A Good Samaritan

Don’t let yesterday – take up too much of today.


Shall i thank thee for being good to me?
When times were tough and most men were quite rough
In stuffing ideas of who i should be
Down my throat so that i will want to cough.
When times were tough – like a desert in drought
The oasis of my dreams started to dry
Up faster then a speeding car on route
To clinic for there’s an emergency. –
You were good to me like the men that bring
Items of aid to the victims of war,
So i know in this poem, that’s the one thing
I will have to thank thee deeply for, for
You were to me a good Samaritan
That warmed my life, better than summer can.

© 2019 The Poets Peace


Advertisements

Sonnet #4

Being strong means rejoicing in who you are, complete with imperfections

Margaret Woodhouse

Luna

one day, a mistress not in distress-
in her fine red dress, walked down the road.
to address the man that made her glad-
was robbed by men and left in distress.

she cried out for help, but no ear heard.
the cries of a damsel in distress.
when lesser men robbed her of her dress.
and left her nude in the winter cold.

when the man’s lady came not on time.
he got scared and set out to find her.
but after some time searching, lost hope.
of ever finding his dame alive.

until a sound, crept into his ear.
and led him to her, dressed in her shame.

Lazarus Shatipamba is a wormy bookworm that rarely ever sees the sun(except through the eyes of many a fictional character). His days are mostly spent stuck between the pages of a good book.
When he isn’t busy gathering dust in…

View original post 61 more words

sonnet #3

Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.

Arthur Ashe
For forty years i felt the beating of my heart.
The rhythm of which i compared to a broken drum.
Till in my life you came and made it start to dart.
Like strings from a harp when the bard makes them thrum.

The music it makes, makes me want to sing.
Along to the song that you inspired with your love.
A song fit for the ears of many a queen 'nd king.
As well as the halls of GOD's in the sky above.

For forty years i felt the beating of my heart.
And i knew not whether it would be made to dance.
A merry jig the masses would consider Art.
Or one that would make many want to shift their glance.

For forty years i felt the beating of my heart.
Which before you came, was clearly being torn apart.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

Lazarus Shatipamba

Friends, if you have any questions, suggestions and feedback regarding this poem , you can leave them in the comment box.

If you like reading my work, please share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). I’d be thrilled to have more people reading my poems.

Garden of Beauty


Walk with me, into the garden of beauty
And smell the sweet scent of flowers in the air
When the way roses sway take thy breath away
And leaves the mouths of many men ajar.

With daisies, basking in the warmth of the sun
Making light of thy intent to sit in shade
And in thy mind; image thyself having fun
That was in the midst of the heavens forbade.

Tread carefully among these thorny weeds
That with their stink, surely make thy eyes weep
So that thine tears, bring hope to the growing seeds
Of misdeeds that thy mind was tasked to safe keep.

     As thou was once thyself a seed that did grow,
    So too, will thee reap the fruits of what you sow.

He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has.

Epictetus

A Dream of Spring

Image by 【中文ID】愚木混株 【ins-ID】cdd20 from Pixabay
Shall i, compare thee to a dream of Spring?
For when i entered a state of slumber
My melancholy mood, began blooming
Into a mood, that brought fourth its flower.
Thou art more sweeter than a buzzing bee.
A conquerer; more regal than a queen.
Pollinating my sadness into glee.
Turning the dry desert , of my heart green.
Of you, the very air must be jealous.
Scent from heaven; thou aroma will lure
Many men to come your way and make fuss.
In illness, hoping you will be their cure.
But alas; i awoke from my slumber
Feeling cold from the bold bitter winter.


When anger rises, think of consequences.

Confucius