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Prose Poetry Philosophy Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Philosophy

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

LIFE

I asked to my father
Baba, What is life ?
He politely said to me, " Life is Duty . "

I asked to my mother
Maa, What is life ?
She said to me with smile, " Life is Responsibility . "

I asked to my teacher
Sir, What is life ?
He said to me with love, " Life is Education . "

I asked to my spiritual master
Gurujee, What is life ?
He said to me with confidence, " Life is Devotion . "

Today my son who reads in class nine
Asked me
Babai, What is life ?
I have said to him, " Dear, You are my life . "

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


( Father means BABA, BABAI and Mother means MAA in Bengali language .  Gurujjee means spiritual master in Indian society ) 


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REINCARNATION THINKING

REINCARNATION THINKING?

Life is like a coloring book
with few or many pages
filled with complex 
outlined images.

We are given a box of crayons
and are asked to color in the 
background and spaces of the images

Sub-titles are allowed.

When the coloring book is finished
we are given a new one to complete.

C.A.K. 12-6-2012


REINCARNATION THINKING 2 -SOUL SEARCHING

Was I once before or never
Don’t know how or even whether

I was a firefly, a bird of prey 
a centipede, a fish fillet?

A baseball fan to keep the score
a mockingbird, a carnivore?

A blossom in the midst of spring
a sign of what the day might bring.

A germ grown in a Petri dish
a chicken bone an unmade wish

All things and species could I be,
even remnants of a tree.

Of all of these,  I leave this post,
I am for now what I am most.

CAK 7-23-2012



MORE QUESTIONS ON RE-INCARNATION

As 'core' beliefs thicken so, 
does it leave us room to grow?
As aging souls say we must, 
complete the cycle which was thrust
upon our bucolic living place 
turned upside down in whorling space
searching for a redemptive life.

But for you, dearest one, do you not remember 
before you arrived, you took this bucking horse of soul, 
tamed it, labeled it and proclaimed it. 
To become what you needed in order
that your ride be contained and controlled. 
It's name is 'balance' and it keeps you level in the saddle 
so you don't fall off. 

10-3-2012


REINCARNATION THINKING 3 -

If, we are on a soul journey,
then what must that soul become?

A better soul? A wiser soul?
A sad soul? A learned soul?
Until one reaches the end of time,

There are so many lives to live out
to fully experience all aspects of this world.
Animals, plants - more souls searching?

One can speculate, but from my perspective
none of it makes sense.

CAK 4-03-2012


REINCARNATION ENDING

Was the Phoenix reincarnated?
Or was its embers reignited?  
Perhaps before a lowly worm or soldier bee 
or brown turned leaf upon a tree? 
A  seahorse, a shark, which fish shall I be?  
In fisherman's net to be eaten by me?  
And when the cycle is complete 
and x equals x on our balance sheet.
Can we then rest in a celestial lair 
with memories gone and unaware
of trials by all things forgotten?
If choose I must or chosen by me,  
I'll remain in the stars and just wait to see.

6-2-2012


Details | Prose Poetry | |

That Which You Criticize Is That Which You Become #1

The purpose of each life journey is to perfect the purity of love. Every incarnation, we evolve 
as a work in progress. Our earthbound experiences give us the opportunity to attune our 
souls to the likeness of God by advancing in spirit. We do this through the gaining of 
enlightenment brought upon by the mastering of our deeds and intentions. We come into this 
world with a purpose set before us which was agreed upon in spirit and though given a path 
to follow, we are susceptible to bad judgment and wrong doing according to the gift of free 
will. Most of us are good people with bad habits that, through age and experience, we learn 
to rise above. This is the natural order of human existence. Our most detrimental fault is the 
innate tendency to judge others.          
It’s human nature to criticize. We pass judgment on other’s appearances and actions every 
time we come in contact with another person. We do it in every public setting, to our friends 
and to our relatives. The error in this is that each of us eventually experiences or becomes 
the very thing we deem detestable. It’s an element of karma whereby the energy of our 
thoughts generate negative actions and reactions. Interestingly, the very thing that we 
criticize is an underlying component of our own character, recognized or not, that manifests 
itself and activates an undesirable dormant trait. If you mock a persons intelligence or 
appearance, that existence will become your own or a loved one’s so you feel the 
experience. This is true in all situations. Often times, those being mocked will raise their 
standing then have the opportunity to present themselves to their judger, whom will be of a 
compromising stature.

