I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Shall raw and bleeding wounds gape wide for thee
and overcoat each new parchments’ page?
Are thee foul succubus seeking a sage
undead and living vicariously?
Shall another’s soul flow unbound to thee
like a courtesan released from her cage
each tomes rich with crimson text overlaid.
So alone, thee can dine veraciously?
Shall life come a courting as thy subject?
Nay, lance the ripe boil of lassitude.
Purge thy barren cloister genuflect.
Author thine own life thee are not destitute.
Expand into the world, let life project.
Arise, pale spirit and the sun exude.
It's 7Am here, and cold
Just awoke, with,
Oh, Here We Go Again!
Fever, Pain, Confusion,
And Lots of Other Groovy Things
To Keep My Mind Busy...
Many more people know of you
than a few days ago....
Did you ever hear of Rod Mckuen?
Professional poet/ musician/songwritter-
One of the reasons I love poetry...
Not only will you understand him, you should
enjoy him.....Sorry about your work load....
My French is rusty.....I'm pretty good in geometry though;
received 100% on NYS Regents Exam when young-
an unheard of thing, scores in college of 97-99% for the term's work,
and it seemed easy as pi (joke- pie, etc....oh, why am I explaining it,
sorry, I forgot who I was talking to.......) Hope you have a happy day.....write an
indepth poetic bio?? I'd love it, so would many others....
you are known in literary circles here now, I'd venture to guess....
surprising, the power of words, n'est pas? Je ne sas pa, rien du tout....pardon
my spelling and french......it's unused since early 1960's (ancient history) What
city are you in? Ever travel??? A favorite destination??? Any questions about
the enigmatic nature of "Americans?" We're really well meaning, just sometimes
seems we might misinterpret, or misunderstand things obvious to others (and
vica versa....) Do you get to see movies??? Need books to read?? I got a library
of 10,000 books, at least, being handicapped gives me too much time on my
hands, and my health leaves me precious little of a future to expect. I have lots
of funny stories. I hope you are okay....I never met anyone so brilliant in 57 years
of living. Youf friend in poetry, tom."
I'm very happy I found this site,
PoetrySoup.com is a lot of fun,
I spend so much time on the computer now
I have time for no other one...
It's a rush, a blast, a challenge...
I'll love it till I die...
Only one thing troubles me,
And that's the reason why..
I spend so much time hunched over,
typing in my silly poems,
Hoping that they'll soon be read
In many far off homes...
But I do appear to have a problem...
A physical one at that...
My neck is hurting so severely,
By hours looking down,
writing and reading..
In the spot I sat...
I gotta make a judgement call...
Is the fun worth more than the pain?
Compared to the fun I have, the pain begins to pall
Who would not prefer the sunshine to the rain??
Globally, miners jubilantly jump for joy
Smiles on the faces of every girl and boy
The grins of a newly opened Xmas toy
Trade unionists bounce along the street
Music blaring and the tapping of feet
From nurses to Bobbies still on the beat
Street parties announced in the nation
Satan who brought economic inflation
Is deceased, now’s the time for elation
Its times like this I’m sad I’m an atheist
And can only shout and wave my fist
And then go to the pub and get pissed
I do not know?
A revolution without radicals
squash casserole without squash.
Oh, and just so ya know, radicalism and violence are two completely unrelated terms.
Coffee's my lot,
a big pot calms
a nut like me!
Is it the drink
that my sink hates?
Stains stick like paint!
I write and drink,
when the ink stops...
thoughts shrink and fade!
Beauty of nature
Why condense it down to God?
Isn’t life enough?
People would do almost anything to make it to the top, even using steroids. This type of drug has been used by all would-be professional athletes and actual professional athletes since the 1980s, even behind the backs of their beloved fans. Professional athletes (Lance Armstrong, Barry Bonds, and the late Chris Benoit, e.g.) have been using a lot of steroids before they wrestled, played baseball, rode bikes, or whatever. Everybody knows that using too much steroids have real consequences, even the the courts are involved. Steroids will make one angry, the kidneys start to shrink, one person becomes aggressive, and so on. Using steroids will also cost one individual's life, a chance to play for one of their favorite teams (Dallas Cowboys, e.g.), family, fame, everything. Another term for a use of steroids by professional athletes is "doping." Sooner or later, their fans will find out about their steroid use. And when they do, the young ones who've looked up to their favorite athletes and trusted them with their lives will have been seriously betrayed. Using steroids is considered cheating, especially when Barry Bonds and Lance Armstrong have been using them behind the backs of their loved ones and their fans. Now I know why I never played sports and/or used any of those illegal drugs, let alone steroids. It seems that these athletes can't even earn their way to the top, that includes not using steroids. The only reason why these professional athletes have been using steroids is because their coaches and physicians told them to, and they really should've got caught making their star athletes use that illegal drug. Even Vincent K. McMahon, who was the chairman of World Wrestling Entertainment (formerly the world Wrestling Federation) had forced Hulk Hogan and other wrestlers to use steroids. All types of steroid use are starting to make everyone very, very sick. Did everyone know that if all professional athletes are caught with a lot of steroids and needles that they were going to get arrested. Steroids are to be banned from all of the sporting segments forever. And if all athletes continue to use steroids to cheat their way to the top, thereby getting more money and endorsement deals like that of McDonald's, Progressive, Geico, and other name-brand sponsors and whatnot, they've got another thing coming.
