This soulful hour comes after dusk
when failing sun breaks through
the pillars of trees... I roam alone
maybe to find rest on a hilly granite,
sit around and there, let my body
embrace light pouring down
into the woods, nourished by
all shades and colors of things.
Hearing my own silence
with a hint of windsong,
should i wonder if peace
be near? ...perhaps:
Like so, the higher self climbs
through the trellis of breeze,
arriving in a funnel of light like a ray
to gaze at, touch a god-like image...
Enthralled by an unknown pour
of surrender , I gently wander
through a holy city inside myself.
It sneaks up on all of us
Imperceptibly at first
But dawning slowly over time
Until it's time we took a hard look
In the mirror… and faced the truth
It's inescapable
It happens to all of us
First born, last born
People, places, governments, movements, principalities
It catches up with all
We must confront what we've become
Has the age of enlightenment become the age of entanglement?
That many-legged arachnid known as truth
Waits silently at the edge of the web… that tangled one we weave
When wonder becomes plunder, and balance becomes challenge
And the age of reason becomes likened unto treason
Who do we deceive… and what will be consumed?
When “pretty” really is never pretty enough
The pressure to look like everyone else is such a hassle. The pressure to have prettier eyes, skin, hair, body shape, and everything else. So why is everyone always so pressured to look different than they are. “The pretty girls have is better.” “The handsome boys have it better.” Why do we think like that. Well honestly, I don’t know because I do the same. “I wish I was prettier.” “I wish I had pretty blue eyes.” “I wish I had bigger hips.” Why can’t we be happy with what we have? “Butterflies can’t see their wings. They can’t see how truly beautiful they are, but everyone else can. People are like that as well.” -Naya Riveria. Where like butterflies. We can’t see our own wings but other can. Other people can see that your pretty or handsome but you can’t. Im sitting here writing this while im not even taking advice. I do wish i was prettier, i do wish i looked different. So why is pretty never pretty enough for anyone.
SAILING TO GLORY
You can't rock my boat;
God’s my captain and rutter:
I am smooth sailing:-
Lonely leaf afloat
Along the muddy eddies
Swirling, stuck endlessly
She's looking for Mr. Right,
While he's looking for Miss Right.
Both of them seeking for 'The One'.
She lives on the western side,
While he stays on the east side --
They don't cross paths under the Sun.
She goes to church on Sundays,
Does good works and sings and prays
"Dear Lord, please help me find the One".
He's in a congregation, the same denomination,
That meets on the other side of town.
So she decided to look
For some kind of 'self help' book -
She did not want to spend any money.
Reading was his best hobby,
And they met inside the lobby
Of the local town library.
They both walked to the section
Of books on self-direction,
And both reached for the same book.
"Go ahead and take it." He said.
"No, but you were here first" she said.
"Why don't we read it together?".
A conversation started -
Since then they never parted -
Mr. and Mrs. Right forever.
If you'd be someone's Mr. Right,
Try to be your very best you.
And if you'd be someone's Miss Right,
The same advice goes for you.
Get an education to be interesting,
Develop a warm personality.
Exercise, eat less, be appealing.
Involve the LORD and visit the library.
The light of Self is in five sheaths concealed,
the grossest being this form made of dust,
then is the life force breath by breath revealed
and kundalini’s potent power thrust,
beyond which is lower mind we mistrust,
then intuition, aligned with God’s mind,
subtlest being bliss imbibed by hearts kind,
so when we speak of form it is all this,
where in our heart’s core, light of Self’s divined,
beyond space-time, in the void’s dark abyss.
In observer stance, as senses recede,
bliss magnetism silences lower mind,
whence surrendering thus, we let God lead,
our orientation, divine aligned.
When all traces of ego fade away,
as light of Self, bereft of attribute,
we have no fears or desires to allay,
hum of peace continuing to reboot.
There’s nothing to be done, we feel complete,
each playful intent, instantly fulfilled,
our pure being mirroring God’s heartbeat,
love, light and wisdom in our Self instilled.
We’ve strayed far from God but yet can return,
by invoking grace in mind-body urn.
silence swallows time, vaporising space
Self, which is heart does with God’s heart entwine
in no-thingness Self with Self does embrace
as living light, with God’s mind does align
Be gentle with your self
you’ve been strong and courageous through drama
your troubled heart’s deserving harmony
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
the all seeing spiritual eye shines
as God’s self-existent luminous flame
being the source with which our soul aligns
then ego gives each sense organ a name
forgetting God from Whom boons of grace came
and so recognising we are That Self
we delight in life that flows by itself
immanent in each cell of form
we feel God’s lustrous presence warm
wherein thus as boundaries blur
bliss beats rise as nodes within stir
and with no doing done at all
that we’re living light, we recall
some loves bout lost come go almost all sorts
motives remain true pure until find not
list least cain hope fewer no good reports
still life like love moves backing forth cold hot
back outing again own each such sigh wish
loss lasts long gone fast run use eye oui next
stuff split rough two there one bright here blue dish
but still be same unself self sans pretext
wait patient fourth floor first ready confess
one day then now was dreamed real life unfold
four most seven great death comes not success
some would telling kisses end life untold
try may believe yes if not near reverse
mind conceives lives another universe
Call it karma, call it fate, call it destiny
There is a force unseen that blows our course.
And yet as we roll and tumble
We wish to be free
And so resist
Shake our fists in defiance of the gods
And innovate, invent and imagine our way
Into a better life.
But still we suffer pains and dissatisfactions
With every up and down,
Still we roll and tumble
Along the path of our destiny.
But the spark of freedom catches and glows
As we feel it is our right to be “Me!”
My body my choice, my mind my choice
My life to be self-determined…
As the path divides and turns
Into a broad tangled delta
Before the sea.
Where does it all end? We don’t know
But we can see
The desire to be our own gods of destiny
Unleashes every possibility
From Pandora’s transhuman box of demons
In our lust to just be me.
(9/15/25)
We feel a call sometimes
To be sublime or kind
To think we can find
the right path aligned
With our close knit group, devine
We pass the time pointing at opposite side
Throwing a fit, claiming they're not legit
I submit to a higher power that I've claimed as my own
prone to fits of self righteous rage on a stage of my life
In time i might improve
In time i might remove these moments that blind and misguide me
The only way i see clearly now is to answer the call i feel.
Specific Types of Self Poems
Read wonderful self poetry on the following sub-topics:
acceptance, confidence, dear, determination, esteem, future, harm, hate, identity, inner, love, note to, personality, reflection, sacrifice, worth,
and more.
Definition | What is Self in Poetry?
Poems Related to Self
automatic, ascetic, autonomous, narcissistic, subjective, autogenous, automatous, autonomic, endogenous, narcistic, myself, character, individuality, person, ego, identity, personality, narcissism, personal, egocentrism, psyche, individual, identical, own, selfhood, substantive, individualization, oneself, proprium,