Continued


Details | Prose Poetry | |

FOR THE SONS OF MEN

Segun my child! My son!
Soon, the cock will crow at dawn
And the east will showcase the sun
Soon, you will leave my home, 
To found your own
With words of wisdom, you won’t be alone.
Like a mini-skirt, advice is too short
But it covers the body’s vital lot.

Hear me.
Your brother is not your friend,
He is another you, but independent
So your love for one another, allow no dent
For the sons of men…
Every journey far destination brings
Nature presents a transport means
The snow has the snow dogs
The desert has the camels
The long distant road has the horse

Even technology came to aid us
For the road, we have the cars
For the seas and ocean, the ship
For the rail, the train
The sky has the airplane
All, to lead us through our destiny lane

That is it with man’s life and the battle in it
For whatever fate comes to us, so be it
As the future hungers like a wild beast
Likewise on it, your eyes be firmly fixed
Take a deep breath my child, and learn this
Every master was once an apprentice
Be it the prophets or the dentists

Fate is most times very unfair
Be not defeated by the things you saw
For life is more like war
And all is fair in love and war.
But whatever life’s battle you face
Nature will surely with remedy surface.

When you fall or fail
Don’t ceaselessly wail
Inhale…count to ten, and then exhale
Turn stumbling block to stepping stone,
So the builders reject, will be chief cornerstone

Two Demi-gods are on man’s destiny entrance
Their names, Consistency and Perseverance
Segun, to them, you must bow
No matter what, no matter how
On their feet, bring your head down

I know my son, I know,
That adventure is the blood of the youths
But by rushing the moment, the petals are bruised
So, calmly assimilate my child, calm study
For so, Apostle Paul admonished Timothy
Never be the first to hate
But to forgive, be the first and be in haste

My son, all humans can’t love you
If they all do, then they want to kill you
Likewise, all humans can’t hate you
If they all do, then they want the best for you
What people suffer to get, yet you so easily get
That you must never despise
For it is your miracle in disguise

For the sons of men,
Me, myself and I comes first
Don’t follow that context
If you find the opportunity to rule
My son, take the alternative to lead
For where rulers doom, leaders bloom

When fortune knocks on your door,
Be quick to offer him a sit
Use your wisdom and condor
To keep him and give him no exit


Details | Prose Poetry | |

That Which Is Real

Oh to be just a friend
To laugh, joke and play with you
Is not something
I know how to do
Oh how I wish it were
For it’d sure eliminate
All this pain I feel
Sometimes it happens
That starting off fun
Turns into something real
And what was meant to make you laugh
Turns into tears
That seem to take
Life’s  breath away
Leaving you to feel
Like there’s so much left to say
If only this, if only that
If I only could, if you only would
So many tricks of the mind
As we try to find
Justification for holding on
To what should be freed
So we can move on
Yet we hold out hope
In each accidental hello
That tides will turn
Though they have long washed away
It’s just the way of life
And how love burns
Until we learn
The difference in what we feel
And that which is real


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fabel24

 Fabel24 
Fabel24 
 
 
CHARLAX 
 
CHARLEXES FABELS 
 
CONVERTED 
SAVED CONVERTED INVERTED CRUCIFIED DEAD BUT NOT YET BURIED 
Kiss the ewe she never cries she never sighs she stays happy all the times we 
try. The eye was stopped by a patrolman in the middle of my walk to the church to 
lay my layman down to rest a night a bite of something not so sweet in bag to 
help me live. He said ADDRESS what is your ADDRESS like it's the most 
important thing to have NO eye said NO eye do not have a TUCSON address just 
one in Flagstaff. HOMELESS he said. NO eye said eye have the ADDRESS in 
FLAGSTAFF the one on my ID card. NO he said you are just HOMELESS in 
TUCSON. He noticed that eye cared nothing for any of that. WHY did yew not say 
that to begin WITH he said to me and eye just tried to ignore a man who has the 
world to shrug upon his Atlast Shoulders? PHONE he said ??? No phone what's 
your cell phone??? 
EEYE do not have a PHONE NO CELL PHONE eye almost cried. 
NO NUMBER NO PLACE IN THIS WORLD TO CALL MY HOME. 
The Indian has no feather he is saved now he is in Heaven beside the MEE. Live 
in life wrap the world outside live the life of love and learn to live and love. Eat a 
LOT of CHARLAX eat a lot of poems eat a lot of Fabels now. 


