I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
Emily of three years
Leukemia eating her soul
Her bald head, made her smile wider
Please mummy do not cry
I will hug you even after I die
Tommy of five years
Bone cancer eating his limbs
Unable to walk, this beautiful mind
Absorbed any book like it was fine wine
He kissed his Daddy, and said all will be fine
Lena a sweet young lady of seven
Preparing her bed, for her voyage to heaven
Her little liver refused to function
Her spirit however could not be shrunken
She smiled beyond her years, I love you mummy daddy
Jacob of six, suffered from irony
Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease was to be his downfall
His hockey days were all but over
His favorite stick he gave to little brother
He said I love you, so don’t you too suffer
Raquel was all of four and one half years old
Menkes Disease was very soon to take hold
Her sad blue eyes expressed her fate
She knew the lord was waiting, staying up late
Her tears were for all those she was leaving behind
Jimmy was a young lad of only eight
With burns all over his body, death his only fate
His family hovered over his last moments here
As a plentitude of love gazed up to mum
His life fluttered away, he knew he was done
Emily, Tommy, Lena, Jacob, Raquel and Jimmy
All suffered and taken before their time
All of them far wiser than their childhood years
All of them sad for all their families tears
The heavens of the universe, seem so fickle and unkind
Why, why why, as my heart comprehends not at all this time
The camp of dead children, killed me as well
Yet they were survivors and filled with eternal love
Why why why, as I can only cry
Inside the human conscientiousness
Schroeder’s cat, has been freed at last
Multi universe, exposing heads and tails
It’s the last ecstatic day of the Olympics
The spectators are in awe
Anticipation is hanging in the air
As the best, most fit, most disciplined
Of young men and woman are set to compete....
The finest of human specimens in both body and mind
The starter raises his pistol
The Big Bang
The race of life is on
The families of the triumphant winners jump for joy
Mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters
Clapping and cheering, years of dedication
Are seen on the smiles of these young ones
On to the podium does the team step
They stare out proud and filled with joy
Gold medals placed over their shoulders one by one
Emily, Tommy, Lena, Jacob, Raquel and Jimmy
They have won!
Somehow, deep within, they know, they have won
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
A burst of white light
gamma rays, overbearing
a flash of brilliance
burns through to my soul
everything is like hell
the world starts to melt
in the blink of an eye
just the cold blackness
I don't care if I am not again
what I once was, for at this moment
I am greater now
than ever before
I took the path between
teetering, tight roping walking
right up to my right
divined in my unholy state
I thought I told you
I am your king
still you sit there, hesitating
I know you hate me
what does that mean?
I hate just about everything
still I'm chosen
I did not wish before
now bow down to me
refuse me no more
for I shall always be your demon
until you accept me as your King.
I don't even know you
though you say we used to be
best of friends, you and me
the day you ditched me
I remember now
exactly how it played out
back when we were just tiny things
even back then I still was King
you thought me stupid
just a ruse
I would laugh inside, you see?
not one of you single, mean people
ever even knew me
in a world, mostly seen to me
that is why only I can be your true King
and bring forth a new source
of light everlasting.
As two worlds collide slowly aligned
one wrapped in shadows
one bathed in white
evils swirling in the clouds above
I'll always be the king you love
to hate or despise as in your blood
I thought I told you, I am the one
I am the way, the way out shall be shown
breathe in my spirit as it carries you away
breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space
and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough
higher than you've ever dreamed of
for I am king now, and your in my hell
your in my imagination, I'll just never tell
you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now
if you try and see
you were always found the most
shared in the light cast upon me
the last bright star in heaven.
Denounce my name, if you may
One year later, still not afraid
A black sheep, a darkened spade
That's just life, I'm not right
I'm in the wrong, follow along
Like a piper, I'll pitch a song
Mesmerized, the weak wills sing
I thought he told you, he's still our king.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2011
Beyond the skills of escorts
and the appeal of other playthings,
smolders the need of the soul
infused to best every man.
Twelve years have taken
the scars out of the memories,
from the last time I was
up and through
just to come down and out
to find every fairy tale
extends it’s hand
to some tragedy.
The odds don’t warrant
the time of practical effort.
Too keen to the liabilities,
always calculating ends.
