Best Connected Poems
The Mind’s Cornfield
Dreaming deeply on this dark, dank, frigid-cold night,
My spirit-body walks freely in this place of solitude—
The Mind’s Cornfield, where fantasy and reality are one.
In this place, free from mortal constraints and strife,
One can see and speak to spirits of those now dead,
And to those whose souls wander around aimlessly.
These spirits know of my still-mortal connection to
The earthly plane and are sometimes confused by my
Wandering presence with them in this vast cornfield.
I believe these spirits sense a form of hidden conflict
In my own spiritual body manifested perhaps by a
Tragic event impacting my soul from a former life.
I have learned over time there are others like me who
Are still mortally-connected to our human world, but
Who choose to walk about in this place of solitude.
Questions abound: Why does this netherworld exist?
What is its true purpose? Will the wandering spirits
Move on? Will they find the peace they are seeking?
And with this—I wake up again and find myself centric
In this mortal world of human creatures who are made
In the very keen, like-image of Almighty God Himself.
I can’t help but feel a psychic-style influence with this
Image of a mental cornfield in the chasm of one’s mind.
The soul’s bond to the ethereal world may be the key.
Situations like this call for a real mystical awareness of
How one thinks, what one sees, and what one perceives—
In this finite mortal world that defines us as human beings.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
July 29, 2018 (Tercet)
They communicate with me through feelings,
They send messages to me in visions and dreams
They don’t control me through my spiritual gift
They don’t even try
Rather I want to express their message to world,
That’s for me to decide
I always pray and ask God if that’s
The right thing to do
Because I don’t want to be judged by some of you
I really wish I can
Get people to understand
We are all connected in some way
Through spirit and life
Wish we can stop the evil deeds people do
Some of us empaths can feel that too
If you are close to me but far away, I can still feel you
In some way, we are all connected
My cares and woes, he listens with his heart.
He adores my poetry and my art.
He helps me spin my truth when I am sad.
In some ways he reminds me of my dad.
I have known him since he was a young boy.
And he has given me enormous joy.
Together we have three beautiful girls.
But only one had those natural curls.
We are connected by experience.
Laughing at identical things at once.
Finish each other’s sentences daily
Living in a mutual place gaily
Often ask each other what did you say?
Mimicking parrots we are every day
Written 11-21-2019
Poem: Friendship Sonnet
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
neglect
a sweet puppy
without a home to live
warm bed given by a stranger
connect
Written By: Laura Loo
Date Written: February 18, 2016
I long to think in great lofty thoughts
Instead I'm stuck in the mud they brought
Filling the cracks of my mind with lessons taught
I sought out respect yet that's not what I got
The reading of books knowledge to obtain
Unwrapped the cellophane putty on my brain
Thinking I knew answers but I couldn't explain
Each thought looped in large circles down the drain
Within papered prison thoughts shrink and grow
I strive to know what so many others know
Free me from myself let my mind flow
Not all ideas emanate from a lamps glow
In the real world I grab onto the prophets hand
Walking through the desert footsteps in the sand
My skin cracked, his is soft and tanned
His thoughts mine, I feel my world expand
Original Poem
This one received only one comment. Thanks Donna for commenting.
Interface Broken
He has lofty thoughts
Yet he's stuck in the mud
Stepping through fields of regret
A brilliant mind filled with cracks
Longing to be given respect
Reader of books
Putty for his brain
Absorbed within his core
He thinks what he thinks
Yet knowing can't unlock the door
So he's trapped in his prison
Of all that he knows
Knowledge didn't set him free
The interface is broken
He can't help others to see
Perhaps he's a prophet
Far beyond this world
It is really hard for me to say
I sit with him and listen
Wishing to turn night into day
For Marugu's Least Viewed Contest.
She talks to him in her sleep
She says "I love you too"
It's a secret she has to keep
"Can I come see you ?"
She sleeps to see her special friend
He doesn't have a name
She says he's real and not pretend
She says they are the same
She's five years old
And the day she arrived
She has never been told
Her twin brother died
January 2017
Like a needle and thread only when connected,
are capable of mending torn cloth,
isn't it the same with friends who care and listen.
The connectin capable of weaving stiching of,
forgiveness, understanding, and acceptance,
strengthening the fabric and mending tears,
in our inner cloth.
Drink deeply, feel not shame, as many have thirst-
Who among us can deny such a right?
