Verse Philosophy Poems

These Verse Philosophy poems are examples of Verse poems about Philosophy. These are the best examples of Verse Philosophy poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

Hourglass

Sand falls
Through the glass
Love falls
Within the past
Memories dance
They never last
Head in my hands
As I stare overhead
At the hourglass


Falling Down Stairs

Stairs broken
Wheels unspoken
I fell
Grasping for air
Are you there?

Piano Keys

Playing me
Rhythms dancing free
Clouds in air
Notes tossed in despair
Are you there?


Voices

Echoes
Broken wings
Wounded sparrows sing
Clinging to clouds high in sky
Chirping symphonies
Knowing not at all the why
Never loved…
Never loved…
Never hugged
In solitude wonders fly
No one
No one is there



In the Key of Despair

Tap tap
Music in the ear
Flowing freely in the salty air
Beethoven, are you there?
In the breeze, I hear the notes
My mind runs away, it floats
Pain drowned in the river
Limbs frolic on shores of hope
Keys somber in black and white
As I touch them
It conveys the fright


Strings

Choking, not me, but the air
Credenzas and waves
Washing away the realities
Of all your trivialities
Whilst I whither and fade away
Inside a musical symphony
Strangled on lusty desires
Are you
Are you there?


Sleep

Notes hither and floating in the breeze
I look up
The moon
My last breath
My last hope
My last wish
A kiss from the one I never met
The moon hides under cloud
My eyes in tranquility close
The beat no longer in time
No longer there
Where ever I am going
My last thought
Are you there?






Violins and Other Things

Distractions
Deformed from loves inaction
Teardrops falling on time
Rolling down passages
Where darkness does dine
Notes high, notes low
Treble as I grasp the clef
The conductor knows all that is refined
In the end
He shall consume the wine
As I, was consumed by time


Masterpieces

The piano full of dust
Brushes dipped in paints
Now turn to dust
There is a poem over there
In the corner
By the naked painting
Of my Caribbean liver
That cried and wept
Day and night
Night and day
When willows swayed
And the raven landed
On the sill
Of the empty room
For I am no more

Silence whispers
Are you there?


Guitar Strings and Clouds

I caress the strings of discord
Melodies shouting
Displeasure
Credenza’s and interludes
Wine intrudes
The senses squished like sour grapes
Emotions boxed in crates
I caress philosophy
As my garden sadistically does undress
Taunting the desires of my illusions unrest
The rose and the rain drop
Embrace
I cry


Last Act

Once was life
One…… tear…   one tear…… drop
One gasp of fear
Fate licking……………………… deaths ear








Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017




Details | Free verse |
The Park Bench

I wish I was a poet
With magical words
To make people see all of the absurd
Tears fly, paintings in pastel die

When we look into our mirrors
We sometimes miss
What love dumps upon all of us
We shed tears, for we forgot to shed fears

I have no legs, nor any crutches
So my voyage has ended
I only observe
Sadness upended

When goodness is confused
When gestures are refused
When the kiss that could have been
When a poets tear seems obscene

The one who hears is often deaf
The deaf sometimes have nothing left
If I could give a kiss away
I would give it to lovers with hearts that sway

Drawing love on paper in may

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
The farm
     and the porch light hums 
the sound of another 
orange dawn.

Burnt up – crisp
      aching new reaches 
of the imagination turn 
from corn
      to wheat
to the pungent shade
of dried blood on hands –
kissing corners of a mouth
never kissed.

Sweeping ‘cross in whispers 
two thousand years
      and more, come
words on the flat-line horizon,
dripping sideways,
like a red cat's eye marble 
on a circular seesaw
that knows no bounds;
rolling infinitely back
     and forth - 
ringing through ears that were once
in that ago (can you hear it?)
hearing the coming of a storm 
     being heard 
by another set of ears,
in some other when –

     some other marble.

When, speaks the unspoken.
When, treads where none may tread.
When, grips the barren outcroppings of space –
playing the unending moments –
where no other question hence forth

can grip.

Night sounds come in floods
of mauve,
      and quiet apricot;
slicing through oceans,
unsung,
      where no ears hear.

