Best Conceptualize Poems
Myself I’ve never been much of a mathematician.
Algebra and stuff didn’t add up to much when I made the decision,
to respond to you, our multi-versed mathematical magician.
Because even I know all things aren’t always equal.
I don’t know what it’s like to grow up black and poor
and to wonder why other kids have more.
Or why no one looks sideways when white kids walk into a store.
It seems this world for you uses a subtraction and division equation.
Giving people who look like me a multiplication table.
We rise to the top like cream even when you’re more capable.
Those who say “Things have changed” are living in a fable.
Maybe they think it’s fine because they have lots on their table.
You have no reason to apologize, I see the sad in your eyes.
That happens when others try to bring you down to size.
But, I sense a power beyond the treatment they rationalize.
There is scripture flowing from your pen,
telling us what your people have dealt with over and over again.
You help me conceptualize that pain,
which enables me to see and realize,
why some might try to bury their blues with drugs and booze.
They think “Nothing is going to change”
They say “F it I’ve got nothing to loose!”
But you you’re a word warrior that’s not the path you choose.
Rewrite it, rethink it, turn it into good news.
Sorrows on a graph, death and molestations.
All these sadness quotients are not merely estimations.
They defy gravity and my limited calculations.
But I can’t read your sorrow without acknowledging
I see your situation.
I hear your brave heartfelt communication.
While still I wonder how you cope with this frustration
Maybe it’s the angels that grace your constellation.
The way you wrote it and I read it
If I were your teacher I’d give you all the credit
Besides in this case you’re the teacher
I say hallelujah brother your life is a prayer.
Keep on speaking preacher.
So I ask what can a math challenged
middle aged white dude do?
People need compassion for what they’ve been through
A thought can grow exponentially beyond me and you,
until it becomes true.
Action Maximization by the many for the few.
Poem by Richard Lamoureux
Dedicated to Michael Ellis.
...inspired by 'Portrait of a Lady' by T.S. Eliot
On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it alway was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to silence my equivocating.
Somber is my attitude, the light is dim, curtains at rest,
as dust mites dance, the clock ticks unobtrusively,
marking time, the chamber maids make ready for my guest,
and dust the tables, clean the silver, place the flowers perfectly.
You return from 'La Boheme,' affected by the tragedy,
emboldened by Puccini's art, transfiguring his sadness
to an everlasting theme of hope eternal, with no misery.
A small group of confederates who seize the meaning clearly,
examine his conceptions with a true and honest face,
only those who can conceptualize his grace.
And we are bereft of conversation.
The curtain falls between our faces,
we are left with little else to say.
Gone are common talk, and airs and graces,
walls have grown, and bars along the way.
Your friends have grown in stature, tried and true,
reflecting what you feel within your soul,
and you must follow them and share their view,
as long as it will bring you to your goal.
Friendship is a bond that can't be broken,
even though you dally in your heart,
you cannot break the bond, the sacred token,
that keeps your deepest feelings pure to art.
Your friends are true disciples of your creed,
they will legitimize your need
to pave your way to conquer and succeed.
Within the screeching of the violins,
the humming of the basses and the horns,
I hear a tattoo beating all alone,
the bass drum then begins
to pound a loud crescendo of its own.
I listen, is there something out of tone?
With cigarettes and sherry, unconcerned,
we wander through the garden unaware,
take in the sights and pass without a care,
as if our differences didn't matter,
we give ourselves to nonsense, idle chatter.
Roses now are brightly blooming,
to your friends now you are calling.
I know not of what you speak,
I cannot fathom your delight.
You say: 'Try to understand my mission,
learn to trust in things unseen,
I must find what nature seeks
and follow its eternal yearning.
Youth will never gather roses,
never see beyond the garden.'
I will stay forever in the cold.
Mother: Inside, there may be fear. Outside, this may challenge your image. But whatever maybe, I am here as perseverance. As second born, you may feel that you are unimportant. You do know that you are welcome here with open arms. Resilience enables voice.
Son: My time on Earth evolved. You gave birth to me with love.
But sometimes I feel controlled. Agitated from seeing what I know.
I am grateful you are my mom or, otherwise, I might be the unlucky one.
Insecurity always coexist, but this can be overcome easily.
Mother: One thing is for sure, your worldview will inform your soul.
Meaning when you down, you take the needed space where your mind can relax and think. When you want to talk, you may come to me for a shoulder to rely on. I admire your tenacity even when this may question diversity. In time of distress, consistency may or will conquer demons.
Son: I can become tired and angry inside annoyed about whatever causing the hindrance and self-denial – sick from wants and desires.
Mother: But oh, like Satan suppressed by the wrath of the Almighty God, one day all this will be behind you. Clearing out your thoughts finding a greater source, you’ll find that life can be magnificent when you believe in the omnipotent.
Son: Mother, thanks for doing this with me. I now feel more at ease to conceptualize my ideas where I address my next idiom and/or phase.
