Best Conceded Poems
When the words were intense
and the soul no longer
conceded to comfort
Thoughts got blind
and the heart beats in tension
Silence
*****
Absent are ardent
words
an inability to fill gaps
meanings suspended
seasons slowly stretching
Silence
*****
A thin veil
hiding behind
a thick weight
suppressing many a
sound
Silence
*****
Deeply delving into a void
seeking the significance
of a still word
trying to explain an unexplained
world
Silence
*****
Observing, absorbing
the aura of silence
touching its vibrant
presence
perceivable, palpable
Silence
*****
Pausing in peace
treasuring tranquillity
allowing the soul
to such a state admire
sinking in a serene space
Silence
Butterfly Landings
It’s a precarious perch
High by a skydive
In such a leap of faith
A leap of love
Circumnavigates these boots of Earth
Fellow to the stratospheres
These butterfly landings
Of you in my heart
Destinies lance
Has shot me full to the sun
On the twirling chant sung
Ever re initiates
And sounds the river onward runs
Always
Of your name
Settles red iridescence
To tip the scales
These butterfly landings
Of you in my arms
I see you in precognitions
Flashes
In my obsessions of your hair
Lip-syncing to the kisses
In my passions of your eyes
Where my heady desires evolve
This molecular bonding’s
These butterfly landings
Of you inside my soul
It’s a precarious perch
To expressive to encapsulate
How much I love you
It’s a peculiar laugh
That admits I have never even met you
But all of you inexorable
I am conceded to the pull
I am bound to the groundings
In these butterfly landings
Of you
( Everything I am
Everything I do
Wrapped inside
Those landing butterflies
I cannot express
In any vocabulary of words
Only in the dictionary of unspoken eternals
Lay the definitions of
How much I love
How much I need
How much I want
You
They beg with you
This man on bended knees
How this strength in me
Pleads
Come back to me
Come back to me )
Children as young as three years old,
Killed for not doing as they’re told,
Forced to forget their culture bold,
What a tragedy to unfold!
Two hundred fifteen, that ain’t less,
Young innocents abused, suppressed,
How can humans be so heartless?
It breaks my heart, I must confess,
Wonder, how they would have pleaded?
Their cries for mercy unheeded
Residential schools, not needed,
Were soon closed, but lives conceded,
In the name of education,
A way of ‘assimilation’,
Native kids faced termination,
What a gruesome excavation!
07.01.2021
{On 28 May, 2021, the bodies of 215 children were discovered in a burial site at the grounds of the Kamloops Indian Residential School using new, ground-penetrating technology. The deaths are believed to be undocumented. The school, which was closed in the late 1970s, is located in Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc First Nation. First Nations refer to a section of indigenous inhabitants of Canada, along with Inuits and Métis people.
Between 1831 and 1996, Canada’s residential school system forcibly separated more than 1.5 lakh First Nations children from their families in order to assimilate them into the Euro-Canadian and Christian ways of living. They were forbidden to acknowledge their indigenous heritage and culture or to speak their own languages.
According to an information resource set up by the University of British Columbia, children were subjected to physical, sexual, emotional, and psychological abuse.
In 2008, then Prime Minister Stephen Harper publicly issued an apology, on behalf of the Government of Canada, to all indigenous people acknowledging the country’s role in the residential school system.}
For Edward Ibeh's "This or That, Vol 4" contest
March is a time of transition
winter and spring commence their struggle
between moments of ice and mud
a robin appears heralding the inevitable
life stumbling from its slumber
it was in such a period of change in 1905
that the House of Physics
would see its Newtonian axioms
of an ordered universe collapse
into a new frontier
where the divisions of time and space
matter and energy
were to blend as rain and wind
in a storm that broke loose
within the mind of Albert Einstein
where Brownian motion danced
seen and unseen, a random walk
that became his papers marching through science
reshaping the very fabric of the universe
we have come to know
we all share a common ancestor
a star long lost in the eons of memory
and yet in that commonality
nature demands a permutation
a perchance genetic roll of the dice
which births a new vision
lifting us temporarily from the mystery
exposing some of the roots of our existence
only to raise a plethora of more questions
as did the papers of Einstein in 1905
SAN DIEGO 9/05 Philosophy of Science Portal
Tim Ray Poet Colleague
i was working as a "Stringer" for the above blog searching the Internet for articles on physics and philosophy and was asked to write this as part of a celebration of the 100-year mark of Einstein's papers. i do not do requests but i conceded for reasons. my claim to fame herein is a poke at Einstein's statement that God does not play with dice, however, was not he a permutation in the scheme of things? and lest we forget he objected to the Big Bang theory holding onto the Steady State with other scientists because it was too much like Genesis. and lost to Bohr over Quantum Entanglement, settled by John Stewart Bell...but who is counting? and these peccadillos stand in little shadows of those papers in 1905.
