Best Adapts Poems
Fact Or Fool Who be You
I have seen
fools ranting
what's up Pink Floyd
No thinkers, no education
only poets with muse and frustration
The deniers of science
are committing massive crimes
jail should be their only pudding
sadly Covid takes many of them away
I have no sympathy for their ignorant play
the only ones bouncing in their beds
are the scientists
angry that such ignorance spreads
it's always the morons who resist
why do people carry such hate?
to tell lie upon lie upon loathing lie
letting thousands more in pain die
the penitentiary should be their fate
American prejudice has failed us
funding is ever lacking
Teachers who know not what's cracking
No wonder fools get away with the fuss
Science does not cover up
it only learns, adapts and that's a must
over six billion vaccines
thousands of doctors have over seen
The outbreaks now you see
are the unvaxxed injected with stupidity
they blame all the immigrants
hatred always blames the outsider
All in all, stupidity is never very tall
I'm looking for myself
Who am 'I'
"I am the 'I' or
Just say the name of the 'I'
I have no or non-existent
Said bin existence of 'I'
I'm looking for myself
Who am 'I'
"I am the 'I' or
Just say the name of the 'I'
"I'm in where the 'I'
OU lost the 'I'
Was lost or not 'I'
I had a dream or a toy 'I'
Key moves the bin and
Adapts to the way your boss
I'm looking for myself
Who am 'I'
"I am the 'I' or
Just say the name of the 'I'
Its meant to be
I did not yet know
Their survival
I still did not recognize
Who wanted a warm
Still have not found
The search of his existence
Today again I do cry
I'm looking for myself
Who am 'I'
"I am the 'I' or
Just say the name of the 'I'
From the beginning, people have asked themselves,
how God came into being or how God creates from nothing?
The God seekers are advancing ethical axioms
and truth is withstanding the test of experience.
Human mind is made out for reason and truth.
Reason gives us freedom
and freedom makes a human being a moral subject.
The man is a moral being and justice is greater than love.
We don’t know, why protons in the core of atom
are attracted and not repelled
even though, they have the same electrical charge?
What decides that a cell becomes animal or a plant cell?
Every leaf has many cells and each is more complicated
than a human made rocket.
Why stars, Earth and other planets are weightless in space
and what force makes universe to expand?
Expanding universe is astounding.
Space is stretching and does not collapse.
Why Dolphins live in water for millions of years,
even though they do not have gills
and cannot breath oxygen from water?
Nature adapts and man forms himself.
Animals lack our understanding,
but we cannot compare to incorporeal beings
for they are much more advanced than we.
There is more to reality than just phenomenal.
Science interprets things in terms of our experience,
and consciousness is essential to knowledge.
Real world is self contained, independent,
derived from pure consciousness.
Man gets corrupted by the power he has,
but God is almighty and holy indeed.
"Woe to the shepherds who mislead and scatter
the flock of my pasture..."
The king cannot substitute for apostolic succession.
God revealed himself to mankind
and this encounter of God is our experience.
The wholeness of being demands eternity,
otherwise, the being is fractional.
Lord God dwells in unapproachable light
and can deify people and angels and make them Gods,
but only if they are holy first.