Mother: And son, keep your eyes on the prize and that is what makes happiness inside and determines what is right. One may be without the other, however, when together, cherish what is right because this brings more value to happiness, which son is ultimate and known as contentment.
The reflection of myself in a mirror
Is only the opposite of what people see.
A photograph, on the other hand, is right-side forward.
But a mirror and a photograph only show a flat picture,
And all I know about the way I look is what I can imagine.
Even a sculpture could not show me the image of myself.
All the art and all the music and all the poetry that ever was
Do not depict my appearance to me.
All the words you tell me never do enlighten me.
I am not a dove.
I am not a frog.
I am not a crow.
I am not an inchworm.
I am a human being.
But how do I look?
All the words you tell me never do make me see,
But I am satisfied when you are in the mirror next to me.
Who you are is who you are!
Who you are is who you are and you should be respected as yourself and because God made you that way so it is who you are you are of value.
The things of your person is who you are
your face , your eyes , your teeth your hands and feet are yours and that is who you are
no one has right to harm who you are
What you say is who you are
if you speak oracles and have eloquent speech or if you speak ebonics and stutter then that is who you are
you have a voice to be heard
Where you go is who you are
If you like to fish or go to the club or if you like to visit friends and travel then that is who you are
you have a right to enjoy life to the fullest
The company that you keep is who you are
If you prefer people who are white collar or blue collar and people who wear beautiful dresses than that is who you are or if I like people who wear cut off shorts and flips flops and brims then that is who you are
you have a right to choose
How you conceptualize or meditate is who you are but if you ignore things and brush things off then that is who you are
life is a challenge and you have a right to embrace it on your own level
Who you are is fine with me because I like who you are and sometimes you are just like me
By Felicia Elizabeth Dawn Jefferson - Weaver Jefferson
PERFECT TIMING
patience, hardest virtue to conceptualize
needs and answers prolonged
wait upon Him
living in this flagitious society life becomes numb
yet we extrapolate irrespective reality till we become dumb
mental break downs and frivolous exercises of intellectual contempt
permeates a paradigmatic volition of unparsimonious content
we are axiomatic in our subjective minds as we conceptualize truths
but preconceived notions poison and impede the capacity of our fruits
berayed by the thick insulating cover of vitriolic and obligatory words
you can see with more than our eyes and hear more than whats heard
virtue and value will hurt you in battle
as expression and intention fight for domain
necessity and certainty like humans and cattle
like pride and despair both going insane
miraculous recoveries and extravagant claims
cognitive faculties misfiring as the mind refuses to aim
lost in translation as we wander our brains
a mental castration of parabolic restrains
feelings, opinions and emotions all subjective and chained
like a broken track on a bridge made for a 4,000 ton train
we refuse to abide by the laws in our hearts
as we accept solipsism in whole and in part
judgmental determinist with a maniacal skill
to violate logic and ignore the freewill
you recapitulate hate and promulgate lies
like maggots on a carcass embedded by flies
you are dead in your thoughts and dead in your walk
Trace the outline of your body with a forensic white chalk
to be dead in your mind is to be dead inside time
and if life is subjective theres no reason or rhyme
so the "majority" resound
that life begins at birth
and equally, the other "majority"
state life begins at conception
Senator Connie Johnson chimes in
that life begins at ejaculation
or more equally, ******, a come-along
and tongue-in-cheek we hardly speak
in compromising tones, she bemoans
I'm thinkin' why not go the extra mile
...take the next step and say that
life begins at a leer and a smile
since that's where the cheeks flush
or go just a bit further and say
it starts by the hall water fountain
or while showering and dressing up
for an evening of conceptualizing
life takes on special significance
when spritzing the cologne and
slipping into something tight
with high-heels and zippers
but since we're talking about
conception, maybe we should just
go back to the ceiling of the
Sistine Chapel where God touched Adam
and said "ok young man...go forth
and conceptualize a civilization
and do many things in my name
but mostly remember to live life"
© Goode Guy 2012-02-24
http://www.npr.org/2012/02/24/147346702/how-lawmakers-lost-their-sense-of-shame?ft=1&f=1001
On this path I walk alone
I hope things will soon come to dawn
Noone seems to understand
Up to us, they stand
Our fouls to brand
But...
I lift my hand
And pray for strength to stand
All they do is criticise
I wonder what they want to conceptualize
All of us are brethren
This is even known by the heathen
Noone is perfect
Just respect
All are equal to the Higher Man
Hence I do not bother how high you get
placed by fellow man
In His image we are same
Unless you are insane
The difference is earthly possession
Which is merely an obsession
That may cause a deadly transgression
I want to look around
And see good looks all round
Fact that we all come from ground
And listen to the same sound
By one cord we are bound
Do not just see us cry
Atleast make a try
Let us strengthen our future
And sharpen our stature
We shall soon let go of this rope
From reality we never elope
Let love prevail
Even as we travail
All should avail
For negativity to derail
...inspired by 'Portrait Of A Lady' by T.S. Eliot
On winter days the view outside is nebulous at best,
within, the furniture is as it always was, and I am waiting,
waiting for a glimpse of you to silence my equivocating.
