So, you're telling me that you can be
a dirtbag for your entire earthly life...
Wreak havoc on the community and all of mankind.
Then, on the deathbed, accept Jesus-ask for forgiveness.
Then everything's alright?
I don't agree with it at all.
This scale is unbalanced and highly flawed.
Seems to me this last-minute soul is cutting in line.
Slipping Saint Peter, a mickey, the golden Jesus ticket
Slithering through the pearly gates...
While the souls of Mother Theresa and Dali lama circle the drain.
Heaven could be like an infinite holiday
Without grief and the burden of war.
Without physical or emotional pain.
A family reunion every day.
Bathed in the purest light.
Manna nibbled from crystal plates.
Heaven could be like a tide pool.
A place where cracked limbs grow back.
Where hearts are gently put back into place.
Where children play on trampoline dreams.
Where everything is glazed in the spirit-Godspeed.
Heaven could be where secrets of being are revealed.
Where peace is accepted naturally.
Where sin is gleaned, rendering the soul pristine.
Heaven could be trimmed in cherub knickknacks.
Made from the messiahs' precious hands.
Heaven could be a place where you finally meet,
Leonardo -Vincent- Mother Theresa or Martin Luther King.
Heaven could be just a melting film reel, in an L.S.D dream.
Man-woven from the matter of everything and nothing.
A Mother Theresa Quote:
“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.”
She, a Loreto sister of great value a Saint in old Calcutta
took a train ride in 1946, and found her true calling
As a teacher and an exemplary woman of the world,
she healed and fed the sick like a true Angel of God;
never worry about the numbers
a true Saint never slumbers
be a bolt of lightning, thunder *
Awarded a Nobel prize in 1979 for her great works
she also suffered from sadness and often prayed to Jesus
"Please help me spread thy fragrance wherever I go !"
Penetrate my being Lord make me a radiance of thine
charity begins in Rome
never leave a poor one alone
send all the demons home
Get on your knees and pray and mean what you say
Those Holy hands did much more than just pray
they touched the wounds of the sick and healed
God's children, as if they were her very own.
Today I’m thankful I still have hope for peace…
That I still pray peace will one day find all my worlds sisters and brothers
Remembering the words of Mother Theresa:
If we have no peace…
It’s because we have forgotten we belong to one another
This is insane. This is unheard of a president
Behaving like that. Yes, he deserves a prize
It's a great honor to lead a country this size
Be happy, pragmatic and wait if by accident
You will be honored. You are no Dr. M.L. King
The Nobel Peace Prize is about being humble
It is not about acting like a wrestler in the ring
It is not about being a jerk to rumble and crumble
It is about respect, uniting people of different background
It is not about making noise and galloping on the playground
Mother Theresa got a Peace Prize and she deserved it
President Jimmy Carter got one and he earned it
I can go on and on. One never knows. Wait for your turn
Nobody knows about tomorrow. You'll get one in Saturn.
Copyright © April 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Would a good God permit an Auschwitz
Would a bad god grant Mother Theresa long life
Would a good God turn Osama bin Laden loose
Would a bad god have given Adam a wife
When folks say they don't believe in God
they mean a good God would never do bad
while a bad God would never do good
~ though such a test is designed for childhood
On graduation day you put your saddle shoes away.
You took a naked walk through the garden till you got to the pool.
You had Vivaldi on steroids, Monet on cocaine.
You’re not Mother Theresa. No need to explain.
You smelt iron ore, limestone, and coke in your open-hearth heart.
Staying true to your infidelities is a heritage art.
Let us sit by the fire pit and burn some fat wood,
Making jests while the gods are at play in the forest around us.
Then I’ll sample your cocktail, while you’re sipping mine.
You like my Jack Daniels. Your Pepsi tastes fine.
I’m playing hooky in the Hollywood hills where aristocrats play,
On the first wicked day of summer with Lana Del Rey.
People are often unreasonable
And self-centered
Forgive them any way
If you are kind people may
Accuse you of ulterior motives
Be kind any way
If you are honest people
May cheat you
Be honest anyway
If you find happiness people
May be jealous
Be happy anyway
The good you do today
May be forgotten tomorrow
Do good anyway
Give the world the best you have
And it may never be enough
Give your best anyway
For you see in the end
It is between you and God
It was never between you and them
Mother Theresa of Calcutta
A heart of pure gold
You cared for the unwanted
You gave joy to the unloved
And you stood by the uncared for
Continue to rest in bosom of the lord
Once I threw a mouldy bread
into the dumpster
and when I went for groceries
I saw a Gypsy boy taking the bread
and being content about it.