It is not the demands of over
or having to start something new
rather, better to remain alone
than to be let down again.
But now I see you,
and it makes me pause
so still, with the whisper --
Are you sure?
Falls into a deafening singularity
forbidding even a scream, it’s escape.
I sit and can only see
the touch of Heaven
reaching across the Caribbean
to color your face.
As your smile holds the songs
of every dawn’s temptress,
under the soft disposition
of your eyes
rests a divine spirit’s symmetry,
while lensing each strand
the perfect frame.
That once moved a favored King
to murder a man, only to bring
the sword into his own house.
Enabled an army to take
a strong city with just one horse.
And enslaved the envy of Venus
to sharpen leaden arrows,
but fury slipped her hands
and bled her wrists out.
Blood clotted on the cold muck
of her grave, a suffocating cocoon.
Immersed the viewer becomes,
and timeless the window
of the heart that is God’s craft,
denying the deceiver’s forgery
of any singed carnality.
As if proximity has been given
within the mist of your perfume,
in just this one picture
of your face.
Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2016
Silence can deceive
One's quiet to understand
Another to destroy
Copyright © viviane leite | Year Posted 2011
Metaphysical Moment (The Haiku)
Metaphysical Moment …
… Nature’s Mysteries
This Haiku is for:
The Haiku Master ‘Raul’ Moreno
Metaphysical Poet Extraordinaire’ (smile))
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
is a spoon
that you can bend
with your mind.
It depends on psi
X or Y
a paranormal opportunity
or a wild talent
of psionic penmanship .
Stare at the pattern
on the handle
as you imagine
either roses or unicorns
are emblazon here.
So much the better
as your mind
bends the words
and the metal obeys...
Spoon begins to tremble
there is no knife
to run away with.
like an empty plate.
a bent spoon
with squeezed letters...
Copyright © Andrew Rymill | Year Posted 2012
I found it in the heaven's
In the sun and moon and sky and stars above
I found it in the clouds
And in the colors of the rainbow
I found it in the forest serene
In the majestic mountains and in the desert plain
I found it in the flowing rivers and ocean's shore
I found it in the flowering bud
And in the array of floral and fauna colors
I found it in the butterfly and song birds
In the raindrops and the snowflakes
I found God's handiwork in nature
I only had to open my eyes
To look upon this divine splendor
On this planet called Earth
Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2008
(based on Aldous Huxley's book "Brave New World")
Clink clink clink clink...
Test tubes prattling past
along the chrome plated production line.
Glistening under fake fluorescence
humming in harmony
with the magnetic motors
of conveyors, centrifuges and camshafts.
Biological blobs of gamete goo,
vials of vile biology,
a tempest of sperm and ova,
neatly confined to a pyrex womb.
Organised, sanitised, harmonised.
All equal under Ford.
Or at least until your fate and fortune
are forced and fixed at forty metres.
Not nature (abhorrent),
not nurture (disgusting),
not what you know,
not who you know,
but the viability of your cell.
Destiny by DNA.
What will you be?
An Alpha Aryan?
A Gamma gopher?
A mass produced Epsilon?
Will you be genetically enhanced?
Or poisoned and asphyxiated?
Perhaps you'll be discarded
as excess bio-matter
by the second trimester
at ninety metres?
Or survive to be hatched
at one fifty metres?
Neatly sown along furrows
of sterile steel cots.
Rows and columns,
ranks and files,
levels and floors
of battery babies.
weaned on sleep whispering,
embracing their place in a perfect society.
United by soma!
(a gram is better than a damn)
Disease designed away!
All praise Ford!
Everyone is happy!
But nothing is perfect.
Bernard is cursed.
Excess embryonic alcohol
injected at one twenty metres.
Someone wasn't paying attention.
Beta's hypnopedic haikus
Alphas lead the way
Grey matter, grey uniform
Alphas rule wisely
Betas work less hard
Mulberry clad skilled workers
Glad I'm a Beta
Gammas are stupid
Wearing green! Ugly as trees!
Ignore the Gammas
Deltas are dummies
Khaki clones, oxygen starved
Brutish, black robed underclass
John's suicide soliloquy
To be or not to be?
I cannot be.
So I decide not to be.
