Best Common Knowledge Poems
It would be great if human beings
Were great at being human
And if all of mankind
Were made up of kind men
It would be wonderful if common knowledge
Was knowledge commonly known
And if the light from being enlightened
Into every heart was shown
It would be fantastic if the war to end all wars
Was the last war that we fought
It would be amazing if we learned the lessons
From every lesson we were taught
It would be cool if our freedom
To us was freely granted
And if every seed of kindness
Would grow wherever planted
It would be glorious if neighbors were neighborly
And prejudice a forgotten word
It would be awesome if we shared everything
And being greedy was absurd
It would be spectacular if the golden rule
Was golden to every man
And the good things that we ever did
Was everything that we can
line count and word number are equal in this selection....
"Make It Count"
by: Eric L. Boddie
A
Man may
Come to play
But if you say
Oh no baby, not today
Do you think he would stay
Or would he go so far away
In search of another lover he could lay
Doing everything associated with rolling in that infamous hay
And if push came to shove, maybe he would pay
To relieve all the stress stemming from your hips' distant sway
Because something must give, there are more than fifty shades of gray
That's common knowledge to the freaks and all those upon which they prey
And once you learn them all, I promise your lover will never ever stray
But if you miss just a single one, then you may experience that dreadful day
Where you lose it all so try to find True Love and remember to always Pray
*Image of Agoraphobia by Pixabay.
KJV John 8:32 "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
Agoraphobia
I mistook my pain for a summer's eve,
For this is what loneliness does to me,
Adrift on an orchid sweet stern petal,
It is lofty thoughts that steer my mettle,
For such frees me from my isolation,
Self-delivered like my separation,
Sites make a quarry, I try to withdraw,
Diverse regions clumsy, like a jigsaw,
Simply, naught to gain any sense I face,
Seclusion oddly is my happy place,
A zenith sun beats away at my door,
As carpet brand paces made on the floor,
Meds just let others see me at my worst,
For my inner self tells me I am cursed,
No potion concocted, no spell was said,
A sad delusion this shadow has spread,
A shedding sun frees me from my prison,
Like so many, I somewhat have risen,
But unlike them, it is for mixed reasons,
My annular trek for all four seasons,
The night, my phantom friend, my luxury,
As it lingers, it will embolden me,
Though my rest will not be the same but brief,
For my restless mind robs me like a thief,
As tomorrow lends vast hope advances,
Can I recover, what are my chances,
For I dread the dawn, fear it be the same,
To hide and not be found plays out this game,
It is common knowledge for those who know,
Agoraphobia, my true shadow.
2020 January 12
Watch out and wait. In fact stop listen and wait. Is that the wailing of a sail sailing by? Of course it is. The fact that an ironed breeze can touch a nautical knot is common knowledge amongst sailors and sailors are neither shaped sharpened sharpeners nor are they saying still shifts stillness. It is the opinion of the official orange kingdom that stalk the juice makers. Creators of squishing. Causing cannibalistic clothes cheating chatty climbers. It is neither within a dash nor a hash key that a full stop is found. And keys can be symbolic and symbolism of a metric metre can be taken to a few zoos to play with caged controlled boxed up animals who wish to run away. This they do with thuds akin to hooves. Strong fur and beaks can move and snap bars. And all are released. Good. Ha the ball is dancing to a top allegro tune in a sombrero and a tutu. Ha the tail of a car is chasing a cat around. Xxxxx multinational z z z z z. With a hypothetical hypothesis hearing harmonic hopping hippopotami z
“The Great Riddle”
Humanism became a new religion
in a world where romancing gods
at war sanctifying acts of violence
for their own levels of commandments,
became defunct, monotheism at odds
walked inside the vessels of mortal existence
there also,
inside the great
I am,
an image
lives
and speaks
the sacriligious poet
writing and speaking
listening to others
all the words gone wrong
considering rehoming
after death,
there are many houses...there,
what should gods
and warring religions
matter then?