A tear dropped down my cheek.
I was always surrounded by
immoral people;
drug addicts, alcoholics,
small thieves, the poor.
Perhaps they see me as one of them
or they like the fact I don’t see them
as immoral. Or they see me as a saviour.
Yes, that is who I am.
Mother Theresa for drug addicts.
Mouldy bread for hungry Gypsy boy.
I killed a killer this morning!
I gorged his eyes out with my naked hands
Counted his teeth one by one
Like pebbles on a plastic platter;
Belched after I drunk his cold blood
In a home-made cheap mug;
Used a rusty pen knife
To separate his throat
From his now-pulp body;
Then tore his heart from its place
And replaced it with a rough piece of dry log!
I then threw what remained of him
In a gutter where street beggars
Empty the pains of their dirty bladders;
It was the most rewarding experience.
The after-taste lingered on my conscience
Like quinine on tongue.
But there was more relief than grief
More Mother Theresa than Hitler.
For then it all came to me
Like beer coming to a dry throat
How they must feel when they
Kill us
I confess that I felt dope
When I killed a killer!
"The melodies of Life"
Melodies that excite an old Tymer to think he is still in his prime! Perhaps he is as old as he desires to feel? I have no idea but these melodies are remedies like broken codes to a connection with no Earth!
Music lets me write stories Mother Theresa would have wanted to tell , perfect fairy tales that inspire life so each and everyone can sparkle. Rihanna was right , we are indeed Diamonds and we shine bright! My Radio silents tornadoes trapped within.
I groove , l move , l choose not to lose ! I am a brick! Tougher than the nails and hummer of negativity , the Voice of Sia or Adele heals the headaches of next week's exam , dad 's excessive drinking , Jason's inner demons ....the guitar of sweet Tropical Blues like Santana meets Elvis , Rock feeds my agression l am ready to face the devil and say l , l will not stop ! These melodies bring rain on a dry day.
Music is my life!
Drum beats inside black bare hairy chests
Tradition hidden in treasure chests
Chess played on mother earth , sounds like home
Home grown sounds ringing throughout the neighborhood
Stomachs kneeling and praying for food
Fathers crossing boarder lines and going for good
Living life behind the calabash
Brothers behind bars
Mother's beauty behind scars
The sacred statue of mother Theresa caresses those in prisons
Prisons of the mind can never be unlocked
Smoke in the nearby village , culture is burning
Village heads lay their heads on village grief
The village thief steals at noon
And then the slave hunters
Lurking in expensive
Futures perishing like sinners in hell
Let me not breath the air that sinners inhale
I come from light
I am pain
I come from life
*STREETPO3TRY*
LOVE LETTER
My letter of love speak,
My angel, daughter of the morning sun.
My flower shining without condition,
Looking beautiful with a blue eye
Like the cloud.
Your beauty radiate like the sun,
Kind like mother Theresa.
Let the daughter of the earth praise thee
Because you are not be compare.
Your voice, like the angels,
Your melodious voice heal the soul,
Your sweet voice sound sweet
like birds of nature.
“sing my love”
Your voice waken the dead soldiers
“sing my love”
Your song calm the angrily soul
“love my love”
For your love bring peace
To my soul.
BY ANIEMEKA NATHANIEL
Acts of kindness if we LQQK, yet the hatred flows on, all in the guise of "my perspective is the righteous perspective" ...
It's STILL hatred ... and for each of us it has to end with that person in the mirror each morning, or STOP the bitching ...
We WASTE so much intelligence and creativity and ingenuity on hatefulness, when we ALL know the answer ...
WHY?!?
Gandhi knew the answer, Martin Luther King, Jr. knew the answer, Muhammad, Jesus, Buddha, Mandela, Mother Theresa, Confucius, all knew the answer ...
Everyone loves to quote these great, peaceful people, and then we go about ignoring and trashing everything they stood for ...
Peace and LOVE and kindness are not rocket science, but they DO require changing ourselves on the deepest and most stubborn levels ...
There is NO other way.
Original, Ja is the original that never diminishes, s/he is love herself, the infinite, El Shaddai, Ruach Hakodesh, Ja, they are all one. What are we? we are but the limits of infinity, precious nothings in the womb of our great mother, wisps of love, fragile, delicate and cherished, know that when you look down you look apon yourself, from the tiny butterfly to the mighty tree, from mother theresa to judas we are all one, every single one, we need not even believe we need not even faith enough to achieve a breath for all we need is humility enough to ask or even just to wait, we need not know to pray nor food or time of day, Ja is the name all else is naught without Ja
Sub Categories
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.