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7 Gifts of the Holy Spirit Prayer

Lord God,
Stretch our mind/s with deep understanding of Wisdom
To obtain positive understanding with every complications
Counsel us with guidelines in our work

Give us Fortitude, strength, Patience and Tolerance to finish in peace successfully
Deliver knowledge in our mind/s
For us to receive Piety, goodness and devoutness to get satisfaction
With Holy Fear of the Lord-God, I/we ask in the name of Father Christ Jesus to be with us now and forever.

Amen 
09122012

People can change the “our” to “their”, “him” or “his” when praying for others.


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Tee Shot

Address.
Stance, grip,
settle in, shake out,
place the club head,
sweet spot kissing
the doomed ball,
a ripe plum
against the steel.
Eternity.
Doubt about 
the Oppenheimer reallocation.
Eye on the ball, 
a visual feast,
view the flag,
take a picture of it
with the mind,
eye on the ball.
A breeze, a frown,
left foot forward
a millimeter,
club head opened 
four thousands of an inch,
the reckoning 
of terrible variables.
Imagine the Masters:
“Mr Scott Davis of Fort Wayne Indiana,
you are away.”
Address.
Perfection, shake out,
wiggling hips,
exhale, the paroxysm
of tension, mind and body
crystallized.
The flag appears
as a scrapbook photograph,
the drum roll crescendo
of concentration stops.
Silence.
The Oppenheimer reallocation
was a good move.
It's time.
The back swing,
a slow pendulum
of machine precision
rises to the twisted apex 
and hovers.
The sword of Damocles,
falls slowly to release.
Scott gives it his all.
Eye off the ball.
The Oppenheimer reallocation.
Ping!
Follow through.
Angst.
There it is!
The ball is shooting straight
down the fairway
as an artillery round,
climbing to trajectory,
rising, hanging, hanging
beyond gravity,
falling, falling, dropping.
Thud. 
Direct hit on the green,
rolling, rolling, stopping
ten feet from the pin. 
“Yes!”
Could be better but
birdie is possible –
very possible.
Scott lifts the heavy golf bag
and soldiers down the fairway. 
The sun could not
be brighter,
the sky more blue,
the grass more green,
the birds more musical.
Scott is hopeful
of birdie
on Par 3.



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Skyping with Satan


Me: Since Samhain I have been chatting with Satan on Skype..On this date he celebrates his fall from grace..

Satan: Thank you Ken..You look marvelous today..What is your routine? You haven't aged in years...Is it diet and gym, the ladies and your erotic poetry?

Me: You are way too kind..(blushing)

Satan: Really, I enjoy your sense of eroticism, you have a fondness for the ladies I see..You should read "Justine" by my friend the Marquis de Sade..In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice...

Me: Are you saying it is only through pain one can arrive at pleasure?

Satan: I'm saying you are unhappy because you desire things that cannot be..That's what desire IS, the need for what we cannot have..It's called greed...

Me: I have nothing to fear here..

Satan: Well Ken, there's always the truth..Maybe peace is acquired by the currency of loss..You are in love with perception..I have many friends here in hell with me you may have heard of, Anton Lavey, Aleister Crowley, Adolf Hitler among others..You should meet them..

Me: No thank you, I prefer to "Fear and Tremble" like Kierkegaard..I was taught your greatest truth was convincing the world there was only only one of you..

Satan: You know God loves you..

Me: Is that why you take interest?

Satan: You seek a measure of comfort from Women..Don't you know that love is the laziest theory for the meaning of life?

Me: But was not Faust saved in the end by the love of a woman?

Satan: I will not elaborate on your misconceptions..

Me: I'm just an ordinary human being with flesh, blood and bones..Nothing hard to decipher.. I wish for women and have needs..

Satan: They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions..Charming saying really..I say it is paved with intriguing questions...

Me: It is late, I have to go Mr. Satan...What time is it?

