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Details | Introspection Poem | |

A Ripple In Time

A new borns cry
Tearful last good bye

Swaying waves of golden prairie grass
Shifting desert dunes - an hour glass

An acorn dropping among forest leaves
To mighty oak - a lifetime of dreams

The changing moon - to full again
Each morn' the sun - new skies begin

Eagles soar high - our hearts go there
These ripples in time - we all share

©Donna Jones

Details | Introspection Poem | |

Footprints

Frothy waves stretch to kiss toes
Hikers plodding sandy coasts
Leaving imprints on the shore

Who journeyed here, perhaps this morn
As the orange orb created dawn
Summoning sun worshipers

Footprints far too large to fill
Descended down the shell-strewn hill
Then hugged the waves’ low tide

The retirement community
Sends scouts here daily just to see
If the sands of time still wait

Alas, they do, imprints remain
Sacrificed to sea when evening tide returns again

Their legacies erased each day
Another scout, another age
Will surely cast its prints anew

Details | Introspection Poem | |

AS FATHER IS TO HIS DAUGHTER


Passing through framed windows like ours, I recall your tales of reckless war and lost friends that burned your innocence at 21... and though you claimed flashes of courage, moist eyes poured vulnerability looking calm, undaunted. We both searched deeply into our souls as a father is to his young daughter, that I wanted to let you know, it was alright; but that mound of shoulders turned away. Down the years as officer and gentleman, Time stole long weeks, absent from your dining chair, leaving me resentful and bitter on hardened sills until you arrive under crawling dock of stars. But in free moments, how you cherished me so; waking my cheeks at 3 am to race the winds, to fly with a shooting neon, laughing with a blue moon. You spoke of faith and honor if life dared a shame, oh mild scent of your arms cuddling my girlish dreams... until off you rode suddenly on heaven’s wheel. I see you through all framed windows like ours, that even if my iced breaths needed you more as small flowers thirsted for rain, my anger was a cry for love’s company... “ I have adored you in moments of distance and nearness, if not always, then for all eternity.” Have I forgotten to open this, my soft, broken sigh? Dad, everything is all right. The Confessional Contest

Details | Introspection Poem | |

Windowpanes

An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and 
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of 
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field 
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community 
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound 
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the 
evening to be appropriate for the purpose. 
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical 
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that 
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the 
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by 
our café.

When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew, I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true, A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent. I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more. Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore, The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry, As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by. The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes. The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve. My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before. She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside, And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride. Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart, For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part. Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear. The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years, Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears, When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew, And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.

Details | Introspection Poem | |

Another Man's Clothes

I wonder
Who I might become
If I wore another man's clothes
If I thought his thoughts
Dreamed his dreams
Lived his heartache
Felt his insanity
Walked along his razor's edge

Would I
Understand
Empathize
Digest his pain
Rise above his circumstances
Would I realize how easy my own life has been

Perhaps
I could search through his pockets
Look for answers
Remove the tie from his neck that strangles
Rip off the clothes that make the man
Return his sanity
Free him from the labels sewn on yesterday's promises

Or I could walk
A bit longer
Search a bit deeper
Discard my own misconceptions
Feel his peace
Think different thoughts
For he is more and less than me
He has danced and loved in exceptional ways
And as I walk and wear his shoes
I hear the tapping of his soul
I become
Aware
It is not him
Not me
Not anyone
That can save us
From ourselves
Yet we are changed
In inexplicable ways
By wearing
Another man's clothes


I chose this one for your contest because I feel as 
a poet I put myself in other people's clothes all the time.
I like the premise of this contest and I hope this gives you
a glimpse of who I am. 

Richard Lamoureux
Submited December 20 2013
written in early December.

