Best Analysing Poems
Life is not as sweet as a bowl of golden glace cherries,
nor is there a golden illuminated future for a fruitless mind.
Trembling hands and gritted teeth disguise my disorderly brain,
feeling lost in the mist,
surrounded by drowned out voices.
Deceptive chanting charms plant everyday confusion,
with stalking emotions running through my mind's corridors,
carrying a voice that gives birth to eerie echoing funnels,
pumping frustrating thoughts deep into the depths of phobias.
My demeanour hides behind a canvass of mysteries.
a pure transfiguration, where compulsive obsession
takes possession of stalking my vulnerable affections.
There's too much repetition in the fluidity of periods and seasons,
as I lose this battle to control my will's strength of life.
I constantly wonder if the only place of victory,
to find peace,
is to slay silent intoxicating depths,
which desire to explore me.
But in reality despise me with conflicting contradictions unable
to stop my puzzled conscious suffocating from over analysing,
enslaving excessive dwellings from every aspect of my existence.
Life is not a jigsaw,
I do not have the energy to find every piece.
My soul's fine heaven is rimming with untold tales of nature,
but misjudged precious intentions result in distracted actions.
An angst which has no remedy as all scars remains unseen.
But my Fears are made into gems,
when alone with my nemesis,
an unwanted life long partner
feeding upon deranged dilemmas,
which keep my mind,
spiralling in circles of uncertainties.
The weeping of souls and Heavenly joy abounds
Succumb to the raptures of that moisture upon a cheek
Transcendental souls speak their own language of tears
We are just their harbouring hosts as each other they seek
No longer tears of pain - but instead ‘Tears of Soulful Joy’
Into my open mouth trickle as they stream down my face
Happiness surpassing all bounds - exquisite is its taste
Priceless in their worth - no remorse will ever take its place
Awakened memories of when our souls did first connect
A Metaphysical Truth - A Bonding - Life’s Mystery
The feeling of De’ja’vu - halted in its stride - Time stood still
A beacon of blinding light that streaked from you to me
I would sense you anywhere – for you are my Soul Mate
Connected at Soul level to this physical state
I believe once you have truly connected so deeply
Love is sealed forever - now and through all eternity
The surging power emanating between us so searing and intense
Beyond analysing - beyond laws of gravity - beyond making sense
~'Soul Mates interwoven through space and time
Singing their divine union in verse sublime'~
Above couplet contributed with thanks - by ~Demetrios Trifiatis~
An extract poem from ‘Memories series’ - 'Unchained - Episode 8'
I burnt to death
a thousand times
whilst I was consumed by smoke
you took my breath
two faces painted
upon your palms
I raise my hand
to report this harm
so calm I sit
amidst the flames
analysing if I'm to blame
it takes my time
distracts my thoughts
tiny raindrops of comfort sought
but rain brings clouds
shadowed days
no exit despite a myriad of ways
I'll rest in bed
perhaps grow roots
my carcassed lungs
the smoke still pollutes
a single thread holds me aloft
no fall for me will be soft
pillars and spikes
of stone and smoke
speared or just left to choke
a thousand worlds I'll never see
none shaped just right to inhabit me
too much attached
to brain or limb
all waters unsafe for me to swim
counsel all look separate ways
can't consolidate who leaves or stays
micro exits in my head
escape temporarily
from overbearing dread
I fear I'm too scared to exist
that I'll swap smoke for inhaled mist
capture life and drag it in
successful catch
but life doesn't begin
all paintings have an edge
where it will end
but beyond may be all pretend
or perhaps where days are painted fresh
and I am more and never less
and colours chosen
rather than set
and not alone
but rather met
and I can say which boat I'll sail
and there is no logical way to fail
and the sky is mine to stare right at
and it will not fall, judge
or want anything back
and I'll paint freely
with no pencil line
in a life
that is truly mine.
Staring in the mirror when I'm down with these scissors I found.
With my wrists out and prescription lids littered around.
I've scribbled out a bitter letter in wicked accounts and written down twisted sentences in crimson.
I drown in no bounds it got me tripping out grouchy for outlets.
Now my hound pulls at my trousers.
When I'm face down drowsy with a mouth full of downers.
I'm pale looking clownish.
I ain't clowning around, see my self esteem floundering.
Out for the count as hells demons seen prowling around me proudly twisting and dancing entrancing.
Slipping away fast last vision left glancing enhanced with a mixture of doubt.
Knowing there's no one to laugh with and be found here alone with a sinister frown.
I've got to get out.