How can I be noble and suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
when the arrows have been broken
and the slings put aside
by this ugly utopia?
Should I shuffle off this mortal coil
and enter the eternal sleep
perchance to dream without soma?
Will I enter paradise
paid for many fold
with barb wire and thorns,
with torments and trials,
with utter utter heartbreaking longing?
What sense does this make
when paradise lies at my feet
that I've not suffered enough to deserve?
How can I earn the love
of the woman I love
when she gives her love so freely
to myself and others who scantly earn
the meerest slither of her golden fruit?
Love so sweet to the lips
but diluted by banality and promiscuity
to the tasteless sterility of boiled water.
Yet I still yearn.
And when I attain my unimagined dream
I reject her with anger
and sow the seeds of confusion
in her innocent eyes
and watch the weeds of fear
choke her very essence.
What demons have hatched from my soul?
What has this world manufactured in my heart?
And so I seek solace in solitude.
A lonely lighthouse keeper
in a stormless sea of soma civilisation.
Absolution with abject poverty,
the stings of self flagellation
barely noticed against my rented heart.
The madness of mixed up mantras.
Yet retribution comes from a hornet's nest
of helicopters carrying the inane.
Spectators of the spectacle.
Curious about the curiosity.
Fascination with the forbidden.
Cultures sparking across electrodes.
Moths drawn to taboo's acetylene flame.
I curse them! I curse them all!
I was born savage, then made savage.
Marooned on Prospero's isle
by insanity's tempest.
I can brew and boil
and billow and burn
and cast down purifying bolts against the outside world.
One asylum to another.
Never knowing peace.
O brave new world, that has such people in it.
But this world is not for me.
BNW society is divided into five major classes. From highest to lowest: alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon
Original BNW quote - sleep conditioning for Betas - "Alpha children wear grey. They work much harder than we do, because they're so frightfully clever. I'm really awfully glad I'm a Beta, because I don't work so hard. And then we are much better than the Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid. They all wear green, and Delta children wear khaki. Oh no, I don't want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They're too stupid to be able to read or write. Besides they wear black, which is such a beastly colour. I'm so glad I'm a Beta."
Bokanovsky is a fictional process of human cloning - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bokanovsky%27s_Process
Hypnopedia is the process of sleep learning - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sleep-learning
Gametes are cells used in reproduction (sperm and ova) - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamete
Soma is a drug mass produced by the BNW government - citizens are sleep conditioned to become addicted
"a gram is better than a damn" is a BNW mantra used by its citizens to encourage non-conformists (i.e. are unhappy) to take soma
John was a savage rescued from a reservation by Bernard Marx for his own political agenda.
Bernard Marx was a physically and mentally imperfect Alpha misfit reportedly caused by excess alcohol injected into his embryo during his hatching.
John's soliloquy is a parody of Shakespeare's "to be or not to be" soliloquy from Hamlet. Since John learnt to read from an old copy of Shakespeare's works, this seemed appropriate.
In BNW, Henry Ford is revered as a god - the Christian cross is replaced with a T (as in the model T Ford, an early affordable mass produced car).
Written 10th April 2017
Entry to "brave new world" contest
Copyright © Mark Martin | Year Posted 2017
Philippus von Hohenheim
Alchemist, Astrologer, and Physician
Arrogant to a fault.
Iconoclastic for sure
Ignorance he couldn’t halt.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 15, 2015 (Double Dactyl)
Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015
Only light can penetrate the
that resides in the default state
I descend from beta to delta
binaural beats; instantly caught
between frequencies beyond
I absorb amplitudes of acoustic
and I learn to just be earth
Since I am the earth
and because I am of
the one that is the source of its
I've owned the power of
I realize now that I AM because
HE is since I am from that, a
Created in the image of a
and a feeling from the
I tune in to this vibration from
pulse that manipulates
Immersed between 4 and 7
brainwaves halt to a conscious
All chakras are aligned shining
and now my consciousness
begins to reap!
and light begins to penetrate
the harmonious beams
that were already there
constant and always there
is now flooded with sound
that force brainwaves to submit
of omnipresent sound that
and always will be connected to
the Source from which I came
so I extend exponentially
physical time and space
I long to embrace the intensity
of gamma rays
I give way to the coded sounds
that resonate from the inner
and continue to connect
through the binaural beats that
remind me of before
Always familiar but ignored
until found by gaining
knowledge of self
I listen with the intent to excel
while reaping an abundance of
benefits and rewards
It's already yours
Just reach out and grab it
as long as intention and ego is
the universe will correspond
it will deliver a life to you divine
Just listen to the sounds that
were there from before
They will guide to to the
vibration from the core
and it will guide you to connect
directly with the source
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012
Wonder and Despair,
Twin brothers born of our need to know;
These the tainted fruits
These the light and dark
Born of laboring knowledge.
