Best Contemplative Poems | Poetry

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The Best Contemplative Poems

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Soul Searching Trek Along Winter's Snow Painted Trails


Waking to cold blown tent, ground frozen icy hard woods are my love, as is poetry to a bard. Today starts my anticipated forest trek, seeking salvation from heart's emotional wreck, last night I watched stars twinkle in heavenly skies pondering how to overcome world's darkest lies. Now dawn breaks, sends fresher pair of gem seeking eyes desirous to find what Time, Fate and Earth denies, finding cold breeze that blows snowflakes from white cream ground, thankful for Nature's sanctuary here now found. First step taken, this soul takes its desperate flight, embrace anew, treasures that make life feel alright. Through drifted powdered paths my healing does begin rhythm of my brisk breath is like a cleansing hymn. Serenity in solitude is what I seek, in contemplative meditations I do speak amongst the frosted firs a chapel for my prayers in your Trust surrendering all worries and tears. To slow life’s commotion and hush harsh emotion, quiet communion in woodland is my potion - sweetest swells of ecstasy makes my spirit swoon in whitest snowdrop bloom my heart will follow soon. With every snowy step I purify a thought in this pristine Love I find absolution sought. The winding trail I followed with a downcast face and left behind the sorrow of my past disgrace. Ascending farther to the snowy mountains peak animated to discover my fate unique. I shall not let my courage waver, not this time, with weary steps I continue my forward climb. The final steps to reach my summits divine light, my mind virtuous as snowflakes of purest white, I inhale the essence of life at nature’s hem, finally free from chains of torment I condemn. With Fate and Time to blend with Earth, I shall redeem my dignity and recover my self-esteem. Robert J. Lindley, Susan Ashley, Teppo Gren (a collaboration - joining as one voice and one searching soul) July 25, 2018 _________________________ ~ POTW ~ Week of July 29, 2018 It is an honor for me to share in this recognition with my gifted collaborators, Robert Lindley and Teppo Gren _________________________ My poet’s note: Dear Robert, mere words cannot express my great appreciation for extending your invitation to Teppo Gren and myself for a collaboration with you on this special spiritual poem of soul searching and soul learning. I am so fortunate to be able to create poetry with two such wondrously gifted poets and this lovely artistic experience was a thrilling and beautiful poetic journey for me to take with both of you. Thank you, Robert and Teppo, for sharing with me the treasures of your illuminating and creative talents, fruitful friendships and endless exquisite inspiration..


Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2018


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Soul Searching Trek Along Winter's Snow Painted Trails

Soul Searching Trek Along Winter's Snow Painted Trails 

Waking to cold blown tent, ground frozen icy hard
woods are my love, as is poetry to a bard.
Today starts my anticipated forest trek,
seeking salvation from heart's emotional wreck,
last night I watched stars twinkle in heavenly skies
pondering how to overcome world's darkest lies.

Now dawn breaks, sends fresher pair of gem seeking eyes
desirous to find what Time, Fate and Earth denies,
finding cold breeze that blows snowflakes from white cream ground,
thankful for Nature's sanctuary here now found.
First step taken, this soul takes its desperate flight,
embrace anew, treasures that make life feel alright.

Through drifted powdered paths my healing does begin
rhythm of my brisk breath is like a cleansing hymn.
Serenity in solitude is what I seek,
in contemplative meditations I do speak
amongst the frosted firs a chapel for my prayers
in your Trust surrendering all worries and tears.

To slow life’s commotion and hush harsh emotion,
quiet communion in woodland is my potion -
sweetest swells of ecstasy makes my spirit swoon
in whitest snowdrop bloom my heart will follow soon.
With every snowy step I purify a thought
in this pristine Love I find absolution sought.

The winding trail I followed with a downcast face
and left behind the sorrow of my past disgrace.
Ascending farther to the snowy mountains peak
animated to discover my fate unique.
I shall not let my courage waver, not this time,
with weary steps I continue my forward climb.

The final steps to reach my summits divine light,
my mind virtuous as snowflakes of purest white,
I inhale the essence of life at nature’s hem,
finally free from chains of torment I condemn.
With Fate and Time to blend with Earth, I shall redeem
my dignity and recover my self-esteem.


