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Best Phenomenon Poems

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New Phenomenon Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Phenomenon poems are below this new poems list.

Nature's phenomenon by Singhal, Harshita
Unexplainable Phenomenon by Atkins, Jaquay
My Phenomenon by Davey, Brian
A Rare Phenomenon by Ellison, Jack
Strange Phenomenon in the Real World by Ben, Su
SOMEWHAT MORE THAN A PHENOMENON - FAITH by Walker , Verlena S.
free cee FROM A FAILURE TO A PHENOMENON by cohan, jeffry
The Love Phenomenon of Eve's Tale by Widjanarko, Yanny
A Rare Phenomenon by Ellison, Jack
The Anomalous of Love Phenomenon by Widjanarko, Yanny

View all new Phenomenon Poems

The Best Phenomenon Poems

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The Scarlet Letter H


                              H Stands For HR (Human Resources)

Two Windows                         The Bridge                             Thomas Gordon


You could tell,                                                                  He was an older man
You knew,                                                                        With a nice smile.
One beside the other.                                                        He was always
They were, dressed                                                           Impeccably dressed,
In sheer outfits...                                                              Impeccably groomed.
One beige, One tan                                                           So when it happened,
Both stripped                                                                   When everyone
identically.                                                                       Heard it happened,
They had,  they have,                                                       They were shocked.
Identical panes.                                                                His peers liked him,
Every moment                                                                  His peers respected 
Of every day                                                                     Him. His demeanour
They looked at,                                                                 Never changed.
The same identical                                                            The company was 
Outdoor scene.                                                                 Downsizing.
Every moment                                                                  Thomas Gordon was 
Of every day                                                                     Deemed redundant.
They looked at,                                                                 He gathered
The same identical                                                            His belongings
Indoor scene.                                                                   Left  immediately, 
I suppose                                                                         Without a word to
one could say                                                                   Anyone. thirty five 
At least one was,                                                              Years of his life
                 It takes a clear thought - a 360% forensic inspection
                 A battle well fought, to get to an accurate conclusion 
At least one is,                                                                  Ended abruptly. The
Redundant. But,                                                                Next day everyone
If you looked deeper                                                          Read about him on
These two identical                                                            The front page of the
Windows                                                                           Newspaper. He was
Were, are far from,                                                            Trending on the 
Redundant.                                                                       Internet. so when it 
When you opened                                                              Happened when
Both windows                                                                    Everyone heard...
And only when                                                                   He did not go 
BOTH were opened                                                             Directly home.
An amazing                                                                        On that fateful day
phenomenon occurred                                                        Thomas Gordon ran 
A natural, soothing,                                                            Into a burning home.
Refreshing, necessary,                                                        He saved two lives
Breeze, filled the room.                                                       Without a thought 
Oxygen to breathe                                                              For his own welfare.
They were, They are                                                           Apparently
Two windows.                                                                     Mr. Gordon
Identical?- Yes!                                                                   Was anything
But redundant?...,                                                               BUT redundant.

 

September 4 2015
Armand


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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LOVE'S CHEMICAL DERIVATIVES




Can  love then,  be based
on an index of elements
from which one joyfully tumbles,
or drifts into equations, as we wander
toward a rush of serendipity ...
a metaphysical merging of  ardor
writhing in a shared communion 
like  tuneful whispers in breaths  of helium,
unabbreviated oxygen rhapsodies
from unbidden laughter,
invigorating  the warmth of co-owned stars
on heaven’s destined oracle?

Love transcends chemical derivatives
of  fractals or measurement,
between our atoms, relaxed
in the shuffle of emotional electrons
as we quiver  weightless...
the heart’s embrace suspended together 
in the affectionate cosmos
of a deep kiss.



-------------
“How on earth can you explain in terms 
of chemistry and physics so important 
a ...phenomenon as first love? “-- Albert Einstein

Anthony Slausen’s  Periodic Table Of Elements
12/31/2014





Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

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Sphinx Head on Mars

.                   


     Psycho-logical phenomenon, perhaps?
      A little dubious, yes, still enigmatic, you know
       Rare stimulus through our enthusiastic eyes
        Eyes and ears that brings awe and fear: it rhymes!
         Images in abstract forms. We believe in patterns and norms!
          Designs could be figures born in lazy clouds
           Or mysterious shapes, or illusions, or visions
            Lying on ground, marks or impressions...lying? 
             Intimidating or inspiring? ...I think that the Sphinx Head on Mars
              At night, only at night...it looks just like aunt Beth.



 
World English Dictionary 
Pareidolia: the imagined perception of a pattern or meaning where it does not actually exist, as in considering the moon to have human features, or religious images in windows and walls or in clouds resembling animals or faces. 


