Best Conscience Poems
In moments brief, rippled light pierces dark.
Exposing the shadowed world of desire.
Rising like a mist, a decision stark.
Whether the soul refrains, when flesh sets fire.
Between two fragile worlds that tug and haunt.
Where the sun neither sets or rises.
The measured distance from soul and flesh taunt.
The struggle for dominance crystallizes.
Like leaves drifting silent through open space.
Like a bird gliding in wondrous flight.
The soul seeks to find its final face.
When it stirs from restless human plight
To argue with reason, when emotions reign.
To release a demon, your soul to blame
8/26/15
Go to church to feel good and wish upon a dream?
to feed that unquenchable self esteem ?
Probably shouldn’t bother if that’s the reason,
Means the body is warm but the soul is freezing’.
One will get the same watching tv.
That’s how they get you and me.
Every ad is laced with “You Deserve it!”
Or a shake of the long hair,
“Because I’m Worth it!”
Everything in the world is geared to our vanity,
That’s what sells. It’s insanity.
Going to church because the people treat you nice,
And the smiling pastor remembered your name?
If yes then going to a bar would suffice
Now wouldn’t that be a damned shame.
Think maybe there must be something deeper?
Maybe it’s time to answer the Lord’s beeper...?
IN GOOD CONSCIENCE
Heavily tread, are those small fractious steps
On the stairs to my own peace of mind
The sound of transgressions that I'd rather forget
is the pounding of a most clamorous kind
The dialogue I'm having, within my own self
drums on the door of the closed minded truth
I try to rewrite scripts, shoving back on the shelf
But the turbulence shakes them loose
No matter, how buried, how deep I will hide them
My conscience can shovel them out
That child inside me, denies what was done then
But can't deafen the voices that shout
I profess to regret many sins I've committed
The most difficult task is one of admitting
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Revised 4/6/13__
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(Original Poem....Diminished Hexaverse)
MY CONSCIENCE
heavy on the stairs
the sound of my thoughts-
my own voice resounds
and pounds on my door
of solitary
the dialogue
within myself
never perjured
is translucent
I profess
to launder
past regrets
if stains
can be
cleansed
_____________
2/14/11
___________________________________________________________
Both poems submitted for Roy Jerden's Contest: "Makeover"
Tributaries of thought become rivers
which run deep...and slowly;
rapid...and passionately,
until their confluence becomes
one infinitely miscible flow
--dynamic, yet less mercurial,
because their width and depth
are too immense to easily
dilute
My conscience came to a clearing,
Freed from clamorous cacophony
Of criers, critics, and claimants
That commonly carp at me.
Calm, cool contemplation
Called out its care and concern:
Consider a commitment to courage
Fortitude's clear-headed urn.
Calculating quickly a crisis,
I had come to the critical curve:
Could I commit to courage and clarity--
Or into craven cowardice would I swerve?
My conscience had come to a clearing:
Could I conquer my demons this time?
I am the voice of your conscience
You would bury my memory
Erase me from your history books
But I refuse to go away, I refuse to die
Here I am today, thousands of years after
you would have buried me in Modi’in…
in Jerusalem… at the tip of Mohammed’s sword…
in Torquemada’s Spain… in Luther's ‘Reformation’
In your swarming Eastern and Western European ghettos
in Czarist Russia, in Stalin’s USSR, in Hitler’s Third Reich
in Poland, Lithuania, Egypt, Syria Lebanon, in ‘Palestine’ too…
Yet I, the Jew, voice of your conscience, stand my ground
To remind you that my unshakeable love of God and my People Israel
is stronger than your visceral hatred of my redoubtable faith...
For 'Mother Russia,’ 'Nationalist China,’ 'America the Free’ will go the way
of Ancient Greece and Babylon ~ but I shall still be around…
Our conscience bears witness—
in the way thoughts are excused
in the way actions are accused
by the inward manner bemused
of the acceptance of grace unabused
February 19, 2020
F F I series 76 eap
Brian Stand, sponsor
Regarding this, Brian Strand explains: "eap (pronounced eep) is a list cinquain where line 1 is a statement followed by rhymed lines 2-5 that amplify the statement with words introduced by `in the', `by the', and `of the.' I labelled this an eap after Edgar Allan Poe as it is inspired by sililoqy in this format in the conclusion of his essay Poetic Principle."
