Resting my thoughts, I look unto Thee
Your peace flows divine
Resting my fears, I can clearly see
My ways, You align
Resting my worries into Thy care
All I need is trust
Resting my sorrows, I say a pray'r
Faith in You is must
Resting my mind, for You see my thoughts
Know me inside out
Resting my plans, for You call the shots
Remove any doubt
Resting, I know You are my Maker
You're the true Shepherd
Knowing You're not a promise breaker
Resting in Your Word
Resting in Your love, I find healing
No scars, I'm made whole
Resting under Your wings, I'm feeling
Rested in my soul.
8th December 2022
For Unseeking Seeker's "Thought Rested Awareness" contest
Two pennies on dead eyes.
The living laid out in tubular ranks
as if giving thanks to the majesty of rows.
An Instagram Pope barks secular commands
while pilgrims charge a ruined castle.
Clockwise they all turn deadly
a carousel of lost battles
made the State of Union.
Between the genders
alien referees call the shots.
Procreation is blessed by none now,
and yet the pro-nouns multiply like the unborn.
Turning hands stir the melting in the pot,
a Halloween greeting card from our inner demons
drops like an A bomb
upon a Chinese welcome mat.
Rabbit holes in a top hat.
There is a dark place
It's in the back of my mind
Sometimes I will summon it
Other times, me...it will find
This place holds the pain
And the suffering too
It holds all the scars
From the things I've been through
It's dark and it's scary
You'd not choose it to be
A destination to visit
These are not things you'd want to see
There is good about this dark place
And the sickness it holds
It is now held in containment
I decide when it's told
Now I call the shots
In beckoning these flashes
I use them to heal
Until I turn them to ashes
3/2021
The world moves, nothing stays still.
The music flows, to make life good.
Stories hold us together, to relate.
To understand the connection we have.
Sage smoke rises, spirit voices call.
Sunset tears fall, like colored raindrops.
Riders spur horses, slickers in the wind.
They wear the night, instead of hats.
This is the brave life, To call the shots.
Take the path that's yours, and own it.
It's the only chance, to find greatness.
With no one to blame, It is yours to live.
With a name that lasts, longer than stone.
And a love that lasts longer than the flesh.
2/26/21
Airing My Gripes
Written: by The Whiner
1/18/2021
We’ve arrived at a place where we’ve mail in voting,
and media's become a politics machine.
Most every state now, has legalized gun toting,
a rock and a hard place we’re now living between.
Protesters riot, loot and history erase,
and liberal cities vote to defund police.
Our monuments and Capitol we now deface,
and one has to wonder if we'll return to peace?
We've weaponized Covid giving states final say,
our churches and schools remain virtually closed.
We've in turn let big cities call the shots their way,
not many positive things are being proposed.
Elected officials think money grows on trees,
everything's viewed as another racist sequel.
Rampant talk of socialism now floats on a breeze,
as long as there's hatred, things won't become equal.
Now toward socialism we see ourselves sliding,
America won’t ever be the same again.
Too many have disdain for the law abiding,
things won't get better until we turn from our sin.
I sense happiness
because the Son never sets
on faith, hope, and love
now a baby is diff'rent
one must plan ahead
yes, the head not the body
must call the shots, shoots:
as love peeks at sun and Son
one prays for wisdom
and faithfulness, kingdom reign
as with tithes, You give to test
Filled With Themselves
By: Tom Wright
2-12-2019
The smugness on Nan's face beamed a look of rebuke,
So I exited the room feeling the need to go puke.
Politics is a profession known for being cutthroat,
And each time one claims victory they smirk and gloat.
No matter what one does, other's rush to find fault,
Those with opposing views they seldom ever exalt.
They excavate past things perceived to be a flaw,
Something done or said has stuck in someone's craw.
Today, even an onion, appears to have thicker skin,
Something from our past, causes today's chagrin.
Political parties can't agree, on even a Leopard's spots,
They're filled with themselves and have to call the shots.
Politicians have become proficient in character assaults,
They destroy each other with innuendo and insults.
Mine is a mystical garden
Sassy marigolds and violets
Red cornflowers spreading their seeds,
Monarchs, wasps and bees reside here.
Pretty hums come from my garden,
Dainty pink and purple petals
Magical faeries, imps and elves,
Bossy daffodils call the shots,
Roses laugh knowingly at this
Mine is a magical garden
Written 8/27/2018 Poetry Contest Sponsor: Vermillion Scythe
To The Naysayers
I am not your saint;
Nor am I the bad seed.
An angel I ain't;
I have my own creed.
You won't guess my thoughts;
Or predict what I do.
You don't get to call the shots;
I seek no guru.
I answer to few;
And none will dictate.
I have nothing to prove;
Futile is your need to negate.