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2010

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Shackles of love

Shackles of cynicism have displaced your heart, the love that once transcended time is no more. No wordsmith can bring beauty to an invisible emotion, lost in translation to an ignorant uncultured mind. As you searched for a definition of the tangible, intangible feelings were ignored, even with eyes shut. Funny, how three words cause a chemical imbalance, but the euphoria is short lived when ego takes hold. Promises to comfort, wipe away tears, anguish and pain, come with no guarantee of satisfaction - no refund for regret. Love does not say when the fire is burning to wage war, it provides an opportunity to nourish peace and harmony. Love does not say to be bitter and live with a grudge, it asks for you to forgive, not to antagonise another's soul. In a world lost to materialistic commercialism, the skeptic doubts like a pessimistic detractor. Love is not like money, that must be reciprocated with interest, it is simply an undetectable phenomenon that graces us all. To some a second hand emotion, but the language of love still remains the most powerful feeling known to humanity. One tongue that has no religion, race nor geographical boundary, which only fails to blossom when limits are implanted. 28 February 2016


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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Breathtaking

Breathtaking

B illions of years ago the universe was born
R evealing a resplendent beauty that was and is
E verything and more one could expect from
A n amazing designer and architect and
T imekeeper, beyond all human  understanding
H eavenly bodies and beings, celestial phenomenon
T hat is incomprehensible in it´s complexity
A nd simplicity in syncronicity with heavenly
K indness and grace towards the human race
I gniting within us a humility of heart and spirit
N ever negating in our minds eye the unimaginable
G lory that is to be revealed for our eternal blessing.

John Derek Hamilton
March 07,2016


Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

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In another time

They say: " Fate is out of your control and destiny is what you are meant to do." I guess, some things in life are not meant to be, but then why would fate bring two people together when it is not their destiny. Circumstances in life can mean two hearts with a powerful spiritual connection cannot meet, because of the obstacles of distance. What use is a bee if it cannot produce nectar, what use is a tree if it cannot produce oxygen and what use is love if two beloveds cannot unite. Their frustrations burn with the agony of not knowing, torn between the emotions of the heart and the ego of the mind. Love is invisible, you do not see it, only feel it. It is an intangible phenomenon that everyone will experience in their life time. The touch, voice and sight of the beloved is like no other. To feel the breath of a loved one upon your face, to gaze into their eyes, to kiss their lips and to merge, drowning in an ocean of passion are fundamentals of love, so many take for granted. Whilst those apart can only dream of such pleasures. Someone once said: "Life is a balance of holding on and letting go." A heart cannot spend years in the wilderness and a human needs physical contact. Do you listen to your heart and keep the hope or do you succumb to your mind and walk away. Love never dies and you never stop loving someone. Sometimes in life you may have to settle for second best. Maybe in another place and in another time - she would have been mine...
21 July 2016 Simple musings, fictional poem for contest. (written in ten mins) In Another Time - Poetry Contest by Ir0nic ZiNk


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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Black sheep

Misunderstood Misquoted Misrepresented So many questions Did you ask her in the mirror? So abrupt to point the blame but did you ask yourself why? Bitter tongue with acerbity led to words that cannot be erased Nescient perverse stubbornness Did it make you feel proud? So quick to play the victim but ignorantly obtuse to the pain that you caused Your ego is out of control burning you inside maybe have a conversation, before you become blind Why did you cry your eyes out - when he died especially when he didn't exist to you alive Guilt, regret or crocodile tears - true emotions confused In your grief why didn't you learn to forgive still carrying painful memories like rotten fruit In your tangled state of mind everything you breed - will be a hateful seed selfish greed is a demonic need - a vicious circle Still a little girl lost in an adult's body seduced by the puppet master who pulls at your heart strings but can't you see - he is manipulating your vulnerabilities like a paedophile grooming his innocent prey! Maybe one day you will learn to listen rid yourself of this curse of bitterness You claim you are unique and different the black sheep of the family In reality your are a confused adolescent mortal lost within the phenomenon of being immortal One day you will crash right back into realism sadly though the damage will be done - it will be too late! 26 October 2015


Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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Prism

Each Friday recedes in burgundy
Bathed ardently in Luna’s kiss
         

                     But, Sunday will dawn cerulean
                     With dulcet tones of lovers’ bliss


Bearing flavors wantonly consumed
I greet each hue voraciously


                    I taste the spectrum more than I see
                    My senses piqued peculiarly


As kaleidoscopic concertos
Obscure my sight in grand array


                   Each blending shade completes the phrasing;
                   Brilliantly, prism love songs play






*For Brian Strand's "Intervals" contest.

Note: The concept for this piece was inspired by those who experience a phenomenon called 
Synesthesia.