Satan: How much time do you need?

Me: No thanks..lol I have to go....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~


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Science and Religion

My soul is Hindu...
My head is Islam...
My heart is Christian...
Every part of our body has various righteousness.

Every religion is teaching us the knowledge of humanity and love.
Truly religion gives us strong base of life and peace.

Similarly science means comprehensive knowledge.
Science is teaching us the knowledge of existence and prosperity.

Scientific religion is called spiritualism.
 
It's the historical contribution of science and religion.

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


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Reason

Reason: It saves austere
and transparent phrases 
from the filthy discord
of tortured words—opens 
congealed fists of the past. 
All is new—the bright sun 





*Mathematics&Poetry—based on a mathematical square: the number of syllables in a line equals the number of lines. 
Adapted from poetry by Czeslaw Milosz


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Breakfast With Ingenium

     It would be disingenuous to say that Ingenium did not have a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich for breakfast. It would boarder a lie to claim the same deity did not begin their morning exercise with a job through the unexplored corridors of the memory and imagery. The halls of memory are charted to an extent, but the cathedrals hidden down the vast tunnels of imagery seem always foreign and new. There Ingenium stopped to smoke a cigarette, leaning against a door marked "wooden". Neighboring this door were others, each with a replaceable placard screwed into the hard-wood. "Plastics" one read. "Trees" read another to Ingenium's left.
     Propped up by the "wooden" door, they watched blurred figures move behind the tinted glass window of the door before them. Dark letters were craft-fully painted onto the glass: "Office Furniture". There seemed to be an argument over vague physics terminology being held between two shadowy characters in the office space beyond the tinted glass. The abstract entity could only make out a few mumbled words, something about work force equaling applied pressure divided by ambition over availability. The banter failed to impress Ingenium, and the muse snuffed its cigarette against the oak molding of the "wooden" door before continuing its job.
     They passed other more decorative doors like "religion" or the red-white and blue striped door labeled "politics". It wasn't until Ingenium reached the door to the self that they stopped and released a sigh. Reaching down with unfathomable presence, Ingenium turned the red glass door knob and opened the door before it. A world of light and darkness poured out, flowing through the deity like whey through a screen. The curds that collected there were the substance of the soul. The cheeses that we ate that night were the mana of life, to be consumed today and gathered again on the morrow.


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Domino effect

i build the game to follow the rules,
a line a black rectangle, 
with white dots figuares,
who design such a figuare?

games of rules,
i just know i want to plan to win,

line all up straight like to view a zig zag moon,
but the moment it ends, another game begins,
but who do we call king?

with money on line every thing is  a game to a king,
place the stacks high how this type of figuare sit flat to sight,
it can't be that 
simple.

in the rules in life your in it to win it,
or the game will win you,
and i dont even know the rules to dominos.
i just watch from far,
as it all falls down!!!

one over laping the other,i this perhaps the order?

domino effects are you with it?


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DRUNK AND IGNORANT

A noble story one that ought to be our good host laughed and swore the games begun. Come match the knights tale if you can sir monk. To bellow arms and blood and bones he swore. A noble one I'll pay off the knights tale lets do this right. You tell yours by and by either I'll speak or go on my own way. Everyone listen but first i will propound that i am drunk i know it by my sound. For I'll tell a golden legend and a lie. Forget your ignorant drunken bawdiness it is a sin and great foolishness. Tell us of other things you'll find to lack i see you are angry with my tale but why. cuz you are a fool your head is overpowered by the wine. If you are not enjoying yourselves then cut off my head but as i drink my wine and ale. Whoever won't accept what i decide will pay for everything we spend along the ride. So hold up your hand if you accept my speech reflect a little and don't hold me to blame if you choose wrong don't lay it on my head. And both of them had bawdy tales to tell theirs no sense making earnest out of game.


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CHANGED MY Underwear,------- and My Name

I
change my name 
like 
underwear...
fairly often, I suppose

I 
change my clothes 
like 
area codes
and Imma' damn gypsy, ya' see

I 
keep it fresh ta' death
nada
speck of blood
or 
ketchup on my attire

I 
got more rhymes 
than I got grey hairs
and 
that's an effing lot
because i got my share

I 
digg a 
hot-fire piece of passionate verse
those are 
indeed 
rare to find

YET...
if  only poets would 
unleash the fury 
instead of 
holding back
what's really 
on their mind...

