Plaint Poems | Examples

Love Your Enemies

All gods, each god-man and god-woman, have preached love on earth.
But who, except Jesus, has taught love for the enemy?
Do good to those who do good—this we've learned from our birth.
Love, He said, and do good to your enemy pleasantly.

Filled with divine love, can you bless the one who hates you?
Can you pray for the one who ill-treats you, just as a saint?
To the one who slaps your cheek, can you show the other too?
If one needs your coat, will you give your shirt too, with no plaint?

I love you. You love me. Why is someone else between us?
What's the uniqueness of this? Dicks and Harries do this.
I'm good to you. You are good to me. What's in it, complex?
Love your enemies, Jesus says, this, indeed, is true bliss.

Nishkamakarmaphalyaoga! Do your duties with love.
Serve everyone selflessly; the prize will be from above.

Toadies of Our Times

Midst anger fester the fox's concerns
    infecting every breathing room
  with pique and plaint in brilliance painted
    ensconced in virtue, truth untainted

  Whilst swirls the mud, a sewer's worth
    from which a sample oozes forth
  to tempt the toadies of our times
    who lip and tongue their fonts of rhyme

  Unity's preached midst raw dissension
    clarity abuts miscomprehension

Canticles of Necropolis

From silken mists scarred stones give tongue
To canticles raised to twilit drear,
Of frolicked hours when seasons were young,
And Promise chastised every fear.
Once brightly smiled upon our days
The kindly sun of Life's beauteous womb,
The reaching hearts, our breathless gaze
Died not nor sleeps within this tomb,
But thunders soft from lips long stilled
No lonely dirge, nor dour 'plaint,
For 'neath these cold mounds Love's not stilled,
Nor slumbers lame with voiceless throat,
It whispers yet though rude encased,
E'en past Death's flowered moat
Too strong a song to be effaced...

It's Worth It All

IT'S WORTH IT ALL
He carves and sands where I am rough
And smooths those corners down
And “ouch” it often hurts, I say
As His tools go all around
And yet I know that when He's through
No more a 'plaint I'll make
E'n though it may hurt at times
I know it's for my sake
Sometimes if I had tried to live
In a much more careful way
This process would be easier
On the life I live today
Sometimes we learn so very slow
God's righteous ways are best
His love will not give up on us
If we in His arms will rest
So let the process continue on
Until that glorious day
He's made a perfect gem of me
And in His arms I'll stay
Copyright, Kathryn Search

Blessings and Wonders

Small Wonders

I count the things…that still work right
While on my morning stroll
My eyes still see the morning light…
(Tho as seen from a deep dark hole)

My knees this morn are trying hard to please
Flexing without a plaint
Bearing my weight with ill-feigned ease
And creaks kept dim and faint

My hips move as if newly greased
Each stride a pure delight
The pain is gone...not merely eased
They got better…overnight

My fingers flex like fingers should
I can pick up things…and write
They’re not like gnarly sticks of wood
This morn they work just right

My eyes enjoyed this morn’s sunrise
Savored it with sensual delight
Op’ed wide in delighted surprise
After a night of full moonlight

My ears clearly hear the Sweet song of birds
Their early morning chatter
I can almost discern individual words
In their chirpy, peeping patter

And last, but not least
My often aching feet…
This morn the aches have ceased it seems 
(so far)

It seems my brain has given my ol’ bod
A reprieve for just a bit
With perhaps a little help from God
I intend to fully enjoy it!

Everyone Has a History

EVERYONE HAS A HISTORY
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS




This Perilous Pilgrimage, Produces Nary a Saint
Time Conceals the Blemished Deeds, Now Faint
Nary a Soul Is Spared from the Indelible Taint
Marooned in Our Conscience, Harboring the Plaint

Departures Lament

The wont of sleeps will may trip on illusive tonight 

and stumble on a rhythm 

laying plaint and wet in some other dream 


Sleep may gnaw at my pillow tonight 

as the drug of you courses through my veins 

and such capillary wanting 

may perturb the stars 

and question their romance above me hanging 


Aye sleep won't fall so easily 

as I toss and turn, burned by your imagery 

and you may haunt the dawn 

while you call to me 

but tonight for sure, sleep will not bless me readily 



……………………… but I crave your touch, your kiss, holding you, touching you
.... my aching desire is my love for you.

Shuttered Windows

UNSUPPORTED CODE 
`Shuttered windows

The absence of any corporeal presence 
Is counterbalanced by the ethereal essence
Of the Human Spirits still in residence
In forlorn foyers and empty rooms

Vacant eyes peer in unspoken plaint
through dust hazed windows...
seeking the solace of eternal memories
Of long passed children…and weeping widows

Clock long stopped pon dusty mantel
Hands posed o’er numerals Roman
No longer giving...and long past caring
Of the duty of time and chiming of man

Dust motes that caper in fairy dance fashion
Forming in miniature...galaxies and universes
Inquisitive rays of sunshine that leak through 
And peek through the regimented rows
Of the slats in tidily ordered lines 
In sombre repose behind
…`Shuttered windows...

