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Dedication Introspection Poems | Introspection Poems About Dedication

These Dedication Introspection poems are examples of Introspection poems about Dedication. These are the best examples of Dedication Introspection poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Acrostic |

Open Sores

I am a coward with open sores. 
I write and wonder who it bores. 
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly. 
I see others carrying out my dreams; 
that’s what’s defeated me.
 
I am a coward with open sores. 
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way. 
I touch base with the fear in my heart, tearing me apart,
leaving nothing to say... 
I worry the world will leave me. 
I cry because no one believes in me. 

I am a coward with open sores. 
I understand nothing comes easy. 
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me. 
I dream I am healed and brave. 
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave. 
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours. 
I am a coward with open sores. 




©  2011  ~JSLaM    

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

* 1st PLACE in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by C. Devonshire 2011

* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand 5/11/2011 

* 1st PLACE in Contest "BEST EVER" Sponsored by P.D. 2011
                 
   


Details | Couplet |

The Seamstress of Time

I have a special story I wish to share
About a seamstress beautiful and fair

She would fade away turning into smoke
Of her amazing beauty, no man would joke

The spiraling smoke would then re-form
I know only an angels face could be so warm

Before her a beautiful quilt was spread
Upon it the story of my life was said

As she once again started to dissipate 
She said, “Mike this quilt records your fate”

As the smoke traveled over to a new place
And then formed together creating her face

Looking over her shoulder back at me
She said, “This area will hold what has yet to be”

Most of the quilt looked like twisted evil tattoo
Simply because, my life’s quilt was quilted true

I looked the quilt over and then met her gaze
She was so beautiful in so many different ways

The last part of the quilt way over to the right
Showed the beauty of someone changing their plight

Upon her beautiful hand, which seemed so nimble
I noticed she was wearing my grandmother’s thimble 

From a young maiden so beautiful to see
My grandmother appeared right in front of me

I guess up in heaven we return to our youth
My grandmother was beautiful; such is the truth

I thought of the price grandma was asked to pay
The shame of knowing I had turned out that way

I thought of her sitting there stitching my shame
My grandmother didn’t deserve an eternity of pain

She said, “Michael be still with the pain in your heart,
Your story encourages others to make a new start.”

“The deeper the wrong the stronger the right
I always knew my boy would take up the fight”

With a smile much brighter than an ice covered sea
She said, “I love the man my boy has grown up to be”

As she turned to the quilt and started to sew
She said, “Michael, its now time for you to go.”

“Believe in your story believe in your truth
For Salvation is the true fountain of youth”

One night in a dream, which I’ll hold forever divine
I learned; my Grandmother is now,” The Seamstress of Time”


When I was a boy I would help my Grandmother roll
her quilt, find her glasses, as well as, her thimble. I 
never thought about how amazing her art truly was.
From a pile of rags she would make the most beautiful
quilt's. I sleep under one of her quilts to this very day. 



Details | Free verse |

Oneness

Oneness
                   Authored by Chuck Keys

It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.

There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.

Thinking multi-physically
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically 
It wasn't here or there and it was.

With no distinction, 
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.

It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.

In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.

The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."

Differences exist for differences, 
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.

DEDICATION:
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.  
www.gandhiking.ning.com


Details | Quintain (English) |

Vitrine-mannequin on a Winter night I

Mannequin

Dependent was and amorous obsession 5.5
in burning desert, fresh canteen 4
his sidewalk's fantasy and thoughts' digression, 5.5
the strongest coffee's roasted bean 4
(their phantasms met beyond projectors' light). 5

Exquisite stood upfront, unmoving posture,
distressing emptiness of soul,
unreachable resort her sightly stature,
(- expending skies and ozone hole),
prêt à porter vitrine, on Winter's night.

Behind the glass, a still and standing shadow
abates his hopes (gray sky suspends),
( he takes his foolish stance of wooden scarecrow,
- that through odd sprawls the fields attends ),
was she the blessing of the Gods or else?...

His allegorical, but lonely feeling,
instilled inside, without defect,
while speechless phantoms crossed sky's ceiling,
the downpour soaked, warmth to reject,
(ersatz their wedlock's knolling, fast dispels).

Her uppish, elegant of stance, adjacent,
within arm's reach, kind of abstruse,
albeit abstained, of secular indulgence,
(his head acquired a tilt obtuse),
invited him through faultless, charming lies.

A brass trumpet dispersed its jazzy spieling,
he, thoughtless, leaned on some red booth,
adored her raised one hand's refined appealing,
(- that altruistic, smiling tooth!),
and gazing to the stars but vacant eyes!...

