Occupants Poems | Examples

Divine Covering

From fence to fence
From curb to fence
For all occupants
We seek Your defense

Your light projects
Your will protects
Evil spirits everywhere
I say to them to beware

The darkness will not prevail
For God‘s love will never fail
When we worship together with angels
The blood of Jesus is my divine covering

Turn around
Don’t drown
When encountering (1)

Thank you, sweet lamb of God.
Always goes with me.
And the angels that go before
And minister for us

Peace and grace fall
I’m covered by fresh fire
Unholy burns away when I’m with you.
We are loved dearly by God
You are the apple of my eye.
Hide me under the shadow of thy wings. (2)

I thirst and I am hungry.
I’m not here for blessings. (3)
I’m not here for miracles.
I need you, all I need is you.
I know my identity.
I know whose I am.

On the day of Christ Jesus

Sometimes I am weak.
God is always strong. Sometimes I doubt.
God is always faithful.

Soak in his light and inwardly we let Him in.

footnotes:
(1) National Weather Service: flood warning alert
(2) Psalm 17:8 NIV
(3) Nothing Else (Live) - Rick Pino & Abbie Gamboa version of Song by Cody Carnes 2019

Land Of The Pearl Of The Orient

Someone has said that every generation 
Has its golden lipstick era 
Philippines is not like that 
It's always beautiful and stunning
A special beauty for all ages
Glittering golden beaches
Somewhere in every island corner 
Of thousands islets in the Philippines 
More so its unique lineage genealogy
From the primitives to the occupants
Conglomerating all races into one
Making the brown race formidable
A diasphora race around the globe
Sharing joy, talents and services
The culture, the food, the hospitality
Affecting the leaven bread of the world
I invite the people of the world to visit us
What the Philippines can offer to all races
Come, borrow the wind to fly 
To the magical land that shines 
As white as the pearl of the orient seas.

Salute

Salute

Bunker Hill, Yorktown, Lundy’s Lane,
Monterey, Bull Run, Gettysburg, Shiloh,
Antietam, St. Mihiel, Belleau Woods,
D-Day, Saipan, Iwo Jima, The Bulge,
Chosin Reservoir, Pork Chop Hill,
Ia Drang, Khe Sanh, Hamburger Hill,
Iraq and Afghanistan.
Famous battles in American history.

Washington, Scott, Grant, Lee, Custer,
Pershing, Patton, Eisenhower, Nimitz,
MacArthur, Westmoreland, Abrams.
Famous leaders in American history.

We are all familiar with these names and places.
But what about the nameless men and women?
The faceless citizens who gave up families, jobs,
education, comfort.
The ones who gave America their blood, bodies,
minds to defend us and set others free.
Their blood has stained countless lands.
Their wounds, physical and mental,
should remind us that freedom is not cheap.
The noncoms, privates, petty officers, junior officers.
The occupants of The Tomb of the Unknown, 
the Punch Bowl, the French cemeteries, Arlington,
and countless unknown graves.
The living dead who suffer from grievous wounds
and PTSD.

These are the true heroes.

An Amiable Apparition

In the old city of St. John's,
in the older neighborhoods,
there are haunted houses...
residences with revenants... 
apartments with apparitions...
even schools with spectres;
and there is one edifice with an eidolon
that I know well:
a softhearted shadow
very benevolent,
not at all maleficent.

It is supposedly the ghost of a child
who passed many years before;
a tale from days of yore
not well-known in local folklore.

This ghost is known to close
latches, doors and windows,
as if the occupants are being told
"Please keep out the damp and cold!" -
a phenomenon inexplicable
by a force completely invisible.

Some years ago, I observed this first-hand
and I'm sure I did not fully understand,
but I quickly deduced that it would be most
polite to say "Thank you" to the ghost -
a sudden burst of intuition
to please and placate this amiable apparition!

Eerie Foreboding about this House

Scintilla experienced an eerie foreboding
the house at 125 Klondike Street felt unsafe
she sensed that it had brought doom to occupants
she was shaking her head no when her husband said “we’ll take it.”

She took him aside and explained her feelings, but he would not budge.
Something about it called to him as fiercely as she was repulsed by it.
Within five years they had experienced a fire, a flood, and a divorce.
Scintilla gave her husband the house and the equity.

All she wanted was to survive, to get out with her life.
Her odd immediate premonition came to fruition.
Her husband passed away from Covid-19 two months later.
Their children paid attention to her forebodings after this.

The Venice door

That's the Venice door showered with beauty!
Where loneliness is daily on duty,
By its side, a small pool just sailed two boats,
The occupants are most probably ghosts,
If they're humans, they must be real cuties.

First I saw of this was in Djibouti,
But that was left decrepit and sooty,
So, for elegance that beauty denotes;
That's the Venice door!

The decorations are made quite pretty,
It's like from a last century movie,
Flowers even near the pool that boat floats,
It's the clean surrounding that makes wealth gloats,
Stamps of opulence colors it pretty,
That's the Venice door!

Empty Room

A room that had been dark and locked
for years was found for socialization.
It was void of everything except oxygen.
There was hope it could be filled with
people who would come alive with openness.