Copyright © Donna Golden | Year Posted 2009

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AFFECTION IN MOTION



Its universe drapes time in buoyancy Where endless space binds law of attraction Atoms merging, clasped by human light An energy wheeling freely, unseen; ‘Til moonlight climbs inside lovers’ halo. Exploring their path, frenzy unlike space Through quantum leaps weightless among new stars Ascending on scales of breaths without measure, Like passion heating a current; two mouths press. Dazed by such fusion, wheel of Physics nods To bring glow, showing what it's always known Soul's beauty, radiating love unbound; As dusk explodes to bless fluid motion. With gentle fire, night sky dare not question A universe lost in a trance of love’s spark; There is no logic to explain,when Affection blends cosmos of a kiss. ------------------- "Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love. How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.” ---Albert Einstein Personifying Science Contest, Sheri Fresonke Harper by nette onclaud


Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2013

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Belle of the Balls

                                                  Belle of the Balls
                                                      A Fairy Tale  
Once upon a time in a mythical land, there lived a beautiful young Ball named Belle Rolle.
She was perfect in every way, a phenomenon of science and a sphere of excellence. She also came from a long line of Balls, famous and infamous.
There was Foote Ball, a dancer of great renown, Base Ball, a rich but degenerate Ball whose vile manners and disgraceful activities scandalized the Ball family at a certain epoch in history and Cue Ball, an internationally known actor who had the uncanny ability of executing his lines always at the right time. Power Ball, the most influential Ball with luck and a small amount of money was able to increase his investments a billion fold. With all these ancestors, you might say that she had great Ball bearings. Not only did she inherit these gifts but could roll to any occasion rather well.
But one fateful day, her life was to change. She liked someone very much. His name was Harde Roque.
Why did she have this wonderful feeling? He was nothing like a Ball at all. To begin with, he was a little rough on the edges and was as if a mass of stone with large protrusions although some parts were smooth and he had what was like goldenrod sprouting on his rugged exterior. But he was different and the Balls hated the Roques.
In their neck of the woods their reputation preceded them. Two of the family 
were Rolling Roque and Rye, notorious  for imbibing  beer and liquor more often than not. There was also Plymouth Roque, a car dealer known for his devious ways in the selling of cars.
But she continued her tryst and soon enough they were exposed and she was shunned from all the Ballrooms. During that  time of desolation she suffered a terrible fit of deflation and seemed to shrink from her former self.
Then one day she awoke to the sound of a ships whistle and she immediately rolled out of bed and looked out the window. What she saw were Roques of all regal colors of shapes and sizes coming down the gangplank of a ship. Waiting at the bottom of the gangplank was Harde.
Curious and excited, she rolled down to the dock to see Harde standing next to another shape.
He said to Belle, “This is my father, Roque Nicholas from a country called Olde Quarry."
"We were lost at sea and separated for a long time and now he has found me.! “And yes, Belle, I come from a long line of royalty".
 Soon they were wed and then one day a little shape was born.
In honor of the two families , they little shape was named Roque N. Rolle.

Write a story short -  Poet Contest
Sponsored by The Seeker
April 23. 2016


Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2016

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Time -part 1-

Tragedy is never a sentiment for Time For it is a phenomenon she merely sees She pours forth abundance for all that behold her Even for those of us that scold her And for naught she was cursed from the beginning There she is—interminable Time at the fullest! And we all envy her ever-ringing constancy She rules over our hearts Keeping stress in our spirits Not once does she feel sorry for us Nor is she indifferent of our failures She begs not for gratefulness And accepts who she is with joy! How ample we would be if we Like she—were free of trepidation If only we be like her waters—clear and visible from top to bottom Filled with untainted approval What fools we must seem to such a pure jewel as Time But ah, she is both heartless and kind And though we hate her peculiar aura Oh how hard it is do tear her from our minds! How stressfully beautiful Time is! Like a wink of venerated bliss She smiles and smiles And our ironical faces feel like grime Still she laughs in mirth While the world becomes a ball of putrid hatred Wanting more and more of her And positively hating her We that cannot see her began to hate For we are as visible and low as can be And we acknowledge her merely to insult her Though she takes no pang to the chest For the only gifts we give in return for herself are pangs That she simply returns to each sender Hidden is our pride But ever placed Ever unhidden Is our inscrutable mortality And this humiliation of our unchangeable fates Makes us want to humiliate the more fortunate Thus we regard her only as a concept As a fraction of a belief—a bellowing ideal For of course Time cannot in our honey-glazed eyes Think, eat, drink or feel We use her—yes! Even abuse her Not once will she complain For her gift is everlastingness


Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

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Death of an Immortal

I was born in a time
When the thrills of a thriller
Did move the bricks
Of the thickest of walls.

I grew in an era
When the dynasty of an empire
Did expand to farthest of lands.

I adapted to a phenomenon
When the existence of a legend
Did drown the fame of mortals.

A fame in immortality
Bearing the impenetrability
Of Achilles himself,
Destined to march
Through the walls of Troy.

I twisted to the strings
Of a guitar, twanging
Spontaneously in my head,
In moves of invisibility.

I was opportune to appear
In a time, when the conquest
Of one king, did crest
Long lasting tattoos
In the hearts of many.

I was fascinated in a time
When the life within a man
Did blossom young,
As he lived unaffected
By the fading of time.

I lingered in an era
When the voice of one man
Could unify the sections
In a complex world.

I flowed in his guidance,
Dined in his glory
As though I existed
In his peak of enthronement,
His conferment of Grammies.