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
Twilight downs the sun as dreams appear on the screen of sleep
Slips into the subconscious realm and trips a few fuses in slumber
Adapts and clears clutter and narrates and alters the story in kind
Strips and clips a mind full of sentience like an ad-blocking app
When dreams slip into a magical edition it proofreads my soul
In magic Morpheus tenders to soft renditions and rehearses
A new dawn for sanity’s sake and rearranges bedlam in silence
Ties new meaning to fake news and spins alignments afresh
Compounds and rearranges while the curtain slowly descends
A dress rehearsal in night gown patiently waits for the curtain
A sacred orange globe dances with ripples dissected by clouds
Ultramarine parades on the fading horizon of tangerine canvas
As the gatekeeper confers with clairvoyants and hobbling goblins
The mermaids charter the voyage with sea gulls and dolphin as they
Tie holy knots onto the tapestry of fabrication and spirited truths
Sometimes my aspirations and recollections call for clean slates
When charcoal rules anthracite waves draped in sombre veils
Or polychrome splashes beg to hold on to the palette forever
Sleep brushes over karma and vagaries and tames with a stroke
Of restful fortune in infinite renditions of what the future might hold
A life line appears on the horizon anchoring a courageous flare
Regardless of whether my journey explores a secret underworld
Or ships critique onto the blatantly obvious faults in the vessel
Poseidon pumps up the raft as tears and regrets rock the boat
Blows caution to the wind and advises to hold on for dear life
Neptune challenges his counterpart and weighs for good measure
Yet Atlantis refuses to sink and Nirvana sweeps the ocean’s floor
Phoenix gathers soaked ashes while jetsam jumps into the current
When the night parades its blessing the sun resets a new dawn
The moon watches over assorted memories baggage and hope
19th April 2020
LOVE is like a figure of speech
It adds beauty to life
It inspires us to beat strife
It gives colors to sight
It expresses feelings tight.
LOVE is a rainbow
It has its perfect timing
To beautify your surrounding
It appears unexpectedly
Yet disappears inevitably.
LOVE is like a dictionary
It connotes different meanings
For different beings
It happens synonymously
Nor perceive reversely.
Love is a fairy tale
It brings someone a magic
Or leaves you in tragic
In just a glimpse or wink of an eye
You and I can't deny.
LOVE is like a wifi
If you're near
You're connected to a dear
If you're far away
You're searching for a day.
LOVE is movie
Where everyone has role to play
It's up to you if you do it that way
As long as you don't go astray
Still you know how to pray.
LOVE is like the value of x and y
If someone is missing
You need to seek unremitting
For they must go together
To fulfill their functions better.
LOVE is a flower
It blooms abundantly
When needs are given sufficiently
It adapts itself to seasons
Yet it withers at certain reasons.
Love is like an antidote
It cures something
It heals hurt feeling
It offers a therapy
Until you look happy.
In life we face many battles...some challenge us in new ways we did not expect. The will is tested, but never defeated. We’re mocked and humiliated, but stay humble. Such is the tiger, efficient and silent.
Leaking gaping wounds
Coughing fur balls to laughter
Beware the tiger
The tiger is the most evolved of all the cats, dare I say of all the land predators.
Proficient on land and in water; in pitch black, twilight or at dusk; in the tropicas or in the tundra...the tiger adapts and dominates its terrain.
Darkness is haunted
Impossible is hunted
Eye of the tiger
Thabang Jan Ngoma
22-07-2015
For Contest Name: HAIBUN
Sponsor: Scott Thirtyseven
This violin is so small but carries like the heaviest of weights,
these cascades of shapes and shades are typically a waste,
and their traces are replaced by the weight the levies take,
you brace for the impact but you usually faint.
What once felt so safe, is erased into the waves.
What you thought was a phase, seems to be a perpetual hurricane.
engulfing your terrain every few years and nothing remains.
If it's still somehow alive, it's always still set ablaze
and the veins always eventually just simply drain.
A brand new template to sit and paint
but the picture always looks the same, nothing is to change;
looking like the same photograph you just simply traced,
as you try to deviate from the things you hate, all you know relates.
This violin plays, but the beautiful sound comes out muted and plagued
cracked and depraved, losing itself to its masquerade.
A new chapter here to navigate, where the old may dissipate
but the sounds will echo and resonate, with each new note that is played,
into a melody of which he has heard for over a decade.
A subtle change but the result is always very much the same
This violin has never been properly tuned, so it continually gets used
knocked around and bruised, so its players seem to always be excused,
if not confused, at this muse that they just so happen to always choose.
From honeymoons to the hope that it will hopefully improve
and when it's time to finally move, the violin seems to always be the one to lose.