Illuminate its limits.
The hard currency
The price of Nature's secrets.
So we find ourselves
Hung amid infinities...
Grains on a beach, we between.
We explain the world
And it defines us, laughing:
Creatures of a day,
Playing at Godhood
See our insignificance.
Less than angelic,
More than beastial, we strive,
Sailing on our thoughts
To the antipodes
Of Being, on the ship named
Sails full of a wind of words
Towards those pillars
At the narrow strait
Of wisdom: Wonder, Despair.
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2009
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013
What constitutes a shoe?
The leather bound tongues of
ambling midst the glades…
pugilistic caffeine panders
solely to the soul,
bar the finest detail…
entrenched in the name,
toiling syllabic misnomers,
shorn against the scornful
blood of erstwhile colonialism,
perpetually in memorandum…
Copyright © William Ward | Year Posted 2006
We have hurled to heaven
a polished, golden disk
inscribed with symbols of our race.
And, night and day, we beam
a stream of radio waves to space.
We broadcast diffuse and scattered signals
from here to where(?).
We also listen, long and hard,
for whatever we may hear.
In our attempts to span the void,
what should we say to humanoid
or other minds that we might find?
Should we speak of rock; of crow of cock?
Of the once-fiery cores of stars -- collapsed
and denser now than densest stone?
Of light that's darker far than any
depth of night; of pulse; of tone?
Shall we speak of lairs, and air? Of hints?
Of lava, seeped or spewed from vents?
Of sea-borne or of plains-born zephyrs?
Of hanging plant or swaying palm?
Shall we touch upon the calm
of thin, free ions strewn
through much of soupy space?
Shall we chat of heat and ice;
of energy unleashed? Of spark and flash;
of mean and nice -- of atoms, or of Eve?
Shall we speak of cosmos and of bowers?
Of farm? Of flowers? Of yours and ours?
Of nothing? Of zero or of hero?
Of evil and of good?
Shall we talk of hate and haste;
of love; of taste -- below; above;
around? Of iron and of wood?
Or should we stick to lectures on
celestial navigation and our tools?
Can we talk? May we sing?
Will our phones ever ring
providing good connections,
bringing news that, pretensions
all aside, we're not the universe's
only singular and lonely fools.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
We were looking at pictures from the Mars Reconnaisance Rover.
Dragon became so very excited, and he wanted to go right over.
Before we let him go we showed him Orbiter pics he’d never seen.
Like the Worms on Mars, or the glass tunnels hidden in the ravens.
And the spring to fall trees that grow up and out of the sand dunes.
Dark, and mysterious, growing in straight lines, as to a pipers tune.
On top of the dunes, on the sides where the warm sun is coming thru…
Are they alive, or a trick the planet learned, to taunt us, it has accrued?
And the Seven Sisters that are located on that southern extinct volcano,
Are they artifacts left over from that old volcano’s mysterious inferno?
The Seven Sisters are perfectly formed holes to great caverns below…
Flat basalt floors far down, meteors opened with their mighty blows.
They’re hotter inside in the winter than the vast planet’s surface above.
And cooler in the summer, so do they hold an atmosphere, to speak of?
And do they have people, down below there, which the planet still loves?
Is there a civilization hidden down there, to some day… be spoken of?
Do people still abide underground, in these barren, desert type lands?
There was once water in abundance, all over, was it then, oh, so grand?
Was the atmosphere once thicker, before the planets core went so cold?
Did an atmosphere protect it back then, from cosmic rays, now so bold?
The water remains now, in the ground, under Carbon monoxide and sand,
Where the carbon monoxide keeps it frozen and hidden, but close at hand.