The farm: echoing, lowing and fawning –
Trying to stay true 
      to form,
bleeds into the fibers of a dream
once lived –
recognizing its existence
through the act of a moment, 
      lived.

The girl turns to face 
the enormity
of all she has yet to hear upon 
      the brazen, blazing horizon;
she strips down to goose bumps 
on the skin
that God gave her; 
opening her mouth to hear all
that she is –
 
      breathing in the dawn 
as it breaks.

The farm notes this coming.

The sky knows;

The wind knows.

The earth knows - relaxing
at her feet
      exhaling
through her soles,
resounding through the mouth
of the un-kissed,

breathing through this land; 
humming through porch lights,
spinning through atoms,
sifting though heavens,
recorded through lifetimes,
      and through into another’s
open mouth.




© Kristin Reynolds 1/9/09

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009




Details | Free verse |
My shadow flirts with the sun
As I caress the darkness
We are one and separate
As my shadow smiles
Anxiety suffocates me
The shadow will soon fade
I shall die
One happy, one not

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |


it was the sixties
we were young
we were going to change the world
spin it like a basketball on our finger
take the three point shot 
win the game
we had great leaders 
john, robert, martin...

the planet was singing 
with the purity of a four year old
...
The ants go marching two by two;
The little one stops to tie his shoe,
...
then 
it started raining bullets
our optimism soured
slightly at first

and the grassy knoll
and the sniper
and the magic bullet

john was shot 
jackie squirmed
we sat on the edge of our seats

The ants go marching four by four;
The little one stops to shut the door,

John F. Kennedy was assassinated 

The ants go marching five by five;
The little one stops to take a dive,

years had passed, five
look before you dive

the civil rights movement gathered 
to fight for their God given rights
the right to be treated as humans 
exactly that...humans...no more no less.
to listen to the man who had said
"Nonviolence is a powerful and just weapon 
which cuts without wounding and ennobles 
the man who wields it. It is a sword that heals."


the man who stood on the hill speaking
"I have a dream today!"

The ants go marching seven by seven;
The little one stops to pray to heaven,

Boom, boom, boom, boom! 

Martin Luther King Jr. was shot 
died

and my God it rained 
it rained salt
as a nation black and white cried

The ants go marching nine by nine;
The little one stops to check the time,

time for the rise of Bobby
Hoorah! Hoorah!

Boom, boom, boom, boom! 

i wish he could have ran faster than the bullets
they murdered John's brother
Robert F. Kennedy was dead

the sixties where almost finished
and i wondered 
if the world would ever be the same
again

I marched away buried my face into the ground
To get out of my pain.

great leaders lost
words that radiated 
radiate hope

America was
the envy of the world

it's two thousand sixteen 
and we have sunk so deep into the dirt

i know we can't Trump this disaster 
have you ever heard of fools gold
we have a choice
our lives count

remember the ants
nature's banner is blowing in the wind

don't make
the little one shout
"THE END!!" 




March 16 2016
armand 



Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Door to Nowhere


Royalty have Chateau’s
With moats and drawbridges

Artists have colors
Paints and brushes and dreams

The poor have soup
And Marie's gateau’s

The lonely have open doors
To nowhere

I let my baguette go hard and stale
So I could stab myself with nourishment

As my blood flows slowly
Through that door with no hope

I with no rope, fade away

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Why oh Why

A Collaboration between Seren Roberts, Tim Smith and Arthur Vaso

Poem inspired by Seren Roberts

Each poem written from a different view
The Murderer
The Murdered
The Mannequins who witnesses the crime


Why of Why
Lovers Die
Mannequins Cry


Sat, with his head in his hands
Remembering how love had once been,
Now, because of his stupidity 
He was on his own, solitary again

Remembering, how love had been,
Behind the bars he now calls home
He was on his own as before and again,
Realizing, he was such a petty bitter fool

Behind the bars he now calls home
His mind, aflame with tears of regret
Realizing he was an utter fool,
To have stabbed her to death in a bloody pool

 His mind aflame, with deep regret
 Why... did he buy a knife that day...why?
 To have stabbed her to death
 Cause she had given love another try.

