Best Cogitations Poems
"I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the moon's repose."
---"La Figlia Che Pionge"; T.S. Eliot
Que tan dificil es
decir todo lo que siento.
O! This emptiness,
this vacuity,
this unfilled mental space
not admitting place
to what does not pass
our tests of time,
or logic --
no crutches
in opposition to
unembellished fact --
no sweetened fairy tales,
no selfish constructs
to justify
seizing goods or power;
no promises of forever
nor of endless pleasures:
only bare existence --
"being" --
in this unguided,
ultimately purposeless
angst-filled universe.
And, always,
mere inertia, eternal resistance
or accelerating change toward
foreseeable, entirely predictable
end.
Act!
Construct reality!
Live your life.
Napoleon the powerful fighter
whose mind was nimbler and lighter
than others whose malicious minds resided in lies,
and in vain and inane imaginations.
His brain's train of thought stayed rooted in reality,
Which gave him greater cogitations and a mind,
divine and higher above the rest of the world's imagination,
rooted in fantasy, and lies, in things that do not exist.
The emperor did worship the truth,
whose soul led him to detest illusions.
Self-aggrandizing words spew from my page of endless,
rather obscure metaphors and similes,
each one more labyrinthine than the last,
reeking of pretention and thesaurus over-usage,
as if by some ponderous stretch of the imagination I will be considered a vocubulary genius,
capable of putting my vast knowledge of the human soul into word form.
I am an intellectually superior bohemeth,
well versed at the intricate art of story telling through a convoluted series of opaque thoughts and ideas,
therefore rendering me exclusively original,
even,
dare I say,
profound.
I balk at the very connotation that my cogitations are anything but perfectly imperfect; my pain,
my joy,
my failures,
my victories,
my aspirations,
my tortured mind,
my vulnerable soul splashed onto a paper canvass for all the world to behold. . .
if not today,
then perhaps when I am long gone.
And all of this I keep closely guarded under the guise that my work is extremely private
and personal,
a mere tool for expressing myself in a way that I find immensely therapeutic
to my fragile sensibilites.
It is not penned in the hope that anyone would see it and interpret it in such a way as to understand their inner self more thoroughly,
but merely as a means to introspectively understand my own being.
I am a direct descendant of those who have pioneered the way for people like me,
of those who have forged the road of immortality through the written interpretation of the human spirit.
I now consider myself among the exclusive ranks of this age old fraternity,
Eternally exempt from the despair of having lived a life wraught with the very real possibility of being erased from the annals of history forever.
At long last,
I am a poet.
Shall we dance
Shall we dance, Mystery Woman, shall we dance?
Shall we tango with words, slowly, to learn
Each other ‘s rhythms of wit and being?
Shall we dance a pavane of polite conversation,
In orderly procession of statement and reply,
Graceful development of theme and variation?
Indeed. Let us dance. Let us waltz towards
Assonance or dissonance, when the floor becomes
Crowded with swirling, twirling, dancers,
Or empties into hollow phantoms of memory.
Let us dance.
Come, let us send felicitations and formal invitations,
Let us share our cogitations and wild imaginations,
Full of wry observations and subtle intimations;
Written to rain’s roaring, hissing inundation and the
Throaty punctuation of frogs ‘neath the warm precipitation.
Let us dance.
For who can tell, with certain prognostication
If our feet will entangle in clumsy dis-coordination;
Or Fred and Ginger the world, at our integration
Into a perfect, combination.
Let us talk, with caution, doubtfulness and hesitation,
Touched with optimism; ignoring past complications
With only future contemplation.
Shall we engage with witty conversation and bold
Determination, to see what might be?
Shall we dance, Mystery Woman, shall we dance?
Scar-instilled lessons…
Bring me to grateful cogitations' engagements
Since soul speaks of human’s “self-consciousness.”
Affirming that scars are the path to the soul.
I have become “a living soul…”
Such is God-wrought mystery revealed by my Mother’s scar
Thru her cut when she gave birth to me, that I’m thankful for.
Indeed, my mother’s scar declares great value of my soul… my life.
Then I learned of the Saviour Who sacrificed Himself…
Bearing bruises and wounds to pay for my iniquities;
In trusting Him, I’m granted life eternal.
Thus, His cross-scarred body assured my soul’s redemption.
Spiritually, I have scars that show my once sin-inflicted pain…
When I languished in misery, gripped with guilt
Groping for fleshly triumph, I felt futile and worthless.
Now, scars serve as avenues toward soul-humbling before God for help.
My scars remind me of my cry for heavenly aid…
When I was excruciating from my downfall’s discomfort
Ailing due to failure-frustration with bitterness’ oppression.
Today, those scars lead me to God’s throne for soul and faith's revival.
In moments of anguish-haunt, I serenely behold at my scars
Divinely healed, I express with the Psalmist in the Scriptures:
“Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me?
Hope in God*: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance.”