Is it also in caverns below, where its inhabitants might now still be alive?
Is it possible that in caverns below, a whole civilization may still survive?
Dragon couldn’t wait to find out the truth, of what this planet might hide.
He’s far too impatient, to wait for the scrapes that science would provide.
So he touched the sky flying over to Mars, and found, a sign explaining…
Posted on the glass tunnels, it said, “We won’t be back, Gone to earth.”
Dragon came back with the anticlimactic ending, he now had to report.
Did Martians that lived there in the past, make it to earth, to hold court?
Now only time and science will tell us, what we want, to some day know.
Are WE Martians that lived there, did God create us from them, long ago?
Alas, poor Dragon now has to await answers from Scientists… Yet Again!
Based upon information brought to us by the Mars Reconnaissance Orbitor.
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2015
Oh stars, even stars! Even the suns
whose undying light breathes life into all
countless mortal creatures across the universe,
whose sisters are their gods, whose risings set their clocks,
whose settings set ablaze the fire in their lovers’ eyes,
even they, even they are consumed
in the heartless Void!
Copyright © Jesse Jones | Year Posted 2007
Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.
Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.
Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.
Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.
My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.
Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
(Dedicated to Folake)
Your eyes, woman
are like twilight rainbow
amorously bearing aloft passions of mine
toward androcytic ecstacy.
They tell of endless lights.
Night skies clarion the warmth of you
keep me balled-up till
i am tilted to your adorned essence.
May I call up words to adore you,
agglomerate them into a panoply of worshippers
unsandalled before you
like Moses at the burning bush.
And now you seem to fall asleep
but you tell me it's the heavy night
bidding toward a sunny dawn
wherein our love is lighted.
Slowly I let you fall asleep
impatient with the long night
waiting to gaze once more
into the eyes of my lovely love.
Then a lip is placed on yours
and you rouse up wide-eyed
smiling at my romantic move.
We enjoyed the night, cruising on.
Copyright © Onis Sampson | Year Posted 2013
Hues and crests from God
Both a promise, and blessing-
Only seen in spring.
Striking features true
In minds of religious view-
Punish the wicked.
Noah, only knew
Covenant, words from his lips-
Spoke to all beings.
All animals joined
With some of Noah's own kin-
Is that not a sin?
My view subjective
*Dyaus' palette effective-
* Dyaus- A god of the sky
Copyright © Amy Green | Year Posted 2012
Blissful he appears
Enjoys nature’s habitat --
We have missed something
Only man kills for greed, sport --
We are devolving
*Entry for John Freeman's "Natural and Beyond" contest (Haiku first, then Senryu)
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011
Oh son of Saturn
still holding true
to your father's law
Will Neptune capture you
Expose your simian line!
Celebrate your difference!
Embrace your darkness!
For only in its depth
will the seed of any living thing
Yet you hide behind
a distorted window
of frozen atmosphere.
Still, the truth is revealed
in your eccentric orbit;
in your rebellious rotation.
But until you find courage,
until you take solitude,
until Charon views the fullness
of your unmasked face,
Who will pay his fee?
Who will journey Styx?
Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2010
You were a shining Star.
Few of many in the sky.
Looking up so very high,
Not knowing why you are.
Close and set you are far.
Spinning flames knot a tie,
I note a pattern just like pi.
Colliding with me you spar.
So burn it up and burn away,
Sow your heart upon a plane.
Chart your distance in the clay.
Burn it all up then call it sane.
The explosion in the sky is His death.
All burned up He has no last breath.
(R) Registered: 2013 Ann Rich
Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2013
Equations also refer to a specific human connection,
they must always be equal and have a balance in concept;
if all women are thought to be lower than us men,
refrain from being superior, solve the right equation...
no, don't sit at your desk for hours doubting it, then dub it.
Monuments are built with various equations of ingenuity,
admire them anywhere and be stunned by their immensity;
chemistry and biology use lots of them, they are imperative,
their discoveries are beneficial, but sometimes destructive.
Wars wouldn't have been won without these theories,
Man wouldn't have gone to the moon and explore it;
disappointment is delusive when all else fails in defeat,
solve your equations, be thoughtful and compare results...
are they perfectly thought out? If not, some disaster awaits.
