A muse, a mist, a lover's kiss,
assists another sage.
He taps his crown, and jots it down,
and scripts another page.
His quill is dipped, and well equipped,
accomplished for his age.
So deft of hand, mature command,
perhaps to earn a wage.
An anxious calm, a tense aplomb,
reactions hard to gauge.
Reviews astound, perhaps he's found,
an exit from this cage.
Twas sought afar, from schools and bars,
he's the topic, he's the rage.
A wisp, a glow, now scripts the show,
of stars from screen and stage.
Memory of a great pistol cager
Assists, drives and shoots without a pager
The arrival of his departure
(A numb and cruel upheaval starter)
was an emotional core rupture;
a visual goodbye to my father.
I saw his final, last inhale
that would never flow to release.
I saw his life light fade to pale
before leaving to forever peace.
In time, I joyously came to know
his essence was such a strong force,
he could bend love air to a flowing echo
and sound it when I needed him most.
I feel sure my father's echo has limits.
Souls exist in spirit realms, so echo assists
must be supremely granted gifts.
At times I feel soak in the depths his visit.
In the debate between dubbing and subbing
I side with subs to savor the original
mellifluous French, Tamil, Korean, Italian...
Reading the subtitles assists the deaf
and hard of hearing although voiceovers
benefit the blind and vision impaired.
Historically dubbing was employed
by fascist governments to advance
the nationalist agenda. In our own time
the tendency to consider dubbers dumb
implies reading’s the indispensable skill.
My wife reads her mail while watching movies
so she prefers dubs. I admire her mastery
of two idioms simultaneously
but my limited bandwidth favors subs.
Come walk with me
in this wind littered park,
please don't kick the skimpy rose bushes,
God is everywhere watching,
lipreading your foul words.
We can be romantically attached
to our thoughts,
share, collaborate,
speak each other's words before
we know we have.
Pond life chokes upon its own thriving.
Savage are the dunking ducks
who write nothing worthless
and yet that 'nothing'
is ignored by every city gent
whoever pissed against a tree.
Sit upon this graffitied bench,
rest your disappointment
under this scabrous oak.
There is beauty here
research yourself
there is poetry at your feet,
a hurdy-gurdy symphony
in the slimy fungus rings.
If we rest long enough
our red fanged hearts
may eat themselves.
The scrawny daffodil's
burst into prayer.
Please don't grunt so loudly,
my own windbreaking flatulence
is a natural response to your ugliness.
Our sincere attempt at urban poetry
has unearthed the buried bones
of a divine muse,
and look,
pure white doves are carrying them away!
In the city dump, God assists the raccoons
with His large, clawed paws.
Fear and desire are chains we wear,
until we become self-aware,
first of all inquiring, ‘who’m I?’,
which if not form, ego must die,
that with the false out of the way
and on making love our mainstay,
eye single, pheromones mingle
and we feel bliss rapture’s tingle,
at first a cascading wave form,
ushering currents cool and warm
but then over time, bliss beat’s chime,
assists us to heavenward climb.
We see there’s nothing to be done,
save breath by breath coming undone.
Plain droplets plink downward risk-free.
Rain, that bristles on panes, weighty.
Rip-roaring, soaring, not boring,
as wind assists an outpouring.
Angled and claustrophobic dance.
Can’t see the light; cars take a stance.
Sky, a blue-gray, wiper flip-flops.
Shy, the soft pelts of ho-hum drops.
The sun is shining. Rays of light shine upon my skin, and my inner light within assists me in me being incandescent. I emit light. I am luminescent. Reminiscent of the morning star I shine bright, and brighter than light itself. I know myself and it is important to know thyself. I breath in the Earth's air, and I yearn for the sweet taste of my favorite fruit , a pear. The taste of the fruit tickles my tongue, and I hear myself giggle. The juice from my pear trickles down my chin, and I see I have eaten every part of the fleshy fruit, once a beaute, and now all that is left if the core. The core of me, the part of me that is central to my existence, is living. I can smell the fructose on my breath. My appetite is not pacified, but it is close.
I
East I sit Ask and Embla’s rune I did embrace
Mannaz looks like two folks that are conjoined
Mannaz is the rune of the Human race
A small tribe,I do belong,I feel joined
II
Mannaz I am aligned with thee today
Ask,Embla remind me of my Blest tree
Connected to my higher mind,hurray
My Blest tree is divine as one does see
III
Linked to your higher mind, balance obtained
Mannaz assists me.. I don’t feel lonely
Your artistic skills surely ascertained
Connected to All I am filled with glee
Written: December 03, 2023
____________________________________
It is either life or death
But there is also controversy
Within the boundless
Accrual occurs as well
There is either love or hate
Just...hostility
Who might control it?
Is verity
One can be either first or last.
There is only a disparity
And who would be in charge?
assists the vast majority
There is both space and time
Only drowsiness in between
Things are wild and free
Have vastness.
ATTITUDE OF ACCEPTANCE
What makes questions difficult? They
belong to me and you.
Questions of faith start with, if what
been taught in church … is true..
Attitude of acceptance is
acquiring open mind.
Assists flow of Holy Spirit,
‘Truth’s” easier see … we’ll find.
Not trusting God’s word’s a problem,
we rarely realize.
Till we won’t accept new facts read,
then God’s word … criticize.
We’ve gotta research new verses,
God’s truth’s, learn to defend.
“God can’t lie”, if we do research,
what’s true … we’ll comprehend.
Only One Truth requires that we,
all religions inspect.
Road to life’s Narrow, like finding
truth … not where we’d expect.
Ask …What’s my attitude? Will God
see me accept research?
Pagan Babylon-ish doctrines,
foundation … of each church!
Jacob’s ladder has nodes seven,
which our Father who’s in heaven,
assists us here now to ascend,
if our ego to love we bend,
that by using mind of our heart,
our life purpose on earth may start.
ego assists us to navigate
harsh earth life terrain
while it performs its task
we opt to remain in quietude
awake to sounds of silence
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Time travels,
time stretches...
Slow or fast, he
is the same...it's what
we thought we figured it out...
time is itself
all the time... advances,
but it's always there,
in the same space...
It doesn't stop, but nothing
reaches... does not return,
don't even start over...
It is continuous, it does not build
but everything does...
Its tracks are invisible
its steps are without footprints...
It exists, but it has no form.
It assists us, but does not show itself.
We are expression,
we are its appearance...
It's old and it's new,
is young and old,
but it is not old...
It's beginning without end,
it's him all the time...
our acquaintance
unknown
time...
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Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.