Oh how he wishes, its he that had died


Lovers Die

I linger with the scent of flowers
cascading over what was once spring showers

Your red hands drip   passion
long since cooled
darkness surrounding you has lifted
and only I can see the light

Why couldn't you leave
a girl clamoring to be free
dressed in a burnt orange skirt
driven to the stake with your hurt

Words were written on the wall
but all you did was erase it all
Twisted   as the knife turns
in a cell    your hell burns


Mannequins Cry

We have no faces
We have no voices
You think we have no feelings
You see us as objects in commercial spaces

We saw the hidden knife unfold
We saw the young ones stabbed so bold
Pain is the emotion that frightens us all
Mannequins crying, tears running as we see her crawl
 
When the blood flowed
When the redness of hate showed
We with no faces
Shed tears at the human disgraces

Such young love so brutally robbed
By the jealous and lonely one, made us all sob
He regrets I am sure the hate that overflowed
Life's so torn it can't be sown

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Upon the twinkling of silent twilight,
tranquil thoughts set adrift, 
infatuated in elysian reflection.

The mind wanders, 
observing and listening - roaming;
avoiding confusing crossroads
leading into chimerical phantasms.

Overwhelmed by the darkness,
fervent fingers tremble,
yearning to bleed streams of serenity.

Suppressed soul whispers,
exposing sacred secrets,
releasing the mind from its chains.

Ink flows translating the meraki;
revealing a passionate poetic soul.
Empathetic emotions drain,
yet the soul desires to venture further.
Thirsting to dance forever in euphoric eunoia.

Meraki eruptions have no fear that
each drop may exhaust the pen.
For invictus ink is a valiant virtuoso,
calmly conquering consciousness 
to drift towards selcouth land.

Every muse lusts to manifest in meraki,
yet it is no miracle - it's a natural phenomena. 

The Silent One
27 November 2017


Meraki: The soul, creativity, or love put into something; the essence of yourself that is put into your work. This Greek word doesn't have an English counterpart.
Chimerical: Created by unchecked inspiration; fantastically visionary or highly improbable.
Elysian: Creative or beautiful; divinely inspired; peaceful and perfect.
Eunoia: Beautiful thinking.  Shortest English word that contains all five vowels.
Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet marvellous. An Old English word and can be found in Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe from 1814.
Invictus is Latin for “unconquered.

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017

Details | Verse |
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


Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
Oneness
                   Authored by Chuck Keys

It had no color,
Lacking shape, size and dimension.
It wasn't moving or breathing.

There was neither aroma nor taste, not here or there.
Touching was useless because it wasn't physical.
It was indistinct and limitless.

Thinking multi-physically
Multi-sensually and multi-psychologically 
It wasn't here or there and it was.

With no distinction, 
It looked like everything else,
Or it could not have looked like everything else.

It never made me feel good nor bad,
Nor happy nor sad
Nor quite nor trite.

In our world of joy and destroy, we sort and distort,
Looking more on the surface and less on the inside,
Ready to judge and be judged from outside in.

The "oneness" of mankind stretches beyond definitions and limits,
From outside to inside and from inside to outside.
We are one distinct and alike world of "oneness."

Differences exist for differences, 
Therefore, differences don't exist.
Only "oneness" exists.

DEDICATION:
This poem is dedicated to Dr. Clayborne Carson and The Gandhi-King Community,
For Global Peace with Social Justice in a Sustainable Environment.  
www.gandhiking.ning.com

Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
She sings in soft tones,
her magic exists beyond the obvious.
Listen closely to her wanting,
She is wrapped in a trancendent light.

A dreamer,
chasing white rabbits.
Grasping for the infinite,
with delicate hands.

A moth, 
Dances within her luminosity.
Flying on yesterday's wings,
carrying smiles that are meant for tommorow.
Witness her as she waits to exhale.

A daisy chain,
tied around her wrist.
A future promise to be kept.
For within her spirit,
exists a burning passion! 
She waits for one who is worthy,
of her consuming flame

Although she is unaware,
hers is a temporary sadness.
Happiness flirts at the edge of her dreaming,
waiting for an open window.
His shadow hidden behind frosted glass.

