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Best Poems Written by Bethlehem Derseh

Below are the all-time best Bethlehem Derseh poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

What Is Love, Not a Broken Song

If love was an -ism,
we'd all believe it,
like some perfect idea.

    a philosophical epitome

If love was an -ology,
we'd all specialize in it,
like a doctor. 

    study its anatomy.

If love was an -ist,
we'd all try and be it,
like a poet.
  
    write its anomalies.

If love was an -ish,
we'd all try to feel it,
like a mood ring.
     
     measure its degrees

If love was an -ing,
we'd all be doing it,
like some movement.

     a new revolution

If love was a suffix, 
it would be confined,
to merely three letters at
the end of a word.

If love was human we wouldn't
recognize him, like he was foreign,
as if he were a martian.

If love was alive it would be exclusively
shared by those who are living.

If love was dead, than we would have
no reason to live.

If love was reason, then all of our 
frontal lobes would be married.

     If love was the ocean it would be fathomed.
     If love was a mountain it could be climbed.
     If love is just a feeling we'd all get over it.
     If love is a dream then we are still sleeping.
     If love is just a phase then how come I'm not over it?

Love is divine, and Love is an endless longing of the soul
for its maker, and can only be satisfied by the ageless creator.

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

Intersection of Justice and Mercy

Justice,

is not the sound:

of a banging gavel,

as the result of a man's decision.

It is found in the laughter of orphans,

or in the quiet tears of a widow's distress.

Justice, does not announce its presence noisily,

nor does it appeal to mere reason or fleeting thought.

It is in the silence of a still moment that it rushes in.

A flood of rescue, a team of unsung heroes, without banners.

In the simple embrace of a father to the orphaned, or mother to the widow.

There it is found in the least likely of places, the free offering of smiles.

An undeserved torrent of kindness that drowns out history's pain,

giving a new and beautiful fragrance to the debris left by injustice.

Tears lose their sting, they become source of life watering souls,

satisfaction is no longer measured by simple shelters, or full

bellies, and clothed bodies; this is not true contentment.

Joy ignited by the embers of love, fueling life.

Purpose, not dependent on fiscal wealth,

a life becomes a raging wildfire,

made visibly tangible,

Mercy.

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

Bluebirds' Song

Pretty little bluebird came my way,
and I sad: please friend stay a while.

He said, I have two friends coming my way,
wish I could stay...

My little bluebird, don't you see you're the only
one of your kind, I said: teach me a new song.

He said, I'm all out of new songs, wish I could remember
how the old ones went...

Hey Mr. Bluebird, won't you tell me your secrets,
I said: tell me who is this other bluebird?

He said, you're not a secret, wish we could remember
our love bird...

Am I your bluebird, I said: tell me and I'll help you remember 
your song bird.

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

The Cellular Phone Conspiracy

It started around July of 2010,
when my pink fakeberry started,
digitally roaming in Boston's delightful
city of literal human combustion.

I gave it a moment when I returned to
the town of my sojourning...

August.
September.

School's here!
and I can't communicate with my friends, 
with the one bar of service, I spontaneously
receive only around the church, of my prior attendance. 

Should I sue? For all of the emotional distress,
sheer frustration, and anger caused by who knows
what technological phenomena!

For all of the bridges that I would have seen this pink
piece of plastic be projected from, and then pulverized
into smithereens by unsuspecting traffic.

For all of the bodies of water I would have  submerged it in, 
until it's digital roaming would float, resting in pieces.

I have been patient with you pink piece of plastic failure of a  
cellular communication device! 

*** Coming up next month the sequel: I love thee oh smart phone upgrade of the 
android variety***

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

Little Seed Story

A little pebble-like form finds it's home in the dark cool damp earth, it begins it's 
comfortable journey there in the womb of "mother earth". The dark porous soil allows 
for air to find this nervous seed.  As it finds room room to breathe, the seedling 
discovers itself expanding and stringy fibers strangely emerging from within its small 
frame. As droplets of daily moisture ease it's way to this unshapely creatures home, its 
expansion continues, to the point when only a shell of it's original form remains. 
Accustomed to this place which this former seed calls home, it expectantly waits for the 
sunlight to bring warmth through its muddy existence. With anxious yet eagerly the little mutant seed receives the light. For now all that remains of it's former shape have 
nearly vanished and turned into gnarly looking fibrils!