Bedazzled by his flexibility,
I was blessed by his power
To rein in anointed glory,
Unending immortality.

I was born in an empire
Governed by a king;
The king of pop,
A king in the world,
Father of offspring
As multiple as stars.

Electrified by a star,
There shall never be another;
Another motion slider,
Another shining star.

And though he passes on,
I shall live to declare
That I was born in a time
Ruled by a legend,
Guided by an immortal,
A world of Michael Jackson.


Copyright © Dowell Oba | Year Posted 2009

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A Piece Of Me Is Missing

It's like getting your leg amputated
For a while the phantom limb throbs and aches
Until you recognize and accept the fact
That it's just a ghost playing evil pranks

A phenomenon occurs in the morning
That will forever remain a mystery
Those few seconds between waking and sleeping
When you don't yet realize who or where you are
You get a short reprieve until
"Oh yeah, I don't have a leg anymore"

For HGarvey Daniel Esquire's contest 


Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2012

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Rain Dance - Free Falling

Listen to poem:
look a rain drop see
falling from the sky
it'll hit the ground
wave your hand buh-bye

up there in the sky
right now it's high
falling from above
is it going to die?

when angels cry
sometimes in july
like people in a way
it's easy to see why

i need more time
today it rains again
i have to say more
its almost six a.m.

soul mind and flow
your heart will race
while rain drops fall
in a glorious dance

so many of them
we call it bad weather
weak on their own
a strong force together

a waterfall of thoughts
something to ponder
back to the story
bright light and thunder

this drop is me
that one is you
came out from a cloud
from an ocean of blue

form an allegiance
create a cirlce of life
two drops of water
we are falling in love
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
rain drops fall over and over
come down go up no end to this story
rain drops fall over and over
phenomenon i call free falling


Copyright © Pavel Popov | Year Posted 2016

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CHINA TOUR THOUGHTS 3


China Tour Diary Moment #3
SHANGRI-LA, TIBET
--------------------------------


Paradise on earth: Himalayan range;
A phenomenon carved by elements;
Here magic gives birth to ways that seem strange;
A place where lessons of soul mark movement.


Our tour coach winds round the mountain terrain;
Drive on man-made roads and excitement here;
High above the ground, feel Spirit's refrain;
See wonder purge loads as soul knows fond cheer.


Feel the calm ambience on this grand vista;
Our tour group enroute with highway mileage;
Notice a radiance beyond agenda;
Shangri-la calls out in hidden lineage.


Four hours on-the-road with punctuated stops:
And then our eyes sight the Himalayas;
Cold air sifts heat load as bones feel cold mop;
There's a mystic light that comes in layers.


I feel the splendour of an unseen touch;
There is a measure of peace that surrounds;
I sense a grandeur, an aura as such;
There is calm treasure in Tibetian grounds.


Now I start to know why I've always felt
The allure that calls me to this strange place;
No logic can show the knowing that melts;
Understanding frees reason with sure grace.


Mister Mao's China annexed old Tibet;
The surge of new change has come to this land;
Modern agendas have altered mindsets;
Now ancient and strange meet a reformed blend.


Here, the ancient lores permeate the culture;
Ways of new and old mix and mingle free;
Yet yarns from before linger to nurture;
The life streams unfold in primal beauty.


There is a certain atmosphere serene;
An unspoken feel, an unseen presence;
How can I contain what words find extreme;
Beyond mere goodwill, a visage transient.


Perhaps my musings are self-engendered;
Still, I sense a touch beyond description;
I wrestle feelings to learn things tender;
A pulse and a nudge hints contemplation.


Herein I realise a man's life reveals
Moments and outcomes as change casts a light;
Heed glimpse beyond eyes that grace now fulfills;
A certain light sums splendour beyond sight.


Tibet weaves a charm with calm caresses;
The land breathes and tells in soul vibrations;
Grazing grounds and farms, and homestead houses;
On stillness I dwell in meditation.


We check a road map that cites agenda;
Stroll through ancient grounds to match new-found sights;
Climb a hundred steps to a pagoda;
We greet lost and found in the midday light.


Capture a brief stay with silent prayer;
Walk through temple hall as icons preside;
Allow heart to stray with true wayfarer;
Feel calmness mingle as silence provides.


The day follows swift in twists and turns here;
A sojourn that sends us deeper within;
Here we turn the cliff and help our hearts steer;
The bold homeward trend to moments unseen.


Mountains and valleys loom in pleasant sight;
A personal space between man and grace;
Joy fills the alleys with spring time delights;
Notice time and place reveal a sure pace.


The song of the wind can be heard howling;
No human voice can imitate this poise;
It comes yet unseen to groom brief stirrings;
Touch can thus rejoice with soul's preferred choice.


In the new dawning, we tour the vast park;
Take a coach upwards, climb the mountain road;
Then hike surroundings to sightsee our marks;
We circle towards where the end unloads.