Inside
the great
I am,
heresies romancing apostates
perilous poets and
all consuming clerics
all made
from the one
image of a man
living life
from the confusing words,
read, written and spoken
sleeping together
uncomfortably
like warring lovers
blanketed under harsh covers
of different books
seeking something sweet
riddles to be answered
by judges after their death
when all do meet
standing around
the communal fire
burning all their books
peace came
to be
upon them
no longer
did they
speak in riddles
a common knowledge
all words transparent
one voice heard
its beating heart succinct,
yet terribly misunderstood,
eventually felt
held
in hands
after death
the Reborn,
eventually
understood
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"Out of the eater came something to eat,
and out of the strong came something sweet."
We were all saddened to learn of the death this week of one of our hardest working citizens. SOMEONE ELSE. When SOMEONE ELSE died it created a huge void in our community that will be difficult to fill. SOMEONE ELSE was with us for many years. SOMEONE ELSE always did far more than a normal person's share of the work. Whenever there was a job to do, overtime to pull, or a meeting to attend. One name was always on everyone's lips. "Let SOMEONE ELSE do it". Whenever there was a need everyone just assumed that SOMEONE ELSE would volunteer. It was common knowledge that SOMEONE ELSE was the hardest worker in our community. SOMEONE ELSE was a wonderful person who often appeared superhuman. In all honesty. Everyone expected to much of SOMEONE ELSE. So now that SOMEONE ELSE is gone, what will happen to our schools, our children, our churches, our community. SOMEONE ELSE left a marvelous example for us to follow. But now who is going to do the work SOMEONE ELSE did. Will it be you. Or will it be SOMEONE ELSE. c. Rodney Mendoza
WHAT IF?
Our philosophies are different, yet people are the same
Where you end up in your life, is how you play life’s game
What is it you think about? What do you visualise?
What you are visualising, should be no big surprise!
What should be common knowledge, only few have known
Listen to your inner self and let the truth be shown
We Become What We Think About
What if this is true?
The only way you’ll ever know is try it, yes try it, I mean you!
What ever you may think about, be it good or be it bad
Will determine your future days, meaning happy, meaning sad
What if you believe in this?
What if this is true?
What if its reality, what will you do?
What if you would try it? Give it all you’ve got!
That’s the only way you’ll ever know, of what it is in WHAT!!!!.
Moving through the pulse and the flow
A timetable of fixed dilation
A given
And measured
Ellipse
To the people it trips
As they ride the crest
Of the waves
Of emotions
Just prisoners of
Perpetual motion
Never ceasing
Never pretending to be
Anything more
Born into the days
Of a future long past
Spying its records
From the start to the last
We are all
Just second hand news
In a land of ne’re to be
Nonsensical devotion
The prisoners of perpetual motion
Elate
And repress
The We
The US three
The Me
Myself
and I
Come to share in a life such as these
Checking out the view
I’m just second hand news
In the land of Ne’re do we
Strolling on by and
Pressing on through
Tasked with its provisions
And it’s riddled revisions
Nonsense and fiction
Have found their new diction
Of solar progression
As they encapsulate
The US Three
Strolling on by
Pressing ahead
The RIGHT
And the TRUE
It’s textured and layered deception
Held a managed intervention
Holding within its folio
The signatures of digression
Devoid of emotion
As it’s pendulum swings to and fro
Never able to leave
Or break its grasp
Transcending all in its path
Nonsense and fiction
Wear a guise of suspicion
Take on a new face
A perplexing division
With its sweeping broad strokes
To embrace and replace the US Three
Brushing on past
Just a page before
You knocked on the door
Of the garden where flowers once grew
These steps you’ve taken
Left to the tender mercies
Of fiscal conservancy’s
Hyperbolic uncertainty
Common knowledge
Given breathe
As stolen
A thief
Of the Inspector in chief
His notes plainly written
A solider in part
Has taken my enemies heart
In a fruitless pursuit
Of passion and pain
Here
I remain
In its orbital dance
The great mechanic has cast
His players
The WE
The US Three
Cry the home
On this ellipse
As we roam
The WE
The US Three
The black crow
Watches unfaltering
With his stalwart gaze
As your counterfeit lies
Sought in other men’s eyes
With a forbodance
Which can not be denied
In the wink of an eye
Like the pearls on a string
That glow
And
That shine
As it squares with the facts
In the drivers seat of circumstance
And at length in perpetuity
YOU hold the charter to men’s hearts.
