Best Conscious Self Poems
In dancing, as experienced by my eyes,
I see figures of beauty and of grace,
in steps, choreographed or improvised,
moving rhythmically through space;
but, as I see others, I become aware
that others may set eyes on me as well,
another circumstance, altogether,
as they see a homely man without hair,
not an Arthur Murray clientele,
and much heavier than a feather.
Yet, by replacing sight with other senses,
I find it was my eyes that did impede,
with self-conscious, self-constructed fences,
but now, my joyous spirit has been freed,
and I can connect, engage, and hear,
as my body, merges with the sound
of the rhythm and the melody,
and my feet, my heart, my soul, my ear,
lose themselves as I twirl madly round -
thankful that I can no longer see.
A ghost began whispering inside the soul's echo
there one Trojan horse enters defeated
spiritually the battle ground stands firmly fixed
against those whom denounce the King
misery will follow with disastrous events
Where human rights are exploited through chaos
quarrelsome beggars deny the basic truth to explain
Backfiring liars have a burning desire to bring conflict
Unequally self ordained gods of little value without hope
they try to influence the battle results
ignoring this backward omen leading to terrible infighting
warfare has the mentality that's deeply incorporated this motivating force
where sorrow beats down by force the anger deeply within us
.
Now I shall go, to overtake that killer of a dear life
into one's conscious self
our mortal undying glory rises or falls
quick to the mark snaps the rawhide strap
there once was a woman named Mimi
she never would wear a bikini
when she was asked why
she didn’t blink an eye
said, “I’ve eaten too much linguine!”
when music associations
hinder your daily cultural existence and evolution,
you cringe at the sound of a lyric.
heart breaks just a bit,
like a rotting house,
cracking,
yearly reaching an inch,
and over time,
accelerating in speed.
but then you come to a hault,
a conscious self identifying conclusion,
that in fact you might, just might,
get the **** over it.
you do.
you then find yourself,
singing the tune,
inside your brave skull.
hmmm hm hm hm mm m
ooooouuuu yea.
thank you.
when your inner self is diverse into questions left unanswered,reasons why you will not
allow your true conscious self to explore these questions, fear or acknowledgment of
confidence suppressed due to misguided strength that purposely is suppressed,this knowledge
which should only expand and not hinder,but does do to inner-self defiance one can only
conclude that they are torn.
Hyima chandler
re-post inspired by Debbie's contest
We like sheep have gone astray,
if He marked our transgressions
who would stand.
Tempted,ofttimes
tormented,self-conscious,self-
seeking missing the mark;stepping
over the line,impulsive,doing what
we do want to do.
Encouraged into
doubt,we deceive ourselves,listening
to the father of lies,’Til the Holy Spirit
convict us of this sin.
We never knew when she went away...
exactly.
It was over a period of time,
A little loss, each day...or hour.
Accumulating surely,
slowly,
but steadily,
in the wake of our determination to stop it.
This can’t happen to Mama, we wont let it.
But it did.
Nothing we could do
or say brought back the loss.
Leaving a little at a time,
Creeping
steadily away
to God only knows where, we didn’t find it.
I guess it is a misnomer to say the loss
accumulated but...
that goes along with the
frustration of it all.
The only thing getting larger
was the number of unread thoughts
in her conscious self.
That imaginary room where we all go to reason.
First it was polite mistakes covered over with
hurried excuses.
Then dumbfounded
looks as thoughts drifted apart
in the middle of speaking.
Motor skills begin to
wane, and die,
as loss takes over life’s necessary functions.
Eventually the child brushing her mother’s hair
had no reason
to hurt...But she did just the same.
Even a tiny spark of knowing
who was caring so much for her,
would have been gold to
the daughter,
but the reward usually never came.
Soon the child once brushing her mother’s hair
didn’t hurt
for her mother... but for herself in
the wake of no one for which to care.
Having been in emotional overload
for so long her own feelings
are now lost.
She doesn’t know how to feel.
In honor of my wife whose mother passed in this fashion.
It isn’t the things that you think you are,
That make you upset with yourself,
It is the things that others see,
That challenge your conscious self.