Yet, brisk as we come, too soon we depart;
The sun plunges slow as coach speeds away;
Awareness now sums in soul, mind and heart;
No words can frame glow that settles our stay.


As our day retires, we find fruitful rest;
There is a feeling of a day well-spent;
Gratitude fuels fire as sleep cultures fest;
Sunset concealing as cold winds attend.


Tomorrow we take the road somewhere far;
This feeling of calm will bless our journey;
Movement surely makes spring time moments star;
Spirit's healing balm soothes pulse and sets free.


Beyond time and space, a continuum strange;
Know then that love dwells within and around;
Greet soul face-to-face in full depth and range;
Allow poise to tell fond joy that peace grounds.



Leon Enriquez
28 May 2014
Singapore

(Note: Written in China, Shangri-la, Tibet on Monday 26 May.)


Copyright © Leon Enriquez | Year Posted 2014

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She use to be Rae

From what she was in high school
to what she is right now
Some may  consider a phenomenon
while other marvel how

I remember the face of the cool cool girl
in the class before me
Vanilla chocolate was her flavor
a favorite for sure I've seen

Though thirty years has past 
there was still something to see
She was the woman I always knew from a child 
the woman with ageless beauty

You know the color of her lips
and the mascara around her eyes
you know the shape of her cheek bones
her boney fingers and perfect smile

There is a beauty that we call elegant
often found on wedding days
but rarely doe's this elegance
grace our wrinkles and grays

Yet I still wondered where she came from
this woman of grey delight
Always high maintainence 
always someone's wife

But how shall I describe her 
this woman that I know
The immortal beauty that took others places
Others that were there before she showed

Destiny is a force that cannot be stopped
The place where she is that awe and shocked
time is a blessing depending on how it's spent
But beauty is a lesson testing the bearer
and the one to whom beauty was sent

Though I speak of thousands of women
there is one that looks the best 
The queen of all the goddesses
for whom there is no contest

The woman I see is timeless
she hasn't always been the rage
But now that she's past fifty 
she wears the beauty of that age

But looking past the beauty 
is the life you may not see
The horrors of real life
hidden by ones fantasies

When makeup is mostly for mirrors
and not the world outside
Beauty is only a mask
and compliments sooth the pride

The shell of forbidden beauty
hidden by an unattainable goal
And yet this untamed beauty
may posess a lonely soul

And life may hold larger things
than we could ever imagine
But what can be more beautiful
than this wonderful distraction.


Copyright © john loving iii | Year Posted 2015

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EcoTherapist Conventions

Truth is a feather 
pushed off to the other side.

Truths are a body of feathers
within which our bodies reside.

OK, students of life’s healthiest purposes and meanings,
it’s time to regather, if you would be so kind.

Namaste.

[Silence]

[My EcoTherapist is trying to recall our bicameral minds with ecological bodies.]

[More kinda creepy silence.]

[I wonder if I have time for a cigarette.]

How do you understand “mind” as other than “body”?

[OK, she leads with a dualist assumption
for a session advertised as nondualist,
so the correct answer must be,
I don’t.]

Which, mind or body, do you believe came first,
or do you believe,
as I do,
consciousness and biosystems co-arise nondually?

[I knew it!
Biosystems are self-identifying consciousness-rememory 
DNA-encoded systems, or RNA, if you’re a tree or something green,
from before the time when physical root systems
transubstantiated into metaphysical regenerate root bilateral,
then bipedal, 
then bicamerally balancing,
eco-political systems.
I remember our history of biological evolution co-mentoring sessions,
out on the coral reefs of time’s surfing copresence.]

If mind emerges from reiterative and redundant and resonant neural-cellular development,
in these, and probably other, senses co-arising nondually,
then what do you think could survive of your Ego identity
upon total biosystemic flatline demise of your natural-chemically elementary cellular body?

From where would sensory consciousness and memory emerge?
From when, and for how long?

[Hang on there now. I’m stuck back on the where question, 
which I think should probably default as Nowhere,
Ego emerges from nowhere?
No, no, If dead,
then Ego as sensory consciousness and memory is nowhere
at that time, and on into the future of EarthTribal evolutionary history.
No such phenomenon.
No such experience within continuous Earth-spinning Time.
I think?
But only as long as I dance this Ego-consciousness string
I am]

As your mindbody decomposes,
is this really still your Ego’s story?
In that future time of opportunities for health and relationship
and transactions,
capacities for ongoing communication,
you struggle to face their mortal loss now, projecting forward,
we struggle together to find faith 
these lost opportunities are not your post-critical event
of loss, decay, absence, inevitable physical and mental defeat.

[I don’t even have faith that anyone will think that day
has come even one day too soon.
Nor would I care to invest in such an unwise faith.]

Or,
in the face of this inevitable termination of Ego’s mindbody story,
do you, 
as unfolding conscious memory-string of continuous information,
transform into your nutritionally reiterating responses and contributions
yet reverberating within EarthTribe’s ReGeneration Story?