Details | Introspection Poem | |

AS TWELVE MONTHS CLOSE


I count my walks through herbs and shells never knowing how old bones can be fleshed from a heart bound on scrolls of endings, and here I am among rows of an orchard… feet like dust sanded by twelve months of famine and feast ; somehow the maple boughs wither from the laundry of evenings’ regret. Often times, like the gypsy rose, I climb into the lattice of my family tree smelling its tar and citrus that knit arms glossed by twilight’s love, then raked by froths of autumn’s debris. Closing a fence as another year shuts off, I am between silence and scream… eyes groaning with the music of an anonymous breeze sheltering a collected beauty of tragedy and the comedy of drama: trials pinned by veiled nights when kinship endures the flood of weather's hands. It is so, I mean, the certainty of taming the last ride before new seeds from a new year twirl upon unborn fruits… I disrobe the old bones to greet the unknown. .......................... "“In times of test, family is best.” – Burmese Proverb Carol Eastman's Enter The Best of 2014 Contest by nette onclaud 7/14/2014

Details | Introspection Poem | |

SWEET ISLAND GIRL

Early morn
Birds still sleep
Crickets warm
Not a peep
Coffee in hand
Dreams are free
Thinking of you
Thinking of me
Last night's prayer 
Has made it here
Rain soaked skies
Begin to clear
And what I see
On distant shore
Sweet Island girl
I long for more
Hear your heart
We are in tune
I love you so 
I'm coming soon

Contest: Craig's "Lyrics Again"
Date: 9-9-14

Details | Introspection Poem | |

Spaces

As my thoughts shrink my mind expands
Growing into the spaces between my words
The words of others
Refreshed within the pauses
Dancing inside possibilities
Filling in the blanks

Words suspended
Within time and space
Connecting the random with the infinite 
Skipping along
Flowing through in whispers

The spaces 
Reflecting eternal promises
Stepping stones along elastic highways
Breaths yet to be exhaled
Here I grasp for inked pleasure

My resting place
along inspiration's highway
My moments of calibration 
Synaptic revelations
Hallways leading to ancient corridors
The place where all artist meet

Each space, appears the same
To those unable to see
They can't feel the symphony
Yet, we who live, within the spaces
Rise together
Give applause
A world expanded from the small
An opening within word walls
Rising to float, upon the breeze
They lift our mind with subtle ease
Come and join me please
I have space 
I have room
Within my spaces
For you








Details | Introspection Poem | |

A Mountain's Challenge

majestic he seems, staring down at me with provocative, charcoal cavern eyes challenging me to forge upward massive boulders, slippery streams and fallen trees arduous obstacles he puts before me shall I take his dare perhaps ascending a few steps closer to cerulean heaven reach out to touch the kaleidoscope rainbow an arc above this complex journey’s struggle or is communing with the universal consciousness beyond reach will I step, slip, stumble and fall if I climb, seeking to prove myself finding visions of self awareness as he urges me on only to wonder why I see nothing but myself in a shroud of misty grey loneliness at the peak far easier it would be to lay my head upon the verdant meadow’s grassy pillow content to admire him from afar rather than challenge myself to win his approval gratify my ambitious nature what satisfaction will come if I remain complacent in my life’s lackluster station never growing, never knowing what might have been if I’d listened to his provocative voice
*Written July 30, 2014

Details | Introspection Poem | |

Intangible

There was change, a new pulse, in the life I had known, where mother had been, in the house, we called home Where two maples stretched out, to cradle my dreams, and to shelter my life On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake, with windows cracked open, a wind coming in, .... an intangible night, in the familiar old room, alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things... There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on, and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass, was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, for a place to fit in My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride in the same sacred bed, where my mother had died And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained. I was there at his side, when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too But, I was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings Somehow, it's alright, now, the shadows are new. The sepia light, changes the view I am older, much older than then,... yet, I'm the moth seeking flame... batting my wings, resisting the change, ....again, and again
__________________________________ For Craig Cornish's Contest: "Chopped II" 11/3//14

Details | Introspection Poem | |

This Poem Is How I Feel

Sometimes on the road of life
	Change becomes the norm
		When you think, “The sky is true”
			The horizon brews a storm
Some storms last but a minute
	Like a ship they sail right by
		Other storms seem to be
			As endless as the sky
Some storms come with a flood
	As life gets washed away
		Other storms shake the ground
			As mountains crumble into clay
Storms come in many sizes
	They come in many shapes
		Storms come in many forms
			Some bless while others rape
As we face the storms of life
	They change who we are
		Sometimes, we’re the clouds
			Other times we’re the stars
Storms have one thing in common
	One day they too shall pass
		 As a car rolls to a stop
			Storms run out of gas
After the storm has passed us by
	A seed sprouts to a flower
		Each petal seems to be
			Exuding strength and power
I have weathered many storms
	Their lines map my face
		In their wake I have found
			Love is my saving grace
I don’t know what this poem means
	I don’t know if I ever will
		All I know is that right now
			This poem is how I feel