Haunted in this mysterious house that time forgot.
A place where damp rises and shrouded in all types of moss and lichen, rotting with the slime from condensation.
A sodden formed Forrest where I'm under sedation.
A clock work decision I watch myself gazing transfixed on my mission across amazing mazes.
As dreams fade into sight I stay silently praying.
Embracing the night watching day light escaping.
Remain in this safe haven I'm taken away safely remaining unshaken, grey and unshaven, eight shades of my aura shadows the ravens.
The creature with talons and the beak of eagle seen clutching a talisman to defeat it's evil.
I see through people. Phycic and tight lipped.
Leaving hindsight to guide you through life is wisest.
Am I dying or buying my time in this crises like I'm finally deep in abyss.
Analysing my past thinking did I even exist.
Forever with bliss since I slipped away tearful
Surviving myself I won't ever be fearfully trapped in this labyrinth with Pan and he knows me ghostly he came close cosey and held me closely through apocalypse start dropping atom bombs not stopping Babylon.
God got him banished like exhiled angels deep into faranheit heat like my minds a scotch bonnet.
The child of the scorch trials in the maze at night.
Was made strict then was bitten by count
Dracula.
Come the blood sucker parasite cancerous spanning round my brain like the legs of a tarantula.
Tendrils gargantuan.
Attaching the canula straight from the ambulance.
Inserting the catheter.
Wired like capacitors.
Body kept alive with 240 volt adaptors.
Stop analysing
No need to dissect
Stop labelling
No names just accept
Stop obsessing
No need to overreact
Stop complicating
Keep simple and intact
Living our lives in this world
means overcoming trouble and strife
hardship and pain come our way
which at times means using the knife
God comes to us with His offer
an offer to live life to the full
but that fullness comes rejecting self
giving God His place as our tool
This Christian life is our experience
lived out among the world's glare
showing Jesus as our supreme Lord
following Him as our brother and fellow heir
It's not an idea to pore over
analysing it to our heart's content
it's far too important for that
God sending Jesus was heavenly meant
So live for Jesus with all your heart
praise God for all that He's done
pouring your heart into all of life
knowing Jesus truly as God's Son
(Quote:)
" The Christian life is an experience to be lived, not an idea to be analysed" - Augustine (354-430)
Funky Funkus For Fortunate Few
Real artists won't do alliteration
Modernist are we the folks
Seeking adoration
Post structuralism
Is the old order
Annihilated are the Sonnets
And poetic formations.
Conversing takes another dimension
Philosophising, Looping, interlinking
Elastic boundaries. Self-analysing.
Sociolinguistic inventions
Obeying but rejecting universal conventions.
Paradoxes reign in the world of poetic art
The art. The art. Why art thou so elusive?
Sitting over there, with her serious glasses
Her eyes on me, watching my every move
She never smiles, no surprise, as usual
Analysing me for any wrongs
Ready to give me that 'monto'
But all I want is a breather
Is this life just a hidden message?
As I pound these streets, I wonder
As I crawl these walls, I ponder
You left on a cryptic message
Never to return, yet your still out there
Oh so many times, far too many crimes
Gone for good, just like the winter air
You might be missed, as people continue to stare
It’s all in your head now
Just let it go, just let it go
Watching three women pass by, life on the their backs
Where will they go?
All still young, frail and faces full of cracks
On they move, turn and all so low
Watching the people, crowds begin to sway
Analysing their thoughts, following a long day
What’s in store when they get home?
Lost in thought, onwards I roam
It’s all in your head now
Just let it go, just let it go
It was a long time ago
Now go with the flow
© Shane Cogan, 2013
Swimming in circles,
not hearing,
worrying,
analysing every word
of a neutral text,
wondering if, wondering why,
something I said?
About to give up,
don't be a fool,
all that caring,
sticking your neck out,
chopped off for sure,
body filleted,
without a thought,
they ask for commitment,
and take it as their due,
you're not a fish,
spit out the hook,
escape is near,
the ocean is large,
then a quick note,
"See you soon?"
Now, we start
all over again.
Don't tell me it's
Jesus,
it's women that are
the fishers of men!
So many different religions so I’ll just name a few,
Are you a Christian, Muslim, Hindu or Jew?
Catholic, Buddhist or converted to something new?
Or maybe you like to practice Haitian Vodou.
Have you lost faith or did you ever believe?
Is there any truth to Adam and Eve?
Don't get offended I’m just analysing this,
What about the last supper and Judas kiss?
Have you seen Allah? Did you speak to him?
Did he tell you not to wear pigskin?