Is your Ego expanding out toward Earth’s Story?
pregnant pregenetic, nearly timeless Creation Story,
out and yet deeply into this Elder (0)Riginal Intent.

Body memory transforming within ecopolitical truths of post-taoist beauty,
remembering—revolving—rewinding—reweaving
ecologic of Ego/Eco balancing
embryonic bicameral
dipolar cognitive/affective neural emergence
(0) CommonsCentered DNA/RNA code—syntax
healthy reverse development instructions
for normative natural/spiritual
mind/body elational resonant resolutions
giving oneself birth into this body’s time
as giving ourselves freedom
for time’s codependent love of light ourselves.

[My self-image emerges rather far toward the depressive side
of love as ecoconscious light myselves.
Oh, wait, maybe that connection between agape as Basic Attendance,
understory of all those relational dramas, and nonrelational boredoms,
and fears,
and angers,
and….]

Memories,
knowledge,
thoughts,
comprehension,
dissonance and dismay,
feelings of elation and relation,
anticipation,
innocence,
ignorance,
love and hate,
anger and fear,
all Ego’s products,
as Ego, in turn, is produced
by unfolding DNA instructions
within a nurturing DNA-developed warm embryonic pronoic womb
living in this specific time
within  Earth’s evolution of continuing ecosystemic health-consciousness.

[Oh, I get it, health as therapy-consciousness.
Puts a postmillennial twist on post-doctoral medicinal sciences.
Kind of self-serving, though, 
unless all humane-nature is for ecotherapeutic vocations,
in dying as in living,
in living as optimally visible through mortality’s timeless lens.]

What we inherited from Elder wombs of Time’s incarnation
is what Ego becomes
to cherish as responsible authority
rooted within teleologically exegetical historic evidence
unveiling regenerative evolutions as cooperative nested-networks,
and to let go free as a last pay-it-forward gift
to nurture future healthy regenerations of time
bilaterally echoing
fractal-polypathic light,
(0)-TaoWombTime.

[Why do I feel like I could use a bath
more than a cigarette?]

Time,
dualdark
deepdense Ego-Ecohypnotic co-elational learning bright,
white octaving night,
protons merging eco-lateral binomial electronically issuing waves
as Yes! reweaves notnot 
yinyin
WinWin embryonic-yet.

[I’m wondering if there is something in Taoist water
that regenerates this wu wei balance
spinning through my bicamerally revolving mind
as body?]

Could you become as curious about other’s Ego development stories
as you have obsessed about your own?

[Wait a minute,
when did I give you the OK to label me as self-obsessed?
Or maybe the balance point here 
invites comparisons between obsessive curiosities,
in which case
perhaps my own Ego health constant revival
does indeed lie most mortally on my failing mind.]

If so,
please note differences
but memorize Earth’s natural systemic similarities,
especially about what we all want our end to say
one day's capacities for love as peace,
about gradually subsiding incapacities of anger Ego losses
and fear of future Earth as sacred compost, 
transubstantiating post-climatic residency.

Namaste.

[Namaste.
Oh wait,
was I supposed to write that out loud?]


Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

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The Day our Moon Died

I awoke one morning
It was incredibly bright
I drew back the curtains
To a most amazing sight

It was like we had two suns
Orange orbs, floating in the sky
The heat that was being emitted
I felt the atmosphere dry

I turned on the TV
It must be on the news
From where i stand
Surely I'm not the only view

Is it a phenomenon
Or nature playing her tricks
The camera crews are at NASA
Lets see what they make of it

Deep in outer space
An explosion we can't comprehend
Has sent a massive meteor
To our moon it's journey ends

Our world is now in peril
The Moon held us stable
Can us scientists do something
I'm not sure we are able

There will never be many times
When the whole world stopped and stared
But this is one of those times
We have every right to be scared




http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-8.php


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009

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PHYSICS of the MOON

Physics of the moon
 
I feel the lunar ecstasy in your heart
Connecting our vibes from over 1500 miles apart
 
With every swing of my mood ring, my sensational heart will sing
An out of this world phenomenon tune, "you are my everything!"
 
Absorbing every phase the moon goes threw
Sending energy between me and you
 
When our eyes meet on the darkest side of the moon
Your body mass rotates like a cyclone hitting my land like a typhoon
 
Like the gravity that bonds the earth and moon together
Our souls will collide with a massive force of forever
 
The image of you appears at all times like a moon cycle
Like a cascade running all around my mind, like a halo circle
 
Our love and vision orbits through every star
Giving us light no matter how near or far
 
The stars throb around the moon like a secret signal in the night
While you inhale my energy that exceeds into the morning light
 
Like a rainbow that enters and vanishes into the twilight of our sky
Our first kiss under the moon beam will twist our tongues into a tie
 
A sweet magnetic shadow will remain under the half moon
Sweeping our love above the clouds to float like a balloon
 
Holding a reflection with the moon's tide
Our journey continued, side by side
 
Emerging our love to find its way soon
Like a love mirage with the physics of the moon
 

:)


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010

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Ode to a Toad in the Commode

One morning Dee woke to find the most unusual toad
Perched o’er the water line in the “bowels” of her commode
She put on gloves and sought to catch the elusive creature
But no matter how hard Dee tried, she just couldn’t reach her

So to the local newspaper, Dee wrote for assistance
A letter to the editor described Dee’s persistence
To her shock, the letter appeared the very next day
With her email below it for helpful hints to convey

Nearly seventy emails made their way to Dee’s inbox
Suggestions aplenty on how this critter to outfox
Some offered to come to Dee’s house and catch the motley toad
A biologist warned, “It can’t swim; don’t flush the commode!”