Details | Introspection Poem | |

The Farmer and His Corn

The Farmer and his Corn


Snug and warm beneath the earth
The field awaits the coming birth
It holds the richness that they need
Provides the anchor for the seed

The farmer by his hand did sow
Soon he knows his seed will grow
When length of day and rain is right
And sun above shines warm and bright

The rain has come the soil is moist
New life burst forth, it has no choice
With a sudden wondrous surge
A field of green does emerge

The farmer feels it in the air
He comes to see his field so fair
Quietly, just after dawn
His brand new field of corn is born

Quickly grow those humble shoots
Drawing goodness through their roots
All hot and hazy summer long
The shoots thrust upward, straight and strong

Golden now as flaxen hair
New seeds upon them they do bear
The farmer picks an ear to eat
To check then that, his corn is sweet

The farmer comes to field one morn
Another with him that day drawn
No face had he and yet was grim
The corn all knew that it was him

A shrouded hood, his face to hide
He follows just two steps behind
The mice who’s nests the stalks had borne
Know soon there will be no more corn

Not daring now to take a peep
They know for them they’ve come to reap
Both the men they carried scythes
They know they’ve come to end their lives

The farmer lifts the implement
To cut them down is his intent
A shadow fell, with mighty stroke
The farmers gone, with man in cloak.






Details | Introspection Poem | |

Midnight Pearls

.                 



                                        Shine, midnight pearls!
                                        The smoke curls up in whirls of doom

                                        On the wet sand 
                                        my own hand draws unplanned pierced hearts

                                        Deep blue-black sky
                                        I play by rules and sigh despair

                                        To lay aside 
                                        starry-eyed dreams that hide a sin

                                        Shine, distant stars!
                                        Through guitars notes, through scars of time

                                        For her first kiss
                                        an abyss drains all bliss from me

                                        And far away
                                        shadows play down their spray of doubts

                                        Opaque pearls, shine!
                                        On this fine night, define my north



.

Details | Introspection Poem | |

KARMA



Fluted hands angle on knees as glimpses 
sort the knitted threads of a late afternoon
where gathering of blooms abide.
Almost friendless, a man inhabits his space
ready to inhale the waft of new dusk, 
of how a world in his inner terrain mirrors
the ceremonials of a mindful passage
upon grasses and half-lit windows
outside the self. 

And through a prayerful instance,
he connects with a god hushing the tempo
of sighs mixed with incense blowing, as if 
to twirl in an air of breaths cleansing
the scabs of trespasses. Miles of babel words
turn into a different language: quite unknown
and understood only by him who finds
contentment in being unbound ,of gliding 
above a haloed sky that reflects the movement
inside his awakened essence.

For the atonement of all misgivings,
he releases his pride in layers 
of deep confession to pay for his karmic debt;
that in a warm communion with humility
he makes amends for life's consequences

as stillness becomes his friend.


Anthony Slausen's Karma

Details | Introspection Poem | |

I Am Love


I AM A Father. A Son. A Brother. None are just titles. I live those titles every day through my actions. I am successful at those roles every day. I possess unconditional unwavering love . I AM A Director My profession as much as my titles defines me. It is not just my career it is my love. Directing theatre has my unconditional unwavering love. I am successful at this role every day. I AM defined by my actions. I act on my beliefs. I AM defined by my beliefs. I believe in the fiber of someone's character not their words, in their intent not just their actions. Peoples needs are important to me not just my own. I AM committed to forgiveness, Humans are basically good. The forest is dense predators lurk in the shadows. Fear plays too important a role in too many lives. I help others rather than judge them negatively. I believe Even though the task ahead seems insurmountable we will find our way through the black of these days. People with completely different views can and do bond. I believe We must learn tolerance for without it we are lost. I believe in priorities I do not give too much importance to words and ideas. I learn from nature like the mighty oak I can bend with the wind. I prefer more round tables, less round 'em up. In less locks more open doors, in more heart less knee jerks. I have the strength to accept I die the will to live every day. I worry about the incredible suffering exists away from North America. I Am Love above all else Love It is about put up or shut up. I am anything but silent. I Am one of many in the end that is who I Am. 06~11~2014 Sponsor: frank herrera Contest Name:"I AM"

