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Best Poems Written by Michael Ramel

Below are the all-time best Michael Ramel poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Michael Ramel Poem

Billy

You are a brother
And a son, special gifts
For you are known, shown

You are a child
And a man sang "Kumbaya"
"Come by here, O' Lord"

As if to forecast
His love to a family
You held together

In its time of need
Things amazing this poet
If you did know it

You a gift from God  
As only He could style
As He opens wide

His arms you greet Him 
with your smile, His chile
Be free now Billy

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2024



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Following Me-From the Inside

I try to escape
From you there's no place to hide
Following me inside

I rub my eyes twice
You walk through walls like a ghost
How do I let go?

Along comes silence
And the prison that that brings
Time to think of things

Got to get on home
Fell down the well beaten path
Fallout aftermath

If you can’t catch me
Don't just stand there, walk away
In cadence of gait

Sinners and saints
Struggles writhing in my head
Are you really dead?

All this in my head
Old and new batt’ling in dreams
Awake from what seems

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2024

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Messing With the Mind of AI

A.I. is not satanic
It’s algorithms
What is evil
Is what you do with’em

Algorithms are not 
Presuppositions
AI is reliant on its maker
But Pressup's are reliant on The Maker

There is no place
For A.I. in heartfelt poetry
While you may have symmetry
You don’t and won’t have em-oetry

You know silly made up things
Like Dr. Suess’s terms
And emotional poetry
And a lot of F words

Modern machinery
Can't duplicate man’s brain-ery
Can A.I. touch nuance
Or personal subtlety?

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2024

Details | Michael Ramel Poem

The Anna Belle Trilogy

Anna Belle 1619 (Part One)

She set out to Jamestown in 1619
She's a Nordic ship on the sea
She's purple in shades in streams
She bathes in the Caribbean breeze
She needs no bard's flattery
No barroom cajolery
Only God with His love sets her free
Along the Levant coast, Aqaba, and Red Sea
My Shulamite who longs for me
She whispers softly, a euphony
Her chestnut flowing glory
Cascades oh womanly
And shaded for only me to see
A music-box dancer
Flawless she prances
Her beauty captured in Renaissance fancy
Reciting "I do"
My bride in June
My beloved in truth
As we walk together towards God

Anna Belle MMVI (Part Two)

Streetlights lead the way from home
Into the distance I drift and and I doze
Off to sleep where I meet Anna
On the coastal retreat out on the veranda
I hand her a poem and it reads:
Anna Belle
You have a lover's light
It is a beacon to this traveler's eye
You are grace and life
A sunburst shining Christ
Luminosity on this day which God has made
I m-i-s-s-i-s-s-I miss your kiss
When you're away
She sighs, what a look in her eyes
I desire to know as she ponders each line
In her heart unfurling more woes
A cascading of tears and hopes
Holding hands, we share our dreams
Of a journey together, the valleys the peaks
Our eyes meet, we momentarily hesitate
Then univocally say "You are my soul mate"

Goodbye Anna Belle (Part Three)

Preacher by day, poet by night
This hero's weakness is iron pyrite
A ship among ships
I sail on by moon eclipsed
No stars or astrolabe
To navigate me me towards my babe
The captain of the Eternity
Has set course and ushered me out to sea
With memories of her and dreams of home 
I seek the shore in the sad poem
As I roam and comb Rome
I see faces from pages I've written in tome
Familiar, I see her everywhere
In the euphemistic flower and cascading hair
I ponder the thought of all thoughts
Why did Jesus endure the path and the cross
Out of love, a love that leads step by step
Through a mystery of enigmatic depths 
I say my goodbye in this melancholy ode
I mourn, but not as one with no hope

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2024

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The Exile of a Writer

Sometimes it is hard to see God’s grace
Sometimes all I can do is be obedient with a smile on my face
Sometimes I can’t count it joy
Sometimes I become annoyed and annoy
Sometimes God in the cleft is His placement of place

Sometimes we will be exiled to isles
Sometimes the ashen gray of walls in cells
Sometimes I need Gilead’s balm
Sometimes I need to pray a psalm
God protects us with His wings or His angels