We were best friends,
and I was so proud.
She was my mother,
and I was her child.
Then fateful words were spoken aloud,
diagnosis with dire consequences.
Changes came day by day,
remembrances lost, with pretend defenses.
Simple tasks became great chores,
challenges were impossibilities.
Alzheimer’s had captured her life,
and I... unprepared for probabilities.
Always searching for home,
caused her to wander and roam.
Fences, gates and locked doors,
for her protection we had to condone.
I was with her every day.
I wish she had been there, too.
We walked in her garden.
The question came, “Now, who are you?"
God needed her in heaven, but in his
great wisdom knew I needed a while.
He graciously conceded and gave compromise.
He took her spirit, and gave me a special child.
I gave her baths.
I combed her hair,
I clothed, fed, and put her to bed;
God and I sitting till morning air.
That fateful day sadly arrived,
filled with such pain and sorrow.
Goodbye my friend, my mother... my special child.
I’ll see you again tomorrow!
Sweet memories I’ve treasured since that day,
thank you for time to sort them in place.
I am now more endeared to those times long ago
when I was a child and she washed my face.
April 2, 2010
The young and the older,
the outliers fevered and deranged,
found momentary peace
but could not hide
from the tempest of demons loathed.
Closer to the edge
now closer the edge.
The women and the children,
the soldiers wounded and maimed,
found momentary shelter
but could not hide
from the wrath of their ruler scorned.
Closer to the blade
now closer the blade.
Yards underfoot conceded,
miles of oblivion on the march,
outer wars witnessed,
inner wars, no quieter, quietly denied,
die, or go mad and die.
18th November 2018
A single moment, all too brief,
clear as the razor’s edge.
It came to me just as a dream would,
it may have been just as important
or just as meaningless.
In the moment, grave and profound,
I was sure that I must have its mastery
and nearly as sure that I did.
Fatigue was morbid as waking wisdom,
lucidity sure as fiendish cold.
Terror was bright as cloudless noon,
sorrow blind as midnight’s prayer.
It left me just as a dream might,
it may have been less important
and even more meaningless.
In a new moment, desperate and dire,
I clutched at the vanished mastery
and finally conceded that it was gone.
A single moment, all too clear,
brief as the hangman’s glance.
16th November 2018
This is about me, so completely unique, and yet so much the same.
No that's not me, that's the beloved youngest member of our family , Brix!!!
To name four things about me:
NOW: I am slow and slightly dim-witted.
THEN: I was fast thinking, a workaholic with a high IQ
NOW: I am plain with little sense of fashion
THEN:I was plain with little sense of fashion
NOW: I can rhyme stories quite well - That doesn't make me a good poet.
THEN: I wasn't much of a poet.
NOW: I am not much of a gardener.
THEN: I wasn't much of a gardener.
I have seen all I care to see. I don't have a bucket list. OH hold on, I changed my mind on that one - I care to see world peace.
I am a lover of poetry. Particularly Aussie poetry and I must count Terry Ireland's poetry in that, even though he is a Pommie.
I am a lover of genuine people. All sorts.
I love our adorable 10 year old Bullmastiff.
Of course I love my family, and one or two super good friends. ( but they are included in "genuine people').
Three feelings- Hot - cold - pain
I fear anyone I know being ill or injured.
Born and bred in paradise. ( Sydney Australia).
Last name . Hmmmmmmm that's a hard one. I will leave this one blank.
( I am sure most of you know it anyway).
I know there is a place for me in this world, as I am needed.
