The metal scythe like science-fiction machinery whirring passed the farmhouses as dusk enclosed them willingly, soft keystrokes chimed across the fields to the north to sour the fall of the denizens makers are wild on the hunt, but those felled by this reaper took the brunt of the scorned, so this was their last look upon the earth in all realities, the bell chimes for those, and this reaper shalt battle through that first course of lesser bushes and miserly zeal.
I sought the throne of honor high,
Where crowns and praises touch the sky.
I dreamed of titles carved in gold,
Of power, fame, and hands to hold.
But when I reached the mountain’s crest,
And stood where pride had claimed its best,
I saw a King—so pure, so meek—
Whose glory shone upon the weak.
His throne was not of earthly might,
But mercy’s flame and heaven’s light.
And there I learned, with trembling heart,
Where true exalted souls depart.
For higher than all thrones of men,
Is kneeling down before Him then.
The greatest crown one soul can meet—
Is dust and tears at Jesus’ feet.
The highest rank, the grandest call,
Is losing self to give Him all.
For glory blooms where pride retreats—
The highest place… is at His feet.
© 2025 Dennis Macusi. All rights reserved.
This poem is an original work by the author and may not be reproduced, distributed, or used without permission
A man of no rank
is free to come and go.
Excluded from the councils of power,
he is not burdened
by the worries of the world.
Like a wild beast
he is ruled by the changing seasons,
and not the changing favor
of the court of public opinion.
Like a wild animal
he is alert to the danger of social intrigue,
preferring the talk of birds
and murmur of brooks
to the gossip and lectures of humankind.
Everywhere he goes
No matter it high or low
There is the dharma.
(first published in my sixth book of poems, OUT OF TIME OUT OF MIND, 2022)
In the Nineties Clyde’s heart sank:
The slowest to rise in rank!
You’d think him some faulty shank,
The air about his room dank
But he was filling his tank
For being no stranger to prank
That made less rich a bank…
Still, not the gods would Clyde thank.
In life he’s at the bottom
And to others An Atom:
Some witch beating the tom-tom
That for him raised a phantom…
The Thankless for being luckless,
For diversions his wireless;
Clyde could slap a motherless:
Really a ship rudderless
Can’t you for a moment be frank
About his being of higher rank;
That not once, not twice, your heart sank
And you’d wanted to yourself spank?
Nsofor whose sweat and robes stank;
The smell of air in his room dank!
I know your prayer is A Bank
Working in one should swell your tank:
On rougher days a sneaking prank
That makes one seem less of a crank…
Not in Nigeria of today:
Just above Two Thousand a day
You-please!-don’t change it to dollars:
Cost of the pants of footballers…
Now, one pays for iced juice one drank
Or it gets debited from shank:
A painful farewell to free malt,
As sellers shall one later halt!
Someone has tinkered with the 100 Community List
And it appears that you are still at number thirty-four,
Down a few notches, I have not booed or hissed
‘Cos I’ve been much lower on lots of lists before!
In fact, it’s delightful not to have the pressure, you see,
Let others get “put down” for their success for a while,
For I get no thrill from checking where on the list I’ll be,
But seeing you haven’t come up a notch makes me smile.
Written October 28, 2022
taxonomic rank
lions tigers cats oh my
phylum and class
mammal of course
categorization
above my head
With less innocence in you,
You can function in any bank:
Naked words choosing very few,
Tact fully frank…
A real acting of the Real Jew,
A face not crank.
With less of our Christ
And your scruples sliced,
You would drop not every prank:
Normal deals alone to not redefine your rank;
A depositor more you thank
For future surprises from his full tank,
The bank’s air conditioners quit
That can’t the bank dank air spank
And bank cleaners not greet,
Who had skipped your flank…
It’s a half–holy, half- crafty bank
That scarcely sank
Or in banking nostrils never stank.
Florid gold funds greed's frivolity
Sedated mandate of sodden monotiny
Forever renewing fields ripen with magnitude
Fervent farmer forges quest of fortitude
26th July 2020
Contest : Four Lines of Poetry
Sponsor: Constance La France
Seventies fur vests wet in the rain
Stinky but still in style so we wore them
Until they shredded and fell off our dirty shirts.
Cotton shirts no longer crisp but with wide ruffles at their wrist marks.
Soft dirty wrinkly blue jeans that smelled a bit gamey.
No one noticed that they never made it to the laundry pile.
Being rank was part of our revolution, a clothing protest
To the Viet Nam War where our poorest were being sacrificed daily.
We scrunched together in Volkswagen busses,
Traveling to Washington, where we could hold our signs.
And protest our truth, where wet fur vests were parading about
Along with grungy headbands and dreadlocks on white teenagers.
Leaving the silk and satin of the sixties back in the small towns
Where their youth thought they had to have a wedding to have sex.
We knew better. We did not care about crisp smooth wrapping paper
Or prancing ribbons on packages. We were uncomfortable and glad.
To Him, No One is a Rank Stranger
No one is a rank stranger
hiding behind dark threats.
No one is a rank stranger
concealing their cruel epithets.
Recognizing an identity
that is unique-ly theirs.
Acknowledging an identity
and a desire they wish to share.
Finding a common experience
is the treasure he seeks to be found.
Finding a common experience
is as wonderous
glorious and marvelous
as any diamond discovered underground.
Becoming part of the family
by finding a way to care,
is being part of a family
with trust and love and laughter shared.
He is building bridges
starting on common ground,
digging for diamonds like a miner,
finding love where none thought could be found.
To him no one is a rank stranger,
Ignoring what sets us apart.
He’s finding value in the person,
seeing God’s image in every heart.
by Martin Braun
12/08/18
Dedicated to my mom who influenced me, and my friend Audrey who inspired me.
Rank Has Its Privilege (RHIP)
Privilege is preferred by a rank.
Privilege is gained by respect.
Privilege is profound depending on source.
Privilege provides a way of looking at things.
Privilege can be perturbing at times.
Privilege is great when it is a Presidential Order on gun control.
Privilege to live on His earth He provided was provided by God.
Privilege is comparatively a way of perceiving two or more objectives.
Privilege can be taken personally at times.
Privilege is politically expedient when fine tuned and objective.
Privilege taken out of place is sure to result in conflict.
Privilege should be result of exposing a purpose.
Privilege was not proposed to be taken lightly.
Privilege has a profile and characteristics that should be thoroughly understood.
Privilege when taken presumptuously should only be done cautiously.
Privilege to Trump is something that he will never understand.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Now someone help me enter it into the acostic poetry contest.
The higher the rank,
the droller the prank.
Volodymyr Knyr
2014
What capable for
You qualified for
in life
Except for love
No rank for love
Don't ask why for
Unreasonable love
No detachment in love
So if heart fallen in love
Keep mind
as your safe boat
where a sleeping bag
lies empty near the shelter. . .
the rank scent of bear
For the The NO Contest, Contest Poetry Contest
of Charles Henderson
Sub Categories
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