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

Life, Love, and Why

It's easy to sing about the moon when you're in love,
and give a lonely color and call it blue.
It's easy to live when your life is not why your alive,
and call it a living an existence.
It's easy to know all of the answers as to why,
and not have a reason as to how.
It's easy to lament something of which you have an idea,
and cry tears that will only give solace to your perspective.
It's easy to live,
It's easy to love,
It's to know why.
Lately I've been learning about how, 
not to ask of life,
not beg of love,
and not question why.
It's how.
How will never need to live,
nor will it need to love,
but why?
How needs no reason.

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

You Speak, In Surrender

You speak— to me without an utterance
	In every sunset you speak

Brilliant orange hues dance fervently, igniting all in sight; 
setting the horizon ablaze. A gentle sapphire tide gently, beckons the crimson fire to 
subside, as dying embers bid the day goodnight. 

You speak— to me without making a sound
	In every season of rain you speak

Lightening penetrates the thresholds of cloud cloaked heavens; earth is left to 
helplessly spectate its flashing, fury. Plants exhale as raindrops kiss their parched 
surfaces, the famished land is quenched. 

You speak— to me without words
	In my every waking moment and breath

Reverberating, as a cymbal, rhythmically thumping to divine cadences, this heart 
echoes your beats. Life, endlessly longing for the ageless One, pulsates and courses 
through my veins causing my lungs inhale mercies, and breathe out grace, from the 
slumber of dusk to the brisk winds of dawn and daybreak, your breath revives my 
soul, stirring me. I’m awake.

 You speak— to me without declaration
	In the battle of life and every war 

Vanquished, a casualty of this life’s mortal combat; carnage; has laid waste, and 
destruction has met this arsenal of strife. Laying down all arms, without a treaty this 
casualty caught a glimpse, from a distance, of your banner, fluttering liberty and 
peace, which so effortlessly urged my arm in your direction; baring a fist tightly 
clenched to a white flag clamped to the end. This soul now soars in a gust of freedom 
in reckless-abandonment in a fresh existence, a new surrender.

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

Lovebird Lovesong

Now there are two little bluebirds,
and an ocean of baby blackbirds 
to keep them company.

So sing pretty bluebirds, cause
you're really two little lovebirds,
singing we are soulbirds!

You fly from tree to perch

singing baby you're my bluebird,
singing where's my soulbird,
singing I hear my songbird!

Every tree is your home, 
and every tower your perch,
and don't be scared cause 
you sing like a dream, making 
your predators fall asleep.

Singing baby you're my bluebird,
singing where's my soulbird,
singing I hear my songbird!

Your sweet sonnets serenade my soul,
your lighthearted tune makes me want to
fly your direction, and your heavenly pursuit
keeps me on the edge of my tree.

singing baby you're my bluebird,
singing where's my soulbird,
singing I hear my songbird!

So, keep chipper my sweetly singing bird,
and you'll find me in the same tree eventually.
Leading the sparrows in the lovebird anthem,
then you'll remember our song.

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

To Whom It May Concern: I

Dear Luda,

I don't understand the reasoning behind the name that you chose, to me it's pure 
ludacris.

Puns aside, I know the South may be considered dirty, but Jesus died for people not 
where they live. He died for what they did in the South and what they're still doing 
everywhere!

So I believe that you need to repent along with everyone of your followers, because 
your rhymes lead straight to the gates of Hades, but Greek mythology aside, you still 
have time.

God loves you and you don't have to pollute the airwaves with the intentions of your 
dead heart. God can give it life, because we walk among functional "zombies" but God's 
always given us the choice of not only living on Earth, but living FOREVER!

I'm not a snitch, nor am I a ditch, instead I'm the detour sign that everyone loves to 
hate; however, Christ always says I AM the Way the Truth and the Life.

Accept this letter from a fellow disappointed artist. 

yours sincerely,

Beth

Details | Bethlehem Derseh Poem

Bravery

Bravery.
That is the question,
formatted in a statement.

What is its dichotomy,
can we dissect or analyze it?

Is it a cranial function, which
is up to debate in the lecture type fashion.
Does it do well with grey areas, and nerve functions.

Bravery.
Is it a tangible substance,
attained in the supernatural realm.

How is can it be acquired,
can everyone be brave?

Is cowardice its foe, 
or is fear it's only malfunction.
Do the brave fear, or is fear not brave?