© G.V. 11-16-2013, All Rights Reserved

(Iambic Quintain following 5.5, 4, 5.5, 4, 5 feet on each stanza. 
The rhyme scheme follows this pattern: 
ABABC DEDEC, FGFGH, IJIJH ... and so on.)
(Allegory, Humor)


Details | Tanka |

LOVE, ANGELS, and MUSIC

LOVE God is always love Forever seek the kingdom; Praise the creator Keep giving what you can give Please endure until the end ANGELS Beautiful Heavens Protecting the meek ones earth Watching over us Helping us to cope with life Comforted with hope and trust MUSIC When you find rhythm You find your hearts inner core Celebrate the times Make them better than before Reminisce and dance all night


Details | Free verse |

Unshed Tears

Slice me with your tongue,
Razor blade wounds,
To suck out all my poisens,
Sweet lonely lullaby,
Accusing eyes of sadism,
Picture perfect prodegy, 
My Deadly Sin,
A bitter taste of arson,
Burning in my vital organ,
Your the pyre that burns away my mortality,
A sip of tea made from Lilly of the Valley,
A shadow of Death stalking,
With odd angel like wings,
A Numbing kiss like Drowning in Morphine,
My Oblivion,
Sweet arms to rest in till my vision no longer holds,
Eyes neither like Hell nor Heaven,
Cocain Addiction,
That Drip of Drugs into your system,
Intoxicated blood stream,
I'd rather not dream,
And instead get lost within - Your paralysing,
Your Paralysing, Brain lapse,
Your moving too fast,
Stay slow and dreamy,
Dancing silhoutte,
Like a burning forest fire,
Pain throughout my veins,
Ravishing and Beautiful,
A voice torn from my throat,
Dying joyfully,
With my last sight of you. . .


Details | Rhyme |

Love From Afar

Strange creature and my best friend.
The distance between us is great.
So why do we pretend.

You cross the street as I head to the bar
I'll drink to you my dear.
For if I cant hold you close.
I'll just love you from afar.

Like crumbs tossed to a pigeon from a delicate 
hand.
I'll wait like a fool.
For my heart is forever yours to command.

You say I cause pain when you remember the past.
Bitter tears erase the passion.
That sometimes isnt ment to last.

Sometimes it's easier to forget then remember 
who we are.
if it bothers you to keep me close.
Then I'll love you from afar.

Standing underneath your window in the pouring 
rain.
Times alone often i do reflect.
Love has a way of making the normal seem insane.

So very close never knowing who we truley are.
Taken from my heart.
left only to love  from afar.


Details | Sestina |

Gift

The day’s beginning is a special gift.
Given over a life’s eternity,
One can’t help but feel the daily change.
How often we stay into the evening.  An attempt to hold
Onto the feelings of joy and elation,
That made our day so emphatically special.

Are not the future possibilities also special?
That we dream of yet other gifts,
gifts  of such thought, that might also inspire elation
From giver and receiver for all eternity.
Constantly close to both, holding,
As if to say, “Don’t Ever Change.”

Does growth not require change?
Should not that change be also special?
Only if you have forgotten about holding,
The longing embrace of previous gifts,
One that requires attention for all eternity,
fueling existential feelings of elation.

Even when intentionally forgotten, holding
On to the recipient, despite elation.
At one point, this internal agony was a gift.
What could ever make this change?
This gift that could never be more special.
Now it has changed for eternity.

The re-direct of energy through eternity,
The loss of love’s forever embrace.
Love, making pain beautifully special.
Will there ever be elation?
Maybe if we only change
The way we exchange special gifts.

Our future’s eternity might fill with elation
From  holding the exchange
Of something special,
… the mere appreciation of a gift..


Details | Haiku |

Misjudged

Standing still head's up
Retrospect greatest pitfalls 
Mass consciousness whim 

Wandering till dawn
Waiting brave for the result
Less breathe heartless beat

Until the mind soar
Now is  inexplicable
Sufferings indeed

People grim anew
For the best of all Juries
Render canny nod

Continued service
Captivated voter's wit
Last laugh never ends.






Details | Free verse |

30 Years of Blooms

I guess it’s time to stop asking questions,
and start answering them.
Wipe away long dead evaporations;
mined trails overgrown with new,
more current vines.

Time to remove the silver duct-tape
from the face of killed memory; (the girl
in the cavern who sits, wide eyed and bound
at her skeletal ankles and wrists at the top 
of the wicked peak, looking for a way out –
her green eyes wild and rolling
like thunder and mustangs at the edge 
of the drop ,
looking for a way out of this 
buried-alive, hell)
and replace it with white words whispered
into my own children’s ears.

I cannot judge you.
Just as I cannot judge her.
We are all together in this moment.

And although I’d love to be 
the high and mighty mother who says,
“OH! I would never do that to MY kids –
never!”
I won’t. 
I won’t give him the pleasure.
The one who turned you to glass; beat you
until you were nothing but sunlight
in your own mother’s memory.
She loved me as I love mine (including
the young one who waits for her savior with 
the shining scissors; coming through 
the dark like rebirth and deliverance;
like a cool cloth on a charred brow).

So I will plant my Mother’s Day lilac tree
in her honor –
burying the questions,
honoring the love we shared
and still share.
We will leave our judgments at the door and sit 
beneath its amethyst blooms 
(my birthstone; 
                                  your given gift of insight)
exalting in the sacred heart of motherhood;
laughing until we cry;
feeding its deep roots
with memory.




© Kristin Reynolds 5 9 09

*Dedicated to my Mother this Mother's Day (I hope you are listening...)


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