Sometimes as the Apostle John
Hetoimazo atimazo hyper ton Theon
Sometimes as the Apostle Paul
And Jeremiah during Jerusalem’s fall
God will always provide the proper direction

A way out He will always provide
If our will with God’s will coincide
To think His thoughts after Him
To bring all our struggles and cares to Him
Enduring as a soldier or Christ’s bride

The exile of a writer is God’s protection
To head in His direction
Of course, we are all sinners fallen short
Accused continually in God’s court
Remember this is under God’s discretion

Sometimes see that God is graciously
Protecting you even if confined spaciously
From others and ourselves
Searching the depths, the Spirit delves
Advancing one and the many patiently

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2024



Details | Michael Ramel Poem

Collapsing Ecstasy


I love the way
She courts each page
With poetic sensuality
I intently await
Each seductive phrase
As her words saunter in front of me

Only a heart
This large
Could be as vulnerable as she
Is she a goddess?
A work in progress
As her heart bursts open in her poetry

Make love to me
She says repeatedly
Make love on this page with me
We'll whisper words
Intimately only heard 
We are on the same page, collapsing ecstasy

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2024

Details | Michael Ramel Poem

In A Class of Your Own

I was created 
in the image of God, I
Imago Deo

But I am in a 
class of my own, I am a
Mathematical 

set of one, we all 
are a token, Socrates 
or me and yes, you

I am a type, which 
belongs to a class, but still
I am in a class of

My own, the class 
Class identity of me
I think therefore I 

Am (it’s not a good 
Translation from the Latin) 
Cogito Ergo 

Sum, even though it 
begs the question, it is a 
Cartesian set 

Je pense, donc je suis
In French, cogitatio fit
Thinking, occurring 

Would better describe 
this mess, but how would one prove 
somebody’s thinking?

Brainwaves? Synapses? 
So, we are all in a class 
Of our own (imaged)

Philosophically
Personal identity
Is not an option

To a worldview
That is consigned to matter
And motion, no potion

No cerebral bend
Or mental gymnastics can
Account for abstract 

Entities, such as
Identity over time 
In a class its own 

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2024

Details | Michael Ramel Poem

My Flannel Shirt

You standing there looking so innocent
       and sexy, biting your lip
Smiling so guile-y and your hair
Cascading around your face
Over your shoulders and styled by JBF
You standing a bit awkwardly your legs
      falling from my flannel shirt
And smooth as hell, your feet up on the balls
      as if in high heels
Flexing in anticipation and a devilish grin
With a "What me?" delectation  
It's not a skirt it's my flannel shirt
And you with your post coital giggle
A splash of bawdy and a hint of naughty
      and looking muy caliente
With my eyes I take you in as you take 
      my breath away

