Home » Poems » Best » Marguerite C. Anderson » Best Marguerite C. Anderson Poems

Best Poems Written by Marguerite C. Anderson

Below are the all-time best Marguerite C. Anderson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

Anne Girvan's Decree

At the heart of Marescaux Road’s Maroon and Gold
Lived a timid girl with dreams yearning to unfold.
An inner-city teen with a spirit aglow
Yet hidden in shadows, her potential lay low.

Then entered a teacher with passion ablaze
A beacon of hope, guiding through life’s maze.
With eyes full of kindness and words like a song
She saw through the silence, knew the girl didn’t belong.

Anne Girvan was her name, a mentor so bright
Igniting a spark and banishing the girl’s night.
With patience and wisdom, the teacher gently untied
The knots of self-doubt that had bound the girl’s pride.

“Believe, my dear,” she whispered, “you are strong,
Your voice is a melody; let it carry you along.”
In the world of words, the girl found her escape
A refuge in language, a chance to reshape.

The pen became the girl’s ally, the paper her friend,
Thus began her journey, a path to amend.
Through verses and prose, she let out her fears
Dropping them like anchors, dissolving in tears.

Anne Girvan—the guide, the catalyst of change—
Empowered the girl to break free from her cage.
In the alleys of Kingston, the girl’s story took flight,
A blossoming author, her words pure and bright.

She painted her struggles, her triumphs, her strife,
A testament to the teacher who transformed her life.
The pages reverberated with the strength of her voice
A symphony of triumph, a tale to rejoice.

The timid Jamaican girl was finally set free,
Her metamorphosis sparked by Anne Girvan's decree.
In Kingston’s inner city, where dreams often stall,
A teacher and poet answered her call.

Now she pens accolades for the one who believed,
Who unmuted her voice—her hero, reprieved.
This tale is her hymn to a teacher’s grace,
Whose influence lingers, transcending all space.

Decorated with praises among the heavens above,
Her ode to Anne Girvan, a testament of love.

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

What Love begets

The mother loved him before she met him. 
On days when her love posed a threat 
She gambled with her health 
And cradled him against her breast,  
And clenched her teeth  
to preserve the gift her love begets.
She supposed that with this seed 
Her soul could soar free,  
And he- her gentle dove- 
Would one day bring her comfort from all the men
who gave her unreciprocated love. 

The day came when, in her jubilee,  
The mother held him close as he suckled.  
She journeyed with him through desert lands 
And her love planted seeds that sprouted 
Fruits from the sand. 
Then one day - 
In a cataclysmic transform -
He despised the graceful garlands on his head 
And instead 
She bled from the blow of his knuckles. 
She watched him pluck the pendants from his neck. 
And in his unreciprocated love,  
the mother was decked. 

She nurtured him, still, for love bears all. 
So in her hospice,  
she held him close. 
For what does he know, what does he truly know 
“Of Love's austere and lonely offices”?

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

Mother is her Name

Her vessel is empty, yet she is oxygen
Mother, is her name.
She sits in contemplation of
Tomorrow's provision
And you will never know when
Her weary soul is dying.

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

The Old Car

There once was an old car that was quite spry,
It had creaky joints and a sputtering sigh.
Its engine would wheeze
On the road, with such ease
Yet, if I now had such car, I would be pleased
Newer models are no match for a car of that batch
A real classic- though rusty-'neath the sky!

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

Rebirth

Scorned and ridiculed, 
She carried her affliction for years.  
There came a time when she bled. 
Until one day her body buckled  
And there laid she in her scarlet pool.  
That filthy maiden was as good as dead 
But Jesus reshaped her from earth’s dust 
And delivered her from the hands of the cruel.  

There came a time when 
the unborn in her womb laid still; showed no sign of life 
Curled in its fetal tomb, 
And concerned expressions  
On the faces of doctors 
Alas, were ready when they considered  the deciding factors. 
But she in all the noise, 
Lie unperturbed. 
No doubt,  
it was God who administered that herb. 
And in an instant rebirth 
The babe leapt, bounded and gallivanted. 

There came a time 
When all around her beloved child 
A fiery furnace closed in, 
But the loving arms of Jesus  
Enfolded the child with oxygen. 
  
Methinks that maiden would not have 
made it to the other side  
After the many years of  
Stained tears she cried. 
But she is Mother-Earth 
And God has granted her rebirth.