Keep your liquor and your meth cigarettes;
stow away your needles and white powder.
My mind craves stimulation without sweats
caused by vices others choose for regrets.
Give me words, inky scrawl across a page,
the fluid cadence of a verbal dance
freeing the psyche from an iron cage
imprisoned by a mundane daily trance.
Prohibit fresh diction to discover
the foul temper that lies within my breast.
Prevent access to verse and uncover
an exhausted maudlin beast is expressed.
I get my fix within a library.
It’s cheap to be hooked onto poetry.
And you all thought
that after reaching home,
I would jump in the shower so fast
and off to bed...I'd snooze to end my boredom?
On my lunch hour I take a light nap,
it's beneficial to your health the doctor confidently says;
and should I ever see a scary, black cat
running across my windshield...a nightmare surely begins.
Working hard in a warehouse
with people and forklifts in full swing,
I must be more alert than a mouse
being chased by a bunch of hungry cats drooling.
To sit at my desk and write a poem for a new contest:
is a challenging and rewarding experience for an obscure poet;
and while others sleep and their spirits float in mysterious dreams,
I reflect over the rhetoric language of what life seems.
Dang heart flutters, clutching at me...
little hard to catch my breath, these days
been running hard, feeling like I done gone
and run the marathon without training
They trying to tell me ... That I'm
Under the weather again... humpf.
They are telling me
of all people -- to take it easy...
they don't know me to well, do they ~
Never been much on complaining...
that takes too much energy...
Although it seems that
My body is a wee bit tired lately,
needing a little rest that's all...
too tell the truth
I ain't 'bout ta claim nobody's illness
Not today nor any t'other
I'm standing here for the third time
they say three's a charm... hey--hey Now!
Fat lady sing if you must, but just you know
I ain't going no where, shoot, if the tune be right...
I might just sang along with you...
play me that song sweet music man ~
Tell 'em all I'm still striving to do the best I can...
See I got a whole lot more living to do
and I ain't gonna claim that ticket,
No, I don't wanna cash it all in -- just yet...
Unknown friend immerses
In my fullerene verses,
And finds four allotropes forms…
We can swim beyond the storms.
Writing is a way to speak
when minds are strong
but bodies weak
to battle very long
When no one seems to want to hear
thoughts overpowering your heart
writing can express what's dear
with honour, truth and art
It lifts your soul when feeling sad
and satisfies a hungry crave
It brings awareness never had
and makes a coward brave
It can relieve encumbrances
have freedom from all ties
Writing brings remembrances
lost and forgotten cries
It's a place where one can vent
hidden and unspoken moods
a sanctuary where the time is spent
within life's interlude
Writings brings forth revelations
and you wonder at the creator of your mind
You look upon each new creation
fulfilled in what you find
It seems that there is nothing greater
when all thoughts need setting free
than when you put the pen to paper
and can breathe .. and love .. and be ..
Chase the voodoo to sleep. sleepless freaks i see in the silver screens blocking the vision of me. there's no choice but to eliminate hate inundating the mind. please mute the voices haunting the airwaves making me blind. the big bad budding burden flashing red lights at every intersection. stealing away the insight i try to gain by using time for reflection.
It's a mess the way i test myself with deranged prophecies and bleak scenarios. replaying horror flicks in my head. blasting screams in stereo. all too often the worm hole shoots me to a mid evil castle of torturous devices. impaled in dreams that seem to be broadcasting punishment for succumbing to the world's entice and vices. but other times i fall victim to a good old fashioned "day-mare". people notice the self conversations and can't help but laugh and stare. I must say it's becoming difficult to blame them. if i can't learn to shake this voodoo, it's true my future's looking grim.