I can’t forget on a day like this,
The words that flowed so easily,
White oleander as charged,
Two words that dug right into me.
How easily you judge me,
With your self righteous convictions,
But what you see in me is you,
And all of your devious intentions.
A product of my environment,
Brought up by a poisonous flower,
What am I to be if you are all I see,
As each day passes with the hours.
For today's poem, I tried something new. I opened up 10 Random pages from George Orwell's 1984 and picked up the first word that I saw and tried to create a poem out of them. These 10 words are as follows:
Conscious, Permanently, Small, Curious, Open, Reflex, Cigarette, Peddle, Wonder, Twig.
..............................................................................
'Curious, how a certain place can take you to a distinct memory and when you are there, it feels as if it never happened.'
The conscious self
Questioning its
Worth,
As to why the
Twig of solitude
Cracked and
Fell.
The cigarette butts
And the smell of
Smoke,
Telling a story
That they
Were here.
Oh! My small,
Fragile heart,
Peddle away,
For this land
Is no longer
Your haven.
Open up and
Break the
Shackles-Permanently,
Never to look
Back.
Wait here,
Look at
the ruins
And stop
Wondering
Why.
I had a moment of weakness
And the tears came on suddenly
I was afraid they'd feel like they used to
Back in that place that I didn't want to be
I thought the worst of my healing was over
Water under the bridge, we'd made amends
But when the intensity of that moment enveloped me
It gave me doubts about where I had been
I allowed the emotion to wash through me
Conscious self-care, again, my true best friend
I needed some gentle space between us
A restful nap was like a Godsend
It's not that you did anything wrong
You are single, free to do as you please
And as much as I'd like things to be different
My struggle is me, remembering my place
I don't expect you to understand
I don't want you to feel sorry for me
It's just that you are the reason
When my emotions get the better of me
Maybe it took this moment of weakness
To remind me there's still work to be done
That the process of healing is not linear
And not to discredit about how far I've come
Yes, my healing heart is still tender
It needs to repair one moment at a time
Allow tears to shed some perspective
Embrace my weakness as grace in disguise
January 17, 2021
From blood to Thought
With every loving beat, of my swollen heart
– upon these crimson vessels, giving life to –
ride millions of thoughts, thoughts of you
riding on the zenith, the crest of every wave
flowing, turbulently down these shrinking, hardened,
aged, bluish tunnels of hope’s dreams,
dreams that reach into energy fields,
electrifying dormant synapses into glowing rainbows
of conflicting forces that wage never ending battles,
battles of whether or not there can be, will be,
could ever be that preverbal pot of gold,
the gold that can only exist- be found within
and within a pure, undefiled, undesecrated,
unbroken heart, not the heart that beats
to the tunes of that drum pounding out
ice castles, stone cold walls, the iron used in
erecting cages, the beat of shovels excavating
a trench in mother earth face, for that moat
- all these have I seen, have I felt, I have experienced -
that locks in your beauty, keeps out the light, the fires
that could, would want to evaporate, turn to dust, dry up,
remove the veils that guard, that hide, that protect
that beautiful, imprisoned light, that light that hides
behind masks, masks that hide in order to attract’
that seem to attract like kind – birds of a feather –
mirrors, mirrors, the twins - not the one’s that reflect
images of truth denied the conscious self while in sleep
dreaming the dreams of ?, that lay beyond today’s reality
of unrealistic expectations, of unnecessary fears,
fears justified by life’s journey throughout all your years
hidden behind beautiful, dry, hardened eyes without tears
for what has been freely, lovingly given
- rejected, for hopes and a desire to touch that illusive,
delusional White Knight ( Mr. Right to come into ) –
to fill your life, your sight with visions that just might
be able to satisfy, the unsatisfiable in you.
B. J. “A” 2
August 22nd 2008
She's past the point in her healing process where her heart doesn't feel quite as tattered and raw.
She's used to the fact that her daily routine has changed, and has accepted that when her phone chirps, it no longer signals that it's him.
The times of the day that used to be spent with him have been replaced with conscious self-care and self-healing practices.
The struggle to resist reaching out is less intense and less frequent.