Joplin was to Southern Comfort
what Hendrix was to smack
Morrison was to masquerade
what Dylan never lacked
Woodstock was to boomers lost
what music is to rhyme
Saigon was to those who stayed
what Auschwitz now reminds
Kennedy was to hopes and dreams
what nightmares are to some
Castro was to leftist thugs
what cymbals are to drums
Kissinger was to Nixon
an Appian Way to roam
Dr. King to civil rights
what kings are to their thrones
Walter Cronkite was to news
what context is to fact
Altar boys to feral Priests
what pretzels are to snacks
58,000 were to die
a wall would then proclaim
58,000 were to all
— what conscience is to shame
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
like the f l i c k e r s
of light...
I was born later
than witchcraft;
not a voodoo bride,
with thick velvet veil
walking down
with peacock-pearl waves,
in the silhouette
of silver demise ~
like a carnation
cloaked with cashmere coffin;
but a corseted flame
of bronze and blood ~
as the moon bites
into the blaze of my heart;
liquifying the lapis blues
and bleeding
the truths of luck,
that flow in the
elysian effervescence
wrapped in sunstruck ashes
and aurelian sonatas ...
I need not the spiced tongue
of tarot chariots ~
neither the vehemence
of fire-dragon oracles ...
because the horoscope
of my heartbeat
shall suffice to sear those stars
starving for sultry eve's
eloquence dipped in
the dire desire to fuel their sparks ...
in this d r e a m ...
of devotion for my deity,
neither dusk nor dawn
can delude me ~
because the essence
of this spirit breathes me
in swarovski gold scars ,
a most distant sun
floating and glimmering
through the jasmine elixirs
of my mind,
where I may stretch
across the soul-arcs
with swan elegance ~
rippling with wisps
of chiffon white ,
in the mists
of honey perfume
and porcelain saudades ,
diaphanous in the streaks
of shimmering solace ...
unspoken yet felt ,
beyond kohl rain ruffles ...
and jet jinxed breezes ...
~ O mundane magic ~
blemish me
with bona fide
beams of aura,
balming the brave
with an astral alliance;
and let me bathe my wings
in the ache of aquamarines ...
as, the incensed heat
of your baptized waters
can rinse my cursed rose rings ~
and might make me illuminate
in azure ice calmness ,
with my feet anchored
to the feathery throne of fireflies,
like the p r i e s t e s s
of p a t i e n c e...
warm with weak
~ g l o w i n g w i c k ~
of glossy green glitters ...
A tortured soul,
full of guilt and sorrow,
God help me through the night,
so i can awake tomorrow.
I need to find peace,
I can't seem to clear my head,
it's forgiveness i seek,
forgiveness from the dead.
It's driving me crazy,
It's down right madness!
it's killing me slowly,
burning tears of sadness.
I cant move on,
cant leave it behind,
it replays over and over
inside of my mind.
A lovers young life,
gone in the blink of an eye,
it all happened so quickly,
I didn't even get to say goodbye.
Thieving Without Conscience
There are thieves, and there are thieves without conscience. ..
Woe to the average Malaysia, of the latter are our elected politicians....
As the US treasury did put it so succinctly that there can be no doubts...
Malaysia as a sovereign nation has been robbed in broad daylight......
By our exalted policians entrusted to uphold our country's economy and its ideals..
By blatantly treating 1MDB as a vessel for securing immense sovereign funds...
And chanelling those funds into privately owned bank accounts...
Colluding with third parties that involved of all things, a so called Arabian prince...
Makes you puke just to think how our corrupted political bigwigs hasten to band together..
Just so that they can cling on to office and indulge in more misuse of power and plunder....
A political purist extols, Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. ..
That sums up nicely the gang of thieves who somehow determines how Malaysia is doing...
Malaysia has the dubious record of being the biggest kleptocracy case in American history...
The sheer magnitud of which involves billions and billions in US currency....
Those who have been following news about the 1MDB imbroglio since a couple of years ago..
Will recall the many evasive statements and misleading answers from 1MDB the vessel...
Through which billions of funds were raised only to be mysteriously siphoned off...
Involving convulated financial transactions that moved chunks of money across nations..
Poor Malaysians, we are still saddled with corrupted politicians and their cronies...