Passed down for a penny less, a brand new second hand
snatched up by the next poor soul looking for a perfect match,
to give the instrument the love that it lacked.
A brand new second chance, that always seems to collapse and overlap,
scrap that is just re wrapped, doomed to be damned,
part of the story but never part of the plan;
playing the noises that will eventually tip the avalanche.
This violin is a beautiful artifact, perpetually attacked but it always attracts
it rarely snaps, it just adapts to the blasts.
Its sound echos in laughs but this violin never forgets.
Writings moving through me with the Holy Spirit,
Inviting exquisite artistry like Hebrew so I write it automatically,
Transmitted and sent with rugged style of construed truth,
To induce questions within the golden age of the awakening youth,
With the use of visions of visionary proof, bulletproof like Zeus,
Introducing the almighty sources most improved writer produced,
So I invite ya on a journey of tighter constructs so don't run,
Fearlessly aware of rats in this reality so I duck rarely,
Instead face them face to face infallibly and chat,
With Steez like Mortal Kombat fatalities I stomp that,
With comprehensible written abstracts Quincy Mac adapts,
Mindful of the traps that collapse inner wisdom,
A system coded with good and evil,
Skill is needed for survival while traveling this steep path uphill,
Yeah I say it again and again, I dig deep, consuming the blue pill,
Morpheus taught me this and gave me tips within the matrix,
So I resume and bloom from nourishment of the living water,
A human absorber of both order and disorder,
Peripheral sight foreseeing clearly like within Clearwater,
That's productive income seeing over the wall to wisdom,
Positive action is turning away from pessimism,
Preconceived programmed system injected into everyone,
Well done if you truly understand but always question ya perception,
Redeem me so I can know all of the famous knowledge tree,
Lambs feed small bits of bread but become sleepy,
Freely become tired, can't see the deceit so they go to sleep,
Those who feel incomplete question and seek meat,
Unique are those who stand with spiritual physique,
Some taste the meat and retreat because they're weak,
Weakness from removal of oneness so life can't complete us,
Readjust, find love remove and let go of the deception of ego,
Undergo inner self help to find a spirit that flows,
Yes ya heard it from Quincy and the wise throughout history,
It's no mystery that you can have inner mastery,
So head towards the tree that shows you how to see,
You and me have to stop being refugees and start to foresee,
By being a spiritual human being by receiving a healing degree,
So be smarter and good natured at heart,
Embark on the journey out of the dark.
Quincy Mac
Date Written: 5.4.2016
Chameleon - Friend or Foe
A tree dwelling lizard with sticky tongue,
Changes its colours to suit its purpose.
Native to Africa, furthest south,
A shrewd and calculating reptile.
Stereoscopic eyes scheming projections,
Uniquely adapts and conforms.
Cunning deceptions, misleading intentions,
Ensures self preserving survival.
Skin rough and weathered with tiny scales,
Exhibits shades of envy, jealousy.
Seldom evoking strong emotion,
It adapts its colours to company.
Its Camouflage often mistakable,
Chameleons fill the forest.
Playing dead in presence of predators,
A self promoting carnivore.
A Chameleon is a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Melancholy drifts while in paradise,
heart of the wind starts fading, there's no sound
Ocean reflects, the distance in your eyes
being light years away, escape is found
Captivated are the waves, calm of night
echo in the salty air-- ecstasy
Beyond its harmony, this pure delight
seconds flutter, without you here with me
A soul adapts to change, the atmosphere
luscious sunlight, being weightless and free
With the tempo of beats, you are right here
yet- you are still light years away from me
Countless minutes dance while in paradise,
Ocean reflects, the distance in your eyes
____________________
Thoughts from the Heart
Featured Poem- 2/14/2021
MY DEAR WORLD!