Enea's Pope! (2)
I suppose it’s common knowledge
(and not tedious, I hope!)
that two-thirds of the Sacred College
must concur to elect a pope.
With eighteen cardinals gathered,
twelve was the number to get.
They were nervous, preoccupied, lathered,
for there was no favourite yet.
Day One turned out quite indecisive,
Calindrini accomplishing five:
Enea’s vote, far from derisive –
his five kept his prospects alive.
D’Estouteville’s position was healthy,
and he lobbied for all he was worth.
It helped to be fabulously wealthy,
and promise the voters the earth.
“I don’t want to sound like a critic,”
(thus whispered d’Estouteville in private)
“but look at him – pauper, arthritic.
There’s something you need? I’ll contrive it.”
The gist of the cardinal’s sermon
was that Enea worshipped Apollo,
and was anyway almost a German,
dire consequences were certain follow.
A cardinals’ caucus at midnight
convoked by the frenchified faction
made it seem that the tertium quid might
take a piece of the Rouenais action.
D’Estouteville himself was a teller
when they voted the very next day:
they’d do better to pick Helen Keller –
one of Enea’s votes “went astray”.
Now Enea’s on nine votes, and leading:
a silence descends on the throng.
D’Estouteville is far from conceding:
this process could well be prolonged.
In silence they sit in the Sistine,
feckless, faineant, forlorn
(the chapel itself is still pristine:
Michelangelo hasn’t been born.)
A shout comes from Borgia (Rodrigo,
that’s Cesare’s father-to-be),
“I’m switching to you, mi amigo!”
That’s one of the necessary three!
And then speaks Tebaldi of Naples:
“I’ll go with Siena as well!”
It’s looking decidedly papal,
as friends of d’Estouteville can tell!
One vote is now all that is needed,
one vote and he’s pontifex max:
one vote and he’s finally succeeded:
one vote is the one thing he lacks!
Colonna gets up from his cushion:
d’Estouteville and chums know the score:
unseemly, the shovin’ and pushin’:
they bundle him out of the door.
The spectacle can’t be called splendid.
“Enea, I’m making you pope!”
The greasy pole’s now been ascended:
It’s time for the slippery slope!
It's the way they look at me.
As if I haven't lost my hair.
It's the way they play with me.
As if I were their age.
It's the way they worry about me.
As if that's what should be done for my scars.
It's the way they tell me I'm beautiful.
As if it's common knowledge.
It's the way they hug me.
As if I'm their anchor to this world
When in actuality, it's quite the opposite.
they should have a stand up comic
who talks about what they would do
if they had a record deal
to make one cd
that everyone would benefit from
a cd soo well thought out in its perfection
it would be impossible not to learn from it
it would start out as a man introducing himself as jezebelle
who happens to be a personal trainer
using smutsersize to teach doctors common knowledge
and encourage the military to exercise properly
as well as telling her listeners the dangers of illicit drugs
so go get a racy magazine or book which describes an experience
of a well written fantasy of a private strip show
and then incorperate the messages of proper exercise regimen
healthy foods that should be common knowledge
and of course some really good humour
so lets begin
as you will eventually find out
the storyline is the curse of jesus's sex life and you are the martyr
here are the racist remarks to work with
as jesus travels from place to place in this story
of the discovery of group sex
and the books of lies written about the lies the liars told about other people's lies
being worshipped today you know as religion
and that is just sick, sick, sick, sick
the narator reveals how this began in East India
and there is no way that the people who originator of the mama sutra can be bad
however they stole this idea from jesus
OOOde my ooode yes, i did it, i did it
i gut avay wit it
who wrote the boooook of looove
Matthew 19: 14: Suffer the infants to come unto me and forbid them not: for
of such is the kingdom of heaven
Is it really shameful to depend upon God?
