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Best Poems Written by Michael Wegman

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

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

Laughter, the Best Medicine

We live in a world where sickness abounds,
Sometimes stumping the best of providers. 
Symptoms and tests almost always expound, 
While the emotional costs grow wider. 

The travel and care and expenses we bare,
In dollars and tears for a healing.
Pale when compared, with the voluminous prayers,
Our reverence and humility kneeling.

Seeing through to the end, great strength we must take,
And the position that attitude matters.
A stiff upper lip and a smile sometimes fake,
Anything less, and fragile hope easily shatters. 

Yet until we’re called home, to streets paved with gold,
Or abodes filled with love and affection,
Widely known in the hearts, of the young and the old,
Laughter remains, life's greatest healing medication!

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

Irony Abounds

On an unsinkable ship’s maiden voyage, it sinks.
A pastor who preaches against alcohol, drinks.
One’s surrounded by people, yet remains all alone.
Confessing sins to a priest, those sins are atoned?

A nation’s chief tax czar, who cheats on his taxes?
An animal lover who hunts deer, to relax.
Sing praise and kill humans, in the name of a God?
Destroying our enemies, lasting peace we applaud?

The lifeguard fears water, so remains on dry land.
American foot...ball, is played with the hands.
A high school track coach, who's morbidly obese.
The steakhouse that's owned, by a vegan!

The priest preaching sermons on love, is a pedophile.
Repeat charity builds dependence, over time.
Nations war against drugs, and market alcohol?
DNA tests confirm, Hitler’s Grandfather was Jewish!

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

I'M Just Getting Started

Born in Madrid, in fifty nine,
A military Kid, 3rd of 7 in the assembly line;
They named me Michael, but I answer to Wedge,
A Master Sergeant’s son—not much here that's cutting edge.

I grew up a runner, and I wrestled some,
I was a skateboarding brawler and a surfer bum;
Didn’t try very hard in primary school,
Laziness, not ignorance—I was a bit of a tool.

Then I met this fine girl, long hair just like copper,
Who took me to church, sweet, innocent, and proper;
At Wood’s Grove on knees, accepting Him for long haul,
In 1978—just weeks before Uncle Sam called.

In a flash came the Navy, Marriage, college, and kids,
A submarine, 2 surface ships—I was a bit of a squid;
On to Chapel Hill, where I taught Midshipmen,
By ’94, farewell my Navy—I’m now a businessman.

Life moved fast from the crib thru each grade,
For Mom & two girls—my female brigade;
Growing up we did lots, mostly travels and school,
Plus church, school sports, dance and piano recitals, how cool!

Today, they’re gone—our empty nest in their wake,
New lives, with spouses, and pups—and new names.
So I paint and I hike—while my soulmate sews and she reads;
And we both now teach high school—sharing Christ as He leads.

I’m grateful my Navy recalled this old goat,
To lead men and women, ashore and afloat;
Retirement and selection, to teach young Cadets,
A large pain in the butt—but I have no regrets.

After 60 odd years, I’m modestly content,
With where my life’s been, and headed—once spent.
But mostly I’m thankful—family, friends and great health,
And for wonderful friendships—the source of my wealth!

Some say sixty's getting old,
Creaky knees, aches and pains, hard hearing—all told.
And I contend, aging's NOT for the faint hearted,
But most who know me know—I'm just getting started!

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

Aging

I rise to face yet still more life again
And know my day will be about my age
Through sight that makes all things appear opaque
I hear about each third word spoken clear.

I walk with cane a slow but sure tempo
And get to where I aim without much fuss
Yet still it seems I burden those who care
To take the time to bare my years nonpluss. 

Each time I rise to face my life once more
Trumps thoughts of laying still without regard
For pains one takes to move upon this earth
Or see and hear with clarity implored.

I thank my Lord for each new day He gives
And givers who see beyond one’s struggle
With patience and always kind words spoken
Dignity and respect to me maintained.

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

The Concert

Drumming along on steering wheel
And dashboard, to rhythm and beats
8-track drowning out giddy squeals,
Till butts plopped down in venue seats.