03/16/13
because life is limited
men measure the length of life
using the rulers marked to their own standard;
some cry, some sigh, some worry to death, while others,
tremble with uncontrollable rage; yet they struggle to stretch
their life as long as they can and hold onto it, though they know
very well life is misery
the poor kneel down at dawn in front of unknown divine spirits,
offering freshly drawn water and begging for relief from
dire poverty and for a better life;
the rich are hanging onto the elixir of eternal life,
which was tens of thousands of years of constant exertions to discover;
but the ends are the same, every one most go someday and that’s why, though not of own will, but with closed resigning eyes submit to death
and that makes me wonder why pathetic life is not worth
stretching or reincarnating though, everyone is hanging onto
an illusory hope that is thinner than a spider web
agonizing to extend it;
no matter how large sum the money you spend
there is no miracle drug warrants for eternal life;
no matter how much you cry at the top of your voice
there is no spirit would hear your cry;
every life, poor or rich, must go one day
why doesn’t anyone admit themselves that every life is destined
from birth to die? all are dwelling on this side of the river
for a while and time comes most cross the river. they step on
the stepping stones that extend to the eternal world laying
beyond yonder horizon. even though this world may be a challenging place to live for a while.
last night, I saw many souls crossing over the stepping stones
to the other side of the world, they looked so pathetic because
they were dragging their feet with drooping shoulders as if cows
taken to a slaughterhouse
Deep seated and connected
Deep seated and connected, my collection plate feels naked, been adjacent to ills and thrills of my spills, causing heartache. My thoughts go round and round like the earth rotates, I have expectations that haven’t come to pass, I had let go of meditating on the pass mishaps and just move forward best that I could, still trying. All awhile have to also let go of the few times I saw my life flash by, and never again contemplate suicide because I have no right to take my own life from the one who created this experience for me – because it’s a blessing either way it goes.
Either way it goes…
Sometimes I go backwards looking out window blinds waiting for my dad to show up, to save me, who knew that he needed to be saved too? Who knew that the things you go through builds character and creates, molding into shape to make your backbone stronger, I longer and hungered for things that were not for me to change, but my reactions to the chaos was more relevant for my future than I initially understood, but it’s all good. Deep seated and connected, my collection plate feels naked, been adjacent to ills and thrills of my spills, causing heartache.
Remembering being in the car with nowhere to go, no destination, riding around hoping to look to others like I was on my way to somewhere great, the lies we create to hide the things we despise. In the parking of a grocery store, watching the rain compile against my window pain, while trying to situate myself in a comfortable state to sleep the night, lock the car doors hope the boxes squeezed in this tiny space can detour anyone who walks by…I was thankful for the rain…it was right on time didn’t have to reach my tear duct eyes. My soul was in disarray.
Trials and tribulations are inevitable, the test that we face at times can seem unbearable, but in due time the light will too shine, and all the darkness will become the catalyst that make your resilience for life circumstances and situations easier to endure, I explore the peace that comes without cost, without boast, just the inner voice that says stay with me, walk with me, and don’t give up. I got you, I got you…
Stay Deep seated and connected.
©StephanieGutierrez2015
I tilt my head then close my eyes
To take the breath that leads to sighs
Sensing your heartbeat in sync with mine
I adore the love
That feels so divine
I imagine the ways that come to mind
How two hearts could beat
Harmoniously all the time
Then send those feelings
With no trace of a pen
To emotionally connect through my perfect zen
With my goddess of mystery
But who's still my friend
Whose indeed my soulmate
Through to the end
It was a warm January 1st,
but now as evening falls,
it is raining and so cold.
We walk along silently,
I am lost in my thoughts,
we have not talked in blocks.
The city traffic, a loud hush,
lights of shops blazing bright,
and people rushing past us.
The cold wraps around us,
like a dark wet blanket,
and I tremble from the chill.
He removes his leather jacket,
placing it on my shoulders,
he smiles and kisses my lips.
It is a small gesture,
but it speaks of great love,
more that any words could.
We continue quietly along,
hands touching as we stroll,
no words are needed at times.
'When souls are connected'
_______________________
June 10, 2013
Poetry/Narrative/'When souls are connected'
Copyright Protected, ID 06-484-645-10
All Rights Reserved,2013, Constance La France
Written for the contest,
Leather jacket on shoulders, Judged 06/2013
First Place
Silence overwhelms
In open rooms; lonesome words
Cry for a response.
We glow when we are happy
And we shine
When we see passed the obvious.
Michael
The macrocosm weaved you into actuality,
spun you into instrumentality.
Made of cosmos, you are irrevocably fused,
embedded in the stream of being.
The microcosm energizes you into dynamism,
induces you in electromagnetism,
the photons of your incarnation dance
in every glance, prance in every instance
of your continuance.
Love’s subatomic particles collide in accelerators,
misbehaving in violation of known laws,
hinting at energies and synergies illuding science,
feasibly disclosing deeper sentience at the tiller.
Emergent property somehow remembered, redolent,
vaguely fragrant in your cycle of life and death,
your mortal path. Feeling your numbered days,
you cherish every crescendo, treasure every tranquility,
reenacting, craving, trying to punctuate, prolong,
pausing to savor every ecstasy
to which you are connected.