I must say...
the library, 
the internet, 
the etc. etc...
would be a less stinky place...
AND, maybe 
I'd keep my name, and sever ties with 
underwear's elastic,
and just go 
APE-Spit Spastic!~


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Liquid azure sky

In a dream, I walked naked through a shimmering valley, high in the sacred mountains of a
distant world. The air was warm and moist; the ice I trod upon sparkled like precious
jewels. As I neared the precipice, I became intoxicated with joy. Suspended high above me
in a liquid azure sky, three golden suns drenched my perfect body with benevolent rays of
pure liquid love. I am the sun, the prism, and the rainbow. I am soul, child of God,
resplendent, perfect and free.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Main Matrix

So, if a matrix is a body substance, in which all cells are embedded?
Then can I not spiritually say that the body of Christ is also a matrix?
Well, is it safe to assume or safer to not assume the differences in such?

If I have a World Wide Web with many matrixes, there must be a main.
How does one achieve the main matrix without a conversion of all matrixes?
Each living breathing organism has a matrix, but what supplies this?
 
Seems how all bodies have cells embedded in a matrix,
Is it not safe to assume that the universe has a matrix?
If so, where is the main universal matrix?
There must be a connection of some sorts,
Nevertheless, what is it and where is it?
Moreover, why has this not been thought of?
 
If the body is the temple of the Lord,
Then He must have a main matrix.
Matrix is Latin for womb.
So in which womb is this matrix?
Only a female has a womb.
There must be one that is required by none.
 
Now let us get even more difficult here.
We have a World Wide Web with many matrixes.
What if the World Wide Web is an individual womb?
It obviously has good and evil in its growth.
Could there have been two that fused by one?
Could there have been a conversion of all matrixes.
Or is there only one main matrix being a female?
 
Let us get back to the body of Christ and His matrix.
Let us even go to your own bodies matrixes.
An enclosure within in which something originates or develops,
This is what lives and breathes inside of you every day, a matrix.
Do we not develop Christ within ourselves, and He our originator?
Is it not safe to assume that we are the body of Christ?
Moreover, that we are of a matrix that has a universal main matrix?
 
 
®Registered: Ann Rich   2006


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Allegoric Spaceship

Spaceship !

You know that spaceship is related with
Alien, Moon, Planet, Star, Stun Gun...

You may be right or wrong
I don't want to know it !

Sometime my soul creates a spaceship
I enter into it from my room with happiness

I try to visit everywhere....Soul to soul...Soul to super soul...

I seek problematic truth, solvable truth, universal truth, real magic , ...

I want to reach into the black holes....The signal...


Some great poets, writers, artists, scientists, philosophers 
Are searching the destination
And living one place to another place on the space...

They are moving...They are enjoying...They are dieing...

I am observing them from the window of my spaceship !

One day my spaceship will be crashed on the space...

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Man Of The Poet

Quote the man of the poet and when the rain is gone can you say you enjoy the journey,
Or do you have live a lifetime to take in the stories,

They said it take century after the poets past for them to get recongonze a good poet
I wrote for the love of words and passions that took shape of a poet,

Never was it plan or never was it intend just happy like ice that become hail after the storm as
In hail what beauty of what we learn in age and time 

made you hear of the character of the man of the poet I look as this a journey
maybe more days to found new ways to improve this written skills

I would like to ask do you apose to my quest? Reject what I have say if not where is
Your character because every poet life shapes there poetry but who read they bio,

As most men lack character and affection give credit when credit is do
I guarantee they will try to slander my name because what I ready of other poets

There are all ways a rebut in the end I’m in love with love with the idea
Of beginning in love it’s something about words with woman may young men

Take my advice well I ask why look to stars and found my heritage in mind
And something call the Left Eye God a Myth that I have heard all I have to say is

May all myths where mint to be legend or legend to become a myth
But before we can tell only time can tell have any one heard of the word selah?