The Last Angels

For loves attestation had brought them to grief
in all but their filament of hope
lay in the witness ruined
until burden be undone
and from their promises, released

Retire silent and plaint of regret
no longer decry, no longer defend
no more to seek in the chalice of hominian
divinities flicker illusive
must cleave the heart of Seraphim

Allegiance to the singular
no consequence of choice will contemplate
and to final hour render
and for such honourable cause
lay aside all they did anticipate

Drear task now to await on failure
and of illustrious dream capitulate
and of weeping eye make no remorse
for all of love was but a hope
mayhap be granted its renaissance
in another life

Loneliness

The little girl on maintain peak 
She can not speak 
And left heart broken
Word unspoken 
Turn her into crazy 
Everything became so lazy 
Sitting at a stone 
On lonely maintain alone
Her life crumble 
How she be humble
When no one is there to show her care
She need someone to plaint her hair
She cook by herself
She eat all by herself
Live all alone by herself
And do everything by herself
Every day and night 
She longing for someone to hold her tight 
Everyone need someone 
No one can be alone
She need someone to love
And play like a pair of dove

In the Small Hours - Wole Soyinka

Blue diaphane, tobacco smoke
 Serpentine on wet film and wood glaze,
 Mutes chrome, wreathes velvet drapes, 
Dims the cave of mirrors. 
Ghost fingers
 Comb seaweed hair, stroke acquamarine veins
 Of marooned mariners, captives 
Of Circe's sultry notes.
 The barman
 Dispenses igneous potions ? 
Somnabulist, the band plays on.

 Cocktail mixer, silvery fish
 Dances for limpet clients. 

Applause is steeped in lassitude, 
Tangled in webs of lovers' whispers
 And artful eyelash of the androgynous.
 The hovering notes caress the night 
Mellowed deep indigo ?still they play.

 Departures linger.
 Absences do not 
Deplete the tavern.
 They hang over the haze
 As exhalations from receded shores.
 Soon
, Night repossesses the silence, but till dawn
 The notes hold sway, smoky
 Epiphanies, possessive of the hours.

 This music's plaint forgives, redeems 
The deafness of the world.
 Night turns 
Homewards, sheathed in notes of solace, pleats
 The broken silence of the heart.
 
 - Wole Soyinka -

Therefore Beholding Plays the Farmer Pale

Dried sand eclipsed over the Season’s fall, 
sullen rhyme sings singer-birds over scale,
the storm-dance sprays dust against broken wall,
To the hat-worn folks, sorrowed, narrates tale;
Done seasonal harvest with plaint-dried tears,
With diseased cattle shrunken skin to ribs,   
With cracked ground, hungry sad visage of fears,
With wasted limbs and pot-bellied in cribs.
keenly begs graceful charity for age,
Promising bags, from next seasons harvest,
To plough the ground below the lowered wage,
And to lock starving kids to empty breast.
Thus rewording he sows the seeds and play, 
Hoping golden grain’s harvest from his clay.
©Anees Rahman

A Lover's Plaint

We met by chance
at the local dance.
One innocent glance
to start romance.

It was just one look
that’s all it took.
But we were not free
My God what can calm me?

You know that I love you.
You know that I want you.
Why can’t we be
together? As lovers should be.

I want to walk with you
hand in hand as lovers do
Why can’t we be
together? As lovers should be

I want to be with you
and lie as lovers do
Why can’t we be
together? As lovers should be

Two

In her solo
Angel
Divine lyric
Rhyme
I met
In ascent magical thy space
Where no scarcity
In love
Where
You paint
Dreams
You pick real
Where in plaint
You plant
Roses
From words
Pouring
Deep of heart
Healer of my soul
There is
A silent sigh
Lass shed tears
Lost and faded
In her faint
As she lost face in face
In vividness prime
Angel
There is
A hidden pain
Angel
Who to blame
Mist or fair
Meant to mend
Or mold to break

I wonder
That angel
Who busted me believe in love
Burst me when told me
Don't believe in love
How bee
Could be
Without honey
How bird
Could be borne
Without wings

Oh angel
As light
You never see
The darkest side of moon
As love
You infinity grace
But could we know that
In every prime
There is
A pain
In every flying
There is
A fall

Stone Hedge

Hear across my native soil,
The calling, 
Echoes ancient voices,
Raised in prayers ritual.
A forgotten people, leaving,
Their mark upon histories
Legacy.
Mysteries great questioning,
Lain outward for generations,
To wonder why?
Beneath the heavens vastness,
Behold gray monoliths reaching,
Upward.
In the circle of life and death,
As a continuing sphere ever,
Winding within it's self.
A seasonal calendar timed by,
Natures rhythm.
An inner heartbeat, pulsating,
From the earths core.  
Springs awakening warming
Breath,
Or winters chilling hand of death.
To plaint and harvest, or lay at rest,
The tools of trade.
The beasts of burden are released
From heavy yokes harness.
Pagan Gods demand tributes sacrifice,
Lain upon the sacred altars fire.
Druid priests carrying wisdom's staff,
Praying for enlightenment’s spiritual guidance. 
Sung in Gallic tongue, they chant.
Asking for natures bounty,
A good years passing and 
Healings curing power. 
An ancient religion seeking,
Answers to humanities quest to know.
Lost to times relentless pass,
Our ancestral heritage is remembered,
I'm myths and legends,
Mystical circle of stone,
Known as Stone Hedge.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

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