*Psalm 43:5 Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.
October 1, 2018
1st place, "Verses of Metaphors II" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Laura Loo; judged on 10/7/2018.
And he stands apart, cold
While the world wassailed and reveled
In the full glare of the light
Till dusk comes beckoning.
He shrouds from the awkward embraces
A language in plethoric display.
His frame slanted, he observes.
From vantage angle, he gawks.
What endues them such ecstasy?
He mutedly ruminates
Did we not attain the same feat?
He self-chides, raspingly.
The concern of sea-fish with dry land
Paints the image of his indifference.
While the play of celebration ensues,
The boy-man stares and sighs.
His cogitations ferry him to the road ahead
Queries of 'what now', the signs spelt.
Transfixed but detached,
He pondered tomorrow's fate for all.
He shivered with dismay
And fended off a tear.
What reads the fate of the soldier ants
When they march sun-wards?
Who aids the infant cheetah
That was birthed deformed?
While his peers wassailed and reveled.
In the full glare of the world
He looked on, frigid, still, anxious.
Feet there, soul afar.
A tinge of relief, his sole solace.
My cogitations after learning about THE 27 CLUB*:
Confronted with secrets of existence
My soul strives to remain optimistic
As I resolve what seems enigmatic
Trusting God, anchored on faith’s persistence.
Here am I, seeking the Lord’s instruction
Cognizant that His way** is always best
Through the Holy Ghost’s blessed guiding zest
Expressed by the Scriptures’ revelation.
Midst survival-battle of puzzling bouts
My spirit finds sure victory in Christ
Vanquishing unbelief, wisdom-sufficed
While secured by His truth against doubts
Thankful for divine vision, glowing bright
My heart rests and basks in the Saviour’s love
Surmounting dilemmas with peace above
Sharing gift*** of life along heaven’s light.
*The 27 Club includes popular musicians, artists, actors, and other celebrities who died at age 27,[7] often as a result of drug and alcohol abuse or violent means such as homicide, suicide, or transportation-related accidents.
**John 14:6 of the King James Bible (Words in bold complete the assertion of Jesus Christ).
***Romans 6:23 For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.
January 31, 2022
Edited on September 2, 2022
Honorable Mention, "The 27 club" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco; judged on 9/26/2022.
god im struggling, god im suffocating
god im shattering, god im unraveling
god don't let it stop......god, its better this way.
My chest is heavy
but its not from the oxygen.
How can my lungs inflate
when I can barely breathe?
Im gasping and yet my lungs don't feel the burn.
How can they when my heart is the one inflamed?
So full of a reserved unrational emotion?
My heart its putting up towers
its making defenses no one can penetrate.
Years will pass and still not even an atomic bomb will make a dent.
I think my heart is hardening.
god im angry, god im unsatisfied
god im putting up a facade,
god please dont let it be.
My head has ample amounts of animosity,
but my heart won't stand for it.
It sends out compassion to flood those volitile cogitations away,
like adrenaline in a altercation.
My head swells with the sudden urge to run amiss
making tours of every memory sufficient enough to spurn that acrimony.
god im overwhelmed, god im so bested
god its for the best, god I understand
god...better me.
To stand above a comrade in a war you've waged against them is not winning
if anything its defeat and betrayal to oneself.
To strike out backwards on our past taking the rough terrain
and easy walking is vigorous but well worth it.
My sanity is forever indebted for had I not seen the alternate
paths and how destructive they'd have been to you,
I would still be standing here in my beligerance.
Whats left of my heart after it was mauled would corode away just like our friendship.
Better me, I don't think I could live with myself lavishly
had the alternative come about.
Better me, I'd rather be the one to burn.
Attack of below zero temperature assailing
Blankets the room beyond blustery
Chills of the arctic, cleaving…
Daring to defy dreariness
Enveloping season of enchanting enigmas
Fueled by prayer place while adorned with furred coat, fleecy…
Glistening yuletide trees glare midst lantern glow
Herald helping faith messages from God, hoisting hope*
Insulated with fellowship warmth against ice-kissed isolation…
Jingling bells blend with carol hymns, joyous
Knitted family ties intensified by gestures, verily kind
Love prevails to blossom, bearing fruits after Winter’s** leaflessness.
*Psalm 78:7 That they might set their hope in God, and not forget the works of God, but keep his commandments.
**Just thinking in my "winterless" situation since I live in the Tropics.
"Double ABC" since the first letters of the first and last words follow the ABC pattern.
December 30, 2020
Edited on December 30, 2022
How shall I deal with this wandering mind?
Meandering through a meadow of ideas,
Seeking truth among noxious weeds I find
Since early childhood I have been curious
Always sifting through my brain’s cogitations
Accepting new concepts; discarding previous,
Tossing thoughts like a machine’s agitations
Chewing on choices of words, so indecisive,
Practicing precise grammar with conjugations.