Hoping fervently that the big brother in the US Department of Justice will invoke some miracle...
T
Love, is power thereof in many notions of life
one conscience of two notions, chaotic or *cosmos
how can life be right of a notion... chaotic
or a *plagion nature be instructor of the cosmos
therefore learn from the power of who you are
let the godly nature, teach the plagion soul
The dark shadows of death’s nature looms
in the shadows of the illusions of false self
shadowed, illusions creeping, having no power of self
as darken images from true selves divided appear
under cover of counterfeit shadows in motion...
evil trees producing only fruits of death
Counterfeits selves appear as light comprehends darkness...
pending a choice made... to be or not to be *Agape,
love... one conscience... one power... cosmos or chaotic
the choice Precept... by Agape’s intellectual decree
verse life’s concept, to be or not to be of love’s decree
a light of love or darkness of death in shadowed illusion
* Cosmos - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cosmos Cached
The cosmos is a complex and orderly system, such as our Universe; the opposite of Chaos. It is the Universe regarded as an ordered system.
*ORIGIN from Latin plagiarius 'kidnapper', from Greek plagion 'a kidnaping'.’
*What is agape love? - GotQuestions.org
www.gotquestions.org/agape-love.html Cached
Question: "What is agape love?" Answer: The Greek word agape is often translated "love" in the New Testament. How is "agape love" different from other types of love?
(Gail's Note: Reply Email from Subby Conscience is the sequel to this.)
To: Subby Conscience
From: [email protected]
Re: Communication between You and Me
Date: February 4, 2012
Why isn't it easy to call you at will?
Couldn't I just Twitter or email you until
You provide the answer in clear, solid terms
So that I don't have to lie in your chaotic squirms?
Instead, you tug at my psyche
And laugh at my logic.
You taunt and tug at my struggles
And sap my dream tonic.
You expose my repression
While disguised as a friend
All the while sneaking around
In my personal REM.
A swirl of feelings
Interferes with the theme.
Makes my heart pound and pound.
Makes it seem like a scheme
To interrupt sleep
And destroy my 8 hours.
To wither my psyche
And sap super powers.
And then comes the waiting
Sometimes for years
Of what this all means
Could it always be fear?
But unknown to you
Over time you are helping
To harness the pounding
And process all my days' yelpings
So that I can function in the AM and more
While you are repressed as
I cozily soar.
Published in PS: It's Still Poetry
Volume II
My conscience looks through the curtain
And I see humanity's plight;
Our lives seem so uncertain
There is little that’s alright.
Yet out of confusion comes groping
To see world clothed in bloom
My heart is created for hoping
It finds no comfort in gloom.
We see from boundary to border
That humanity wars with each race;
With rebellion and irate disorder
We exist in a shameful place.
But I think as the sun is setting
I could embrace peace without strife;
For my mind needs a way of forgetting
All except the beauty of life.
I knew from childhood's beginning
We live in a season of woe;
With suffering, sadness and sinning
For my conscience told me so.
The truth of it all is so tragic
I wept for all that was wrong;
Then by the art of sweet magic
My heart found a new song.
The years keep coming and going
A jumble of pleasure and pain;
But the sadness I feel is showing
That evil is on the gain.
My heart should now be grieving
For there's no comforting;
But I always keep on believing
Life is a miraculous thing.
Born without spot, all equal in God’s eye
Yet, on winds aloft, Envy’s cursed seed.
Hatred warms the bed where Evil will lie.
The fertile soil beguiles, rooting on the sly.
Black veils of mistrust tinting each good deed!
Born without spot, all equal in God’s eye.
Despair rides the rails without alibi
Gaining companions, divided by greed.
Hatred warms the bed where Evil will lie.
Privilege and fame, an Icarus sky
Blinds my soul, I turn from truth before me;
Born without spot, all equal in God’s eye.
Honor’s reward illusive, cry or try.
Bind me to my conscience, with chains I plead.
Hatred warms the bed where Evil will lie.
If submit we will, our death awaits neigh.
We will to Envy’s sour fruit concede.
Born without spot, all equal in God’s eye.
Hatred warms the bed where Evil will lie.
Contest Entry: A MAJOR WORLD PROBLEM
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
Submitted: 4/29/21
Placing: 8th