The room was 15 by 20 in size.
300 square feet of space was room
enough for nice furniture, but for
reasons unknown, the dark and empty
room proved inadequate for relaxation
or restoration.

Also, there was insufficient space or was
it the atmosphere, for free and honest
conversation to help them unwind. It never
became a place that left one with a sense
of relief from the pressures of everyday life.

Friends and acquaintances gathered for great
social interaction but were neither vulnerable
nor transparent. So, everyone left with a
sense of emptiness, never finding satisfaction.

The room was filled with physical things,
including at least 10 intelligent humans
whose lives were ripe for receiving something
that could fill the emptiness in their lives.

Sadly, the once-empty room became occupied
to the degree that eyes could see, and ears could
hear, but remained as empty as it always had been,
as empty as the lives of its sudden occupants.

The Empty Room

One may think the walls must be tired of staring
at one another in that empty room.
its total emptiness has a void unique,
like silent remains of a memory lost,
a love that once was but now gone,
voice of a child that called to mother,
that relationship now is photo in an album.
bright light fills it from glass vents all around,
bouncing from wall to wall on to the floor,
like it is searching the occupants of past.
That room reminds me of my own heart,
that still glows with love, beats of a fervour
of a distant vision, a smile, a gesture and 
a laugh receding into timeless vastness!
Please, leave this room empty.
Its own memories are its charms!
hang no pictures, or scribble a thought 
on the walls. The faded paints are imprints
of hearts that once touched them,
that smudge is a kiss that she once left
on my lips. 
Still so fresh!

VACANT CANOE

A big lake with an empty canoe
No one knows how it go there
A lake at that
One’s thought, “For Heaven’s sake”
What is your take?
There were no bodies found
Maybe they even drowned
Perhaps swam to shore
There are no clues to make it sure
Nobody has seen
No one knows what this mystery means
A Canoe, Lake and no occupants
Mystery alright
Seen in unseen
There’s no report of missing persons
All we have is clues
We definitely have a sleuth
Nothing to solve
How do you prove?
Questions upon questions
Only assumptions being suggestions.

Occupants of Hell

Hell is not
One Color
Or
One Language

Toilet

I’m always bolted to a floor
Often I live in a tiny room 
And when I hear the door lock
I pray they’ll spray some air perfume!

I doubt you ever would believe
The anus stories I could tell
About fetid foul flatulence
And its lingering dreadful smell!

When people get up off me
Sometimes they forget to flush
And I hate it when rude occupants
Leave the contents from their tush!

Some men never even lift the seat
Splashing me with yellow drips
I gurgle if their todger’s caught
When they’re pulling up their zips!

You can think that I’m just a toilet
But on me you can always depend
Some die whilst sitting on my throne
‘Cest La Vie,’ I’ll miss you friend!

Drought

Today like tremors having broken 
a boulder free sending it toppling 
from a cliff in the clutches of gravity 
plunging toward the ground 
encountering my head on its way down
splitting open my skull as a geode struck 
with a hammer exposing my brain 
the realization I no longer care 
about anything anywhere crushed me 
I am a river run dry from lack of rain 
revealing for the first time
in over a century the warped 
wooden skeletons of steamships 
the rusting remnants of vehicles 
ossuaries for their occupants' bones 
fish flopping as they asphyxiate 
finally falling still and lifeless in the mud 
which hardens and cracks like concrete
in the hellish heat of the searing sun as you 
bear silent witness from the shaded shore

Haunting

Stranded, half awake 
on the exhausted ends 
of an evening, the minds
graveyard keeper sometimes 
lets occupants loose.
You can feel their cold feet
walk the corridors 
inside your head, 
picking over a secret
or a hidden fear, lifting
the scab of a hurt.

It becomes a familiar haunting,
in time a few become friends.
They know their way
and make themselves at home
before tiptoeing back 
to their place of sleep.
It takes a lifetime to give
each headstone a name.

It's a Wonderful World

IT'S A PERFECT WORLD FULL OF IMPERFECT OCCUPANTS!

A Winter Storm Speaks

I am a furious force
you dare not reckon with when I am at my peak!
Assassin of startled vegetation,
I attack with no mercy or compassion.
Limbs of trees – laden with snowfall that I bring - 
snap off as easily as heads of dolls
in the hands of a psychotic child.
Such is the magnitude of my strength
at the mere exhalation of my frigid blustering breath.

I roar and I rush, and in my path of blinding white,
some on foot have lost their way -
later to be discovered (if found at all)
frozen like human popsicles, some yet to even thaw.

Most vehicles on highways have no chance with me.
Zig-zagging off roads, they land in snowdrifts.
Tires spin uselessly, and for a time,
these machines of great convenience are temporarily doomed
as their occupants shiver from cold and fear.

At my zenith, I howl and I rant relentlessly.
Pray that should you meet me
that you are not too far from any buildings.
Pray too that if you should cross my path
that you will not be stuck upon a mountain.
There is where I reign supreme,
shrouding frozen creeks, pines and rocks of cliffs
with my snowy showy glory.

Dec. 29, 2022
for the "Winter Storm" Poetry Contest of  Kim Rodrigues

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