The guy I have shacked up with for the last 52 years conceded,
That I'm useful at times and that without me he would be lost .
He looked at hiring, a cook and a maid - it wasn't worth the cost.
Witch Hazel
There once was a witch named Hazel
Mistook poison oak for sweet basil
She finally conceded
New glasses, she needed,
For Halloween spells reappraisal
Attempting to elevate lifes being
A different class a different seeing
Activate the actions for a cause
Achieve the greatness with little loss
Elevate to that respectable class
Amputate that feeling of last
Emmatate the greatness of before
Evaluate the keeping of score
Escalate to that certain floor
Discover the summit behind the door
That was locked because of poor
And when you find your mission completed
Remain humble and not conceded
Remember the sweat and that which was bleeding
And then thank God in your succeeding
Believe in yourself then start conceiving
But everything first begins with believing
They were her favourite,
She loved them deeply,
I saw her tend them with care,
She communed with them,
She sat in their midst in the cool of the evening,
They blossomed with her every care,
I was deeply moved,
She trimmed and sold some,
Instructing that they should
be nurtured with care,
When she was indisposed,
They slowly withered,
I took over and did her obligations,
They didn’t respond at first,
But later conceded,
When she departed,
I told them,
But promised to wear her shoes.
October 16, 2022.
The Highwaymen softly play
Me And Bobby Magee
And for the next four hours
Every single drink is free.
Order what you like friend
And stick it on the slate
Tonight we’re saying goodbye
To my best and oldest mate.
On the bar in isolation stands
The Absent Friend’s Drink,
At the end of the night to be
Quickly poured down the sink.
Like every other human being
He was good and bad in parts
A fact that becomes apparent
When the reminiscing starts.
A man of strong opinions
Which he carried to the end
And we didn’t always agree
Me and this good old friend.
It was a friendship of honesty
We didn’t tell each other lies
We just agreed to differ and
Each learned to compromise.
From teenaged Squaddies
To men of retirement age
We remained mates through
Every changing life stage.
Strong willed, as often
Wrong as he was right
He never ever conceded
Without a spirited fight.
A mam of surprises
A man seemingly apart
But not far below the surface
One of good and kind heart.
The free bar has closed
Heaven knows how big the slate
But we gave a fitting farewell
To my much missed old mate.
I’ve drunk so many pints as
This night draws to its end
But I’m stone cold sober
As I think of my old friend
The Absent Friend’s Drink
Has been quietly poured away
Marking the official end of this
His wake and funeral day.
The music’s switched off.
Now just a big empty room
That, to quote the apt saying
Is almost silent as a tomb.
One last look around to check
Then they switch off the light
And tired staff follow us out
Into the darkness of the night.
My
Darling,
I do say,
Upon my soul,
And in the after-
Math of this past winter,
When the two of us became
Enstranged like Roman letters,
Counting and counting as best we could,
But missing the word which would change our world,
For sometimes in systems there are flaws,
Bugs and blind spots that create holes.
Nothing can be completed,
One Goedel conceded,
But still that zero,
Missing in us,
Was the word,
Whose world
Was
What our love needed to be awakened to.
being me not self centered
Caring and kind hoping to find
The best there is in human kind
Trying not to be judgmental
At the same time be conversational
Trying to see both sides as a one
Often conceded as soft hearted
Taken to the heart
Often known for a few tear jerker’s
Funny humors to the core
Less often a bore
Love to have around
To brake a frown
Always willing to lend a hand
Love giving not receiving
Patience in life’s everyday situations
Great listener ready to give good feed back
A survivor and a fighter
A forgiver not a forgetter
Strong minded protective when it comes
To the ones I love
To sum it all up I am just me myself and I
I love being my self
?
I hear a song it doesn’t make me feel glee
Because my legs start shaking with a bursting pee.
I frequently listen to the radio for I love dramatic plays
But they turn my stomach bad like having a menstrual phase.
I observe closely those pornographic magazines
They make feel like wanking with all the nude scenes.
I touch my head searching intensely for hair
I keep on scrutinizing but there is nothing there.
I touch my ***** I’m afraid it has conceded
To again make it rise some viagra needed.
This is my unfortunate state of life
I have no woman, no lovers and no wife.