Inheriting Poems | Examples

Cities without water fountains and? 2

In California today, 2025, city managers, attorneys, engineering 
Work in an infrastructure of control without water fountains.
Micromanaged district supervision of States of legislature 
Troughing below the poverty lines as entrance and exit serve the wills inheriting the labor of "housing" "something" without competing.

Prediction of 24 hours, 7 days, is enough hearing of you 
Needn't be hear nor better with time in a second arrived

Lots full of practice and routine appearance

Essayists and poets marching 
Into town halls to legislate 
Creating labora frame
Georgia 5th had no time to talk

Inheriting Yourself

You're too far gone for me to step in 
I've given you my blood and precious time.
Society has given you dozens of chances 
yet you drain the system dry.
You're a freight train off track
into the solar plexus of civilization.
You've managed to turn the iridescence of 
love, loyalty, friendship 
into the opaqueness of deception and decadence.

Here you are, a light year beyond your prime
dark deceiver scrounging for dimes.
A Bonafide parasite.
Angelic looks once gave you safe haven- free rides.
Now you've run out of bridges-shallow charisma exposed.

This haven is overgrown with thorn and briar 
the free ride is nothing but taillights in the mist
You've inherited nothing but red eyed dead ends.

inherit the wind

We are inheriting Art and Arc 
Of trying to understand.  

How once, we were fingers, 
Born of the same common hand.

Miniatures born into this land 
Of thought.

Tactile each, and that ought, 
To have been enough.

But,

In the sound of each brushed whisper
Overheard in the billowing clouds,

We fought the thought
Of the popular injunction.

Loud as a newborn’s cry,
Yet rough
As an unwanted memorry.

We are the ones 
Still trying 

To Understand.

From A to C

And for my last will & testament to a life concluded at the hands of the cruel poison that is time, I solemnly swear that a life poised to mean nothing shall not only bear such barren nakedness but will also birth a new age of emptiness while inheriting all of seclusion. 

While these last meaningless words shall only succeed in painting a blank portrait, I will only afterwards exceed my own expectations by finding what the true natural distinction between Fate & Destiny really is and-or shall become. 

I shall henceforth concede my life the only way any average & mundane human can ever truly fathom in its totality, with a long innocuous sigh.

Kingdom Come

Such a fate we all share, yes, every single one. 

Set in stone and sealed, awaiting Kingdom Come. 

However you may enter, each differential circumstance, the difference made is none.  

Hands of a ticking clock strike the hour, declaring that time Living here will have reached its end, and our final day be done. 

Resting besides those unfortunate less fortunate souls.
Riches remain within rich pockets of inheriting soles, unlike others whose feet are bare and are cold, stand firm on the earth you now lay beneath. 
 
Families of both either benefit or wealth, share eyes the colour red as they heavily weep, the same sadness and the same feelings of heart-aching grief. 

Blood bled and bleeding red, layering cuts skin deep, choosing one's self-choices, and ranking bestowed upon by society, mean nothing once we sleep.  

To Kingdom Come, shall our destination be ironclad, placing our final sitting seat. 

Opposite living and separated by morality. 

Yet each for a loved one is waiting to reunite with, and again cross paths they will meet.

Earth's tone

pitch perfect
absolute hearing
shhhhh ..... 

let’s run

somewhere
anywhere

quietly

but where?
... it is absolute

our veins follow the architecture of the leaves inheriting its rythm
rhythm is consuming souls
overwrote by the ocean’s crescendo
our DNA is synchronized

Mother is firmly holding a conducting baton

The partiture where we can be undisguised
hasn’t been written

let’s write our own

turn the opera
into the cabaret
and give the puppeteers illusion of the power

Heritage

Things that are passed on 
family farm and it's land 
inheriting pride

Butterfly

I live as a butterfly
Going about in my environment
Spreading happiness and infectious smiles
Where I can
And being uncaring about everything else;
The whims of the weather, 
The potency of flowers,
The raging flow of river waters,
And even the songs of angelic muses!

Why, my carefreeness has a level which
Has never been reached before
I shall become a pupa
The day I shall be mystery
And my body shall be corpse
I shall then bask in the juices of this mystery
To become,
Once more,
A caterpillar
Bestowed with colors I will choose not
Inheriting the traits of a species that I will choose not
And programmed to live as the mystery will want me to

The cyclical flux of existence is beautiful
Just like a playlist that has been set on loop
But with the ending that never seems to come to a close
As new songs keep getting played,
Giving the impression that, like the universe,
The playlist keeps getting larger and larger still!

