A Quiet—calculated—Corridor—
Where Trust—was led astray—
The Smiling Guest—became a Gate—
That opened—Night—to Day—
She moved—as if in Lantern’s hush—
A Courtesy—refined—
Yet underneath—an Architect—
Of Ruin—pre-designed—
For Innocence—she Scouted—out—
As one might choose a Thread—
To stitch—another’s Shadow—on—
A Child—uncomforted—
Her Duties—never spoken—were—
But Whisper—serviced—Need—
Till Justice—slow—assembled—Proof—
Of Purpose—turned to Deed—
The Gavel—fell—like Winter’s Stone—
No Petal—intervened—
A Name—once dressed in Silk—became
A Record—cold—Serene—
And now—Confined—her Seasons turn—
All Windows—facing In—
The Echo—of her “Quiet Tasks”—
Reverses—into Sin—
So Memory—keeps its Ledger neat—
No matter—what is known—
For Truth—though late—arrives—intact—
And claims—its rightful Throne—
It's easy to believe that our ability to love is finite (final) especially when your heart has been broken before by someone you loved very much.
But believe it or not, slowly you will heal and love again. And your capacity for love will grow exponentially.
You'll be able to keep a space for Maxwell W. Moyo in your heart, for your family, for your future children, for anybody who comes into your life.
And you never know, maybe you and I are meant to be together. And if that's the case, then you will find your way to me, into my life, to accept me as your own, to love me, support me and to spend good times with me.
And I promise to shower you with the love, care, attention you deserve.
To support you and to love you wholeheartedly.
There's always light at the end of the tunnel.
by Maxwell "Max" Sebastian Burchett
I present these lyrics today,
For you to consider if you would,
An idea I propose, to find a way
To designate a day for doing good.
It is about time now
We start finding a way
That leads us somehow
To a brighter day.
Whatever it takes
Now before it is too late,
One little step by each, then a giant leap by all
That might improve the world for one, or all.
These rhymes propose a new holiday.
A new national day, call it what you may,
Perhaps Pay-It-Forward Day.
No, let’s say “Good Day!"
A day recognized as a time to remind,
A new day when all of goodwill,
If they can, if they will,
Do one thing for the good.
For a friend, or
Even for a foe,
For family, or
For a stranger you do not know.
A day set aside
Dedicated to making one small thing better,
Lifting one person higher,
Together, many higher and higher.
An extra, kind gesture unplanned,
Whatever you feel you should,
A kind word, maybe something grand,
An unexpected act of good.
Now is the time.
We do not really know
If we have one day more.
Now is the time for a Good Day!
by Maxwell "Max" Sebastian Burchett
In every street and town,
Poisons abound,
Tricking the mind,
Destroying the brain.
Some seek it out
For cheaper effect,
But have to pay with their bodies,
And pay with their lives.
Unwittingly lured
By a false sense of escape
Becoming victims
To an insidious grip.
Drugs, nothing new, in times past
In shadows it thrived, the silent foe
Unseen, ever present in varied forms
Still claiming lives, shattering dreams.
Still the silent whisper beckons,
Drug allure persists, a Siren’s song,
Promising solace, momentary bliss,
But the price of escape, greater suffering and death.
Generation to generation, the cycle repeats,
Drugs evolve, taking on different disguises,
Still offering refuge from life’s defeats,
But devastation and darkness, all the same.
Victims seeking a way to battle their demons,
The drug becomes a demon itself.
Then finally, the addicts' only friend,
Their deadly companion to life’s end.
I wrote this thinking of her, she had that certian thing that caught my eye. And in a since you could exagerate by saying I fell in love. But while I was writing I saw a video with Warren Jeffs and the LDS Church and Gislane became just one woman, when in that church men and women out number her by thousands. And while she sits in jail Her crime continues in the name of a cult. My piece just tell her story.
Glain was her name
with secrets hidden by gods
Hidden in pronounciation
the way and what she was
Trapped from the beginning
a tool that greed would use
The vengence crime commited
to the daughters of the accused
Kept within the filty rich
the treasures of flesh and being
Princesses now in favor
virgins in the eyes of the seeing
Pleasing becomes an occupation
no matter who you are
form sweeping the floor to closing the door
we all play certian part
A true crime story was what became
when only certian girls would suit.