They said a myth among legend that two poets had the view poet of what is or was a poet 
One poet spoke of the transparent eyeball well the other said it’s a life of a poet that makes

One and you have to be told how to write poems that no one is natural poet  perhaps you
Heard of this poets… if not how could you become a better poet without understand

One of the point of views to take note to know the man of the poet the story 
they live goes beyond what is written quote me well……

I was never great speller but a excellent person to define a word of its meaning or orgin
What poet philosophy do you think I took in?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

No Excuses

No Excuses

In the midst of the present, 
No excuses. 
Fell down, got up 
Then flight 
But the bruises ache
 As I turn the pages 
To move on, discern 
As one of lifes excuses.   

Practice, appease, try to please 
Yet I failed, Time and time again 
Possibilities pass me by 
And I thought 
Picked a wrong card.
 I cheated, lost
 But I could find 
One of lifes excuses.   

Felt love, lost love 
Heaven above. 
The thrust, the lust 
All embracing 
Till I got the rush 
Feeling the force of the crush 
Caught a diamond 
But a busted flush 
To my disappointment 
I had to run
 In the arms 
Of lifes excuses.   

Profession of music, geometry 
Physics and Biology 
Bisect,disect, Fusion of intellect
 Expanding virtues of trials and failures
But there is the revision, 
The safety Of lifes excuses


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Reliving Upside Down

Reliving Upside Down
                     by Odin Roark

The Jungle Gym geodesic glistened,
Afternoon showers dripped,
Languorous droplets fell, 
Saturating sand below,
Just like then.

Bench of parents
Reflected memories old,
Stroller wheels struggling,
Obstinate sand as obstacle,
Giggles and screeches
From canopy covered pram,
Bumpy ride for my brother,
His laughter, sheer joy.

Fathers,
Mothers,
Sitters and nannies,
Attentive to children’s every move.

So many eyes saw me
Atop the dome’s iron lattice,
Hanging by my legs,
Seeing the world upside down,
Shouting, “Look at me, Grandpa!”

He didn’t notice this day,
His sudden slumped body,
Dropped the half eaten sandwich
To the ground.

Part of me wanted not to upright my view,
That safety of abstract vision so foreign then,
So understandable now,
So strangely comforting then,
So painful now.

I now straddle atop the bars,
Thinking thirty-three years haven’t made it easier,
Save the bench now replaced
The sand succeeded by concrete,
The tenders and watchers now often of different purpose,
Staring at me not knowing
I’m anything but a nut case.

Some of us just discover
Life’s remembrances
Sometimes prophesy what is to come.

Some, like me, will realize
Their whole adult life is programmed upside down,
Its sophisticated induction lures escapees
Into free-for all playground-workplaces
Where capture so often comes by way of 
Pills,
Powder,
Liquid
Needles.

I smile.
Swing down to the ground,
Throw an embrace to Grandpa’s bench,
Look up and shout…
“Reliving upside down moments of love is okay.
Really…
It’s okay.”


Details | Prose Poetry | |

What is truth?

The question posed by a politician to Jesus after his arrest
It was Pontius Pilate Governor of Judea from A.D. 26-36.
To this day the answer still eludes politicians 

The politician and the diplomat
Two different tools used to make ugly truths palatable
And beautiful truths unrecognizable 

Politicians and diplomats never say No
Their Yes means maybe and their Maybe means No


Details | Prose Poetry | |

True Love

I loved my grand parents 
They passed away without my knowledge... 

I loved my parents
They left me without my opinion... 

I loved my life-partner
Life-partner intended to injure my life without any hesitation... 

I loved my friends
They wanted everything in my life
Except my pains
I left them...

Then I love my poem 
Who is an image of divine love !

Still she loves me without any demand

And her divine love will be continued more after my death
She promised me ! 

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Dodging Hate's Siren-Shriek

Dodging Hate’s Siren-Shriek 
                       by Odin Roark

He had survived
Six months believed to have made him a man.

Today,
He only wanted his mother.

Today,
Time was running slow,
Slower,
Stopping,
Begging.

Such hopeful beginnings,
Such bestial endings,
Caked fingers bear blood,
Water too precious to remove.
As desert sand’s insistence
Makes mockery of fear’s dry heaves.

Skittering boot prints
Like zigzagging sand pipers,
Short of food,
Wary of enemies,
Making patterns so plain,
This prophetic hide and seek death dance.