Shades of green,
turn brilliant yellow!
Buttercups dance around her feet.
Her laughter floats across the meadow,
as happiness runs to her open arms.

Together they skip, towards her apple tree.
For hers is a faith that trancends the temple.
Her spirit sought and found salvation.
He had been with her all along,
I can see it in her smile.
The rain has passed and sunshine now resides in her eyes!

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
The End of Love

A secret grief rips apart all that was
Slaves to the sexual caresses of time
Stallions in black gallop gallantly in fields
Of spring full wishes
Thou seeith the birth of love
Naked hopes surrounded by sweet perfumes
Seduced by the gods or by demon fools


Dancing, towards our own charades we sing
Funerals consume autumn’s dead poets
The gravestone cold and gray
We hug it like a long lost friend
One may see a battle lost
The other a battle won
In November we reminisce the soldier and singers too

Didst you know I was a prostitute?
Selling my soul to the hourglass of eternity
Foolishly hoping to sleep upon her breast
Shivering as others seem to fall right at deaths door
Brimstone, black and rose

The underbelly of St Laurent
Youthful boasts as the old man in cane hobbles
Generations sailed down the main
Some seeking solace others finding fame

Vaguely the recollections appear
Visions inside dreams inside the darkest fears
The end of love is near
For the hand above is reaching
As I float to the end of time

Enchantment in the crypts
Ravens dancing as they consume our mortal
Hearts
No smiles, no sleep
Thou did knowest I’m surely certain
The dance of death
Only to be followed
By a piper
And angels violins

Rags and shrouds, kiss them all goodbye
Hallelujah



In Memory of Leonard Cohen, a fellow Montrealer, 21 September 1934 – 10 November 2016.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Color me white, or color me black. Color
me brown, or color me red. Color me 
yellow, but color me to be just me.

Color me anyway you want. You are the 
artist, you know what to do, just capture 
my beauty and let it show through.

My beauty is not on the outside for everyone 
to see. My beauty comes from within and 
few people have seen.

Color me with the colors that you so much
love to use and when people see this painting,
they will see themselves in me.

The people will ask you - why did you put so
many colors on me and you will tell them - because
the beauty I did see.

The painting is now finished, the artist has done 
his job. A painting of many colors, that he is very 
proud of.

The colors bring beauty to the painting on the 
wall, but if we were all colored blind - we wouldn't
see any colors at all...

Copyright: written by
Lucilla M. Carrillo

Comments:

I wrote this poem because through out life 
I have seen a lot of injustice done, because
of who we are , or where we came from. We
did not choose to be who we are, or where
we came from. God chose that for us. I don't
think God made a mistake when He made us.
He had His reasons. We are who we are, that
can never be changed. We live in this world.
We are God's Race...

Copyright © Lucilla Carrillo | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
The easel beholds a half finishing painting
The paints beside have all hardened
Pain reflected in the partial emptiness
Staring back at that gathered crowd

The sun melts on the canvas page
Creation explained in elapsed rage
Notions and pleas from dried paintbrushes
Strewn across the almost barren floor

One to the other in whispered voice
I wonder if this would have been his choice?
Empty wine bottles twirling in light
Beside the dead body, a painting just right

There lies Art
In repose
His final painting
His last prose

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
Love Notes in a Bottle

It came as a last meandering thought
How could I know?
Maybe a thousand years from now
On a far away shore
Would exist a lady of mystical lore
Reciting sonnets of medieval tales
In magic forests, dreaming of love
As I love
Who could feel a bond so delicate as a doves feathers
A pain so strong, like a tiger wronged
That to part would mean emotional low tides to come

That she could feel the loneliness of night
The scent of the morning dew
The feeling of rain upon ones breast
The smell of the rose
The view of the meadows
The Laughter as the children danced
The plea of one whose heart bleeds
The desires to capture love and yet remain free

Her eyes would show her ageless beauty
Her smile would hide her thoughts
Wrapped deep
Inside of old love letters

