As I sit in the silence, by my choice,
I wait to hear, my favorite voice.
That gentle whisper, in the midst, you see,
as He begins speaking to me, in poetry.
I have my paper and my pen,
for I never know, when He will begin.
I write down, what He speaks to me,
and in each one, are truths you see.
Truths that makes life better, all the way around,
these truths were sought for, before they could be found.
They all may seem so simple, till you try to do,
but as you work through them, they become a part of you.
Things are not always, as they seem to be,
so I write about them, in my poetry.
He took the foolish things, to confound the wise,
as the truths they twist, just to make them lies.
He takes the smallest things, to overpower the strong,
as He makes right, where we once were so wrong.
He wants us to see Him, as a Father, because He cares,
and in words of poetry, His love He shares.
If you believe in God, then you know my words are true,
for the words in my poetry, is a confirmation, to you.
You know exactly, what I mean you see,
because He is a Father, to both you and me!
[An Old Poem]
The age of the cage reflects on every page
As I engage every word with the pen in history
The lines of solitude increase in magnitude
Embracing a rhyme that reflects this heart of mine!
Though things are not always as they seem
I remain composed, smitten by the banner of my mosaic application
The architecture of this adventure mirrors a historical frustration!
I wanted to marry her
She would have been a good wife
I wasn’t with her to fix the damage of your first marriage
I was here to love her
I wasn’t here to pretend in front of her children
I was here to love her
But she could not love me for me
I speak my way and live my way
All I can say is that in love there are mistakes
She could not love me for me
She could only love in one way
She could only bathe herself with animosity!
It was never a case of shameless hunger
Nor was it an obsession with lust
But in the end, she would have been a good wife!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
Weep not at the close of a summer’s dream,
Nor think love will ne’er return another June
Remember things are seldom as they seem.
Cupid plays on the young his favorite scheme
Love in winter forever sings a different tune
Weep not at the close of a summer’s dream.
He ne’er dips a hand twice in the same stream
September bliss bleats like the mating loon,
Remember things are not always as they seem.
Fleeting are the loosed passions, like a meme
Strongly sensed at first, then vanishing soon,
Weep not at the close of a summer’s dream.
Infatuation offers not what one would deem,
Often making of a boy a gangly, gawking goon
Remember things are not always as they seem.
Lips grow cold and sparkling eyes their gleam
Seen in the light of a pale, luminescent moon
Weep not at the close of a summer’s dream,
Remember things are seldom as they seem.
Written August 27, 2022
All of life is a delivery room
Life is always bringing things out of you
Life is a university
Places to go and things to learn
The age of the cage reflects on every page
As I engage every word with the pen in history
The lines of solitude increases in magnitude
Embracing a rhyme that reflects this heart of mine!
Though things are not always as they seem
I remain composed, smitten by the banner of my mosaic application
Because the architecture of this adventure mirrors a historical frustration!
The fight with frustration
Will live side by side with you
It will signal and streamline you to your destiny
In the end, all of life is a delivery room
Life is always bringing things out of you in the face of frustration!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2022
Law enforcement is a tough job no doubt. Even justified action, can cause the masses to shout. Things are not always as they seem, if you mind your PDQ’s, you can walk and negotiate the beam. Like a tight rope walker, sometimes hard to walk, but easier if you temper, and gentle your talk. You watch over us, but who watches over you? Maybe, if called upon, the spirit of Elliot Ness, can help all of you negotiate this mess. Overzealousness, of a few, have caused the rest like a skunk to smell, pew! As for me, a muse of words, I can be your best friend, or hold your feet to the fire. If you choose good karma, you can actually inspire. Preventing the wolves in the cities, from hunting in packs. Thinking only they, are capable of fairness and equal payback. In their collective minds, Raised in the street, there eyes black as coal, I look but see no soul. they don’t see you as a man or woman, mother or father, with hearts and souls, but as game to be hunted, for sport, collecting your lives as toll.
quatern
The truth stood downcast in the lie;
dismayed she left their home at once.
She'd blathered on about someone
who'd fill her life with what she wants.
Distraught he relinquished his rights,
the truth stood downcast in the lie.
Their last ten years, straightway dismissed;
Though he loved her; divorce loomed nigh.
He sold their house, it held the truth;
depressed, he let go of that dream.
The truth stood downcast in the lie,
things are not always as they seem.
She moved in with love number two;
her demands outgrew his supply.
She’d reckoned his grass was greener,
the truth stood downcast in the lie.
written July 30, 2016
for The Truth Stood Downcast in the lie contest by John Lawless
There is a secret valley, very lush and green
but hidden somewhere unbeknownst to me.
I've only been there in my dreams,
and I've seen a massive live oak tree.
He whispers in sensual voice to beckon me,
"Come to me, my love.
Feel me deep within your heart
be guided by stars above."
He calls when ere I sleep.
He's waiting for me there, I know.
I feel his arms reach out.
It's there I have to go.
When I found the oak I sought,
on his branches there lay moss,
hanging like tresses of hair
weeping as if crying from loss.
Lamenting picture did they make
as lovers in fond farewell.
They were not in goodbye,
but in each others arms they dwell.
The oak has drawn me to him
and this no longer is a dream.
Spanish moss is what I am,
things are not always as they seem.
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.