Indeed, she is starting to notice some progress, and that not-so-long-ago feeling of
unfamiliarity is not quite as strange.
But that doesn't mean she no longer thinks of him.
She still feels the loss.
She still sheds tears.
She still has moments that pull at her heartstrings and bring her to her knees.
And she still wonders...
If this is how their story ends.
July 14, 2021
CONFESSION
We like sheep have gone astray,
if He marked our transgressions
who would stand.Tempted,ofttimes
tormented,self-conscious,self-
seeking missing the mark;stepping
over the line,impulsive,doing what
we do want to do.Encouraged into
doubt,we deceive ourselves,listening
to the father of lies,’Til the Holy Spirit
convict us of this sin.Absolved by the
Saviour’s sacrifice I turn back again,
for I know whom I have believed,and
together we walk on.
Listen to me read my Christian Structured Prose on youtube
Missing those who have passed away can be excruciating, even after years of mourning the Loss.
Grief becomes a frenemy we live with.
Where Hope is released to Thrive
By Michelle Morris
15/03/2025
It's been years now since your passing
And I still feel the loss each day
My Grief is a constant companion
Someone I'd never choose willingly again
But he sits there in the corner
Holding on to that box of Hope
I'm grateful he hasn't crushed it yet
The Light is a Glimmer I keep close
And each morning when I wake
Before my conscious self takes over
There's a moment when you're still here
We can talk and share fond Moments
But reality kicks in pretty quickly
Life has schedules that keep our attention
And I have to focus on the present
While you're far away in Heaven
Still, I have Faith and that box of Hope
They're trying hard to grow the Light
To Heal the broken parts of me
That cry out in the dead of Night
One day those edges will be smooth
Well, that's what they try to tell me
That Grief won't take up so much space
And I'll be past the Hell of mourning pleas
Because we each have a Path
This Life Journey filled with Joy and Tragedy
Being Human is the price we pay
To take part in creating God's Tapestry
I try to see the bigger picture
And focus on the positive side
Knowing to Love and experience Loss
Is better than feeling nothing on this Ride
But I accept I can choose a new Space
Where Hope is released to Thrive
Where I can see Glimmers everywhere
And I don't feel Life is too heavy to Survive
So, no more bargaining or deals
The Demons and Angels can wait
I'll do my best to get through Life
Until I'm at last at Heaven's Gate
© Michelle Morris, 2025
CHRISTIAN QUINTILE
Habits
Ingrained die hard,
We need a helping hand
To disrobe,transmute our inner
Nature
with
Beauty
free from above,
Embedded in our heart
With loving kindness,ready to
Impart.
CHRISTIAN QUINTILE II
Jesus
Fountain of life
Beginning and our end-
For all to see,was and will be
Our God
the
God who
is alive,active
And of the loving kind-
Available,accessible
I am
ready to
Transform
Renew,complete-
Changed in a moment into
New robes.
Christianity today
hacked
to pieces...
marked with scratches
despised..
and crucified,
...mocked..like Christ;
courage
my friend
walk in His light ;
for in His sight,
our God of love..
Sees
a pure,
holy
spotless,dove
CONFESSION
We like sheep have gone astray,
if He marked our transgressions
who would stand.Tempted,ofttimes
tormented,self-conscious,self-
seeking missing the mark;stepping
over the line,impulsive,doing what
we do want to do.Encouraged into
doubt,we deceive ourselves,listening
to the father of lies,’Til the Holy Spirit
convict us of this sin.Absolved by the
Saviour’s sacrifice I turn back again,
for I know whom I have believed,and
together we walk on.
AN AGAPE RESUME
Arise my soul, lay bare
this heart, give me lips
touched by God,ever
consecrated to Him.
A true and steadfast
mind from higher radiance
caught.
The challenge from within ,
looking with a fresh mind
true to life,to taste & see,
grow with the flow,a servant
heart ..here..to eternity
WHO AM I
His workmanship,a poiema,His masterpiece
bearing his signature mark,evidence of
His image,remembered,written on His palm.
Beloved, altogether lovely,sustained and by
His hands, our cornerstone, I live.