Fending off debaters who are often derisive
Debunking theories that sound far-fetched,
While trying not to be obnoxiously divisive.
How far should an agile mind be stretched?
Let it go unchallenged and it becomes static
Drifts into rumor, relishes meaningless kvetch.
I choose to allow my mind access to the attic,
Considering all the randomness that intrudes
To avoid, as much as I can, becoming dogmatic!
Maximizing coldness delight
We huddled together as family
Enclosed by glowing warmth of love
Ignited by parental and sibling bonding
While savouring steamy chicken porridge…
Such was my cherished childhood experience during cold months.
Defying oppressive chilly blows
We gathered as a clan during reunions
Kindling embers of our ancestors’ triumphs
Midst their hot-pursuit-stories, serving as legacy
Our tribe can treasure to enrich the next generation…
Such has been a part of my scheduled vacation every December.
Feasting midst cooling breeze
We fellowship as brethren in the Lord
Seeing God’s revival* fire for faith-increase
Along His empowerment for fervent service
Exalting the Almighty Saviour, Creator, and King…
Such keeps my spiritual life fiery midst cold days in my “winterless” country.
*Isaiah 57:15 For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.
February 21, 2022
1st place, "Winter Love" Free Verse Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by JCB Brul; judged on 2/25/2022.
LORD Jesus, while on earth, was fully human - shelving His divinity by submitting His will to the Father's - without "discarding" His full deity. So on earth Jesus was born out of womb via birth canal, and probably got s slap on His back to gulp the first air outside Mary's womb. (LORD, help me with these next few lines, amen)
1. Whose sin did Jesus pay for with the first SLAP on the back He got from the attending "midwife or medical expert" in the day? Maybe the person who helped with the delivery, LOL!
2. What would the Disciples have said whenever Jesus would sneeze or FART - or pass gas?
BLESS US, LORD, or simply "More, LORD!"
(Jesus in His Eternity and Omniscience knew He died for my sins and words including these very human considerations and cogitations about Our LORD's humanity and KOINONIA, or fellowshipping, with the closest Disciples.
Affectionate appreciation, joyous
Blissful blessed gatherings, victorious…
Christmas: commemoration of Christ’s birth
Delighting with gift of eternal worth…
Everlasting life* granted midst love’s best
Faith-received to share by compassion zest.
*John 3:16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
ABC in couplet form
December 7, 2021
2nd place, "Your Favorite SHORT Christmas poem - old or new" Poetry Writing Contest; Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich; judged on 12/22/2023
: November 17, 2024, for Dreams Within Dreams Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
__________________________
“Thought streams manifested the dream
I was both subject and object
Methinks things are not what they seem
Which illusion do we reject”
___________________________
In a twilight tangle, I drift and dance,
Within the blankets, boundaries for stance.
A paper vessel on shimmering layers of glass,
Where whispers waltz, as memories surpass.
Sailing through night, in the moon embrace,
Stars whisper low, in a soft-lit space.
Rivers of concepts, twist and turn,
As I toss and turn, in the heart’s deep burn.
I sew my dreams in a cosmic stitch,
Bridges span from rich to rich.
A stroke of light, through an ajar door,
While alleys of sleep stretch forever more.
I stand on the bathroom floor,
Washed of doubt, I feel the lore
Of hours tick in a soft, warm bed,
Where astronauts float in a sea of dread.
Notes similar to feathers falling from the sky,
Cram my heart as I watch birds fly—
With shackles of time around my soul,
I carry the wonders, the weight, the whole.
Flying through corners, where echoes dream,
Chords that bind and seam unseen screams.
A clock ticks down, in the night’s embrace,
Each second whispers a silent trace.
The concerto of the world peaks to greet my soul.
On palms and pouts, where pleasure is whole.
Months loop as muddled books, marred and broke,
Graphite glimmers, the genius's grand stroke.
So here I stand, seeking and securing solace,
In this canvas of calm, where cogitations promise.
A delightful dream, deftly designed and drawn,
Bathed in the brilliance of dwindling dawn.
I hear, I see, I feel. I think too much.
Then, I become introverted and isolated,
And beside myself I speak to myself within myself.
Yet, Enmity and Fear are bound to give audience
To my cogitations, which I impersonate
At the directions of feelings and emotions;
These roles I play willingly on center stage
In the theatre of my mind yielding tragic comedies,
Changing swiftly scene to scene, act to act,
Swinging from a nimbus of moods and turning shadows
Backdropped with pious airs and variable human nature,
Shifting suddenly between my players' claims and chuckles
Under the three branches that cast their shade
Randomly upon my brow, dividing unto my very soul;
Inflamed with daft assumptions and mad craft,
Pronouncing judgments in wrath carrying out sentences
In the midst of my scenarios, I am thrust through
Back to reality, but my sanity does permit me
Not to perform things I would in temporary delusions;
Yet, in my mind my characters hail me a champion still.