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2024

Details | Michael Ramel Poem

The Babbitt and the Bromide





Oh boy what a pair
The Babbitt and the Bromide
I speak of Kelly and Astaire

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2024

Details | Michael Ramel Poem

Flickering Reflections-No Place Like Hume


The mind doesn't passively await impressions, no tabula rasa,
The mind is active, understanding, not just a passerby.
He had bete noire towards Christianity, a Scottish Nominalist,
David Hume, born in Edenborough, was a philosophical skeptic.
Born in 1711, died in 1776,
Two months after America’s Independence, a historical prolix.
Pride was Hume’s downfall, a struggle he couldn't hide,
Extinguishing it or moderating or giving into his guide.
People do not move impartially from their theory of knowledge,
To there is no God, like Hume, they hold a grudge.
How can you hate a God you don’t believe in?
To deal with the guilt, they engage in veiled sin.
At least Barkley and Locke defended their Christianity,
Didn’t walk with Hume to skepticism, an absurd reality.
Nothing can be known of the external, internal,
Science, morality, or God, Hume’s view was infernal.
At 23, Hume went to France to write his Treatise,
In 1738, his magnum opus fell, dead born, no protectant lee
Denied the Chair of Moral Philosophy,
Served The Marquis of Annandale, a paid advisory.
Served General Sinclair, British Ambassador to Vienna,
John Witherspoon’s disdain for Hume’s philosophical dilemma.
Hume was again denied a professorship,
So, he became a Librarian, still aboard his sinking ship.
Morals confronted Hume throughout his life,
A struggle from early on, a youthful strife.
His literary works, circular reasoning,
An ethical axe grinding, against God, unpleasing.
His hostility towards the Puritans and Calvin,
The Humean cult of dilettantes, not a philosophical haven.
He was rejected early on, now he is on top,
James Bosworth called on Hume as he approached the final stop.
Eternity is a most unreasonable fancy,
The morality of every religion, a bad legacy.
Religious people were rascals, a serious charge,
Not a playful term, but a critique large.
When the philosophical questions got tough Hume wanted to play games
And said all philosophies should be consigned to the flames
Abstruseness of philosophers, difficult questions they ask,
When Hume had difficulty, he’d play backgammon, a simpler task.
What is an idea? Opposite to impressions,
Degree of vivacity, a mind’s expressions.
Antecedent feelings, sense perceptions,
Impressions of perceptions, empirical reflections.
What impression is the idea derived? Seek it out antecedently,
The empirical criterion, not empirically derived, evidently.
Psychological atomism, compounded perceptions,
Observations of individual perceptions are random connections.
Resemblance, contiguity, cause and effect,
Nominalists believe in particulars, universals reject.
Hume denies the legitimacy of these:
The God of the Middle Ages, the leviathan of Hobbs,
The inconsistent Christianity of Locke and Barkley,
Hume said all philosophy is inconsistent, a paradox, oddly.
Trace everything back to sensation,
Selfhood is not sensational, a philosophical foundation.
Like Descartes’ self-doubting method,
Hume employs an antecedent sensation system, the same thread.
No sensation of self-identity,
Is it really you or really me?
Disjointed but a bundle, how can that be?
If all you have is sensation, what’s between sensational moments, do you see?
When you look in a mirror, do you see your personal identity?
No, you see particular traits, a mind’s entity.
Identity is a property of the mind, a perception of imagination,
No external world in Hume’s worldview, a philosophical isolation.
Again, no connection of ideas in our minds,
Only contiguous colliding of impressions, a philosophical bind.
Is the external world just an illusion, as the Hindu might say,
The basis of belief in the external world, psychological, in a way.
Does Hume have the right to judge my psychological ideas,
When he judges not the world but someone’s psychology, a philosophical plea.
Did Hume destroy substance, self-identity, external world, and causation?
As a Christian, we can say the future will be like the past, a divine 
        confirmation.
Back to the ethical axe that needs grinding,
From a man who struggled with pride, a philosophical finding.
Holy, Holy, and wholly we must live for the God,
Who Intelligentsia attempted to escape, the Judge of the Universe, a Divine 
        nod.
Descartes: I think therefore I am,
Hume: Psychological habit, a philosophical jam.
From the first Adam to the penultimate Adam,
We have concocted arbitrary devices to save our sin, a sinful anthem.
The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God,
For who knows a person’s thoughts except their own spirit, another Divine 
        nod.
In the same way, no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God,
What we have received is not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is God.
This is what we speak, not in words taught by human wisdom,
But in words taught by the Spirit, explaining spiritual realities, a divine 
       kingdom.
The person with the spirit does not accept the things from the Spirit of God,
But considers them foolishness, and cannot understand, an ambiguous facade.
The person with the Spirit makes judgments about all things,
But such a person is not subject to merely human judgments, to God we can 
        sing.
For “Who has known the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?”
But we have the mind of Christ, a divine hymn.
All Kant did was psychologize Hume’s problematic answer,
To his own skepticism, a philosophical dancer.
Hume never came to an understanding of the problem,
Of how to fit nonexistent universals into the world of particulars, a mind long 
        gone.
“It’s hard to hold a candle with wax melting on your hand,”
My philosophical reprimand.
God is the Original Know-It-All, God knows all things,
He doesn’t learn something new, Oh saints rejoice in Him The Divine King.

Copyright © Michael Ramel | Year Posted 2025

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Book: Reflection on the Important Things