She would sigh
As I recited old prose
We would hand in hand repose
Knowing growing old is how it goes

Alas she is but an image in my mind
A thousand years till birth
Or even more
A fantasy, that lets me die in peace
That someone could love as I loved thee

You were my past, and my eternity
Lovers who never took flight
Broken wings, and broken borders
Boundaries never crossed
Kisses though we never lost

On every wind swept shore
I wander with the birds scouting overhead
As wave upon wave of desolation slaps my head
A woman is over there by the sea
She but a stranger in the mist
So not at all is she thee

A thousand years from now
On wind swept shore
Will she be forlorn?
Weeping for the likes of me
Whispering inside, he was here but a thousand years ago
Love letters telling loves desires
Inside a bottle and buried in sand

Alas is the ocean not made of ancient tears












Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
I pursued a butterfly through the woods.
It fluttered, just always beyond my reach.
The more I pursued, the more it teased.
Stalking it, like prey, it just fluttered away.
I found  a moss covered log to rest,
Sitting in a serene, secluded spot.
A butterfly came ,sat upon the log.
I caught it in the palm of my hands.
It's wings became a rapid flutter,
Trying to escape my grasp.
I opened my hands , freeing it.
If we pursued things in life,
They become unattainable.
If we sit quietly and reflect,
they become attainable.
Chasing our dreams may be
as allusive as the butterfly.
Finding them as beautiful as the butterfly.

Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2011

Details | Dramatic Verse |

I was walking with two friends of mine,
when we saw a woman
who was tall, beautiful and black
They spoke lewd to her,
so she didn't speak back
In their rejected anger,
they cursed her in a cruel, mean tone
That's when I interceded,
and said leave the poor woman alone
My two friends looked at me
like I was some kinda traitor
That day we parted ways,
there would be no more days of see ya later

In a moment of truth,
will you stand up for the truth
Or will you back down,
and keep your mouth shut

It's moments like those
that reveal what manner of person you are
Will you be naked or clothed,
will your spirit be dark,
or will it shine like a star

Nobody ever said friendships are forever,
not when you have to compromise
your integrity in a matter

In a moment of truth,
don't keep your mouth closed
Let your voice roar
like a lion, strong and bold

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
                                                                   written on time’s page
                                                        with finite syllables of dust
                                                  he spelled my heritage
                                           from earth to sky
                                     along an umbilical line of faith 

                                 we fluttered from the lips of fingers
                           fully form for purpose
                       written on an invisible calculus
                that bring monarchs where birth mark lingers
            and salmons somersaulting sluice and streams
      turtles, penguins, and herons white wings
netted in design with nested tabula rasa  mind 

I have an argument
   against the beginning begotten from a bang 
      before atom or element
         I have an argument against force and natural laws
             at work without mass or embodiment
                 for embryonic gravity or forces weak or strong
                    I have an argument
                        that the singularity could not become more than fragment
                           of energy again if a single atom explode 
                              its forces flocking away from fusion
                                 for energy fission to explode

                                  a theory 
                         flimsy as spiders web
                  dethroning my majesty gulped 
          in primeval slime unlinked history from love
  minimizing the particular time of our becoming on ships 
that met the stagnant eyes of swampy thoughts … shuddering 
                                    in vain
                     the whip cracks louder than pain -
             and on our black blistered backs … crumbling 
soils in desertification threw some syllables skywards for mercy
                               starvation winds with sickle clouds of rain  
                                 they lie again ... leaving us without inheritance
                                    for all our labors, lost, and grievance
                                      what bang can buck the strain 
                                          and bring us broken souls to glory again?