Somber is my attitude, the light is dim, curtains at rest,
as dust mites dance, the clock ticks unobtrusively,
marking time, the chamber maids make ready for my guest,
and dust the tables, clean the silver, place the flowers perfectly.
You return from 'La Boheme,' affected by the tragedy,
emboldened by Puccini's art, transfiguring his sadness
to an everlasting theme of hope eternal, with no misery.
A small group of confederates who seize the meaning clearly,
examine his conceptions with a true and honest face,
only those who can conceptualize his grace.
And we are bereft of conversation.
The curtain falls between our faces,
we are left with little else to say.
Gone are common talk, and airs and graces,
walls have grown, and bars along the way.
Your friends have grown in stature, tried and true,
reflecting what you feel within your soul,
and you must follow them and share their view,
as long as it will bring you to your goal.
Friendship is a bond that can't be broken,
even though you dally with your heart,
you cannot spring the lock, that sacred token,
that keeps your deepest feelings true to art.
Your friends are pure disciples of your creed,
they will legitimize your need
to pave your way to conquer and succeed.
Within the mellow of the violins,
the sweetness of the celli and the horns,
I hear a tattoo beating all alone,
the tympani begin to pound
a loud crescendo of their own.
I listen, there is something out of tone.
With cigarettes and sherry, unconcerned,
we wander through the garden unaware,
take in the sights and pass without a care,
as if our similarities don't matter,
we give ourselves to nonsense, idle chatter.
Roses now are brightly blooming,
to your friends now you are calling.
I know not of what you speak,
I cannot fathom your delight.
You say: 'Try to understand my mission,
learn to trust in things unseen,
I must find what nature seeks
and fathom its eternal meaning.
Youth will never gather roses,
never see beyond the garden.'
I will stay for now, trapped in the cold.
I'll write only of my biggest fault,
over it, I daily agonize.
My heart and soul are under assault
I need to conceptualize.
I can't seem to conquer my dislike
of ignorance, I can plainly see,
As I introspect, there's disquiet
blaming is not where I want to be.
Realizing many cannot afford
a college degree, even a class,
And many with a degree ignored
truth, giving conspiracy a pass.
So, each of us could open a book...
on one hand, I love the concept
of thriving, thinking, but sure to look
where we're going before we have leapt.
Disliking a mind willing to be
told what to think, to believe, to speak
I'm discarding all their qualities
closing my mind, refusing to seek.
A closed mind, a form of ignorance
so I've come full circle with my despair.
I've fallen prey to my dissonance.
A conundrum that needed some air.
April 30, 2023
for “Character Traits” poetry contest
by Angela Tune
Time will change the seasons,
the endless earth and sea.
Time will conceptualize life,
on it's odyssey.
Deep in the Universal truths,
where we abound,
deep where we seek ourselves,
most intimately found,
accepting the cycle of life,
the day to the dust,
and all things of soul,
forever continuous.
Why Jehovah you allow the wicked to spread their wings like an eagle. Why make
their path smooth like oil and their wicked act prosperous. They create havoc for
others who are trying to walk in your laws. You are God the almighty: You have
power beyond what human can conceptualize. Then why is it, I am being tormented
and you are not completely rescuing me. I am not trying to be presumptuous, but I
am stating the fact according to how I see it. Yes, Father you are protecting me
from harms way, but why can you remove me out of calamity. I am all by myself -
just you and I . I am very greatful of your protection and loving kindness, but I need
more. Problem surround me everywhere that I go . I know that I am being attack by
spirit forces, but you are Jehovah and no one is like you. You are just, mighty, and
upright. All I am begging you is to rescue me. You know my problem better than I,
but it is I who is feeling the pressure. Father, Jehovah, please rescue me. I will stay
faithful to you Father even if you have forgotten me.
Campfires,
Forget I encouraged
Pubescent Exposure.
Because I tried
to be a leader.
And with guitar
and hallucinations
of demons,
I retreated.
Into disbelief.
But I see these
Spirits now.
And as we
Conceptualize
it so may we
Make it so.
Who can conceptualize a baby?
On the eve when all is right with the world
Who can conceptualize six weeks,
Six months,
Six years when there are so many plans to be made
Sights to be seen
Games to be played
Hearts to be broken.
Who can conceptualize dirty diapers, feeding sessions, temper tantrums,
Dreams cast aside
When there are papers to be written,
Lessons to be learned,
Bills to be paid,
Love to be made on the eve
On the eve who can conceptualize eighteen years, thirty years, a lifetime when still in the
blossom of youth
When the blush of childhood has barely left ones cheeks
Who?
Who can conceptualize... a baby?