Do believe in karma? What does your future hold?
Have you done good deeds, will you receive gold?
When you return will you be a dog or a cow?
Or a little black cat that just says meow?
I respect all religions but I refuse to follow,
Stories full of loopholes makes it too hard to swallow.
Does heaven exist or is there another twist?
On judgement day will you make the list?
Do the murderers and war criminals really go to hell?
No one knows for sure so don't believe everything they tell.
Make you own mind up, think for yourself,
You can read that book or leave it on the shelf.
I'm not satanic or a religious fanatic,
But some tales just seem over-dramatic.
You have a choice of who you want to rejoice,
You have a mouth, you have a voice.
At the end of the day everyone goes,
Where we end up, nobody knows.
Fundamentalists have misinterpreted the wise men,
Magnified them and blown up their faith in god,
Claim that the magi had an epiphany, heard from above,
In searching for, analysing and interpreting the nexus odd.
So what’s the real story of the wise men,
Because it’s they who had societal eyes,
They were listened to and very much respected,
By the many, the productive and the whys.
There was something going on, a wave, a tide,
To initiate socialisms feeling, equalising bride,
Which let the poor and the working citizen,
Be treated medically as they did not ever sin.
A rebel was born not through experience, but by birth,
To parents out with the marriage contract,
Whose bond was love with natural affection,
And who reared the child on such an astute fact.
The wise men understood Jesus beginnings,
Accepted their power to enable his work and carvings,
And balanced his parents sexual immorality,
By giving reputation, a promise for him to be god on high.
The magi, as Zoroastrians, believed in free will,
That actions are completely yours, not gods,
Not prompted, divine, suggested or derived,
But yours to enjoy or for you to suffer from your frauds.
So as wise men they advocated themselves,
As the finders of the messiah of the jews,
As his pronouncers and original validators,
As the hinters of his apparent short fuse.
I was always taught, right through childhood,
That god told the wise men where to go,
What stance to take about this needy child,
And how to interpret his parents certain know.
Zoroastrianism is the total explanation,
Of the people’s toleration of Jesus Christ,
And I posit that societal interpreters have secured,
Much sociology, which was by them allured.
I’m on the inside looking out
No that’s not right … I’m on the outside looking in -
There I go unable to decide
Right I better start soul searching and analysing myself
Or I will never get this poem finished.
Self-reflection – I wonder if I am too
Preoccupied, just forever contemplating my naval and
Endlessly beating myself up at my inadequacies.
Clearly I need to get a grip on reality ….
Today would be an ideal time to do it!
Instead of ruminating and chewing over the fat I
Obsess at my faults and
Never give myself credit for things I do well.
Tongue in cheek write (I hope) for Introspection contest
06~26~16
"Alcohol does not solve any problems but again, neither does milk" anonymous
Only my family finds this being the best line anyone ever came up with, we've laughed a lot about it
I have laughed about it
Only my family will joke of The drink and give it respect at the same time
Only my family, because I am the only family I know of that well
But let me flip the coin, and see the other side
I have an uncle who died of alcoholism and sadly his sons follow the same path
Of my four brothers, only one doesn't drink
One has mental illness and tends to mix the drugs together (you know, alcohol plus his prescriptions)
Everyday he is always "quiting"
Or my other brother who has been in trouble with the law because of The drink
Or my other brother who can drink from Sunday to Saturday, from day to night
This one has become a regular pick up from ditches
Or my youngest sister. She has the best spirit. She loves fun. Her idea of fun usually entails The drink
Sadly I've noticed the tremors in her hands
Or my other sister and i. Me and her are what I call closeted drinkers.
We do it openly only after analysing the surrounding and those with us
We have it more tamed, I guess it's because we are mothers
Or my dad. He doesn't drink. I have never seen him drink. My brothers always brag of how he used to drink alot and how sometimes he will take them with him to his drinking endeavours
My mother only talks of those days with horror
But he quit, became born again in time for i and my sisters births
Am glad I never saw him that way, because maybe I'd be a different woman today
Maybe I should flip the coin again
And stop being such a Debbie downer
Maybe on this cold Friday night,
I need to get myself a pack of woodstock beer to sleep too
Check your cheques
You must realise or recognise
Quarrelling analysing skillfully
Without criticism centre or colour
Judgement no theatre of grey of arguement
Like a boats draft determined by draughtsman
Curbing ones thoughts like avoiding a roads kerbs
An encyclopaedic almost an un-parallelled programme
A marvellous jewellery there not of aluminium but of pure Gold
Just English