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
The night air flowed over my breath
The covers not quite keeping me warm
Dreams caressing my past
My lover whispers in my ear

Sweet words, with her loving touch
Times long ago, where tenderness would flow
Her perfume flys away with the wind
Happy days my only true possessions

ahhh but love is not as it once was
Age makes the windmill turn slower
My lover caressing my pain
Raindrops falling, aroused in the wet rain
She my life, now I live with thoughts inane

Shivering, 
She releases me from both pleasure and pain
Dreams of her splatter all over on top
My cover only a cardboard box
Wet from the weather
in the alley where I sleep

At dawn, there is a sharp pain in my rib
"out your bum, get the hell away"
Kicked and bruised I grab what I can
All I can think of is to run run run

Limping, onwards to the park
I feel a firm hand take hold of me
Stop young man, its raining cant you see?
Shocked I try to escape, fear invades me

In a softer tone the man says
Come with me son, out of the rain
The shelter is over there, close to your park
A warm meal, and and fresh bath will do you good

Father O'Brien pats the new one Davey on the back
Welcome son, here's a book if you care to read
Davey still in skeptical mode, being treated as human
Father O'Brien see this in his heavy eyes
He looks at Davey and whispers
I was once you, you see

The hand of love
Can mend a thousand hearts
When like the seeds of blooming flowers
We spread the love we were handed

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
Silent Lies and Deception


In the silence of murky waters
There slithers oily snakes of the night
Wearing masks of deception
Beware of fools singing with Stalin’s tongue

The KGB shall set you free
Drowning you in the river Volga
The cold water keeping your lips tight
Whilst the silent ones spread their deceits

Lies, lies their dirty little lies
I wonder how their tongues wag and loudly sprout
So righteous, like imams with out a doubt
I call for radio silence

When comes the clique of hate
They say they have none, and
Maybe this is true
They run out at times, spreading it to you

Those who truly have good will and peace
Growing like flowers in a botanical heaven
Never spew the bloody insecticides here on earth
That alters the genes of peace in me and you

Beware of white sheep
That howls like the wolf at the full moon
A wise man knows the meaning of silence
Silent ones simply slither sneaky prose in the night

The Caspian Sea
Holds many ghosts who if not for death
Could tell you many silent tales
Of those with a million smiles and twisted masks

Seekers of the Silent Lies and Deception

	Dead Sea and salty tombs

		Silent in womb


Notes: The last poems Angel and Devil, about mans ability for both good and evil, I continued the theme here, by describing two repressive regimes, Russian under the likes of Stalin and Putin and the Palestinian one under Arafat. The poem is either incomplete or to be continued in a second poem, as in the end I inferred the Silent one Amina, a story about the repression and hardships of women in India. An excellent book by a great author Fiza Pathan.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

i wanted it...my God i wanted it

...but how do you do that...

                                        

                                                             HOW!

the second you touch it...



                                                                                it's gone.

it's the curse of being alive.                  After all...what are we?


                   a bundle of thin blue wires...some red tubing

our largest organ is our skin...What are we?

           our brains are unreliable...our emotions uncontrollable.

you want to grab it...hold it...

good luck!        it's a lubricated bar of soap, you can't hold 

i've tried...my life has been nothing but trying to hold on to it.


how can you be in it?   how? if you can't even hold it...

i feel like an astronaut 

                      moving aimlessly in space with no tether!



love would be my first choice.



                   when i delivered both my daughters at home

pulled them out carefully from their mothers womb...Gone!


                           their lives from one second old to now...Gone!


women...oh how i have loved...made love

                                        i have several doctorates in love making

i hold women more carefully 
             than i do an over bloomed flower
                                       as to  not lose a single petal.
i refuse to breathe 
                  just to hold their scent 
                                                 as long i can.
                                                         
treasure their face...
                 die in the act of a single kiss
                                                                  dress myself in their skin.

still
   it can't be done
          as soon as it happens
                                                it is gone
                                                         absolutely  
                                                                            gone!

you can't live there        
                 it is like Brigadoon.     
                               you'll never find it again.


you can't really live in the moment              

not really

it is gone as you live it...

the present, is immediately...the past

it is fleeting             

never to be held

                         i know...
                               i want so many moments back...
                                                                       just to live in them.
                                                                                      you can't...you don't.

we live what was...

dream of what might be.

live in the moment? 

as my words hit the page...the moments passed.  

in the moment? 

yes! i know i've been there

i just can't hold it. 

                      the smell of the ocean...
                                it's loud heavy metal music...
                                               the meandering haze in the air
                                                              that "i am invincible" feeling


the first time you held her...

your one true love now gone.