Details | Introspection Poem | |

WRITTEN IN THE SAND

WRITTEN IN THE SAND The Big Five—Africa’s pride in the vast open wild Buffalo, Rhinoceros, Elephant, Leopard and Lion Their prey—scattered Impala, Kudu and Waterbuck On hardened dust… their footprints prevail and stand WRITTEN IN THE SAND The proposal day--- carefully planned- a beautiful beach Red Roses, a Picnic, Sunrise and Diamond ring The petals—scattered on the soft damp sea tabloid Lover’s plea….a stick his pen, “Marry me—take my hand” WRITTEN IN THE SAND Early one morning--- He entered the dusty temple to teach Scribes and Pharisees brought her in—an adulterous Large stones…scattered for all to throw and accuse Jesus bent down… wrote with His finger on condemning land What was His message…..? WRITTEN IN THE SAND

Details | Introspection Poem | |

DREAMER'S SECRETS

Virgin piece of paper
You lay in front of me
Bare, a sleeping beauty
Mesmerized by what I see 

In that moment, captivated
Drawn into your light
I'll cover you with passion
Long into the night
You'll give this dreamer's secrets.. sight

I gently touch your canvas
Let lover's feelings flow
You give every indication 
That tonight you'll let it go

And I am filled with wonder
Of all that we could be
Amazed that you weren't taken
Lost in this serendipity
When this night is over
Oh forever, it'll be you and me

Penned flame, yeah all I got
Two now one, love's knot
Feel the stroke, inks heat
Making music, love's beat

And what we birth in secret
Tomorrow will be so clear
Spread across your sheet
Love's expression without fear

So remember every moment
How I mused over you
Together we created
A masterpiece to view
You've made this dreamer's secrets.. true

Penned flame, yeah all I got
Two now one, love's knot
Feel the stroke, inks heat
Making music, love's beat

Penned flame, yeah all I got
Two now one, love's knot
Feel the stroke, inks heat
Making music, love's beat

Perspective: The Poet Pen's RELATIONSHIP with Paper

Contest: Regina Riddle's "relationships" 
Date: 7-25-14

Details | Introspection Poem | |

hahahahaha i have no idea what to title this

help mrs. muse is gone and my mind is shooting blanks 
my friend called inspiration is trying to walk the plank 

motivation just married mr lazy 
and confidence started acting really crazy 

cousin common sense is on vacation out of town 
and aunt intelligence is nowhere to be found 

uncle rational is at the casino gambling his life away 
and my best friend happiness never wants to stay 

my neighbor opportunity doesnt knock on my door anymore 
and my girlfriend love is really just a whore 

my partner pride is always full of himself 
and sister sympathy is busy with someone else 

grandpa wisdom is smart enough not to say a word 
and grandma compassion is seen but never heard 

the only friends that ever come to town 
is anger and disgust and they always hang around 

my high school sweat heart infatuation doesnt really call 
and my childhood friend imagination doesnt exist at all 

Details | Introspection Poem | |

Thought Police

I'm afraid
So afraid
Of being arrested
By the thought police

Their rules are many
Think this
Think that
Don't diverge from the normal
Stop playing on the street corner of tomorrow
Let sleeping dogs rest
Do not question
Do not burn on passionate bonfires

I watch as they ready their weapons
They display arresting warrants through clouded glass
Fifty shades of bland
Cuffs dangling from bulging belts
Bound in self rightous blunder
They wait outside my door
Screaming bull horns command me to exit my paper freedom
I am blinded by search lights, forced to use my third eye
Fearful of their uniformed presence
How long will they be held at bay?

I hold their preconceptions hostage
They cannot see beyond their script
Trained in the warfare of ignorance 
They say "who are you, to question our authority?"

I answer
"I am the poet
The one who dreams beyond here and now
My words push through yesterday like a plow!
Yet I am gentle like the rain
Equal parts of pleasure and pain
A powerful detergent
I remove ancient stains
With my words I shake the ground
I will not be stopped by another's sound
Arrest me, yet you can't stop what I think
Within my mind I determine what I drink."

The thought police
Turn to another
The writings of our sisters and brothers
They wait, with cuffs in hand
Unable to understand
The few
The many
Who have joined hands
The poets
The thinkers
We take a stand



Inspired by Eileen Ghali's poem "The Hidden Woman"

Catie Lindsay's Heart of the matter contest.

