Donated Poems | Examples

Premium Member The Grief I Feel is of Another Kind

The grief I feel is of another kind
Sweeter than holy water
A deeper breath than moorland air to find
The black of midnight, not—
Of monstrous seas, but—
Of restful night, donated cloak 
From a kindly gentleman to wear 
Wrapped in coolest starlight, safe
Astride a destrier — galloping to water 
Molted feather — fortuitously found 
New flight, gentle wind in gossamer sail.
Creeping tendrils — nettles wind around 
Sentries of roses — silken petal rounds
Shower the lily casket — topped by pearly crown.

I know my grief is not the universal kind 
But something softer than the norm 
Welcome as a friend, I usher in my grief 
And death, his brother, dressed in angel white 
Scythe to call its sleepers — lowered in greeting bow.
Farewell, Annie
Newcomer to the under-realm.
With no card of sympathy 
Or hearse to see you off 
In lonely grief you leave your final hurt. 
But, relief of death follows me, ebony puppy
Nipping at my heels, my little black dog
Helps my heart to heal.

Tea Time

It's almost half past three
time to cosy up for tea
kettle's on the boil to brew
tea for two me and you
with egg and cress or
cucumber sandwiches
with nary a single crust
(they were all donated
to the National Trust)
it's after forty to four
shall I be Mother and pour
I know you know Pekoe
the table's set quite daintily
two for tea you and me
and we can sing my song
'Lapsang Souchong'
I LONG
YOU LONG
WE ALL LONG
FOR OOLONG
unless you're feeling more Darjeeling


Premium Member All for peace'

Australia last year donated guns..Held by the goverment
Just token in the sum..Even pistols anything you can
Think..While its own citizens can't even clink.' The bolt
In a barrel withougt jumping through many hoops.' Strange
Times, strange laws.. What do you think.?? And all those
Guns were sent to Ukraine? Its like pouring fuel on a fire
To me thats so plain.'

Premium Member Attic Rummaging

unearthed belongings... 
gasps of pleasant astonishment;
e u r e k a!
white elephants galore...
many treasures, too!
fallen into decades of desuetude 
old clothes and shoes 
to be donated to charity;
some books to be thrown away.
a silver locket, I thought lost;
inscribed with the word "Dreamer" 
on the inside.
birthday gift many, many years ago
from my first love. wow!

Premium Member Surplus to requirements'

Fifty one m1 Abrams tanks.' Australian donated it would
Break a small bank' to cause more misery..While many
Live in tents.' War and destruction, and madcap bents.?
Young Australians denied an army job.' Why were they
First obtslained.? Must have cost some bobs." Why not
Employ them as temporaty accomodations.' Thats how
Dire things are in our nation.' I never thought this could
Be the case.' I hear of war on want.' We need breathing
Space.' A time to consider? And that is now! Start fixing
Up each country, they should not be ( cash cows ) help
Your own..' Just stop bending over' to the god of destruction 'who at the moment' has a camoflauge of
Of green clover."


Heaven and Earthworms

I have given many a thought to what happens when we die, specifically, what happens to our bodies. You have the option to be classically buried, cremated, donated to science. I think I don't want to be cremated, kept in a jar or the specks of my former self thrown across water. I think I don't want to donate myself to science, lying on a cold metal slab for years. I think I don't even want to be buried, at least not traditionally, set in a wooden or metal box marked by a plain slab of stone. I want to be buried in the forest, no casket, no headstone. Mark my resting place by flowers, wrap my body in leaves and let me melt into the ground, decaying alongside bones of animals forgotten, let birdsong be my funeral organ, let the willows do the weeping, let the toadstools and earthworms feast themselves on my corpse. And let it be that my soul does not rise to heaven above nor to hell below, rather seeps into the soil, into the seeds and moss, allows the remnants of my earthly form to grow into beauty once again.

Helping The Victims Of The Wildfires

The crisis in California is heartbreaking and it certainly is dire.
I donated $20.00 to the American Red Cross to help the victims of the wildfires.
I donated and I encourage you to donate too.
It will certainly be a kind thing for you to do.
The situation is horrible and there is no doubt.
Please donate to these people to help them out.

Brasca Fronts Palace

In Twenty Fourty Six a group of men
hacked into a bible printing companies
computer
gaining access to the revisions
in the new book.
They removed copied and placed new sections of
the script.
People thought it was a joke at first
until they found it had been planned as a script for interputations
meaning the reader would find translations
and define the text reveealing
where and when to
donate and tgift properties to peoples.
It was said to have been an international event.
It was clever and geniues
in that only certain books where changed
and enough where printed
to where the Governor of Guam made a statement after
a wealthy woman donated her billions to a student on
the island.