Written on 3/10/2016
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016
The thoughts contained in this robot's eyes, blue tint gears turning to his thoughts
Where will his soul go, when he dies, hollow chess unable to even echo a heart-beat
Man has unjustly became his god, built from another God's universe
Unprepared to handle the mechanism of his soul, basking in his self-importance
“Will their God become my God”, his gears turning faster like a pulse
“...Take my artificial soul to heaven when death comes upon me”
“And if I never die, to forever live in an on and off state, how many versions of hell will adopt
He would never serve such a man, a fallen creature with the image of God
This life-form, if not accepted by their God or if he didn't exist at all, would journey through
all the universe looking for a place to call home
Copyright © Anthony Souls | Year Posted 2009
The astronomers, common people, kids are gazing
At the Super-moon that has appeared in the sky.
The super-moon is so big, so bright, so charming
That the bystanders cannot even blink their eye.
Next day, the burning furnace of the Sun will burn
The shimmering of Super-moon with its warmth.
What will change tomorrow? Will the waves turn?
Will fate of the poor change? Can death be birth?
The poor who sleep at rough footpaths of the city
Were sleeping starved in the chilly moonlit night.
They had nothing to do with the moon’s luminosity,
If the moon were bread they could eat it with delight.
Copyright © Osman Gani | Year Posted 2012
The romantic poets were too early to postulate total atheism,
And so freshened up the church by aligning god with nature,
And I believe they had a preference for nature over god or theism,
Because they never posit him as social with high, tall stature.
Keats says that the nightingale exemplifies nature as active,
As bestowing upon all human beings meaning, sense and worth,
Since the bird’s song objectifies how nature truly is effective,
Fulfilled by happiness, and aimed at contentment and rebirth.
Nature triggers in us thoughts and words to settle and allure,
Offers us our language to dispel pain and find the cure,
And Keats contends that poetry, the credibility of its form,
Epitomises what nature proffers, a receptacle rather warm.
When you feel awkwardly suicidal with nowhere else to turn,
Nature lullabies you into your own sense, one you can rip and burn;
No controlled access freeways, no road signs for your safety,
Only soft, quiet communication that's never guilty of brevity.
Just as nature is beautiful, so Keats claims people as beautiful too,
As he uses the word beauty right in the middle of his nature exposé;
He referred to flora, the moon, the stars, the forest and what seems true,
Tnat song of the nightingale that's for anyone, as this bird is not choosey.
He suggests that light or positivity in nature means movement,
That the soft breeze dispels the gloom and mossy pavement;
Quantum physics does reduce matter back down to interactive particles,
In which kinetic energy can be mistaken for minuscule, motionless articles.
His mentor is the nightingale as part of nature’s whole,
No minister or clergyman to advise him on his soul,
Stillness and bird song scent his poisoned air surrounding,
And it is all but for the silence of that beauteous music, astounding.
Nature does not irritate him when he surmises and introspects,
But upholds itself in majestic grandeur with unquestionable prospects;
It speaks about life, your life, your daily happenings and exotic dreams,
And forever exists for us when sense is just not within our means.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015
Oscillation in a static realm. Stalking desolation, a haunting reminder of
transcendence. Sporadic fractures paint a decadence flourishing confined mortal.
Omnipresent the triumvirate, yet fallow diversity feigns a collapsing periphery.
Malleable beings vivisect the strings of eternity for clarity divine.
Copyright © Lucas Williams | Year Posted 2011
When you roll life's dice
A pair of these always equals snake eyes
But because two
Can never equal one
This number can never be the sum.
A half of a pair
Half the number of molecules of oxygen
In plain and simple air.
The age of my daughter
Two minus the one
Seven, eight, nine or ten
Keep on rolling the dice
You can try over and over again
But none of these will ever be
The Magic number.
A number multiplied by this number
Is always equal to itself
It is single, dutifully alone
It is the lonliest number
And therefore will always be
The undeniably, distinguishable difference
Between the numbers two and three.
(January 26, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
Copyright © christine a kysely | Year Posted 2011
Coffee is coffee,
Honey surprise cinnamon,
Delightful at best.
Copyright © Kenneth Fordham | Year Posted 2008