if has no gain
Or tearful pleadings that come as it starts
Master, order yon' demon band to play
For I shall fly above and watch you dance
Let us enjoy sadder cries on this day
With evil's first bride, a little romance.

Poe then rose to do as his pet wanted
Poe laughed and said, Raven dear, please be nice
Let not our blackened pride thus be flaunted
When bit better decorum would suffice.
With that he motioned demon band to play
Its favorite and first great monstrous hit
As waiting victims begged that they may 
Have some relief from their torturous fits.

Robert J. Lindley, 4-30-2019
Dark Rhymes, ( As Raven And Poe Both Survive Below)
Part One...

Syllables Per Line:
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 
0 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 400
Total # Words:306

Premium Member School Boy Lessons Erotic Humor

She said "I'll show you mine
if you're willing to show me yours."
I didn't waste a second
I promptly dropped my drawers!

I was rather embarrased
She looked and started to giggle
My little man was at attention
While the boys  did their jiggle

After she stopped her laughing
I thought it would be my turn
Me an eager student
willing and able to learn

In the end I learned my lesson
She wanted to look through my tests
But my young mind was occupied
Transfixed by her beautiful breasts

So I quickly pulled up my pants
Time to put the two boys away
My little man sadly shrinking
Disappointed that he couldn't play

When she seen my embarrassment 
She said "okay come have a look."
Please let it be her Yoo hoo
and not just some silly book

Holding out the band of her panties
She said "go ahead and reach in"
I was a happy explorer
Extreamly eager to begin

As the girl started moaning
I was sure I had got it right
She said "if you want to find it,
perhaps we need a little light."

So she started undressing
A vision there before my eyes
Her breasts a bit of perfection
Perky and just the right size

She said we'd have to work quickly
Before her parents came back
She pushed me down on the bed
and promptly began her attack

With force she ripped of my trousers
Thankfully she knew what to do
I let her have her way with me
The boys were no longer blue

She looked at me with a smile
Told me "it's time for you to go.
The next lesson will be better,
I'll teach you how to be slow!"

Premium Member Lunatics Next Door

They drift across the border
Some drunk
Some looking for work
A better life
Drug runners
All working on night moves
They never move during the light of day
Trails through the desert
Coyotes leading them to uncertain destinies
A cattle car or a van stuffed liked sardines
All for the hope of freedom and money
We sip our coffee and watch CNBC
And complain about our jobs.
Never realizing there are a subclass of people 
Ready willing and able to take those jobs for less money
We live on the edge as they do
The weak always get cut out of the herd
And the strong survive.
Be careful what you wish for…
A double wide and a lunatic living next door
Could be your future.
Appreciate what you have.  
Strive to get more, but remember the wolves are at the door.
And they will eat you without any regrets.


Artie Chokes Three For a Dollar

Complaining of his marriage for thirty-odd years
He highballed his eyeballs, comforting his tears
The barkeep asked, what's troubling you son?
He poured out his life; I'm finished! I'm done!
The woman I married has turned into a nag
What I wouldn't give to be rid of that hag
Cheer up my friend, I have what you need
I know of a man willing to do such a deed
Artie's his name, a factory blue collar
He enjoys his hobby, charging only a dollar
Introducing himself, he sat on a stool
Please dear sir, don't think me a fool
I need your help, if you're willing and able
Sliding his wife's picture across the bar table
The love we once shared is impossible to find
Everything she does drives peace from my mind
For a dollar Artie agreed to get rid of his mate
She shops Farmer's Mart tomorrow, precisely at eight
The very next morning she parked the front aisle
Artie gazed at her picture, then waited awhile
He stalked her while shopping the produce section
The near-empty store posed slight risk of detection
With a look to his left, and a quick glance to his right
He crept, then he leapt, choking with all of his might
She swooned and she swayed, crumpling to the floor
Artie mused to himself: Attention! Cleanup, aisle four
A stock boy rounded the corner, witnessing the mess
Artie likewise dispatched him, in a minute, or less
A customer screamed, seeing this deed, dark and vile
With hands around her throat, he added her to the pile
The manager called the cops, who put Artie in jail
There, he awaited trial, unable to post bail
The following day's headlines gave readers a start:
"Artie chokes three for a dollar, at local Farmer's Mart"