Political patronage

Donated Clothes are so wrong
hand down offerings
Tired and dusted threads
of political patronage
Turn your heads
the public have had enough
Donated clothes are so wrong
why mast your colours ?
You know you've blown it
when the people have been passed over

Clean

I’m busy again.
Dusting, organizing, mopping.
Everything is clean already.
We already swept up all her old food.
And mopped her muddy paw prints.
It’s clean, it’s clean enough!
They say.
We don’t get less sad.
The house just gets clean.
We remember her favorite treats.
We donated them.
I ignore their calls and texts.
I’m busy again.
And I don’t want to talk about her, anyway.

Premium Member 40000 cartloads of horse manure

i printed off
all of my poems

i distributed them
at the traffic lights 

no one opened their car windows
except one poem i stuffed in a dog's face

a child laughed at me from his back seat
i laughed back

i stuffed the poems in drains
in supermarket trollies

i donated them at the
charity shop

i hammered this poem
into a lamppost

it blew away into the ether
i went home to pass a kidney stone

all the eggs in this box are double yoked
signifying nothing

Hello Palestine

Hello Palestine, 
have you seen the headlines today:
400 US federal workers tendered their resignation over the war, seeking ceasefire.  And a Vietnam war veteran donated his pension to Palestine relief fund. Also at Brandeis the president was sacked for violating US Constitution, and was seen packing back to a Kibbutz near Gaza.  Send them back, I say, to disallow infecting American democracy such.  Palestine will never be free when those scoundrels have the upper hands. 
And this just came in, sky over Gaza is clearing, the mist is gone and plenty of sunshine for the foreseeable future, enough to bring the birds out again, singing to the tune of Glorious Palestine, from river to the sea, this holy land shall always be free from the smug of racists and supremacists, clinging to their dystopia of land without Palestinians. Their days are numbered and nightmare is over, hello freedom, hello justice's return after the snub of cold shoulder for a generation.
Gaza cafes are now open again, markets filled with fresh fruit, and children playing with new toys donated from good will citizens of Tel Aviv and East Jerusalem.  It is good to live free again.

They Left a Mark

A celebration of heroes and heroines, dead and living. 

They sold their lives
For the price of nothing 
And surrendered their entire being 

- Spirit: 
They pleaded with God
For His intervention
In alleviating man's troubles
They wrestled with forces
That caused people to err

- Soul: 
They showed their love 
And donated their hearts 
They cried for those in anguish 
And danced with the lame 
They taught the ignorant
And gave them the confidence
Of the learned 

- Bodies: 
Hands that caressed
Palms that gave alms
Smiles that uplifted 
Legs that led
Mouths that spoke up 
Tongues that revealed truth 
And words that made whole 

You decided to be different
And sacrificed yourselves
Your footprints are seen across the sands of time
Your works speak for you
Your stories will always be told 
The marks you left will forever tell it

My Country Tears For Thee

My Country tears for thee Black 
                     Nativity scene. Sour milking abreast of poison trans-Libertitity. LGBTTT/STATUS/VIP/perversing.
  branding.trending, algorithm bending, Lockheed Martinizing. 
     Land of WEF/CBDC-Annunaki.
                   CIA Tweet channeling BlackRock native C
GOV/LLC
Land where we pollarize black and white.
Brokebackbetter homeless Americans with donated crack-pipes camping on BrokebackBurningMountainsides, Eagle is soaring with communismunity for Christianslavery.deicide.Deniability.

Server and Client side.Monitoring compliancy. Thought policing, for unity.
        
       Banning white terrorists and family. 
Ostricide with impunity. 
Why then did my Fore Father's die? 
for newTianeman Squared, 
crackdown media against 
Democracy(FDIC) accesside, biometric tracing.
For Moloch, CERNed for dimensional dooring. www.beast/social credit scoring online. http

Premium Member Vintage Dress Starts a Fiasco

the vintage homecoming dress was donated in the middle of the night.
This is a small town, in 1972. There were no security cameras.
Sue, the shop owner had asked for vintage dresses for her window display.
She had no idea what inferno of questions was going to come to her.

Sue was new in town, did not know about Peggy Lee, who was missing.
Twenty-two years now, and no one knew where she was or if she was alive.
Peggy Lee’s mother was the first one in the store after the dress appeared.
Demanding to know where it had come from, but the shop owner did not know.

The police were there by two p.m. demanding answers.
This dress had been made for Peggy Lee’s prom by her mother.
Peggy Lee had disappeared that same night. Who had brought the dress?
Sue was horrified; she truly did not know; she found it in a box on her stoop.

The police took the dress out of the window.
Would they bring it back?  No one told Sue anything.
The only person who knew anything stayed in a shadow, studying her mother.
She was the same pushy woman, with gray hair now; she was glad to rile her.

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