The buzzing crowd was everywhere
All walks of life surely present,
Deluge of Tie-Dye and long Hair,
Smoke wafting thick, the oddest scent.

When all light vanished, cheers ensued
As silhouettes shuffled on stage,
Anticipation…all eyes glued,
Mind numbing sound, coming of age!

They’d rocked our years, and now this night
Fans singing each memorized word,
Dancing, laughter—our teenage rite
Of passage, forever conferred.

Ten thousand flames, begged one more song
Two mega hits offered instead;
Then bows before worshiping throng,
Ended the show, farewells widespread.

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

Ode To a President

Many Americans, at least it would seem,
Win Megabuck lotteries, inside their day dreams;
What will I do now, with all of this loot? 
I’ll jet far and wide, like a Rock Star en route.

And yet, there’s a man, at the head of our state,
Worth many vast billions—no weak featherweight;
Who could have declined, to avoid all the grief,
But instead serves us tirelessly, providing relief.

THANKS to the millions—‘Deplorables’ strong,
Who saw his potential, and sang his theme song;
About Making us Great, restoring times past,
Returning jobs lost with fair trade deals—at last!

Yet mainstream ‘the media,’ despise you and peeps,
Their Deep State criminal, lost to your sweep;
MAGA did resonate—you won handily,
Our thin skin now thickened, by their blasphemy.

In the end no collusion—just more of the same,
Fake news by leftists, with HATE on the brain;
So thank you kind sir, and please drain that swamp,
A patriotic act perfectly befitting...
...#45, PRESIDENT DONALD J. TRUMP!

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

Ode To the Walkin' Man's Friend

Seldom in life does one feel the effects,
Of another’s SIXTY YEARS of lifespan;
But now and again, God gives us respect,
For the lives of extraordinary men.

Such was the case, with the ‘Walkin Man’s Friend,’
His own walk, amazingly profound;
A Patriot’s son, from beginning to end
A selfless giver whose story astounds.

Early on it showed—he really liked cars,
And his boat—he was at home on the sea;
But his love for people, numbered like stars,
Is what made him a genuine Marquis!

A lifelong athlete, he loved every sport,
A tough competitor, true to the Word;
His epic philanthropy—giving limitless support,
To worthy causes, about which he’d heard!

A family man—who departed far too early,
Happy-go-lucky, his legacy today;
This mountain of a soul, faithful and burly,
"Smile, be happy, live well"—he'd now say!

During this hard time, as together we grieve,
Recalling his humor, right up till the end;
Live a little bit extra, each day for our Steve,
Now forever memorialized as—the Walkin' Man’s Friend!

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

Unconditional Love

Her love was amazing—it encompassed all;
Unconditional—never filled with condemnation,
Despite my predilection toward unmitigated gall,
And unrelenting juvenile reverence for flirtation.
The years did lapse, all consternation lost;
All apathy, on my part, long since tossed,
Replaced by unearthliness, for life’s remaining duration.

11/20/2018

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

The Atheist

Thanks be to God—come one, come all!

When one's greatest belief is in one’s self, limits emerge on human relief,
No joy.  No sorrow.  No hopeful feelings about this day, or morrow.
A vacuum of useless disbelief.

When 'science fixes all'—becomes the general rule, led by denial and utter doubt, 
“There exists no God,” exclaims a sea, of haughty self-sufficiency,
empty robots knowing no assurance, as they shout.

If there exists no God, look around—at all He keeps in harmony:
Birds in the air, fish in the sea, trees breathing life giving possibility.
And humans, living and loving fearlessly.

The world demands a Savior strong, in balance to unruly throngs. 
Our faith fills gaps the Creator allows, to test free will and sacred vows,
All while His love for Atheists lives on.

Thanks be to God—come one, come all!


11/24/2018

Details | Michael Wegman Poem

Paint a Life

Pray tell, to whom do I owe this life of mine?
Mother—always an Angel divine,
Wife—for four decades, a Saint,
Daughters—love unfeigned.
Life’s Good, so
Paint
with a glow
Foregoing restraint
Splash your years—without constraint
Be happy—make laughter a lifeline
Pray tell, to whom do I owe this life of mine?

November 22, 2018