Paragons Poems | Examples

Cowardice and deceit

Pauline and Malcom..Its ending in tears..You tore up the
Chance.' You have enhanced many fears.' You've destroyed
Credibility with such a deceitful agility.' In 'the Age you'll be
Re-corded as no doubt paragons of order.? And Malcom you were doing so well.!! Even Sweden knew of you.' And I here that tell.
Tell..? The whole world has been made now poorer, by your inactions
Regarding Victoria.'

even in new york

.

           and there
           az i look'd
                up
            from uh 
     central park bench
               the 
         blonde bomb
             stared 
             down
             at my 
           supine'd
             mine

    'tiz where i began
          mine think
             uv the
          pluperfect (paragons)

Weedy Eschatology

The aging street mourns its faded splendor.
It remembers having red tulips and roses
in manicured, fertilized, emerald lawns
in community yards lining its borders.
But neighborhoods gradually decayed,
and nobody’s planted flowers in years.
The asphalt’s once-black fresh-tar patina
is now gray and chockfull of countless cracks.

In those rifts grow rows of feral weeds
that no person planted or wanted.
Rooted in forgotten fissures of the world,
weeds lift their hearts and heads toward the sky.
Survivors of severe environments,
baked by blazing sun, infrequently watered,
deprived of easy access to nourishing soil,
and squashed by droves of mutilating tires.
Yet, still the stalwart weeds survive,
paragons of beautiful resilience.

Glamorous, fragile flowers are transient.
Plain, ordinary weeds are forever.
For humans who feel our messy lives
are more like run-over weeds than roses,
weeds’ wild fortitude foreshadows
an unexpected, untamed eternity.

life

Life creaked upon me- one sound at a time- new eras pounced on me- like invaders, taking me for a ride in different directions- bending me to its will.  It turned me, straightened me, and then concurred with the possibility to make me or break me.
It was to make me whole or splinter me into tiny pieces- The pandemonium of each event only strengthened my resolve to not become the fragile being life was trying to create. These invasions formed oceans, mountains of debris, paragons of time, and outlandish prophecies of what was to become of me.
It created expectancies with the stench of defeat- but I resolved not to be beaten.  I excitedly absorbed all that life had thrown my way- I took it to my breast- held it lovingly and declared to conquer all my fears, joys, weaknesses, defeats, triumphs, sorrows, heartbreak/aches, and pain- and called it by name – life –
Yes, life – that is what it is all about- life-

Villain

Never meet your heroes is the old adage
That’s not an issue for me
I have none you see
I find them such fantastic bores
completely unrelatable
rendering me weary 
with their straight laced schtick
their vapid displays of virtue
I revere the villains 
with a sensitive side
hiding their pain behind a sardonic smile
with whom I can sympathize
Paragons of imperfection
constantly criticized their whole lives
Neglected and dejected
Left to languish in the cold
Disillusioned by the lies they’ve been told
Who have endured their fair share 
of suffering and shame
Never winning the game
no matter how hard they try
Starved for love and affection
who have only known rejection
Lonely losers like me
Ignobly ignored and demonized
by those hailing the heroes
who never care to know or question why 
he became the bad guy

Copius Abandon

Sunrise, sunset in adjacent systems blends behind 
a calm waterfall wake, the hollow unknown man only
minds his altruistic poems of prism alchemy--cleverly
arranging perfect crystal aurora petals against a
color coded ancient star Genesis, forming opulent
halos of Zen emptiness processions--guiding
bright shiny angel wings, keys to soaring paragons of
pellucid, avid, unborn, illusory gray imaginations, like
the savvy, siren Mermaids of Ursa Minora--giving way to
all en-viable spirits on the 4 winds of sagacity as the 
4 Horsemen on shadowy compunction ride, reign free
unchecked, under looming celestial cloud layer realms. 
Sitting on the high hills of home
feverishly flanked near open valleys of conscious
convergences, he softly speaks to a Promethean blank 
bliss, encountering morning light memories, open temporal
templates offering glowing, discarnate, latent, 
ascetic desires of a lasting, formless, empty existence.

No Paragons of Perfection

We were born to be real, not to be perfect
Only one Child was given life, innocent at birth
Everyone else was born with a flaw, or a defect
and walks upon this planet called, Mother Earth

If any of us continually strive for perfection,
we face a destiny to live quite disappointed
and foolishly heading in the wrong direction.
Humans are not born as one of the anointed.

So don't be a pragmatist or even a worrywart
Being an overachiever will cause you heartache
Enjoy days of leisure and don't give it a thought
that being a paragon offers a means of escape.



