Archive for the 'poem' Category
06
Feb
21
Coded Messages
22
Jan
21
To Be Heard
As one who has spent many hours of his life infused with the need to express what is felt, seen, and heard; to acknowledge a young, inspiring Poet Amanda Gorman [https://youtu.be/FpR7iELvVrI]: to give poetry its place to affectively communicate in so many words, the hearts, minds, and consciousness of the many; gave inspiration to the following in tribute to her glorious achievement(s):
To Be Heard
To write a Poem, is not just words;
It is an individual’s feelings, felt to be heard.
To those whom encounter such a poem;
Know, its meaning is to find an emotional home.
Inspiration, often from the most innocuous place,
Can stimulate a composition of wisdom, hope and grace.
So, understanding that a Poem is more than just words;
Let its next encounter give cause for its meaning to be truly heard.
07
Jan
21
Conscious Minds’ Nod
Conscious presence of Mind,
Without which there is nothing to find;
Nor reason for purpose to define;
Nor form of structure to space in time.
Human Sentience is the perception tool
That allows for physic’s understanding to rule;
Otherwise, humanity becomes the ultimate fool
By believing: its domain is the ultimate jewel.
Does humanity’s presence make a Universe appear;
Or does all that it be – simply disappear,
Without perceptive eyes to see, ears to hear;
Or presence of conscious minds’ perception-sphere?
The answer to this quandary might be resolved
By going beyond Nature’s fundamental laws:
That all is known, guided by them, might be flawed
By their inception to a reality needing a conscious mind’s nod.
What do you think – yah, or nay?
14
Nov
20
Poet’s Mask
Hidden behind the poet’s mask of nom de plume
Purpose being: the reader to assume,
The words written, are not to presume;
They are of the author’s suffering, loves, or doom
Â
This device to severe any personal tie
To salacious nature of subject that might imply;
Guilt of connection, that might belie;
Merit of reason- the poem written, is meant to cry
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A work of fiction then one could conclude:
Artificial circumstance, or meaning to extrude?
Not in the least: it is mere device,
Exercised to protect from guilt of vice.
23
Mar
20
End of Human Existence
With little doubt, most around the world are consumed by the onslaught of the pandemic: COVID 19. The daily increase in number of deaths arising from its seemingly relentless spread. A spread by conveyance from one human individual, to another.Â
Public Health officials, on all levels globally, are failing to persuade the broader public to the efficacy of the corona virus spread, and its potential lethalness with mortality reaching into the several thousands globally.
Witnessing the blatant ignorance of humanity, of all nations, ignoring the warnings broadcast through the Media; the seriousness, and potentially devastating outcome by ignoring calls for self-isolation, social distancing, and quarantine if infected; there is given, a sense of ironic, black humor to the `death-wish’ transpiring:
The bold, and beautiful array of human ignorance, on global display; when defiance to a truth to condition brings death, and sufferance their way, through ignorance to edict to obey: stay away; were it even, but for a moment on any given day.
Charting its invisible, pathogen course without human assistance, means meeting acceptance without resistance, by they whom seem persistent, to making its deathly journey consistent; and, its ultimate success: the end of Human Existence.
16
Jan
20
Forever
29
Sep
18
To a life borne
Here I am found behind locked door
To a life I swore to be no more
But, what has been gained, is lost
It is to moments of life, the cost
Hidden by the shadow of what was
For no reason, just because
Movement of time has given to dictate
What will be, not given, but to take
Forlorn is the cause de jour
Not to be exposed, but demurred
Reason for last chance to find remedy
To a life borne to hardship and calamity
29
Sep
18
True Peace: a poem
28
Mar
18
Thoughts De jour
It’s been a while since motivated to put random thoughts to reality’s gain; but, so goes this day:
Nights Spent:
Like roaches that feed in the void of light; hiding their machinations from morality’s sight; to garner the lust of debauchery’s delight; filled with feelings contrite; displacing rancor with blithe; to find refuge in other’s fright, so go the hours spent by night.
Field of Dreams:
Blazoned upon open fields of trails; foot passages that hide deviant tales; trodden by exploits where wanton lust prevails; greed for pleasure hard to curtail; a place, ethical prohibitions are destined to fail.
Bathhouse:
Through dim-lite corridors, naked men parade; each lost to their own charade; to orgasm of pleasure, they’ve become the slave; for it, their moral soul to trade; open doors, engorged lust wantonly displayed; stale sweat, spent cum pervade; pheromonal triggers waff and cascade; driven to frenzy, driven to engage.
Creative Block:
Cloistered in a humble room of mindless imagination; spawned from germ of discontent; survived by the fruit of constant failure; striving toward ill-conceived ambitions; thwarted by the causation of reason; hopeless to gains of promise; foments realization to threat of survival.
Book:
Brandishing tool of eloquence; striving to be creative and communicative of mind, thought toward their realization of meaning; embodied in time, the measured vehicle of distributed reason; unencumbered by resistance of ridicule; saved for perpetual salvation of archival history.
Comments Are Much Appreciate: (consider them a author’s reward)
Catastrophic Finality?
Tags: administration, commentary, Internet, life, media, movies, News, truth
There was a time one could write of the failing world condition,
Speak clearly to the issues that give rise to fear and division,
To recognize the societal elements eroding into submission,
But, alas, time now seems beyond words to make corrective revision.
The reality is; political ineptitude is given undeniable power,
Pervasive media is filled with murder and hate to make one cower,
Filth of selfish greed reigns down like a golden-piss shower,
Nationalistic tribalism, once constrained, now let to flower.
This new millennium, since the days of its early start,
Tainted by the powder-keg lit by a terrorist spark,
Submerging all into a history growing increasingly dark,
Now two-decades in, convinced, it’s not to be a passing lark.
Not surprising, Hollywood films seem reflective precursors to a reality;
Conveying plausible reason not to ignore their story’s seeming banality
As often, the protagonist, confronted by a choice of a brutal-end totality,
In the end, misguidedly lures away from a truth of impending, catastrophic finality.
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