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Best Poems Written by Amos Lual

Below are the all-time best Amos Lual poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Waitress of My Order

WAITRESS OF MY ORDER

God since rules and joules
Protects and provides
Thou shall order a Christmas mistress
A true teacher gloved with grace and care. 

Who squarely wears healthy communications, 
In competitive advertisers of sun and moon supervisions.
Danishly blessed with wealthier tolerance,
To pass life’s unpredictable weather turbulence.	

Should……..would be fabricated or traits, 
With compromising and improvising grains.
Welcoming diversity of cruel world of happenings,
Or graph moon phases till December dazzlings.

A mustard seed of all conditions 
Where her children playfully dwell in definitions
And serves with heart open palm
In stream humility of princess calm.

Gladly listen to all ages with ample attention,
That never intonates gossips’ intention.
Admirable household oriented skimmed individual. 
But friendlier and great just principal.

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Time Wings

Time Wings

When a minute digit into two, three
Without a clout of what to do next
Another one hatches, and another one hatches ---------
Hours showers into days, days rays into months ----------
So know want to manage time?? Live dive, thrive minute
Otherwise, butterflies(you) will bill whole calendar with stitches wishes
However, no bible timetable for every beetle people 
Even Benin obedient decent Catholic priests
Deed need a bell yell to remind them
What about drought lonely homely you??
                    
- Amos Lual

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My Son

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Caregiver's Whispers

Caregiver's Whispers

I know enough that age edged
and this ailment agent ridged
you onto this bed.
A bus that never travel places
But loops with different faces
In the morning, afternoon, and night. 
While whose owners recite
pay you with their backs and brains.

Even though sometimes
the physiology of your body
and the chemistry of their day
shear a slight fate to swear, 
it is totally blameless on any!
Perhaps the yoke of the routines
which bang us amid scenes
because it is priceless 
to trade brain in for bread. 
So, when you close your eyes,
wink at me with opened heart prize

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Define Me

Define Me!

Moth I be the man you ought,
or am I becoming him you thought
I should belongs?
Perhaps who throngs. 
The course doesn't visibly tell.
For it has cost to the last drop of well!
Knowledge I know not where to cut cord,
Experience have lived less enough ford
Though must I have been like new maid
Sweeping to glitter with ambitious spade
Where they belong not nor throne a minute
Even in the mere of nobody that limit
Besides, am vocalness less to define myself
A being you gave all in yourself
And niceness owns none.

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DEPTH OF RECOVERY

DEPTH OF RECOVERY

From the top of the den
I bring my humblest words
To raise you slowly out 
And above this dreadful pit 
Where the ladder I lowers
Is insufficient emphasis 
As ascending tears 
Labor my heart helpless
With each time 
You take a glance away
From the beam of recovery
The pit deepens 
Shrouding your values

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RESPONSIBILITIES FREEDOM

RESPONSIBILITIES FREEDOM

The reality is to be schooled
By the decision that bring 
Unmeasurable responsibilities 
As this survey fountain of service
Because we grow 
When we perceive a will 
Which ensures others goals
For if not so
Resources like time 
Would be consumed 
By delicacies of pleasure
Selfish memories of who we are
Not whom they would have.

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CLIMATE BEGS ON US

CLIMATE BEGS ON US!
Hearing nature groaning 
In wild fires yawning 
With storms mourn roaring 
And mother’s arms opening 
To consume self painfully panting 
Through landslides and floods washing 
When her rich children nesting 
On the porches and coaches 
Made from mother’s beauty stitches
Debating bills that owe them ravages
I wonder who hears mum’ anguishes
Empathetically and concerning 
Perhaps the unspoken offsprings 
Dwell upon heat waves wailing 
Or innocent ones being scorched 
Into ashes and those wilting 
Unless those ones thirst to death squinting 
But not us, speaking beings.

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MY TEARDROP

MY TEARDROP
Here is my teardrop,
May I have yours… 
How might I know 
That you are listening
To me and only me 
And not you in me
Perhaps the pen and finger 
Pressing on your head lingers better
What to know about me 
But barely do you
All I am saying is 
Here is my teardrop; 
May I have yours
Through not the eloquence 
Of your language
But by the sensibility of your diction
And profound compassion in your attitude

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SPOKEN MOMENT

SPOKEN MOMENT
Thanks for your stories, my dearest
They are precious richest,
Resources of present pain
But tomorrow’s gain.
I cannot afford but yen 
Upon to retell them
When your heart rates
Matches mines
As we breathe alive
With rhythm of sea awaken 
In a recounting imagination
Of fair journeys
And calendared miseries 
From daily bread
To ever said.