                     
                     the chiseled pillow look of clouds 
                                                          looking down at you
                                                                     as if you were the one.

that huge neon moon...

sits low in its living room.

a baby breeze 

touches lightly your breath.


                                 a gripping moment 
                                                 of unconscious union
                                                                     moments galore...


in the moment?

 i've tried!

it's always left as it happens. 

gone quicker than lived

and than 

only imagined.


12~28~2014
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Contest Name: In The Moment 
 

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |
Beautiful Disaster

There she is
Silhouette in the night
Lights glimmer, as fame simmers
She is all of my desires
She is all of my fires

Here I am wet
Flooded with pain
There she is dry
As a desert rain
Her beauty rouge bleeding into my soul

I wash my hands
I wash my meaningless life
Of sins and woes
Alcohol in the sails
As I fade to seas far away

She at my feet
Singing her lovers lullaby
Me in the wind
Of sadness’s despair
The air soon to confess a sin

All my life, no lover in the morning bed
No future for a chance to wed
There she is now so devoted
Yet here we both are so bloated
Throats cut and floating

On a rivers dream

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
To see ourselves as others see us --
unmasked images, through others' eyes --
half-formed caricatures, perhaps --
or mere grotesqueries -- 
barely recognized, telling
what we thought to hide --
we'd label these as skewed
perceptions, not real truth...

But, no matter -- when once
I thought myself unfairly judged
and asked "How so?",
I was reminded of the obvious,
i.e.: all outcomes are determined
by perceived attitudes and actions.
Not truth, but clear perception,
pure appearance, guide others' thoughts
and so create the world we live in.

Thus,  however harsh,
"Perception is reality."

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2012

Details | Verse |
The jury was unanimous
Twelve cried out justice
Guilty
It was just before the changing hour
The hanging planned for quarter past midnight or so
The moon was full, the shining light exposing deaths dance
The grim reaper was ready, one more for his collection

I was ready for this moment
Ready to face my freedom and my death
Long ago, a mirror shattered into twelve pieces
Twelve faces who said I have to go
Twelve past the midnight hour

Sacred ghosts haunting twilight hours
Whiskey filling the soul soon to be departed
The hangman at the ready with a somber face
For his duties he did not so much embrace
This evening he knew the hanging would take all effort
Of spirit and determination
To send this one of to his eternal damnation

He was shivering and I sensed in fear
As I stared at him solemnly in the mirror
We both eye to eye knew this day would come
The hangman and me, conscious of the sum

So the note was neatly written
The whiskey bottle all alone, empty on the floor
I stood bravely or maybe cowardly
Upon the wooden chair

The rope I wrapped around I my neck
As the hangman in the mirror was in despair
I patted him on the back and said no worries my friend
This, you see is the end of it all
All that we ever both wished or dreamed

A week or two later
They found the hangman
A rope around his neck
Staring blanking in the mirror

A note on the bedside table
Told this story as you hear
A man with a broken heart
Hanged because of his own mutilated reflection

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

what grows from these petri dishes? when will these hives with their metal monsters their deceiving smiles their artistic like visages stop breeding, stop growing, like a virus? what of the fertile land they cover, the resources they consume? what of their ravenous appetite? and barely a forest untouched. 17~12~2014 Maurice Yvonne

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
You are the wild flower in my palm
With no stem to keep you anchored to this covetous earth
You are the fragile thing I dare not cup,
As your petals whittle away under the wind
And flit unfettered in the air;
Exaggerated fear leaves my fingers numb
Hungry need leaves my fingers twitching
And my hand is paralyzed by turmoil
As every breath of wind takes another petal from me
And brings to my lungs, my chest and my heart
An overwhelming scent of need-

You are the wild beauty in my palm
And I dare not hold you to my chest
For I fear to crush you
To know first hand
That caged beauty, is beauty no more.

Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
To wake up with the rising sun
Wishing me old bones stay in bed
No longer do I feel to run
Life is all but over and done

I look in the mirror feeling blue
Front teeth no more, leak like a canoe
Getting old, this is no fun
Spending my days inside, away from the sun

Ricky called, hey Arty lets go out
Sorry Ricky, I am too old for that
Ah come on Arty lets go to the park
Leave me alone Ricky I am staying right here in the dark

Ricky was persistent, come on arty the park the park the park
Art replied, I am old now I don’t do parks!
Why not? It’s a sunny day; we always have fun at the park
Cant, Stevie told me, I am too old to go out and play

Why he said I am too old for toys and my trucks
I am too old to play even with the ducks
I didn’t wanna be old but there you have it
Stevie says I am one big sissy with my toys!

Ricky, not to be deterred
Come on man, I love toys too 
Lets go the park, come on come on
You are only seven years old Arty!

I feel older Ricky and missing all these teeth
No one will want to play with me, no one at all
I do Arty! lets go, besides haven’t you heard the news?
Seven years old why that’s the new five!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse |
This is why I play philosophy
 on the field that lures lore,
 to gain the literati’s lovely trophy
 and the golden grains of life to explore.	

This is why I fraternize fair play
 on the pitch where wisdom wonders,
 to dichotomize shadows and sunray
 and to preach ours’ to plough and not to plunder.

This is why I write white
 on the surface that’s clean and clear
 to rid the world of nasty knight
 and to harmonize monks and men each year.

This is why I woo words 
 to have rhymes as my errand boy
and lyrics as the golden cords
around the poetry pen I will always employ.

Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse |
We are so different

I am smart, you are less so
I am a man, you are a woman
I am trump, you are poor
I am beautiful, you live in a sewer
I have castles, you’re lucky to have drawers
I am peaceful, you are the extremist
I have armies, you have child suicide bombers
I have coffee, you have tea
See the difference between you and me?

I wear clothes under my head, you wear masks over
I sing songs in my sanctuary, while you chant the jihad
I have my god who is righteous; you have a god that sings of terror
My god is great, yours is a fraud
I ride in a limo, you ride a gay camel
I drink fine whiskey, you smoke camel fags
We you see… are as different
As night is to day
As sun is to moon
As Cain is to Abel
I own the castle you live in the stable
Goats and hogs your only staple

Now when we were in the hospital
Me so much better than you, you see
Both our sons sick of leukemia
You being so different and less than me
You cried, and you wept, and you wished yourself dead
If your child should live, you'd give all you ever had
Its then I saw, I’d do exactly the same
When you offered me a tissue
I confess I felt a wee little shame
Whatever hate you may or may not have had
Lifted, when you saw the child was your only lad
And when I saw this humble startling revelation
I realized how narrow and condescending I was behaving
So maybe we both learned a lesson of Job
A pity such sadness and pain had to bring
The realization to us both
We are not so different after all 

We now drink tea in the olive gardens
Telling the young if they chose to listen
There is a better path, of happier wisdom
By embracing your fellow man
No matter race, color or convictions
Start with a smile
Make it last more than a mile
Great things happen
When us, the people take action
Yours truly
Two fathers
Of this world


Thank you Charmaine for the constant inspiration!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Looked at the outside of steel window
Around in the dark, awesome feelings into the mid-night air
What the news was brought in the feelings!

Eyes of the orphan cat was flaming on the corridor.

Waiting for the light in the window 
Dark vision comes down into my eyes by cycle-weariness
Down from one circle to another circle in time-blindness

Who stands here, the Islamic old man!
Frustrated vision!
History of terrorism was carved on his burnt body
He wants to say something!

A white-complexioned Christian young man stands into the neighbor circle,
Surprised eyes! 
White-skinned history was printed on his blood-stained body 
He wants to know something!

A dark-colored Hindu boy stands into the third circle, 
Illusive vision!
History of third world is awakened on his envenomed body
He wants a little smile!

The old man, young man and boy are coming forward from the circles
Great distance... Near ...in front the room... 
Who are you? No reply
They disappear into the tuberose equipped black and white photo of my father
Dad is smiling, I am senseless! 

Tears are dropping from the eyes of our cat on the corridor.

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA

Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014