What do I do? they're gonna end up arresting me! Toss my ass in a padded room and throw away the key! and get this...as i worry about getting sent away, the paranoia increases inside my head. i reach for medication increasing odds of ending up prematurely dead. I may be crazy, but don't take me for an idiot fool. and don't haze me about where my faith is, cus' this could just as soon be you. and i've learned enough to know that each and every one of us will die. and you may take me as insane, but me not taking my own life's got nothing to do with having a fear to fry.
This is exactly why i choose to write as my mind fills up with crazy thoughts and throws fits. it's a therapy for me to try and work out all the kinks that make me sink, instead of cowardly throwin' in the towel n' calling it quits.
I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people’s laughs and I hear my people’s cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation’s race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation’s target I could be better.
I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I’m about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren’t all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one’s but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can’t or don’t know how, I take a stand for the children who don’t have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can’t stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee’s trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand.
I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don’t know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death.
I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people’s dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.
- Normally I don’t mess with email requests;
but times are a-changin’ and I’m rearrangin’. -
(As noted by all this distress,
the story we wish we‘d see less)
“The Train Wreck of Charlie Sheen;”
The public seems a little bitter;
As he rambles his rants on Twitter,
Social network scenes, all the magazines;
And he’s still rollin’ in dough, like we’ve never seen.
Any news is good news…so they say;
He’s gonna relapse anyway;
So at least he’s getting high, and making pay.
Everyone’s glued to their TV and internet devices,
But the best thing to do, believe me, is ignore him and his vices.
He feeds financially and emotionally, off you and me
So leave Charlie alone! Just let him be…
Inspiration is all around me. It swirles in the midst of darkness and deceit.
Blinded by dry tears...the deliverers of this blessed word find me when I know not what to look for or where...
I and my kind walk in circles looking for and end to pain, deceit, betrayal, unlove, uncareing. We are looking...but not invane.
When the circles we walk in seem endless take heart and know that it is not a downward spiral... Keep looking and you will see...
(C)....Catherine Buchner 2012
Writing is my thing. My drug of choice. My bling bling.
I fall in love with the similies and mentions of passion while wrapping my body in
Creating complicated rhythms and making them simples as instances
Every line a differenet emphasis
Commas, explinations and periods
Sometimes rhyming and sometimes not
Stopping to puff so my thoughts can lock
Feeding hungry souls starved from starvation
Creating new creations
Making people feel the sensation as I build up to mind elevation
The quest for knowledge is not a game
Spoken movements teach about the pain
I write to ease the pain
Rhythms run deep
Deep underneath clouded visions of unspoken truth lies a message
a message...a message that should be taught accurately to the youth
About the struggle of a people that was misued
abused, refused, confused, raped, beaten down
portrayed as clowns, coons, niggers, fools
Modern day niggas and goons
Wake up!! Did you hear the news?
You are responsible for you!
Imagine how it would be tho
If we were uninterrupted and brought overseas yo
Uprooted from a line of royalty kings and queens
Africa unite is all we'd sing
Rhythms run deeper into the seams of my being
I write to ease the pain of the oppressed
I write to celebrate their success
I write to educate the rest
The message..The message..The message is very clear
No time time to waste
The time is NOW
Nights when I’m alone,
Icy wind flittering through the window,
The absent warmth of love echoing in my empty room,
I have frequent love affairs with poetry.
Its pulsating words gush themselves out on the white blank page,
It caresses my every emotion,
Sending me reeling through a torrent of multiple ecstasy,
I scream with release as every unhinged secret is documented rhythmically,
After, subdued by unthinkable shame,
I stash it away with the refreshing slide of a closed drawer,
I light up a cigarette and lie within the sheets like a film star,
I am who I choose to be,
Husband rings, why don’t I answer the phone?
I’m having an affair with poetry.
What’s big to me may be small for you
But when you hurt I hurt too
So many different phases I’ve been through
Withdrawal & self-indulgence just to name a few
I dodge sleep to note this nonsense to both me and you
My desperate attempt at understanding
Has only led to more questions
I remember when medication numbed me well enough to stay quiet
All last night I cried and cried
You slept while I died all the more inside
I don’t have all the answers
One thing I know is
Dreaming and fantasizing
In these worlds I find solace
Seeing and realizing
People have been so unfair –
But then again
What is fair?
So many questions…
Once upon a time,
I’ve put down my pen
Followed doctors and drugs
Their drugs, my drugs
Just stop judging me and fix me!
I’ve put down the drugs
Picked up a pen
And this is the reason other people say I’m doing well?