Details | Introspection Poem | |

Melded

Questions hang suspended like stalactites Time, circumstance and elements contributing to its formation (—then something else seeps in, pushing me to call it fate) Questions that know not whether they should be voiced out and see light ...or remain hidden in caves, destined to be only heard by the labyrinthine chambers of the heart But yes, it is inevitable that these questions d r i p They drip, bit by bit, oozing with curiosity, forming more queries, that turn into stalagmites— Grounded questions to the suspended ones, open-ended to the closed. Sometimes meeting, creating columns, melded complements of each other. And then this makes me wonder— When these questions meet, do they ever find answers within themselves? Will the truth ever be brave enough to come out of hiding? This then makes me think of the words within souls, how these souls are the questions, in search of answers. ...And of how your words, your thoughts, your feelings, can drip into mine, feeding that inner glow It then collects, forming this deluge, flooring me as it creates a bond so powerful, it seems to defy time and even reason. A fascinating influx, that makes me smile despite myself Where sometimes I don’t know the beginning from the end— where bliss swims freely there, immersed in waves of laughter and ripples of tears. This for me is the beauty of it all, the search, the mystery...the discovery That constant ebb and flow, the give and take, that push and pull the flooding and trickling, that hiding and seeking Where one listens as the other speaks, but ah, both feeding off each other— hungry, thirsty, full, satiated yet craving for more. It’s something akin to, but not quite to how sunlight makes way for moon’s glow, how thunder rolls after the lightning strikes, coming hand in hand...yet both so defined. -------------------------------------------------------------- Yes, the questions may still hang like stalactites, and sometimes I do wonder if they will fall— And if they do, will they shatter, piercing hearts as they do? Or will their fates let them stay there, melding with stalagmites, standing the test of time, and sparkling as they do? June 17, 2012

Details | Introspection Poem | |

Mixing Of The Bones

If we could peel back the blanket of earth
To expose the bones buried there

Mix them all up in a great big pile
To say they'd all look the same would be fair

The rich man, the poor, the blind and the weak
Each gender, religion and race

The short, the tall, the large and the small
And include every shape of the face

If we had to choose one bone at a time
Not knowing who's bones belonged to whom

To make ourselves over new again
I wonder how well we'd do

Not judging by color, size or shape
Or status of high IQ

The bones might fit together just fine
And stay together till the end of time

©Donna Jones



Details | Introspection Poem | |

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

Today I penned a love letter
I know you'll never see
Secret thoughts and feelings
Bottled up inside of me
Romantic muse on my heart
Words written with the mind
My forbidden introspection
I know you'll never find
For I, myself, am the bottle
I'm not floating on the sea
The message is deep inside
Heartbroken that we can't be
I know this sounds freaky
But every word I say is true
Although we've never met 
My heart is missing you!

Date: 11-7-14

Details | Introspection Poem | |

She is, or maybe she is not

She found herself
In the shards of who I am
The broken bits
The shadows
The resurrection of yesterday's pauses

I wonder
Was it the happy bits
The quiet contemplations
Or does she exist 
Within the doubts
The abbreviated sentences
The opinions of her own imposters
Those who choose to see her with veiled perceptions
Is she who she wants to be
Or is she in a state of becoming
I try to see past my own limitations

I wade through my wheres
Trying to see where 
Where she has been
Where is she now
Why
Yes I wonder why
Why does she identify with me
I am left to ponder
Contemplate

Who is this woman
With sad happy eyes
Strong in a broken sorta way
Who visits me 
On glowing paper
Graces me with kindness
Chooses to ponder herself
Within my spaces
I will seek her out
For she too
Reveals
Her notes
Sings her spirit
On pure white
Glowing
Paper

Dedicated to Charmaine after she commented on my "I Am" poem.



Details | Introspection Poem | |

DEVOTION


           I dream of you
           I fantasize
           I see you when
           I close my eyes
           I speak your name
           With every breath
           I vow to love you 
           Unto death
           I think of you
           All the day long
           My love expressed
           In verdant song
           I speak of you
          To all my friends
           I long for you
          When each day ends
          I see your smile
          In every face
          In my heart you hold
          A special place
          I know that we
          Were meant to be
          And that you're the only 
          One for me
          And when I go
          To sleep at night
          I know this love
          Is more than right

Details | Introspection Poem | |

Who Am I

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
Judge that

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