My guess is for most people the answer is ‘Yes! '
Self-reliance our one chance at true happiness,
Dependency as virtue seems really quite odd.
But Jesus seems to differ with common knowledge
By proclaiming infants the mark we should aim for,
Not with works, faith, or humility do they score
Yet with the fraternity of heaven they pledge.
So how does our understanding lead us astray
When we're trying to do all we possibly can
To listen to God and be a servant to man
Christ's answer is simple, He says Grace is the way.
Our good works it seems don't affect our salvation,
Are not ours, but are born in the gift of God's Grace,
Our reward is complete in the smile on His face,
Peace finally found in the God of Creation.
Sharing with my public, sommit like a pub trick. Wonder how its done! knowing that my grubs sick. Meaning my food for thought is nourishment for the mind. Sounds rude ovcourse but no punishment of mine. Truth can hurt and be hard to find. Once you've found it be sure not to leave it behind.
I got so much stuff to say right now but i'ma hold it back. Something like a play fight between friends, no punches. Just a tap. I shant be the one to introduce the topic. Decided a while ago, to be the one to drop it. If the question does get raised, ya know that I have got it. The answer that is, I've been praised before for knowin what the plot is. Know what the abrasions for, its how i've come to got this.
Be a shame to waste this opportunity to genralise what's soon to be common knowledge as soon as we get it together. Its looming see no one is imune to me. I'll infect all acclumatively, its no desease. Unity please! Spread to all communities.
If ya met me in person, no nicer a version. I know ya get me! no coercion, I'm the only person I am hurting. Its why I continue with my versing. To better understand whats perverting behind the curtian that no-body talks about. I'll keep reverting to the truth and bring it with clout.
i have seen venus lingering in my dreams. she swarms me and warns me, of all the things you'd like to do. with a gental grip, she pulls me into august. the cicadas are back with the steady chirp of timeless memories. our love is vegetating in the basement of my old apartment. i am taken again by hand; so familiar and powerful. it is you, telling me what i want to hear, again. asking to hold my hand when nobody looks. kissing me just out of the public eye. how could something so wrong feel so divine? you are not mine and i will never be yours, but what we both share is common knowledge. in some universe, far from here, we are together and we are happy. we are in love and we understand this. maybe this isnt our universe or our time or our lives. maybe us meeting was a sick prank played by the gods. "fools! this kind of love is unearthly! you'd have to be a god yourself to deserve such divinity between souls!" and i will laugh and say yes it is crazy and so arent we. is it possible for two humans to share a soul? to be able to know what the other is thinking just by the part of their hair? what a silly game they've made us out to be. so rotten and manic, we don't belong in this humanity. we belong in the stars, with venus and cupid and all the lovers that met in the wrong universe. we are that of ancestry. no matter how slow, we will make it in the end. with unspoken promises and curious hands, our bond grows thicker than any god's plans.
I lived to die today
To say goodbye again
tomorrow, unattainable it
may be, unexplainable the sorrow
seems to me, with last notes
in concession, head fast the
past confessions, indiscretions pave
unholy ways, cementing rules to the
games we play, tools we use for
last times are never just that, forever
to elude the facts, but never intending
to conclude the impending inner
strife, that impales with threat the
scales of life with Russian roulette, uniformed
in straight jackets, we tend to revisit
mental asylums with dark exhibits, we
often fail to revise common knowledge, the
logic that nobody gets out alive, we surf
the brainwaves like it’s merely a sport, and
pulsate in this, the school of thought