Now fabrication is at capacity
Juxtaposition of the old and new
And sequestration of the new from old
The world has grown old with newness of life
And men abandon age to be born again
With the paraphernalia of a modern world
And the truth of a corporeal God
As though God has never been and
As though His nature adapts with time.
The abode of God men abuse and abscond
To seek Him elsewhere with the fullness of heart
There they abhor and speak vile of His Home.
Yet in the abode of God are many ignorant
Who care not and whose lives are averse
To deter others from knowledge of Him.
Thus shall Satan become the Son of Righteousness
To prove that there is no God where He is!
Oh spite, oh hell – to the Hell in my own name too!
The hell in love, the hell in romance, the hell of all men!
He being in my name as well of course… as if I’m made of men!
Do they control me? Na… funnily enough the sound of
my name’s conclusion… and what (no doubt) a modern man
would say at my fawning
Aside: What Demetrius feels about me without love’s potion.
for them. My name; partly made up of them all -
Hel e na.
He created me.
Created my name.
This man who shook history, shakes the
vast fields of stages still: created language,
created insults and idioms, created footlickers
and scullions and loons.
Aside: What Demetrius calls me, no doubt.
What if though, we were thrown into modern day -
we four tangled lovers? Our forest now a cobbled
city street, our names a hashtag or blend or
portmanteau of #Demena or #Hermander…
Aside: or #paintedmaypolegetsherman
…how my old Bard would laugh and
we would be his self-coined ‘laughing stock’.
I’ve been in ink and upon folio paper. Aloft a stage
and before groundlings: photographed on set, reviewed in
magazines, photoshopped
Aside: False imitation! Spurious image!
for internet trolls - a word
with a very different meaning to the faeries I’ve met.
How language adapts! But what, pray tell, stays?
Intrigue. Love. Summer seasons and shows,
his words, his characters - us and you and your
interest in him: a roundel we return to even
in his words we unknowingly use…
I should know of course… He made me after all…
Hel e na…
and you, in your hands and seats and voices,
still make me feel that same love and spite and Hell.
Neither of us are likely to be forgotten soon…
na.
Vivid contrasts emanate lively hues
from the brilliancy of colors,
to radiate skin, hair and eyes;
and these are the wishes of all lovers!
He's a handsome man in a dark suit well-pressed,
and she's a beautiful woman in a scarlet dress;
he doesn't like ladies with flashy clothes,
and she only likes guys with ripped shirts!
Amelia fascinates her partner with her adorable smile,
Riccardo's blue eyes see a woman no man can resist;
and with his sexy eyes and killer's looks makes his conquest;
how exciting she seems and how happy she is to feel alive!
Their cheeks occasionally touch as kisses of a soft wind,
passion arises, but the dance must end with a standing ovation;
they're the only perfect pair who are rehearsing and getting recognition,
other dancers are getting impatient and are dying to come in.
The violin and piano begin to play in full harmony, " Un Ballo In Maschera,"
and all the guests come out gracefully to join the masquerade ball without timidity...
wearing luxurious and colorful costumes of the legendary Venetian Era;
and they elegantly dance on the diamond-shaped floor, trying to gess each other's identity.
The chorus adapts a moderato tone as wished by the conductor's baton, as the harmonic tones
accompany the high pitched soprano, who suddenly bursts out in a hissy scene;
she shouts, "My Riccardo has betrayed me! Take his mask off, and let him see me!"
And while the melody is embellished by the harmony, in anguish, she discords her vivid notes.
Entered in Brian's Strand contest, " Colours "
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Her stillness adapts to the realness.
Humble on top of greatness
Struck by an obsessed illness
Caught in a pain, rendered by weakness
Pleading for forgiveness
Reality was never bought, yet always taking
She had remembered her forsaking
Sick and now steady shaking
The ill-gotten syndrome is now awaking
This was an authentic chiller in the making
Brought down by so much fright
Reckoning exists in this fight
The aliment discontinued overnight
The hero bones have made it alright
A once dwindled destination is now bright