Today…

Seems right—today.
Months of sand storms and fire,
Left but sun baked flotsam,
Mixed decomposing bodies of friend and foe,
Their survival charges piled high,
Making but for stumbling of boots
Across rotted bodies and limbs,
Even flies and rats now ignore.

With fingers blood-welded to weapon,
He lay down among the carnage,
Eager to know the peace,
The quiet,
The involuntary resolve,
Just for a moment,
Or two,
Just until the siren-shriek
Of an incoming missile's presence...

Just until it finds him and stops.

Not much to ask.
Not much
If anyone…
Anything…
Is listening. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christ Child

In eternity past, the Father asks the Son to go down.
Having equal Love for humans the "Yes" comes fast.
When Creation leads to time, the world waits for 4 BC
Marking the start of the end of Satan's long rule at last.

Did Satan laugh at the poor setting for Jesus' birth here?
A cry in a cave for animals pierces the night, changing all.
Shepherds worship; later wise kings give precious gifts.
Mary and Joseph marvel, yet Herod's rage soon gives a call.

A call to leave quickly to Egypt where they'll live as refugees.
Sparing the Christ child a merciless death of those under three.
When Herod finally dies, Jesus' parents head back to Israel.
Still not fully safe from mad rule, Nazareth is their destiny.

Here the child will grow to be a man, following His parents rule.
Surprising the Pharisees with His wisdom at 12, at 30 riling them.
Preaching with authority, healing the incurable, loving the humble.
Women weep repenting at his feet; one's healed by touching his hem.

Zacchaeus risks going into a tree and finds Jesus' salvation so free.
Nicodemus comes at night to ask and ends amazed he's met God's Son
The Woman at the Well gets far more vital water than the usual kind.
And many healed can't but tell others of the miracle God has done.

The babe in the manger now stills the storm and his disciples believe
Even seeing the dead arise, like Lazarus in the tomb for four days.
Foretelling a greater rising coming but not before immense suffering.
The sword Mary was told would pierce her heart is soon on its way.

For most religious leaders cannot tolerate Jesus' lack of respect for them.
Calling them whitewashed tombs and pointing pride out to Pharisees.
Not endearing Himself with the establishment, but following God's way.
Knowing soon He'd be betrayed, arrested, tried and tortured brutally.

Still, he calmly feeds them body bread and blood wine in a final feast.
Tells them the Spirit comes, and prays they'd be one like Father and Son.
Heads to the Garden, prays to His Father for another way if possible.
Your will be done ends and the soldiers come and with Judas kiss it's done.

The most pure, innocent Man who's ever lived is now in hostile hands.
A trial by dark without witness or any rights – and off to Pontius Pilate.
Then Herod then back to Pilate whose wife dreamed Jesus was innocent.
But the people's cries to crucify win over – Jesus caught in intrigue's net.

The child of Bethlehem now hung on a Cross between two criminals.
The Light of the World by darkness and our sins is being slowly slain.
Feeling forsaken by God, but then "Into Your hands I commit my spirit."
Reunited and soon to show the world that this Child was no ordinary one.

Risen as Jesus predicted, for how can death conquer everlasting, perfect life?
From childhood to adult not one sin, not once yielding to Satan's temptations.
Proving we can have life eternal if we confess and believe in Jesus as our Savior.
Calling His followers in risen form to await the Spirit and share Christ to the nations


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Third Eye

Saints have third eye
They have seen to The Almighty into themselves !

Killers have third eye
They have seen to the regent of Death into themselves !

Even so , killers are blind !

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Deepening Dusk

Deepening Dusk
                by Odin Roark

How might this relentless approach of final darkness
present its final moments before curtain?

The acts have been rewarding,
even as the protagonist and antagonist
missed some cues,
made a few false entrances,
and at times confused the audience
of only me.

Thankfully…

My catwalk view
where having long ago embraced
Gordon Craig’s Uber-Marionette concept,
his self-aware-life-enactment
being simultaneously puppet and puppeteer,
prepared me well for the Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations:
    “All of us are creatures of a day;
    the rememberer and the remembered alike.
    The time is at hand when you will have forgotten everything,
    And the time is at hand when all will have forgotten you.”