Robert J. Lindley, Susan Ashley, Teppo Gren
(a collaboration - joining as one voice and one searching soul)
July 26, 2018
My poet's notes: It was a sincere pleasure and joy to be a part of this wonderful collaboration with two of the finest poets on the Soup, Susan Ashley and Robert Lindley. My special thanks go to Robert for inviting me to join this three-way collaboration of a soul-searching poem combining three aspects which I love about nature: winter, snow and the woods. Thank you, Susan and Robert, for your friendship and the inspiration you give me through your beautifully created, deep and emotional poetry.


Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2018


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Soul Searching Trek Along Winter's Snow Painted Trails

Soul Searching Trek Along Winter's Snow Painted Trails

Waking to cold blown tent, ground frozen icy hard
woods are my love, as is poetry to a bard.
Today starts my anticipated forest trek,
seeking salvation from heart's emotional wreck,
last night I watched stars twinkle in heavenly skies
pondering how to overcome world's darkest lies.

Now dawn breaks, sends fresher pair of gem seeking eyes
desirous to find what Time, Fate and Earth denies,
finding cold breeze that blows snowflakes from white cream ground,
thankful for Nature's sanctuary here now found.
First step taken, this soul takes its desperate flight,
embrace anew, treasures that make life feel alright.

Through drifted powdered paths my healing does begin
rhythm of my brisk breath is like a cleansing hymn.
Serenity in solitude is what I seek,
in contemplative meditations I do speak
amongst the frosted firs a chapel for my prayers
in your Trust surrendering all worries and tears.

To slow life’s commotion and hush harsh emotion,
quiet communion in woodland is my potion -
sweetest swells of ecstasy makes my spirit swoon
in whitest snowdrop bloom my heart will follow soon.
With every snowy step I purify a thought
in this pristine Love I find absolution sought.

The winding trail I followed with a downcast face
and left behind the sorrow of my past disgrace.
Ascending farther to the snowy mountains peak
animated to discover my fate unique.
I shall not let my courage waver, not this time,
with weary steps I continue my forward climb.

The final steps to reach my summits divine light,
my mind virtuous as snowflakes of purest white,
I inhale the essence of life at nature’s hem,
finally free from chains of torment I condemn.
With Fate and Time to blend with Earth, I shall redeem
my dignity and recover my self-esteem.

Robert J. Lindley, Susan Ashley, Teppo Gren
(a collaboration - joining as one voice and one searching soul)

July 25, 2018

Poet's note: It was with great and deep pleasure that we three poets joined together to compose this poem. As our hearts and minds united to bring a harvest of beauty, treasures and soul finding solace within a journey through Nature's garden and its soul soothing solitude, covered in whitest of snowflakes and heart's seeking desires.
My heartfelt thanks goes to my two wonderful and awesomely talented co-writers, Susan Ashley and Teppo Gren. To have the true honor of creating with such dear friends is a blessing indeed!


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018


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ANOTHER AFRICAN DAWN

ANOTHER AFRICAN DAWN

The silence of the dawn even before
the first bird sings its unique little composition to the world
crispness of the previous night fills the air
encouraging a deep breath of purity before daily issues pollute 
how easy it is to replace this beautiful time of the day 
perceived importance of one or two extra hours of slumber
only the wisdom of an Omniscient Creator could perfect this orchestration 
each new day with such peace and promise-
the Eternal assurance of a new beginning

Dry, dusty, icy, bouncy, luxurious….. Land Rover 
morning expectancy contrasting half awake awareness
novelty of a time spent inconsistent with the predictability of standard sunrise routine
a contemplative- life assessment at break of day
wrapped up in awareness of the cold beauty and African spaces


Red Sun Competition    
 March 2013



Copyright © Kim van Breda | Year Posted 2013


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TWO SILLY FOOLS

Two Silly Fools (at the coffee shop)


The shop was full
Only one seat to spare
Excuse me sirs, can I have a chair?
Why yes they said, smiles filled the air

They happened to be poets the same as me
Politely I asked, may I read a verse of thee?
They both rather meekly said
"If you really insist"

One said to me in such a small whisper
My poetry is not at all very good
As much as I wish it could and should
The other chimed in, is the same with me

I stared in surprise
Have I just met two of the dumbest fools?
I exclaimed in a manner rather short and abrupt
"You are the greatest fools I ever did see"

