Forsook Poems | Examples

Blessed Be the Restorer of His Saints

Blessed be the Lord God Almighty,
Who delivereth His generals from the snares of the enemy.

In their great fall, He forsook them not,
But upheld them with His hand and called them once more.
He is the Shepherd who leaves not His own,
The Watchman who allows no harm to overtake His chosen.

Blessed be His Word;
Wise are all His precepts.

O marvelous King, full of mercy and power,
Thou rememberest the fallen and restorest the righteous.

For though the righteous fall, yet shall they rise again,
Because Thy love endureth forever.

Thank Thee, O Lord, for Thy everlasting kindness.
All glory be unto Thee
Who was, and is to come.
Amen.

Even If Man’s Blind

Descending  s p l a s h  infuses brook.
Falling from on high, cockcrow skies.
E a r l y  risers, on boat, take  l o o k.
O bittersweet  g r a c e …angels’ sighs.
P a i n t e d  hues, (God never forsook
the human race) the bright dawn highs.
Passionate-red, the orb’s  e y e  wise.
Even if man’s blind, still God dyes
Yellow-orange, sunny  s u n r i s e.

Echoes Fade in Cemetery

Names carved deep,
in marble stones, keep
memories fast asleep, 
until loved ones weep.

Mementos kept in drawls,
photos displayed in halls,
precious things hung on walls,
oft echo memory recalls.

One is living, one is dead.
Why not remember a thread,
that is ongoing, instead
of annual tributes, planned ahead?

A grave grows old,
neglected in the cold.
It keeps the passed on hold,
when keepsakes, instead, evolve.

Each touch of them, each look,
is like reading a book,
over again, lest you mistook
a detail, or what you forsook. 

So I leave the cemetery alone,
in its seldom visited zone.
Instead I focus on being re-shown,
the tapestry of echoes hand-sewn.

Still See Her There

“Memories come forth to say...
             we are with you to stay.”
                                           __by Poet

This was the passageway she took
beneath the limbs of maple trees;
to this day still, I turn and look
and feel her joy to help and please.

I watched her walk across the grass;
this was the passageway she took.
With all the love she could amass
she'd come out from the shaded nook.

For from her home to mine partook
to visit for a while and stay.
This was the passageway she took;
still see her there as branches sway.

Yes, there she was, my mother dear;
I miss those visits- long-forsook.
Above, she keeps my vision clear;
this was the passageway she took.

Written in Santa Maria della Vittoria

The feast, it happened, of Saints Peter and Paul.
I’d called in early, for a final look
at Saint Teresa in her cosy nook,
before the tourists made a shopping mall
of this delightful church. My plans on stall
(for Mass was under way), I soon forsook
my statue contemplation, since the hook
the sermon dangled caught me in its thrall.
Those two great saints of Roman pedigree
had done their time in prison, unlike us,
but (said the priest) our new captivity
is of our own creation – reasoned, thus:
“The Prison of the Ego”. Yes, that’s me.
To add one word would be superfluous.

Neglected Ties

You shirk the weight of parenthood's call,
leaving your children to wither, unfed.
Are you a father, or mere specter of one?
A mother, or just a shadow that's gone?

While others nurture, educate, and guide,
you abandon your own to fate's tide.
Your concern lies with outsiders, it seems,
while your kin suffer, and your legacy beams.

The children you forsook, the partner you left,
will rise to greatness, despite the neglect.
Will you claim pride in their future fame?
Seek praise for years of absence, and hollow claims?

Awaken to your duties, and seize the day,
for the future beckons, and will not stray.

The Sun You Forsook

Peer at your reflection, see with their eyes,
the bloom of roses in soft, downy cheek.
Rigid, cold looking glass, no warmth to seek.
All life must wither and the moon must rise.

Each believes they hold to the pastel posy.
Change begins with frigid wind of slate gray.
Turn then, to me,  see your soul's eternal day.
I, blind to time see you forever rosy.

In beauty you bask in each longing look.
Though your surrounded, each eye is your own.
Clouds of admiration but ever alone.
When night falls, I'll be the sun you forsook.

All Wrong

All Wrong

Perhaps you are all wrong,
Chanting a cheap imitation song,
Trying to peer-pressure-belong.
It’s the devils-sweet-song,
But eternity is hellishly long.
Think! Don’t just go along.
Don’t let deception be your swan song.
Your hot-new-home is not a week long.

Words of heavenly wisdom have a Shepherd’s hook.
Christ’s burden is light; heavy is the profound book.
It would be experientially sad to find you forsook
The greatest gift. Why not take a Living Water-look.
Step over the line of faith; have a changed outlook.