Dee lived very privately and wanted no strange house guests
So she declined “in-person” offers to pursue this quest
By day the toad managed to slip out of Dee’s gentle grasp
At night Dee reached for a toothbrush, felt a slithery clasp

The toad she called Todd was quickly escorted out the door
Although the potential for warts, Dee certainly abhorred
Newspaper staff got a kick out of Dee’s predicament
They called the next day to find out how her efforts had went

To all of the kind emailers Dee wrote of her success
But the public’s interest Dee was unable to suppress
So she wrote another letter, proclaiming, “The toad’s gone”
Concern for this toad was a noteworthy phenomenon

Beneath Dee’s letter describing Todd’s new outdoor abode
Was a cartoon and an ode to the toad in her commode



*Believe it or not, this is true!!!  Happened to me when I lived in a wooded area.
A helpful biologist said it was a "tree toad" and couldn't swim.


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011

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SUNSET vs' SUNRISE

SUNSET  vs'  SUNRISE 

** Sunset **
The afterglow flame 
Creeping under the cold creek 
Daylight, gone again

** Soap Dish **
Daytime TV blues
Tune in tomorrows soap box
Dramatic, dusk wind

** Evening Star **
Tired sound waves 
Waiting for eventfulness 
Hour of the beast

** Atmospheric **
Phenomenon Light
Under the zodiacal night 
Kisses and shivers 

** Twilight **
Locked in my slumber
Vampire face awaken 
Thirst like no other 
 
** Sundown **
Aurora fading 
What goes up, has to come down
crowfeet, black and white  
__________________________

~~ Tequila Sunrise ~~
Break of day, snooze 
Cockcrow without a whisper 
Coyote Ugly

~~ DAWN ~~
Same Situation 
Mentally agonizing;
Sunny side egg twist

~~ New Moon ~~
beautiful sun rays 
Sun awaits for ebony 
beautiful moonbeam 

~~ Adjust the Setting ~~
Breathtaking sunrise
Beyond the horizon sky
Sherbert colored beach 

~~ Skipping Rocks ~~
Glitter dusk on lids
Birds sing me a lullaby 
Kids playing by lake

~~ Sunrise Industry ~~
Shining superstar 
Golden streets with no stop sign
Lunch time draws nearer 

by;p.d.


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011

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Bayanihan

Tacloban City, 
Heavily Damaged: 10,000 feared dead, 
cadavers of ripped children litter on the streets, 
Ormoc City, 
Totally Devastated: People are desperate, 
the streets are infested with terrible hunger, 
looting is everywhere, 
The whole city: State with anarchy, 
Most of the communities on the coastal areas around the Visayas region: Literally wiped out, 
defaced from the map in a blink of an eye, 
washed away into the ocean by tsunamis of 15 feet higher, 
After the apocalyptic deluge of super typhoon Yolanda, 
sufferings plagued with painful sadness reign, 
dead mothers hugged by crying children still wet with gushing blood, 
a confused father carrying the cadaver of his young daughter, 
whole families uprooted, 
died in a split second, 
an old woman eternally searching for her dead sons and daughters, 
the old man shedding tears before the church's sacred altar, 
his mind could not imagine the magnitude of the devastation, 
an unthinkable natural calamity, 
such a tragic phenomenon he just experienced in his lifetime.

My heart bleeds while watching these heart breaking news flashed 
on television, 
in every corner of the victims' eyes are unimaginable sufferings beyond human comprehension, 
not even a poetic thought could find a word to describe the sorrow they are going through, 
even an artist's passionate hand finds it hard to portray on canvass the agonies of homelessness, 
worst than nightmare is that their dreams are swept away by heavy flooding.
how depressing to see them trembling under the bitter coldness without clothes.

Even the wrath of nature is terrible, 
the very nature that we abused for so long, 
but never loose hope, 
there will always be calm after the storm, 
as beautiful rainbow appears after the rain, 
you'll never walk alone through your endeavor towards rehabilitation and restoration, 
in spite of the political scandal of corruption that afflicts our country, 
the politicians that put us in global shame, 
the disease that we are trying to cure day by day, 
but always remember, 
we are filipinos born with a spoon of resiliency, 
deep in our hearts are true compassion for others, 
the spirit of bayanihan still dwells within us, 
hand in hand we help each other like a one big family, 
together we stand united, 
this tragedy will be overcame, 
and realize that this enemy is just but a small problem to beat.