The Voice of the Poor

In a utilitarian, profit-maximizing economy
Where supply only meets demand
And demand runs only for those
Willing and able; where the margin
Between total revenue

And total cost must be largest;
Where taxes are necessary evil 
As they cause disincentive to work 
And subsidies too as they
Breed the disgrace of inefficiency;

Where it is all about sustained
Growth and low inflation and
Low unemployment and
Healthy balance of payment and
Efficiency in resource allocation and
Maybe equity, but not quite
Equality, and perhaps standard of living
But hardly quality of life—
This is what is heard of them:

Premium Member Waiting For the Chariot

They call them crops, but they might as well be weeds.
Mr. Eli Whitney found a great way to get rid of those seeds.
Now the supply outstrips the demands and the needs.
All that makes this stuff cheaper by the bale.
Sellers get less money when they make a sale.
None of that makes any difference at all.
I am stuck picking in this field all summer until fall.
Lord, send your winged chariot down to me right away.
I am ready, willing, and able to meet my dying day.

Inspired by Tim Ryerson’s poem “Cotton Pickin’ Paradise”


The Purple Reign

“The Purple Reign”
by:  Eric L. Boddie

“I Want to Be Your Lover” is so “Insatiable” to some
But I “Adore” you because the “Holy River” is where I’m from
And “I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man,” that’s “Scandalous” to think
But I answered “The Question of U” is “Strange but True,” so don’t blink
Maybe it’s this “Erotic City,” or, perhaps, it’s because she looks so good in that “Raspberry Beret”
But I want to be “Somebody’s Somebody,” but she must be the “Marrying Kind” I say
So “Lady Cab Driver” in the “Little Red Corvette”
“Let’s Pretend We’re Married” with some “Dance, Music, Sex, Romance,” and I expect
To be the “International Lover” for every “Irresistible *****”
Because I Love every woman from “The Most Beautiful Girl in the World” to “Billy Jack *****”
Let me leave you “Satisfied” in puddles of “Black Sweat”
But I “No” all that I want so “Damn U” before I forget
That “Nothing Compares 2 U” plus I Love when you “Call My Name”
“U Got That Look” that lures all the “Girls and Boys” just the same
This “Cinnamon Girl” named “Anna Stesia” is the only one I want to call baby
Even if it took “A Million Days,” I would tell her “Let’s Go Crazy”
Maybe I got one of those “Colonized Minds” that will never let me say “Eye Hate U”
But “One of Us” must understand that “The Love We Make” is true
So if I gave you “Diamonds and Pearls” or took you “Around the World in a Day”
Would you “Do Me Baby” or let “Bob George” get in the way
Even back in “1999,” I was somewhat addicted to the “Pop Life”
Because of a “Condition of the Heart” that made me want a “Friend, Lover, Sister, Mother, Wife”
But there is “Joy in Repetition” every time we try a “New Position”
And “Baby I’m a Star” so my “Darling Nikki,” you should know my intentions
But the “Rainbow Children” provide the best “Sign ‘O’ the Times”
I want you “Forever in My Life” because we like to “Play in the Sunshine”
Because “When 2 R in Love,” there must be a sincere sense of “Trust”
And when it’s not so “So Dark,” it looks like “Purple Rain” to us
And that’s “When Doves Cry,” in light of our “Private Joy”
Without “Controversy,” it’s the “Love Sign” I employ
So “Gett Off” of that hate train, and let “Positivity” spark
And if you’re “Willing and Able,” that’s what is done at “Paisley Park”

RIP Brother Prince Rogers Nelson…..God Wants you In His Choir…..