I can’t tell
Is it what you tell me or what I tell me?
Drugs have concealed me
Taught me that I don’t have to feel just see
And shake my head
Now I can both feel
Shake my head
I can verbalize
But I’d rather not talk just write
I can write and write just to get it out on paper
It’s still in my mind
I’m not fixed
Still I cry and cry
While you sleep
So which am I supposed to choose?
Solace or the truth?
Today Now now
wicked wicked wicked
Sex Sex Sex
Sex Sex Sex SEx
hey hey hey
Contractual agreements with publisher caused DELETION
"Doth if not thrill thee, Poet,
Dead and dust though thy art,
To feel how I press thy singing
Close to my heart?"
Close to my heart you came
When of you I learned of horror
How you were locked to tame
The depression trapped though error
In insane asylum
Years of electro shock treatment
Made her even more glum
Her writing helped with this ailment
How could those doctors make error
Despite works reflect giftedness
Janet Frame's poems "The Pocket Mirror"
Quote is from:
"The Passionate Reader To His Poet"
Written by:Richard Le Galliene
Contest: The Passionate Reader
Sponsor: Constance~My Dear Heart~
A New Zealand Author
She left a foundation to help young writers..
A new way
To express our thoughts-
Share our mathematical hearts
My Life proves worthwhile
As chemotherapy invades
Poetry in math
Lessons from the pain and healing
please receive me
i've been stumblin around
i wan't heaven now
how do I get that?
do I stop eatin meat
stop being me
How do I get to Heaven?
I NEEDS my mama
I need my Sons
before everyones eyes
There's many speeches made upon the battlefield of life
And much advice both wise and otherwise
There's words to spur us on to overcome all sorts of strife
Some honest truths and some just hopeful lies.
The pep talk to build up the team so they go out and win;
The mantras found in simple battle cries;
The politics of power delivered with an extra spin;
The prophets' words reduced to sermon size;
The burning words of hatred that can send a man to kill
To light the fire that must be quenched with blood;
The prophecies long written that the blind seek to fulfil;
The word that lifts the fallen from the mud.
The lovers speak in whispers in the darkness of the night
And plight to each their troth in sickly verse
And the righteous lift up their voice to praise God, good and right
And hide the fact that they do something worse.
But if there is humanity and sanity to keep
The world needs stupid poems about sheep.
As technology has progressed , bound leaps ,
within the nanny state , Man simply sleeps .
Replaced Automatic ; Manual Labour.
Solved by Machine mind's , Binary No more .
For synthetic constructs for your whim , creeps
pumping cheese-its into bulging wheeze heaps.
So keep That lard thru blood , spotless , can ignore
such irritations as ; Clearing the floor .
While Digital duty serves ; watch those beeps
streaming 24/7 fiction keeps
sake in sight , forms pixel ; away those flaws
by Avatar's dream , away life's true claws.
While around , leashed , the world quietly leaps ,
Attended by metal hands ; Left
No perfect verse
can be written before sleep;
it's better to procrastinate
than to write when your breath stinks!
No, I am not referring
to unbrushed teeth
and unrinsed mouth,
but lots of gulping drinks!
Even your pen swerves as a wheel of a car;
doesn't influence effects your ability
to put thoughts together!
Food for thought
is not wine, beer or champagne;
they will not stimulate your intellect
when you are unable to think!
Rather they will decrease brain performance,
blocking your thinking process...
like an invalid password not giving you access!
Ever sent one to an editor...
and it was rejected for grammar,
wrong form and misspelling?
He must have smelled alcohol from far!
There was a poet writing
lengthy verses lacking imagination,
they couldn't hold the reader's attention:
when they could have been brief
and to the point without sacrificing artistry!
He always had a bottle of rum
or vodka next to him to keep him company!
Wouldn't you say that...
he was as drunk as his pen?
Writing when your breath stinks,
slows you down and makes you unresponsive
to your surroundings...
failing to notice important things!
There are lots of foolish mouths
spitting out words
with the allude they will be
performed on stage!
Wouldn't the audience be upset,
or show intense rage?
I do not know?
WHAT IS HOME?
ROLLING HILLS ARE HOME TO ME,
PLAYING CHESS WITH FRIENDS,
DANCING ON THE WEEKEND,
WALKING IN THE WIND,
BUBBLES BLOWING WIND,
THE “IN” WALKING WEEKEND,
THE “ON” DANCING FRIENDS
WITH CHESS PLAYING ME.
TO HOME ARE HILLS ROLLING?