Copyright © gianni pansensoy | Year Posted 2013

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GRACE

The autumn sky attunes itself to hearts,
a sour grey murky wash where lost eyes tire.
with insubstantial dust it affects so,
that vision blurs and minds retreat to when
those aged weary organs last supped hope;
and still they seek to quaff before it fades.

Mere dregs they hunger as the last joy fades
to quench beyond their volume broken hearts
and rehydrate that desiccated hope,
rejuvenate the goals before lives tire,
that minds may ponder not upon the “When?”
but concentrate on “What next?” and “How so?”

To take uncertain step, and take it so
as not to fear the fall if stair it fades,
would stir adrenalin so’s not to tire
the fragile confidence of tender hearts,
that they might respond quickly, those doves, when
presented opportunity to hope.

This then the grace of God, the wisp that’s hope,
which we in arrogance might dismiss so
upon our slightest whim and if and when:
an employee who on our command fades.
this grace exists beyond the grasp, the hearts:
phenomenon which will not doze nor tire.

See now how eyes do genuinely tire
as surcease emanates from new-found hope,
providing respite for those weary hearts:
hammock of restful sleep delivered so
the love embattled souls may rally when
their combined lumen some dark agent fades.

Thus through harsh winter flare as daylight fades
with fuel of ‘the multiverse’ entire,
the essence of which Lazarus lit when
his sisters had begged balm of Only Hope.
Such embers must be stoked to fierce blaze so
The Darkness may not touch creations’ hearts.

Faith should not tire when allocated hope.
Our God heeds not the ‘when’ of our say-so,
but stokes each heart with love that never fades.


Copyright © Perry McDaid | Year Posted 2014

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TO SPEECH PATHOLOGY

TO SPEECH PATHOLOGY A voice is something to treasure. An expression is nothing without this. You can feel the deep suppression when possessed by another human being. Speaking out and it becomes dubbed. No, you are not a mute. You do have a voice. To the speech pathologist, I ask can you explain this phenomenon. When pure thoughts are taken before they leave the mouth. Heard is the individual speaker but he or she is not saying the words. It is a crime for a voice to be stolen. It is a felony when the individual speaker is the victim of something so palpable. Once you begin to speak, you have learned the course. The passageway that enables it to not be your voice. Why, is asked. Is it because you are being robbed of fame and success. Or, is it because your physicality is being disesteemed... Especially when you are a poet that brings the tangibles of life unambiguousness. Why, therefore, is your voice being suppressed? To the speech pathologist, I ask can you explain these occurrences. That is when pure thoughts are being dispossessed. You are the writer of your prolific verse. However, speaking out and the words becomes dubbed. Therefore, your poetic style is not heard. How is a self-image without being expressed? As the poet or (poetess), gender is non-bias. But, when it comes to voice, you are your gestures. Intonation is, thus, your metaphorical expression. I ask the speech pathologist what is his or her call in this. I am a student from United States public schools that speech had to be assisted. I had a problem with the blend of consonants. I overcame this hindrance. Yet today there is a different kind of interference. Technology is everywhere. A vocal environment is what we have. I can see the cubicle I am within. As I speak, I see a domineering essence. How do I remove this from my presence? Phantasm is the word that is applied. I am my voice profound by pure thought. Is this an airborne disease of some sort? What is it like to be a poet without a voice? I will tell you this - it is no search entity which can capture a voice esteemed. I am the writer that intonation well surpass the eidolon of others' activism. As a political powerhouse, scrupulous and intact. The vision of divinity has manifested. Both together, but the same in separate places, a voice is a voice in the eminence of what is being aforesaid. Once again. Speech pathology should investigate this singularity to the point that it informs individuality! ___________________________________________________________________| Penned June 14, 2015!


Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2015

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Frozen

                              I look outside and see the snow 
                                   running from the clouds
                              and even though it’s hitting the 
                          pavement at top speed, it lands ever 
                                     so gently and silently.
                               This phenomenon amazes me
                         every time it snows, which by the way
                      may or may not be very often where I live
                               but it does happen every year.

                           It really is quite beautiful to look at
                       when it covers everything like a beautiful 
                           white fluffy blanket. My eyes wrinkle 
                           at their sides as I smile at the beauty 
                         of earths white crown. Children’s voices 
                            ring with laughter playing in the soft 
                      newly created playground and snow blowers 
                              start their engines with a loud roar.
                                  Also this happens every year.

                           I sit here in my warm cosy living room
                           with my fireplace burning, enjoying the 
                            warmth inside and the beauty outside,
                     until nature calls my dog to come check her out.
                  I open the door and the cold air slaps me to reality,
                      and those green eyes of mine turn greener as 
                       I think of my neighbors south of the boarder 
                        who are still walking around with shorts on,
                     and despite the cold my envy burns every year.


                                  Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
                                                  12.17.2014
                                Contest: The Green Eyed Monster


Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014