I stoped there. After the video.... I was going to use her name or part of it, the "his" in Ghislane. and the his became "His". Needles to say that's God's
Let my son stand at the table of Life
sit in the seat of Wisdom
with ever open Arms
fingers of ready Consent
eyes of empath Sight and
a tongue of prose Impeccability
lips of passionate lovelorn Truths
shouldering resolute Responsibilities
on a chest of conviction, pure as Knight
the stomach to move beyond Measure
the heart of treasured Experiences
a soul of infinite Possibles
the karma of cyclic Intents
the nirvana to give back Unconditional
we can be the pioneers of an infinite, Lasting
and loving Peace,
as once we were There.
two roundels
“Mommy, let’s go ride Maxwell, Don’t say no again.”
My son has named ev’ry horse on the carousel.
“We will go soon!”, I promised but I don’t know when.
“Mommy, let’s go ride Maxwell.”
“Lots of people are sick; just how long we can’t tell.
The park is all closed up, no one is allowed in;
and we have to stay in our house for a long spell.”
“H-O-R-S-E” spells Mikey with a big grin.
I play music as he rides rocky horse, Cowbell.
Lifting a sleepy boy, I hear him whisperin'
“Mommy, let’s go ride Maxwell."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With the passage of years, we'll be able to freeze,
to kill the threat of COVID-19 and its fears.
Note Mike will still smile when he hears calliopes
with the passage of years.
Bear in mind, e-lessons we'll learn on new frontiers;
the strengths we'll gain connecting as close families.
How Face-Time helps victims to cope, shedding good tears.
Praising those who man hospitals and groceries;
remembering those who've died all across these spheres.
Thanking God for new medicines and expertise
with the passage of years.
written March 28, 2020
Contest: Quarantine Poems
Hostess: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Maxwell Smart and wisest Ninety-nine.
One is a boob, the other just fine.
1960’s fun,
Always on the run.
One is logical, other a whine.
Written Feb 2, 2019 Contest: Limericks 4 Sponsor: Joseph May
She was ten years his senior
and Billy probably saw her
as a strong mother figure to him.
There have also been rumors
that the Kid and Deluvina
engaged in some steamy romancing,
but we will never know,
we can only be sure of this one very real thing.
After the Kid had been shot and killed,
Deluvina never stopped grieving.
She would visit the Kid's grave
well into her senior years,
her hands clutching her heart,
weeping endless tears,
and so given all of the above,
this is what I do hereby contend.
Deluvina and the Kid were not only very close friends,
Deluvina in my opinion is the strongest evidence,
that the Kid was good and not prone to violence.
She would have never associated herself with bad people of any kind.
Deluvina was drawn to they who were good, loving and kind.
In the abode of a man with a heart of stone,
Out of Compassion, his spouse saved me from scraps and bone,
But by his hand I want to be left alone.
A domestic help I was meant to render,
But Mr. Maxwell’s eyes behind my back yearned for another,
Creeping at night into my room he sought my tender.
Protest to my mistress-his spouse I can’t,
For to lose a job and fine rations I can’t,
And his forewarning wounded me like a treacherous ant.
How can a man be absent of conscience?
But in the eyes of his folks full of pretense
In between my legs I find his sense.
In the eyes of all he proclaims love for spouse,
Under my curtains at night he creeps in like a hungry mouse.
I crave for his absence but can’t leave his house.
He is a secret agent working for his country.
A plain-looking bumbling fool is what most people see.
This surreptitious spy has a big bag of tricks.
He is CONTROL agent number 86.
His true occupation is something most do not know.
It seems strange he sounds like Tennessee Tuxedo.
He has a sweet-looking sidekick who looks just fine.
We only know her as “Agent 99”.
Each week, these two get into a situation.
Problems are caused by the KAOS Organization.
“Would you believe…” and “Sorry about that” is what he will say.
Maxwell Smart somehow always saves the day.
walking your talking
all for sale,if you can't
find it here,it can't be found.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.