Rather shocked, they pushed back their chairs
I shouted sit; I am not done with my airs
You two fools better be quiet and listen
Cause I will say this but once, so I have written

Your poetry is of the highest caliber you see
You have the flow and the creative imagery
Darren and Rick need I say more?
Your hearts bleed poetry, is deep in your pores

Your poetry wakens the spirit in us all
If you want more you sure have some gall
Now writing as this, I wish it was me
For I look up to poets of such high degree

Now if I must tell you a truth to be told
Is me the fool, for being so bold
So now let’s sit and make if coffee for three
Of the happiest fools and great poets that be!


Notes:  This was inspired by a chat I had with both Darren and White Wolf who for some bizarre and strange reason both doubted their talents and abilities as Poets. Needless to say, I gave them a word or two on getting those silly thoughts out of their heads! I find both of their poems to be diversified, well written, inspiring, contemplative and at times just plain fun to read. After all, it’s the read who is the final judge. I sincerely hope I have made them both smile!


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017


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POSTEMBER

POSTEMBER

December
Glorious month
Good will
Hearth-side colors    aromas
Sound of Jingle Bells    carols
All the senses taking one back -
    back when imagination was fertile    rooted in
     In magic    and love
We – even the godless – cherish the entire month
But what when December fades?
I say there should be another month
Oh    not rooted in time –
A contemplative month – outside the let-down that is
    January 2nd

Postember
When one goes out the window    taps the eternal
    love and joy    listening to that inner voice 
    proclaiming –
“Nothing is over
Here is eternal Christmas      in the true sense
Linger”
  




Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2011


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IMAGINATION

IMAGINATION

Closed eyes; under a locked prism of unavailable light 
subjects our third eye to mind's internal creation; 
imagined images viewed by non-existent senses
on an opague three dimensional screen.

In an algorithm of shedded particle waves
Insight quickly fades back into a darkened vision 
of only half a picture without reflection. 

It leaves with us a broken trail of possibilities 
new thoughts, new choices, changes in destiny 
warily made under duress of immediacy 
trying to conceive a canvas framed 
by the hand of God.

It is in response to these panchromatic memories
held back by the sun's blackened light, 
that we clearly notice how the prism 
reflects an undercurrent. of shadeless secrets 
different than the realm of visionary colors.

Sensory detections relinquish an uncompleted picture. 
The image within, at times, may reveal an idea.
the transmission of which however placed
when received should strive to become an emotional 
mover of otherwise placid thinking where wizened leaders 
can in causes wept in sorrow from yesterday's sadness 
proclaim a hope for a brighter tomorrow.

INTERPRETATION:

When our eyes are shut tight, there is no light or vision.
We are limited to what we see with our inner mind. 
Nevertheless there is an internal sense,
a feeling of a creative process going on. 
It occurs as insight and often fades into a clouded vision 
of a thought picture barely perceived within.

When we leave the path of contemplative thinking,
we lose the benefit of what could have been. 
The choices we make are usually expedient 
and we struggle to determine 
what it is that we really want. 
Often we are faced and challenged by outside forces 
many of which we deflect as we espouse our point of view
without exploring all the possibilities. 

We see what could be and would like to be 
hoping that it will make a difference.
and help humanity move forward 
to a brighter tomorrow.

CAK  5-23-2103


Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013


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The Café

I would sit there for many hours
Surrounded by my contemplative silence-
My senses as warm as my latte;
My mind as frosty as my cheesecake 

The mixed scents of Earl Grey, cinnamon tea,
Mocha, and caramel macchiato would encircle me
Almost like they slowly become part of 
My breath: breathe in, then stealthily breathe out

I would hear laughter coming from one
Corner and whispering from another
And each corner would seem to me more like
A different world, each as distant as an era

I would at times engage in a crossword puzzle
Or skim through all the contemptuous headlines
And at other times I would simply read, think,
Write, or just watch some cars indolently pass by 

The sounds of music playing, coffee brewing, fork-knife
Clattering and people chewing would all form
A unanimous sound: Serenity
I swallow it down with every sip of my coffee


In these amber hues for hours I would sit
Amidst these faces, leather chairs, and empty
Spaces- the same coffee would brew, the same
Music would play, and my same mind would
In its serenity, so utterly subdue






Copyright © farah chamma | Year Posted 2010


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New age babies.