Seven Times Ten Birthday Girl

i wonder when your seventy
will you be just as kind
a little old lady wearing glasses
aged by troubles and time

i wonder when your seventy
will you remember me
someone who wrote of you
who's in his heart you'll be

i wonder when your seventy
and you remember all the times
that i woulds write you poems
dispight the jealous minds

i wonder when your seventy
two thousand fourty something
or maybe in the fifties
it's rude to make presumptions

i just hope when your seventy
that you are seventy "FINE!
widowed, available or just divorced
willing and able to be all mine




(happy birthday special lady. I'm 
sending you a unicorn for your b-
day.)

Ode To Wine

_____________
                  Tiny  eggs  rest-
                  ing  on the  vine
                   produced  by
                   Mother  Earth,
                   when touched
                   by  man  cre-
                   ates body and
                   life.   As   you 
                   mature in  the 
                 belly of aged ripe
              oak, like a baby in the
           womb. You develop sturdy
       legs that slowly slither down the
      side of my glass after each sultry
    sip. Born in different regions all over
    the world and of different races. Red
   or  white, Syrahs, Shirazs, Cabernets,
   Chardonnays, Sometimes a blend; all
                            I
                            N
                            T
                            O
                            X
                            I
                            C
                            A
                            T
                            I
                            N
                            G
 bottled  up,  full  of potential to be the
 next  best  thing  in  a  market   or  in
 a   magazine.  I pick you up and play-
 fully  swirl you around. I  breathe you 
 in  and  smell  the sweet earthy notes 
 you   play   in   my   nose.  You’re   a 
 Maestro!   Entrancing  my senses with 
 hints   of   berries,   spices  and  deep 
 dark  red  chocolate. Some   grow  up 
 to    be    very   sassy   or  somewhat 
 sophisticated.   Of  course,  some  are 
 more    delicate   and  delightful  than 
 others,  sometimes  one   bad   grape 
 can  spoil  the  whole  barrel.  Always 
 willing  and  able  to  make  the  most 
 arrogant    of    dinner   parties  more 
 interesting   and  inviting.  Our  nights 
  full of sin, soon to be confessed and
   forgiven tomorrow. You truly are 
              the blood of Christ!

Cereal Kid-Napper

Cereal Kid-napper…

One who randomly texts’ you 
Do you want to be kidnapped today, 
And apologizes when running late.
You are picked up willing and able-
No duct tape or zip ties are needed.
Instead she brings…
Banana bread or cookies 
And sometimes cake.

The kids are stuck in back—
Saying Hello—Auntie Merri…
Even before I can open the door,
It is the greatest thing.

Buckled up---off we go—running errands,
Forgetting our coupons—losing the keys—(not me).
Somehow we manage to get things done,
Even though we do not know the day of the week.
Someone is hungry—(not the kids).
If we be good--She may get us a treat,

When our errands are done.
Then you are returned, safely back home, 
With a tentative date of the next time
You will be kidnapped by your favorite niece.
Copyright © Merri-Merri/fonda anne….
© Fonda Anne  Create an image from this poem.

The Old Barn

I remember the old rustic barn
Long ago in the sweet month of May
My sister Louise and her newly found squeeze
Were having a roll in the hay

She'd sneak to the neighborhood bar
And drink with young Larry and Chuck
She'd dance on a table, all willing and able
And take off her clothes for a buck

They'd pay just one dollar for a whoop and a holler
And an evening of boisterous play
Then they'd head for the barn, for some fun and a yarn
And dance til the sunrise broke day

At four in the morning, when day was a dawning
Old Pappy had gone for his gun
He crept up the ladder to the boys who had "had" her
And shouted they all better run

"I'll bring in the law to those lads in the straw
So, come outta your hiding place please!'
The boys did appear, each clutching a beer
And jumped from the loft to the floor

As naked as jays they ran separate ways
Trying to make for the door
With a shriek of denial
Louise ran for a mile
Dressed in her silk pantaloons

And I think of that day 
As I chuckle away
At those bare bottomed 
Chaps of eighteen

And Louise met a farmer who tried hard to calm her
And keep her away from the skids
She cooked and she sewed and kept the grass mowed
And bore the old geezer six kids

Against the Wind

When two people so choose
To join as one
The primary requirement is
Decide to love the beloved.