Such is the synchronous epiphany
with a drama’s final curtain
allowing a moment’s pause
before one’s inner-house lights
illumine yet another transition,
from “what if” to “what is”  to “what might be”.

Hopefully the staging of one’s mirrored life
becomes companionable for the journey back home,
that place in one’s mind
where comforts remain tenuous
by often reluctant acceptance,
when overcoming challenges
is beyond one’s ability.

Yet…

To prepare for the final unpredictable,
when one’s deepening dusk
no longer finds the stage lit,
when illusion and delusion applaud together
the finished performance of one’s choices,
one’s experiences delineated into one’s
inner-monologue of truth.

    “Pass, then, through this little space of time
    in harmony with nature and end thy journey in contentment,
    just as an olive falls off when it is ripe,
    blessing nature who produced it,
    and thanking the tree on which it grew.”
                                                    Marcus Aurelius


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Platos Titanic

Plato’s memory, holds Atlantean dreams; The utopia destroyed by techno-greed. Some things are simply not to be; the mortal staggers blindly through life; mortal entrapment is a souls prison. In a watery abyss, stone walls like wooden blocks, strewn across a sand box; hold secrets. A buried Republic, with lessons unlearned, gives birth the world’s end. This Earth, our home; is unsafe after millennia; it reburies its children’s mistakes, again and again. The only difference it will make, is to brown dwarf itself, when the children have ravaged its body; shredded and burned it to lifeless dust. Atlantean dreams, dreamt century after century, are drowned in tears. Atlantis, the Titanic of Plato’s era, is no myth, but a testament to human kinds, egotism and ignorance.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Samurai

The Samurai warrior stands unassuming, quiet, and fits in to the background on any occasion,
Each month is a month of new life, gales rush and sound over the tops of trees, he listens,
His life is one of wisdom and military education, he judges nobody but he protects innocence,
He respects all the seasons, the beauty of nature in all of its forms, a profound philosophy.

The rich cultivation of his disciplined spirit is a lifetime lesson, it has taught respect.
He watches as flowers show through the earth and wonders at their delicacy, a poetic beauty,
A true warrior treasures personal enlightenment, it is honed and is polished with refinement,
Enlightenment, watching pink cherry blossom in leafless trees, as nature provides everything.

Rich cultivation of the mind is expressed by his meticulous writings with skills of an artist,
His spring is spiritual, thick blossoms are pure a true joy, a China rose unfolds a red petal,
He lives an unwritten code of Bushido his values will never be comprised he is a man of honor,
And the true warrior holds loyalty and courage above all, he is veracious and has compassion.

Times in deadly combat does not take away compassion for the weak, the needy or the children,
A man of tempered steel, a man who would happily die for his cause, has a gentle simple life,
In a wood on a kind day, meditating on a warm rich river bank, the trickling water is peace,
The Samurai has respect for life, humility is the sign of power, a power through submission,

These hard won gifts, balance the Samurai warrior, he has a passion for philosophy, integrity,
As words can hurt others he carefully chooses what to say, when to say, each word is guarded,
To these men of few words, each word is a powerful statement and they do not abuse this power,
It's difficult to get them to talk, they will ask questions and they listen, then they advise.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

That is Life-Such is Life

A jungle of mysteries, ruled by uncertainties nurtured by intrigues and cycles but invaded by misnorma to fairness is a system, sustaining all animate interactions. This is Life! No rule, no formula, just connections with only one goal: Survival. The summation of one and one differs in various situations. An Engine powered largely by fate, averagely by efforts and relatively by luck is its inevitable offer which cannot be rejected. That is Life! Attracted to a beautiful flower like a bee then abandons it to make its comb on a tree. A being can be in command to all achievable accolades but is still never at the top, like an employee. Such is Life Making an attempt with fire can result to so much glee but absorbing its mere flames alone can make you pay a huge fee. A hopeful, innocent and cute new bride now becomes wiser, stronger but a divorcee. Such is Life! It can be the hotness of coffee with sweet smelling expectations but swift bitter results. Surprise! Its wholesaler, glancing afar to see but what is really wanted is just below the knee. such is Life! It is a supermarket; absolutely free, naked one goes in no matter the shopping spree nor the testing of best Diamonds naked shall one come out that is the only guarantee regardless of whether you agree! This.....................is life!