Quantum leap, material mind,
learning curve steep, perceptive mankind,
this earth inherited to keep, in the depth eyes shined,
the karmic benefits we reap, after money too long pined,
in the shadows they did creep, by our light left blind,
hearts awaken from their sleep, each ventricle gold lined,
More awake each enlightened peep, open hearts, contemplative minds; you'll be amazed at 
what you find.

Been crawling, now it’s time to walk, too long the masses talking the talk.....


Copyright © Anonymous Norman | Year Posted 2010


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My inner sanctum




In my mind I have a place
Somewhere peaceful and serene
Where I escape life's hectic pace,
Where no-one else has ever been.

I imagine a desert island
Surrounded by a sapphire sea,
With palm trees, and fine white sand
An oasis there, just for me.

I paddle in the crystal water,
As I explore the coral reef. 
I marvel at exotic creatures,
As they swim and dart about beneath.

I walk along a secluded beach
Where gentle waves caress the sand.
Alone in my private haven   
Escaping, to my minds island.  

A beautiful place to spend some time
This little bolthole in my mind.
My contemplative holiday, 
My inner sanctum, where I unwind.


Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2017


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Cobwebs and Tears

The moon casts a surreal light
Upon looking out of the window
The night is my mistress
Solitude my blanket
Then I think of you:
The daffodils dancing as they glisten
Your almond eyes,
Serene lips always rest unscathed -
Right every after kiss,
Your silly ponytail.
They speak to me in rhythms
They hush me in rhymes
As I haunt an honest silence
To save the calmness half death

My body aches to breathe your breath -
Your tequila breath.
I smile outstretched from ear to ear
For it brings the contemplative
mood of my soul
Your flavored lip gloss lingers on me now
Bewitched on how it bathes
As it rinses my lips - my chapped lips.
Like an ocean hugging its shore:
Sweet,
Toothsome,
Relishing -
It tastes like Paris.

Tonight  I lie in bed,
A nest which doesn't offer
A place of comfort no more
Tossing and turning
Swaying restlessly
All because you stop singing my lullaby
It's our pillow upon my head
Reaching against my wet cheeks:
Dull,
Lifeless,
Colder than death -
Too later - Too soon
It would then be
         
            Drowned by cobwebs
                     Soaked in tears.


Authors Note:
The Love Me or Love Me Not - Free Verse Poetry Contest
4th Place(Honorable Mention)
January 28, 2008
Sponsor: Mark Cotterman


Copyright © cayetano young | Year Posted 2008


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Silent One

              Silent One

Silent One rises with the solar system dawn
Drawn by solace in the quiet morning  
Riding on the gravitational waves 
Through numbered stars through dark matter there

Watching zeros mix, blend into the cosmic mist 
Numerically correct seen whole among black holes disguises
Into tomorrow out there in themselves as distances
On the lip, inclining on their axis, universes eclipse then passes

Back at home, outside on roaming fields
Look up with them to take the solar system in
As it folds within a timeless bending scheme
Vast sky-capes emanating mostly quiet
                                                                 
Silent One remains intent, contemplative, waving
Stays out there for hours on a lounge chair tending day
Sipping tea beneath the harmless trees in shade
Sits serenely by, out of sight, time slipping by

Golden sun light streaming over day
Seen are the red and yellow flowers
Green grass peeks through abundant colors glow
Moved in a gentle wind to mesmerizing horizons end
 
Out there between the wilderness serenity and madness 
Night comes on, explores the greater cause
Stars rain down, escapes the cosmic grip
Secrets kept, only to forget them when looking to the void

Lines traced in history, erased, once enjoyed                                       
Silent One stands alone between a zero to the left
Two at the right numerically correct
True in place, quantified, residing

One and History rewind themselves, recite the story
Not to worry.  There is always more to tell 
A time fast forward quickens to the One original
One will always be the Silent One and not another

Fate will lead us off the silent planet
Earth is temporarily our home
Inevitably fading away into the silence black
Like Silent One, just that


Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2016


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The Vagrant

He stumbles on the subway
Initially I cringe
I'm put off by the way he smells
From alcoholic binge