Then, as happens in love
Two become one in all things
Exclusive, self giving
especially sexually.

And in so doing
The love grows in togetherness
Open to children, raising them
A reward of their uniting.

But what now if the love fails? 
Turns one sided and falters? 
And the critical departure is decided? 
To look for someone else? 

And if it happens that the search ends
Upon someone willing and able.
To meet the need of the orher.
And join in erotic bliss? 

The happiness newly found thrills
Brings warmth and excitement
Sends the heart a racing
Mind awhirl, body aquiver.

Deeper, wider, bolder, reckless
Necessity drives further coupling.
Drawn by the need for happiness.
Affirmation, complimentarity, libidinous.

But this new joining is filled with tension
Since the love struggles to grow.
And growing is strained.
For living together is amiss.

So the need to be closer
To grow together and love deeper
And go on up to the next level.
Of uniting even with childbirth.

The missing component is the limit
Of a love so good, so true
Bound to the beloved
Struggling to grow with the other.

A critical juncture is met
To continue with the limited but true
Or let go and return to the old
Loveless, drab, lonesome.

However, to let go is to die
And is not the way to go
It is far better to live with the limits
Than to die in the unlimited prison

Of knowing one could have loved deeply
But did not. 


Inner Whispers

Young Man, That Is Not Good Enough

Young man, that is not good enough, just not good enough;
Seek the Lord; fulfill purpose, don’t just huff and puff.
You looking all big and bad; but, inside you are very sad;
Jesus’ joy will make you strong and extremely glad.
No more, no more playing: dan-man, bad man, macho-man;
Christ can see through you; you hurting, young man. 
Young man, young man it is time to seek God’s kingdom;
Resist the enemy; salvation gives you complete freedom.

It is not good enough, young man, that is not good enough;
Listen carefully to this straight gaff; this is truth, no laugh.
Surely, it is just not good enough to follow Gaza and Gully;
They are detestable and degrading: complete and utter folly.
Why you diss-ing and killing you friends and other men;
When all they want is for you to line their pockets for them?
Stop! Stop shedding blood; don’t you know what is the price?
What will you say, young man; what will you tell Christ?

Good enough!?! It is surely, not good enough young man;
Why? Why? Why, all of the sex, **** and masturbation?
Why, young man; why, have you not read the Holy Word?
Young man, your body is the temple of the Living God.
“Let these things not be named among you” is for every youth;
Listen; then, carefully observe and obey; this biblical truth.
Take care and be aware; there is a time and place for sex;
It is better to marry than to burn; don’t get the deadly hex.

You need to seek what is good enough, seek God’s truth;
Remember, now, the Creator, in the days of your youth.
Christ is always willing and able to save and to preserve;
His grace is sufficient; though we don’t even deserve.
Lift your head, prodigal, it’s time to return to the Father;
To God the Father; all lost sheep, Jesus came to gather.
Repent, young man, and Jesus will blot out every sin;
Then, young man, then, against the enemy, you will win.
                                                              By
                                                         Dion Penville

The Necklace

We heard her before we saw her not because she was loud but because she was close,  

she anchored herself making her presence felt; we paid the cashier and were about to leave 
with our easy day shopping. She asks the man behind the counter if there was a vacancy at 
this convenience supermarket (how modest are these retailers compared with their uber 
shop assistants) that elsewhere 'let her and others go', as though a treat like a parent 
telling a teen, 'OK you can go to the gig'. We turned. We knew her. She was short in 
stature but long in confidence. The counter man boss countered in politely, pleasantly, that 
he would if he could, when we intervened saying that we would recommend her 
employment - thinking that as customers, as shareholders - that employers give a toss! 