In this game of existential consciousness,
Why should I worry about the processes?

If I am a child of this subtle mystery
Should I not just blindly trust it
And keep my soul receptive
To what it would deem be best for me?

Lucinda is Out of Her Mind

She is out of her mind her relatives said.
They wanted her embalmed, cremated or dead.
Lucinda had her wits and was not to be dissuaded.
She gave them all the boot, they were downgraded.

She had a dream, and intended to put it into action.
Wanted a gingerbread house to give satisfaction.
Builder and construction crew were happy to do it.
Relatives inheriting nothing had a huge hissy fit.

The Lambs of God

It's always the impoverished
that get it worse.

On occasions the wealthy
get it,
but the poor
can expect to get it worse.

Mother Nature
goes for the weakest buildings,
the driest wood,
the lowest,
most fragile among us
The meek often end up
precipitously dead.

Often, I ponder
about inheriting the Earth
I mean, is it worth it?

Often, I wonder if lightning bolts
especially single-out the meek.

I guess it's good to be special.

Legacy

How will the robots remember us?
I’d like to think they’ll write poems in some
Style they develop for themselves, contrive
To move their electron-shifting hearts,
Inheriting our passions good and bad, 
The joys and bitter miseries that they
In their birth and evolution never 
Thought or ever dreamed we had.

Underdog Alleluia

Underdog Alleluia

By Mark D. Stucky
Why do we love underdogs?
Why root for ragtag Rockies
and scruffy low-rated teams
coming from behind to win?
Why adore unlikely triumphs
against impossible odds?

Our culture can still remember
underdog-filled Bible stories,
from David and Goliath’s battle
to the meek inheriting the earth.

And America was once an underdog,
rebelling against earth’s mightiest empire.
Although Britain wielded superpower might,
and colonists fielded motley militias,
somehow, against improbable odds,
America survived and thrived.

In the centuries since,
the story transformed.
America became Goliath.
What will be our story now?

(First published in The Purpled Nail, 2 June 2023.)

(Photo by Kara Carelle on Unsplash.com.)

Stick-To-It-Ness

Always been blessed with “stick-to-it-ness”
Got it from my dear old dad
He once rode a bike three hundred sixty miles
Took four days each way, egad!

At any age, that's quite an accomplishment
But my dad was sixty years old
From Montreal to Toronto and back again
A feat so gruelling, so bold

A wee one of ten back in nineteen forty-six
Didn't hit me till many years later
The impact of his enormous accomplishment
It then seemed a whole lot greater

Been telling this proud tale wherever I go
Bout inheriting his “stick-to-it-ness”
Don't think I can even come close to matching
The resolve and dedication he possessed

Enchanted Money

N1,000.00 for a mad beggar;
The rare spectacle would make you stagger:
Nation’s Top Bank Note on palms of pure dirt!
I had to yield to Strongest Suspicion
And out fish Giver’s Concealed Decision;
A need to criminalize Donors
Or they don’t taste what resembles honors:
Prayers for The Truly Charitable
While citing Pious Men: Veritable…

“This might be just Enchanted Money,
Whose taker would not at all find funny;
instant withdrawal of releasing hand
making The Very Giving less grand;
The Mad to be Twenty Thousand Times so,
The Sane fully cease to sensibly flow:
Receiver inheriting Givers Woes,
Start absorbing ill-Luck and its sad blows.

One should not in Life try to Charity 
With Propriety place on parity:
Indeed, Begging is a risky venture:
A Boxer staking some tooth or denture.

My Totally Amazing Dad

Always been blessed with “stick-to-it-ness”
Got it from my dear old dad
He rode a pedal bike 360 sixty miles each way
Took four days there four days back!

At any age, that's quite an accomplishment
But my dad was sixty years old
From Montreal to Toronto each way
A feat so gruelling, so bold

A wee one of eleven back in nineteen forty-six
Didn't hit me till many years later
The impact of his enormous accomplishment
It then seemed a whole lot greater

Been telling this proud tale wherever I go
Bout inheriting his “stick-to-it-ness”
Don't think I can even come close to matching
The resolve and dedication he possessed

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