He mumbles incoherent
I start to feel ashamed
I slide my hand in my front pocket
Fumbling for some change

But I don't think he's asking
And now I feel confused
Why suddenly he's deathly still
In contemplative muse

It's then I sensed my pity
That's founded in this thought
This vagrant's smell is rank with failure
Surely mine is not

But just as surely comes the notion 
That my thought is wrong
That maybe this man's always been
My equal all along

And in my mind I contemplate
Why I refused to see
My world won't be so bad a place
If love is given free

And so my judgment loosens as
I know not where he's been
A brotherhood in harmony
Absolves the need for sin

I owe this man his right to freedom
The same that he owes me
I spare myself the cost of pain
And simply let him be

And from that moment on I'd ponder
My inner vagrancy
But was it me who smiled at him
Or him who smiled at me?


Copyright © Yoni Dvorkis | Year Posted 2009


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Epiphany


The first crystal drop of realization shatters your glassy surface and radiates the idea outward in reflective ripples growing in pristine concentric circles with the newness of being thought of for the very first time.. one drop follows another in a thoughtful cascade and a thrilling commingling of contemplative resonance skimfully intersects on a liquescent wavelength - ..like a collection of Chinese linking rings smoothly passing through each other.. exchanging enchantment and casting their own brand of magic in lucid fluidity across the suffused surface of your soulful depths; that in this most precious of moments revels in revealing the answers you seek. Susan Ashley July 28, 2018


Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2018


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Personification of Quiet

I came upon quiet the other day,
It was over by the little pond
Out of everyone’s way.

I wasn’t looking for it,
I was in a hurry.
But there it was by the Oak and big rock,
With nary a worry.

Of me it may not have been aware,
I tiptoed and spied on it’s presence,
Out of place it seemed, calm and fair.
Contemplating nature’s essence.

It cast it’s gaze upon some lime green duck weed,
And absorbed a whispering breeze
Gently tossed a ray of sunshine into the trees,
And smiled a flutter into some leaves.

It’s peaceful countenance rested in a family of Sand Hill birds,
Majestic, unhurried and together,
On their morning walk, speaking of nature without words,
Musing and of a feather.

Quiet, it seemed to me
Was a contemplative being,
The more I watched it,
The more I began seeing.

It shivered slightly sensing it’s breeze,
And fluttered a gaze back to it’s leaves

I came upon quiet the other day,
As if by prophetic accident,

But I got busy and turned away,

I wonder .. I wonder where it went ..




Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010


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THE ERASER CAME WITH SAGE ADVICE

The eraser belonged to me; it was saved by my mother and returned along with many other 
childhood items when I became middle aged. I was curious as to why she would save a 
stubby old eraser from the primary grades, so she reminded me of its’ one and only use. My 
faded memory of that time suddenly became crystal clear, as my mother recounted for me a 
watershed episode from my formative years. 

I had, as they say these days “acted out in school once again,” this time by writing 
unspeakable words in a textbook. Without any hesitation or forethought, I chose as my 
repository the teachers’ edition of our English composition book. Quite frankly, at the time, I 
thought they were literary gems worthy of publication. That’s why I knowingly inscribed them 
there for all to see. Upon further review by more knowledgeable minds, it was determined 
corrective guidance and a phone call home was in order.
 
I was to spend several hours after school that day sweating in contemplative silence as I 
erased the teachers’ edition and many other similarly defaced books. It was during this time 
of reflection that I ground that eraser down to the stub as it remains today. The last visible 
vestiges of my bad expositions disappeared forever that hot afternoon, along with more than 
half of the eraser.

Mother then reminded me of what she overheard the Superintendent tell me, as she sat 
mortally ashamed and waiting for hours in the hallway outside that sweltering classroom. I 
can still visualize her ample adult size, trying in vain to get comfortable, in a sticky one 
armed desk made for a 5th grader.

“ John, I want you to try and remember this:
WHAT YOU SAY to others might last with them until THEY DIE.
But regretful WORDS YOU WRITE, the residue of which, will last long after YOU DIE. 
So you keep what’s left of this eraser and I hope you never need to use it again.”


*For the "Rub it out" contest, i still have the eraser.



Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2010


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Museum Visit

Art beholds a different space
another era, time and place
with quiet portraits all around.