That Was Then; This is Now

THEN
I was
carefree, and
I wished to live
forever, and yet
always inside me was
the knowledge that I would grow
by learning more and taking on
new responsibilities. Trials 
taught me that nothing in life is certain.
I swam life’s flow in each new wave that came-
as a wife, mother, teacher and friend.
Some childhood beliefs I forsook.
I hope I’ve evolved although
in many ways I’ve stayed
the same. However,
I think I could
accept death
with grace
NOW

Why NOT me?

Why NOT me?

In the shadow of the womb I lay.
Tiny and helpless, not yet on display.
Unknown to the world, silently I grow;
A life in waiting, with oh, so much to show.

But fate decides, with a cruel twist;
My future uncertain, in this rollercoster abyss,
Cast aside, before I can even breathe;
My tiny heart is draining, unable to seethe.

Do they know my pain, my silent cries;
As they take away my one chance to rise?
In the folly of their choice I was made.
A lost soul, not wanted, trapped in the depths of their parade.

Unseen, unheard, my existence denied.
My potential extinguished, as they decide.
But in the shifting dance of life and death,
I'll remain just a whisper, a forgotten breath.

For those who choose to overlook,
The beauty in me, the life they forsook;
Remember this in the depths of your heart,
I was here, I did exist, I was a part.

Now I’m in the arms of the one who never cast away,
Where I know I can sleep peacefully, and safely lay.
For even if no one on the earth will take a gift from the creator,
I’ll forever accept him as my life giving savior!

Based on a Robert Frost poem

I, a window-flower,

and he, a winter breeze,
carrying along the birds,
the butterflies, and bees

Quiet strength's my power

putting chipmunks at ease--
munching seeds, without words
looking at me, to tease

Thinking I did cower--

--the day-- I did not seize
the breeze went with cow herds
(forsook for milk and cheese!!)



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You're A Flower In My Garden" Poetry Contest by Tania Kitchin
--meets--
"Wind and Window Flower" by Robert Frost

Awaking from stupor

I ran here and I raced there
All the time, all places, anywhere,
As if possessed I was adamant
and rested not even for a moment.

I had the riches and all the fun
Basking under a robust sun,
I knew despair nowhere     
and reaped joy everywhere.

I needed none to lend me a hand
Nor by my side to stand,
No shoulder I sought upon to cry
There was no task I would not try,
To grab wealth I would not shy
Nor faltered ever to cheat or lie,
With unfettered passion to win
I forsook my own kith and kin.

Favored by fate, I was awestruck
until Time’s heavy hand struck
and pulled me out of my stupor
saving me from making a grim blooper.

My body gave up the strife,
My spirit longed for a quiet life—
But Life turned its back on me
Oh, my folly it made me see...

He who is at peace with his share
Leaving the worldly woes in God's care,
He who is driven not by his whim
Happy is he, life is good to him.

Eli, Eli, lama Sabachthani?

A temple bell clangs through echoing ears.
My vision today
could turn a green leaf brown.

Why do I tilt my head like a bird
just to see its reflection in
a muddy puddle?
Why the need to know
If mud is real or just a mote in my eye?

In your eleventh hour,
in your distress,
why did you utter that accusatory word, 'forsaken'?
Those unrisen words reverberate still.

Body temples crumble away,
the altar returns to eternal flame.
Knowing this, you still cried out.

As a bird's broken wing
un-fluttering,
yet not squelched,
am I.
I die not,
to long dead thoughts.

Forsaken, forsook, forgiven.
My fear of falling
makes me ever the lame pilgrim.

Will you walk a little away,
that I might feel your leaving?
I then might for certain know,
that you are my very own
sacred heart.

For I forget myself
in this long dream of existence,
though, all-unknowing,
I will surely
blunder into the light.

OFF THE BALCONY - Anacreontic Couplets

Roses spread with lace garter;
Boutonnière and charter.
Green meadow eyes clung to lass.
Juliet was upper class.
A shepherd was he, with crook.
All gentle men, she forsook.
Under the willow, the wind
Warmed petals with no rescind.
Tempo was slow with his bride
Deep smile, a groom could not hide.
Underneath his ruddy beard,
“Reverie,” the garden cheered.
How lucky was a poor man
To find a robust woman.
Off the balcony she came.
Her shepherd, never the same.

Animal, Woman, Child

Suffer most, who have more
Subtle beguiled
For each soft-eyed animal
Woman and child.

By hand, word, unfeeling.
Even a look.
Whose helpless needs, touch God's heart
By man forsook.

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