            ********************

Oh Beautiful Africa

Africa a continent of hope 
Paragons of love where overwhelming joy flows.
Your blessed resources make you a source of attraction.
Without you, the world is formless.
oh! Beautiful Africa
 

Africa a continent of peace
Where trees wave in love and harmony, 
Birds fly and sing in unison 
The river flows like an electric current.
The mountains are climbs and reclimb.
oh! Beautiful Africa


You bring civilization to all men.
You have the only Pyramid the world can boost off.
We see Rhinoceros, Greater kudu, Galago, Ostrich in you only.
You are rich in biodiversity, a shining desert, a huge valley, and good Savanna.
Oh! The continent of diverse culture and beauty
Oh! Beautiful Africa 

Africa a heart of many
Where stones, golds, diamonds are surplus.
A breed of dark, beautiful people 
Life in you is magical and full of excitement.
Beautiful are your traditions that attract your haters.
How beautiful are you?
Oh! Beautiful Africa.

Acorns and Oaks

Coffin dodgers and nursing home lodgers,
wrinklies, pensioners and plain old codgers.
A drain on society, archaic models of piety,
bed blockers, youth knockers, paragons of sobriety.

But is all that we see, all that it seems,
the elderly, like you, still have hopes and dreams.
Still carry the baton for tomorrow's youth,
the keepers of history, the sentinels of truth.

Though the fire is out, there still burns a flame,
which, if fanned by interest, could burgeon again.
Igniting a beacon, a fantastic life force,
a living library, a priceless resource.

So, honour your old folk, cut them some slack,
for a lot of them have been to hell and back.
They've built the society we now take for granted,
so enjoy the fruits of the seeds that they planted.

There Is No Truth

The vile is compared to the best
this turn of word to express
exaltation none shall deny
against the scum that's always foul

the very worse stated there
imagined vice in duress
while paragons with halos set
are the home team without regret

punching at the straw man's breast
damning sins that don’t exist
the result is simplified
as ill thoughts are justified

contrasting with a cardboard form
exemplary in biased thoughts
the very worse against the best
there’s no truth in this contest.

Space

S P A C E

Spaces, Pulling After Culling EonS
Paragons of the wasted's cusP
Avalons midst of Terra - firmA
Crevace in open lust-automatiC
Emptiness's dusk, dawning it's EvE
Carrying containerless, magiC
An abyss where solitude seems A
Paradigm shift, formless, tragic heaP
 
Sea Parting A Chasms EntropyS

We Salute You, Dear Women

We commend you, beloved women*... grateful to God for your roles
Enabled as life-builders by His grace and love
Blessed to help shape grand future with His might
Privileged to lead toward enlightenment by His wisdom
Upheld to aid family needs thru His guidance! 

We salute you, honourable Mrs./Miss  ... deserving to receive
“Happy Women’s Day” tokens as Moms, sisters, teachers, friends
Midst family members with their satisfaction-approval
Of your community involvement causing development-ripple
In a crowd of men with jubilant mirth for your work well done!

We appreciate you, dear ladies: our mothers and lady mentors
Exemplars of genuine servant-leadership 
Role-models beyond reproach by your fervent faith and testimony
Paragons of excellence in terms of sacrifice and contentment
Who walk your talk leaving a legacy, worthy of acknowledgment.

*Proverbs 31:30 “Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the LORD, she shall be praised.”

February 16, 2019

2nd place, International Women's Day Poem for "March Poems...Part 3 of Easter Series" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire; judged on 2/19/2019.

The Panic

By Mark Miller © 12/09/2014

Divergent views across vile crest waves smile high the creeping crawl
Vacant recall behind will's fate corners awaits prodigy built city sprawls

Fearing furious memory's cradle under moons momentary falls
Departing sun drain dendrites dying beside pleasure land hotel

Pharmaceutical particles undermines wasted potential decay
Habitual filled dread remedy sealed bottle supply spent photocopy

Demented frozen posture detached paragons future parallax
Denatured entropy of unstable battlefront beacons fights happenstance

Enraged estrange movement frowns condition mingled disturbance,
Hassled hates impatient repression debased frames acquaintance-

Paranoia begins within kept crypt entombed from friends lovers bones 
Supernatural surprise wakes the panic front tantrum born alone

Breaths cold howl vexed of thought behind fury times disorder
Subliminal sequence reveals foggy haze guilt by nights no quarter

Adorn the love less feeling conceals feeble rabble blood loss stealth
Movements uncertain impel stellar selves

Life Should Be Simple

If you let go of your thoughts,
Forget reality - even for just a brief second - 
You will realise that there was
nothing to begin with 
and still,
nothing to this day.

Great paragons of knowledge
Left unacknowledged, become ordinary.
As for dreams and ambition - 
their remnants shall wither away with the tides of time.

To shop or enjoy the view?
To accompany friends or relax by yourself?
To live like you're going to die or bow with caution to the wind?
Nothing, really, is of great importance.

The sky is a beautiful blue, the grass is a luscious green.
Since you are alive, you might as well make the most of it.
Growing from hardship and living in happiness.
Regardless of the alternatives, singing with passion.

Of course, this is just an opinion.
You can disagree,
The world can disagree,
and...
I don't care.

Ode To Dyslexics -- a Soccer Poem

Woe is us, we wretched Dyslexicons,
We visionary thinking paragons,
We the summer-school-room-dwelling patsies,
We the ostracized by Spelling Nazis.

(sorry, lied about the soccer)

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