Gentle strokes of a master's hand
unfold mysteries that demand
a contemplative eye.

A blanket of quiet cloaks the soul
thoughts are focused toward the goal
of understanding the piece at hand.

Realization reaps it's own reward
as the viewer draws toward
the vision and depths that lie within.  





Written on 11/2005 
Updated on 10/2/2016


Copyright © Laura Leiser | Year Posted 2014


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The Ancient Cambodian Dancer -

In that meteoric moment
she exhibited eternal qualities of wonderfully wrought womanhood,
calm,disciplined and candid,
adorned with few distinctions from the rest behind her
the loving leadership was projected in painstaking posture,
brutal perfection,a suffering of diligence amounting to total serenity,
she being a gem amongst stones,
for inexperience a cure,
synchronicity simple & symetrical like ripples in a river,
the troupe twirls & turns as leaves whirl gingerly in pools of water livid,
their torsos taut like trunks of young & vital trees,faces flowers,
brilliant when in cold morning view,
hands impossibly curved on extended arms,hearts placid,
without looking the dancers drape their faith 
upon the integrity of her warm luminosity,
the lead lioness quietly commands their orbiting obeisance,
in her hushing eyes the sparkle of a rich race communicates confection
to the contemplative congregation,
she is a Godess in the midst of nymphs,

something dangerous,calamitous,manifested mutely in the expression 
of a posterior dancer
whom strangely stares at the back & soul of the leading lady in stance,
this suggestive & supportive figure embodying dispassionate envy,
strategically laying seige 
to the gloriously innocent leader of this cultural romance,
a reminder reminiscent of Eve's two children 
in the forgotten fields of antiquity
where success was hunted savagely by the weakness 
inherent amid imps -

This poem is premised upon a photograph of a traditional Cambodian dance troupe -

J.A.B.


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2012


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Sophie

I am in awe, oh dear Sophie
Of all things done and said
I am one single, wandering thought
In this world’s contemplative head

How do I dare speak all these words?
When facing this vast, capricious Vie
When tempests and storms ravage the waves
Of what worth is one droplet of the sea?

It is bewildering, as I am sure you know
Yet, it takes you almost a gesture to understand
I mustn’t refer to Zola’s Labyrinthe
To explain to you how it is on this part of land

I am in awe, oh dear Sophie 
Of how distance, at times, can be undone
It takes a thought to simplify a world
And above so many, you are one.



Copyright © farah chamma | Year Posted 2012


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Space, version 2

Between the ears of the greatest minds
Limits and laws do not exist    

Building roads and wrinkles to beyond
 Such brains are ripe with fascination

Where physical boundaries do not factor
Journeymen and women discover frontiers within themselves   

Forming the legendary, from the amorphous
They are contemplative, they are reminiscent 

Tireless and motivated I am just a rubbernecker  
Watching treasures without obstacles, by accident


 Eventually I choose to give them their space
Smiling back at them, they are our children


Copyright © karl marszalowicz | Year Posted 2013


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Engaging the Ascent

.
       tectonic defense
                 contemplative reflection
                             remorseful summit


Copyright © Abe Lopez | Year Posted 2010


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I AM The Pond

I am the gold fish
Swimming in the pond

I am the blue bullfrog
Bellowing in the pond

I am the yellow tadpole
Feeding in the pond

I am the fluorescent dragonfly
Nesting in the pond

I am the white rock
Wading in the pond

I am the Noble Savage
Siting on another rock
Contemplative near the pond

I am the sycamore tree
Overshadowing everything within the pond

I am the boisterous wind
Breathing the breath of life in the pond

I am the high noon sun
The spark of life in the pond

I am the green algae and amoeba
Supporting all life in the pond

I am the tall river of grass
Cleaning debris in the pond

I am the blue heron
Raising like the Pohoenix
From the tar sands in pond

I am the black sea turtle
Like an island
Caring for my children
Black white yellow and brown
In the blue pond



 





Copyright © Mel Brake | Year Posted 2010


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Desperate message to Kim jong un

Pardon any absent adulation, bequeathed capitulation, devoted dedication, indiscretion, blabbering peroration, improper salutation or any unintended vexation if this unknown earthling sent a nearly identical message. He over-looked a small number of errors and hoped that this version accepted as the most satisfactory to me.