Ah the necklace! That's the difference, a sign of confidence, of individuality too; or what the 
hell until I'm employed again, 'I'm free!' of the clock, under the bosses under pressure, 
mates who are not so matey after all, of the tedium of the job classified by the uber 
class  'unskilled'. Have you ever come across a job without any skill?! 



The necklace, a symbol of her and ours encirclement by the cash nexus by whichever 
system of obtaining our daily bread in today's world  the least worst that has been devised- 
yet - so fulfilling in so many ways: going home well satisfied with bringing the goodies 
home to our families, to be well satisfied with the day's work or to moan because it has 
been a damned dog day like yesterday as tomorrow will be, but keeping poverty at bay. 



In these isles never have so many been in work (even if in a part -time, poorly paid, non 
unionised world should shock Walesa) but to anyone on the Dole willing and able to work, 
unemployment is a 100%. 



           May her necklace beads bode well for work for this hard working woman!   



May her necklace beads bode well for this hard working woman  moan
© Peter Dorr  Create an image from this poem.

Kia Please Just Listen

You`ll always be my little girl.
You mean all the world to me.
And every night I pray to God.
Dear God please help her see.
Help her to remember.
All the strength she has inside.
Hold her in your loving arms.
Until all her fears and doubts subside.
So many times you saved me.
She and I are much the same.
I no that she believes in you.
And loves you just the same.
Let us fill her heart with gladness.
Shine down your holy light.
Get rid of all her sadness.
Until she`s strong enough to fight.
I believe she`ll find the courage.
When she`s back on her two feet.
And find the will to want to live.
Willing and able to compete.
© Jodi Daly  Create an image from this poem.

Get a Premium Membership
Get more exposure for your poetry and more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry

Member Area

My Admin
Profile and Settings
Edit My Poems
Edit My Quotes
Edit My Short Stories
Edit My Articles
My Comments Inboxes
My Comments Outboxes
Soup Mail
Poetry Contests
Contest Results/Status
Followers
Poems of Poets I Follow
Friend Builder

Soup Social

Poetry Forum
New/Upcoming Features
The Wall
Soup Facebook Page
Who is Online
Link to Us

Member Poems

Poems - Top 100 New
Poems - Top 100 All-Time
Poems - Best
Poems - by Topic
Poems - New (All)
Poems - New (PM)
Poems - New by Poet
Poems - Read
Poems - Unread

Member Poets

Poets - Best New
Poets - New
Poets - Top 100 Most Poems
Poets - Top 100 Most Poems Recent
Poets - Top 100 Community
Poets - Top 100 Contest

Famous Poems

Famous Poems - African American
Famous Poems - Best
Famous Poems - Classical
Famous Poems - English
Famous Poems - Haiku
Famous Poems - Love
Famous Poems - Short
Famous Poems - Top 100

Famous Poets

Famous Poets - Living
Famous Poets - Most Popular
Famous Poets - Top 100
Famous Poets - Best
Famous Poets - Women
Famous Poets - African American
Famous Poets - Beat
Famous Poets - Cinquain
Famous Poets - Classical
Famous Poets - English
Famous Poets - Haiku
Famous Poets - Hindi
Famous Poets - Jewish
Famous Poets - Love
Famous Poets - Metaphysical
Famous Poets - Modern
Famous Poets - Punjabi
Famous Poets - Romantic
Famous Poets - Spanish
Famous Poets - Suicidal
Famous Poets - Urdu
Famous Poets - War

Poetry Resources

Anagrams
Bible
Book Store
Character Counter
Cliché Finder
Poetry Clichés
Common Words
Copyright Information
Grammar
Grammar Checker
Homonym
Homophones
How to Write a Poem
Lyrics
Love Poem Generator
New Poetic Forms
Plagiarism Checker
Poetry Art
Publishing
Random Word Generator
Spell Checker
What is Good Poetry?
Word Counter