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

The Hunter and the Doe

It is a tale known throughout the ages 
Of how a hunter ventured into the woods 
In search of a doe. 
And not just any doe,  
But rather the most beautiful,  
Wild, 
And graceful of them all. 
A doe that strutted across the evergreen 
on slender legs that held her frame  
as whistling winds converged on the scene. 
The hunter squatted, 
Scouted, 
Waited, 
Scaling the woods for the scrapes and rubs 
And when he discovered the bedding 
And caught the first sight of her  
Upon the mound, 
The hunter reached to aim his gun 
But found himself enamored, 
Spellbound. 
That trophy hunter, 
Stalker, 
deer murderer, 
Felt his chest heave and from his forehead 
Escaped the sweat 
Of a man who found love at first sight. 
For she was such marvel to behold 
He feared that his bodily scent  
would alert her sensitive nose, 
That she would bound away 
Far, far away as if on magical toes. 
He held his breath 
For all the years he hunted 
None more elegant existed  
in his wildlife land of does

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

Diary of a Hot-Blooded Woman

Society sure has a lot to say 
on how middle-aged women should behave. 
Who dares to sanction that fire still alive inside?
In this her fiftieth year, she curses her sex-drive.
For she has prayed for years for someone to love,
Imposed voluntary abstinence to honour the Man above.
Perhaps, she shall marry at sixty-five
Until then, the fight continues for she must thrive.
So on behalf of all hot-blooded women, she scribes.

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

Time's Relentless Hands

Time's relentless hands cast their shadows
On a middle-aged woman in a lonely corner of her room
She drapes her shawl around her shoulders,
And there she sits covered in sheets of memories 
wherein she is held captive by the betrayal
of a lover's deceit.

Time’s relentless hands murdered her dreams
Her heart once whole, now shattered- incomplete.
A lover's promises, like whispers in the wind,
Now ashes to ashes and dust to dust, 
dissipating with every gust.
Abandoned, she stands, a slanting, silent cry,
As her dreams unravel and hopes slowly die.

Her children once stars in her twilight sky,
Time’s relentless hands made them
Now gaze with greed in each calculating eye.
Inheritance is their focus, devoid of love's embrace,
Leaving her silent and morose in heart’s wasteland.
She wonders aloud to the universe above,
Why must her suffering prolong in time’s relentless glove?
In echoes of silence, the answers blurred,
Yet, in her brokenness, she seeks the unheard.

In time’s relentless hands, her face is worn and gaunt,
Lines etched with tales of love's paradigm.
A weary soul, searching for solace's shore,
In the wreckage of dreams, she craves for something more.
Why does pain persist, a cruel demand?
In the quiet of night, she pleads for release,
A burdened heart seeking moments of peace.

But midst the ruins of time’s relentless hands, 
resilience sparks and a phoenix rises from the desolate dark.
In the mosaic of scars, she finds her grace,
Each fracture is a story etched on her face.
The universe may be silent, yet she persists,
A survivor transcending the darkest twists.

Out of the ashes, a phoenix soars,
And healing whispers, "You're worth so much more."
In time’s relentless hands, 
Amid the pain, she'll find her song,
For the middle-aged woman is resilient and strong.

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

For I Have Sinned

Forgive me 
For I have sinned in my tenacity 
to challenge you on the battlefield of morality. 

Forgive me 
For offending your duplicity 
with my transparency. 

Forgive me 
While you carouse with your unquenchable lies                                                   For I have sinned in uttering such prayerful reprise.
 
Forgive me 
“Great One”, clothed in your honorable disguise                                            
For I have sinned to not fall prey to your beguiles.

Details | Marguerite C. Anderson Poem

Betrayal's Harvest

I couldn't believe the word on the streets 
It ran through every nook and cranny
and with urgent feet.
The news of a daughter's unkind heart was told.
A calculated wanton cruelty unfold.
The story began with a father's love, 
His sacred trust betrayed by greed
in ashes thrust.

Ailing in the grasp of illness' woe,
The father weakened, his spirit brought low.
Yet, in his frailty, a serpent crept,
-His own blood- a vow broken and secrets kept.
The daughter who once was a tender kin,
Insidiously wore a mask, concealing sin.
Exploiting love for selfish gain,
She danced on morals and left them slain.

As illness wrapped its cold embrace,
She stole from him in a heartless chase.
No mercy shown and no love retained,
She executed her deeds, a legacy stained.

In the court of justice, truth unveiled
The daughter's treachery, scales impaled.
A jury stern with solemn eyes,
Listened to her deceitful cries.
Her guilt laid bare, there was no room to hide,
A wicked journey she couldn't guide.
Punishment awaited, justice sought,
For a father's love, so brutally fought.

The courtroom hushed until a gavel's sound,
Echoed justice, resounding around.
The penalty pronounced with a heavy toll,
For the daughter's wicked, heartless stroll.
She paid the price for her deceit,
A sentence served, yes, a bitter feat!
The daughter faced her inner strife,
In the cold abyss of her own life.

Let this be a lesson to those who yearn
To heed the bonds that love does earn.
For when betrayal's seeds are sown,
A bitter harvest shall be known.