Oh please for the sake (and sock e) of brethren deemed friendly, i beseech ye with genuine humility to desist launching nuclear missiles!

This American bloke put his lock, stock and barrel of gunmetal faith in mister Dennis Rodman to serve as a figurative lightning rod against any aggressive actions that would set in motion the end of civilization.

Not only would the majority of **** sapiens (yes, some clusters of earth-linked yahoos might still remain a live) suffer a nasty, short and brutish death, but also other flora and fauna could be equally annihilated!

Understandable, those grievances against sanctions against the populace of north Koreans (who most likely experience unfair hardship) fuels resentment against the hegemony of western powers. Many of these societies authoritatively brandish their devout pledge for concurrence with democratic principles.

Any endemic protestations declaiming objection to the American way affect an immediate alarm. Imposition of so called "puppet" regimes get forcibly installed sans those countries leaders who run counter to capitalistic productivity.

This one anonymous citizen of those fifty states also takes umbrage how the might of american to predominate and demand that other nations follow suit solely based on what agrees with those like minded in power sans the brotherhood/sisterhood of vast swaths of the global population.

No great expectations (by dickens) to affect passionate sentiments per those peoples somewhat hermetically sealed off and separated (viz - by the demilitarized zone) from the billions of other human beings.

Thy sole missive from one older mwm dreads the catastrophic chain reaction of events once atomic warfare triggered by the disgruntlement over some differences in outlook could possibly resolved via "active listening" and access to exchange a word of reconciliation.

As one flawed chap prone to his own bouts of anger, he attests that more positive pleasing results can prevails with the treat of world war three diffused in a manner that plays less havoc once unleashing of weapons of mass destruction occurs!

This notion came to me while tending to a basic bodily urge, thus intent to share my poem whence sitting 

Upon the porcelain goddess,
 A most brilliant idea in me mind did lit
This sole seasoned bugs bunny car tune character son of kit
Soon after on the road his imagination
 Fired up with gaseous fleeting thought that softly hit
Attempting with futility to net ideas in me mind that flit
I yam a poet favoring words that rhyme a bit!
 
Iambic pentameter strands crochet themselves
 Magically into verse
Interleaving like boughs of an arbor
 Shielding this solitary soul
 From shafts of sunlight that doth dapple
 The canopy affecting shadows to disperse
Ebbing and flowing in tandem & sync
 With circadian metronome this troll
 Transformed by serenade from Mother Nature
 With hand doth scythe lent curse

Congregating amongst a distinguished flora and faun
 The latter sending tendrils
Poised on the brink of some philosophical revelation
 Delicate as hocked china
Which capricious metaphorical musings
   Resurrected from propriety
Devoid of any vicious evocations nor premonitions
While ensconced in eyesight of my adobe
   Dwelling away from mass of society

Return of this native son harbors thoughts
   Against madding crowd that cease to dwindle
   To less than the effect of a mosquito needling proboscis
   In the nape o me neck
As this contemplative human being feels
   Leaves of grass each like a spindle
   Completing a colorful pastoral palette
   Of utmost verdant splendor upon flotsam speck
Allowing wisps of euphoria
   To warm thine psyche easing books set afire to kindle
 
Under the azure vault
The entire warp and woof of one mortal male as he does lie
   Where arises finding incriminating fault
Beneath the celestial sphere transfixed where mysteries catapult
   As those simians who preceded him
Millenniums before similarly inebriated
   From wondrous panoply of one star
That comprises a near infinite candelabra
   Guiding the mind to posit the universe 
   This mission must come to a HALT!

From - one whom u kin newt re:fuse
   No claim to be Walt Whitman only venturing forth
That all of mankind we lose
   In the event of such apocalyptic once the fuse
Lit to launch missiles meant to zero in and cruise
Upon the masses a severe planet earth detonations 
 Inflicting concussions more fatal 
 Than the most lethal booze.

 






Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2013


Details | Contemplative Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Feeling Contemplative

It’s time to rhyme.


Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016


Details | Contemplative Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Where The Vision Visits

Kentucky's late summer sunshine
sunk deep into their skin
as the boy rode on the back
of his Grandfather's coppered horse,
the tobacco harvest would begin soon,
aromas of sweet leaf darkness
were wafting in the field heat,
to the big barn they bounced
buoyant for the business of bushels
crafted by a lineage of fearless farmers
who knew the revolutions and roses of the land,
a stop at the pond for water and shade
would be wise, should be fine and fair,
Edgar lept off being swated in the face
by the horse's sweeping tail,
at the water's edge he could see secrets
loud in silence and wild in truth,
a shadow took form
at the horse's eyes
it reared violently, 
with a screaming panic it pounced
through the pond it charged across
with Grandfather desperately holding the reins
the breathing terror pumping
through the horse's body
was felt along it's spine by the old rider,
after madly striking the fence
it turned back to the shaken pond
with a furious stride upon the earth,
plunging in heavily
it's forelegs buckled badly
throwing Grandpa straight over into the broken water,
on his back, shocked to death under blue sky
the horse he raised from pony
hammered him with no mercy
into water pure,
standing there, deaf to death,
paralysed by slow motion murder,
the eyes and teeth of the horse
with it's mane electrified
and hooves lancing
is all he could see
while life stopped in the sun,
and then there was calm,
his Grandfather's hands 
slowly closed into that terrible water,
it would not be long before the boy
would see the spirit of Grandpa Tom
in the tobacco sheds, examining machinery,
scrutinizing the sheafs, singing the seed songs,
his spirit sight was not triggered by sudden tragedy, 
throughout childhood he conversed with the "playfolk"
the children of eternal outdoor youth
but as he grew they did not
and age seemed to seperate
the sense of their consanguinity,
it was time to live amongst the fellow flesh
to say goodbye to good ghosts,
the schoolhouse was a strain
on his simple soul,
his mind meandered into mazes
of biblical antiquity
daydreaming of divine deluge,
of wilderness wanderings
and sermons that serve the heart,
the Bible was the only book
that brooked the heartbeat to heaven,
by the time Edgar was thirteen
he had read the Scriptures twelve times,
possessed by the pedigree of passion
he pledged to read them for every year of his life,
the meaning of ministry pulsing in his purpose,
immersed in the verse of Monoah
by the clear water creek of contemplative quietude
the wings of a resplendent woman
swept Edgar's honest arid hair
as his fingers pressed the pages of prophecy
which lay upon his lap,
she simply glittered like glory
in the existence of true happiness
she was an angel of auspicious alms
come to ask the aim of his spirit
to which he replied shyly
to help the sick and searching
find healing and headway through Christ,
the angel woman declared with perfect joy
that his wish would be realized
as she went away with spellbinding evanescence,
that night his Father would berate him
for failing grammar lessons,
over and over
Edgar would sink into the questions
and his Father the "Squire"
would strike his apparent stupidity, 
the angel woman's voice
spoke within the boy's head
like violet against gray
suggesting that if he'd sleep a minute
with the lesson book under his head
the knowledge therein would be known,
when his Father woke him
Edgar knew the contents
as a clock knows the numbers,
the "Squire" was stunned
and a psychic gift had begun,
Edgar Cayce discovered a terrific talent,
an autohypnotic ability
that allowed him to read the body of the Universe
and everything in it,
he became a seer of stars,
in trance, his subconscious mind
could communicate with any other, anywhere,
the primary objective of his virtue
was to provide medical "Readings"
to those in earnest need of treatment, 
the medical expertise which he effortlessly espoused
surpassed the skill of the best professionals
in every conceivable field of medicine, 
physiology, diagnostics, pharmacology, psychology, 
physical therapy and so on,
eventually friends and clients
would implore him to explore
the metaphysics of Man,
to investigate ancient history
and the rivets of religion,
reincarnation would rise in import,
Mr. Cayce would report
karma is colorfully constant
that Earth is a special soul port,
to return to flesh is to return to rectifying flame,
he remained a Christian not just in name,
he found justice in Jesus and grace in goodwill,
after dying at 67 in 1945
this unrefined farmboy of a 9th grade education
left a legacy of 14,000 plus "Readings"
that have given healing and hope
to millions of human beings -

J.A.B.

This poem is dedicated to the life of "The Sleeping Prophet"
Edgar Cayce and his faithful wife Gertrude Evans Cayce.
I strongly recommend the biography,  "There Is A River, The Story Of Edgar Cayce"
Justin A. Bordner


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2017