Critique me as you see best;
Scrutinize to find some fault.
I laugh at the conquest.
And take you with a grain of salt.
Enigma am I;
No excuses I make.
If you can not mystify;
Then do not partake.
~ Darlene Doll Smith
Two is company
Three a crowd
A and B call the shots
I'll C my way out
I've become a nuisance
With the key to their heart
A knee high fence
Setting them apart
They clear with ease
The top of my Hurdle
I'm just a disease
A bothersome girdle
I gave them a boy
Adopted their man
Then a girl brought joy
They don't understand
They dote on the first
A monster in training
I have been cursed
No need for explaining
A fantasy solution
There's no such thing
Entitlement, illusion
They'll continue to bring
Pick a seat, not a side
A quant little quote
The author was high
When he joyfully wrote
An invisible line
Heavy and thick
Clear to the blind
A blunt, jarring kick
I won't sugar coat
My pen speaks truth
Start building your moat
And digging your boot
There was no space between
the bonsai.
You were growing in a flat
tray, spreading horizontally.
The plain glitter of absence
brings the unorder. You-
want to start a riot among
the fallen leaves of an autumn.
A civil war between words.
They were fighting without guns.
There are no comments, no
judgement. Only blood in the kitchen.
The surrogates were presented.
Are you ready to call the shots ?
Satish Verma
safe haven for poets once existed
till destructive forces came on board
those who seek just to hurt others
end up harming themselves
several such people have inflicted pain here
though no one would call them “writers”
juvenile antics and hateful comments
are their only legacies
through profanity and threats
digging holes to poetry’s Armageddon
alienating those who won’t strike back
or resort to petty, personal attacks
they say, "You're the most despised among the soup clan"
spew lava-like proclamations
hold grudges for years when they don't place
in a contest where only quality work won
evil doers adopt numerous aliases
to favorite each of their own poems
but poets can easily identify them
as their “attempts” at poems all sound the same
if one who can’t write, gives you a contest win
what is it you have really won
their friendship? No, they don’t have friends
do you compare your poetry to theirs
who wants to share on such a site
where mean-spirited people call the shots
other places enforce rules to promote civility
let your conscience guide you to these sites
August 18, 2014
Does the world revolve around you?
You bet they do
You are the most important person in the world
To you
And to God
Those are the two you need to aim
To please
If they are not happy
You are not happy
The world can come and please
But only you call the shots
What gets in you
And what comes out of you
You don’t need anyone
You are not an island
But you are not a city bus either
Let it be known
That you think and do what you want
And that is not someone’s business
They don’t own you
Speak for you
Or choose your world for you
You decide on how you see things
What it is that appeals to you
What you want to include in your world
Only you would know what it is
That is important to you
You want to make yourself happy
And not someone else first
Because in the end
If you don’t have it
You can’t give it
So take care of yourself
Fill it
Nourish it
Give it what it needs
To take care of you
And finally take care of others
Remember what goes in
Eventually come out
So be careful of what you put in
See
Allow
What you call yours
You don’t want just anything
Do you?
Or do you?
Yes mom I'll be fine
Don't worry dad I got the combo down
I grab my gloves and head to the ring
Dont forget to cheer loud ok?
My match is next
It's do or die
I wisk away a bead of sweat
And gear up
Time slows
Weighing in at 120 pounds
I don't listen to the words following
Everything is silent
Heart beat steady
The opponent staring me down
I only see a target
With the ring of a bell I am off
Take the offensive my dad said
You call the shots
Jab, cross, hook
Slip, uppercut, evade, right kick
Square out
Steady the pace, youre only 45 seconds in
Clinch, knee one two
Release
I'll never forget that look of defeat given to me by the opponent
The rush of adrenaline soars through my veins
This is the win, take them out
Step to the left, head kick
Sound comes back to me hearing the thud in the ring
They're out
I win
I won
The match is called
I would give anything
Anything at all
To relive the moment my hand was raised in the air by the ref
To look in the crowd and see the faces of my parents
To know what it feels like to be a champion
To succeed in something you earned
It's the best feeling out there
Victory
minute poem with nonsense words
Stretching, I might be four-foot-six
I've learned to fix
the wixumph jokes
of thoughtless blokes.
Some people are antriphinal -
not short on bull
"Peanut," they yell
"Who cracked your shell?
Perspecitus, 'tis a good word
When thoughts get blurred,
I watch them squirm
at each word worm.
When perspecitus meets wixumph,
I can triumph,
remaining bold -
mood quite controlled.
Vurshotimy! I call the shots,
connect the dots.
When chaps condemn,
toss words to them.
Two minutes with Peanut, no dice.
A little spice
'tworks well enough
to call their bluff.
Related Poems