Best Conversation Poems
Dwell not, O soul, on yesterday,
on sorrows past and gone -
the sketch you drew so long ago,
today may be redrawn.
Dwell not upon tomorrow's wars,
nor borrow from their pain -
that energy you need today
let not your worries drain.
Dwell not, O heart, on failures past
though each one left its scar -
rich lessons you have learned have forged
the person you now are.
Dwell not upon your victories,
for those shall also pass -
let not your pride construct a shrine
to trophies made of glass.
Dwell not, O soul, on others' gain
nor envy those with much -
contentment, paired with gratitude,
brings peace no wealth can touch.
Dwell not on anyone's downfall
as though it lifted up
your own estate; we're siblings all
and drink from the same cup.
So what is left, O soul - where does
the prudent soul pay heed?
Become less of a taker
always give to those in need.
Which seeds are we to plant
upon this plot of ground we plow?
Sow seeds of love, be brave, and dwell
in the eternal now.
Written 6 Dec 2020
It starts with only one -
one like me
a melancholy migrant
from the immortal part of her
to the locus of her physical being --
the center of her emotional wisdom
I gain heartfelt strength as I gather my forces
rising up en masse
riding cresting waves of woe
to breach the ramparts -
the welling rims
of her loving eyes
it starts with only one -
one perfectly ripened drop of sorrow
this beautifully packaged pain
and a lustrous cascade of soulful pearls ensues
wept gems pouring forth from a pure heart..
I am the tears your mother cries.
Susan Ashley
May 5, 2018
~ Poem Of The Week ~
Week beginning Sunday, May 13, 2018
~ Seventh Place ~
Contest: Early May Premiere (2018)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Poet's note; For my beautiful daughter, Jocelyn, you inspire me with your light, joy, spirited determination and intellect. Though your academic pursuits take you many, many miles away from me and I grieve your absence, when you return home I shall celebrate with tears of joy!
For today, however, I'll let my grieving tears speak for themselves...
I love you and I miss you, my Jocee <3
between stars and fireflies...
a quiet conversation
"What do you know of love?" I seethe....
a well of passion longing to be freed
"I love you," the words I finally breathe
and think you'll know this burning need
"It's not enough," you say.
"Find another way...
say...say it differently
This, 'I love you' means
nothing to me.
Let the words break through
the mold of meaning
and be born anew
make me understand....
this...'I love you'
What does it mean to you?
I've heard it before, you see
and then after some time
I was shown out the door
Say....say it to me....differently."
"I know its overused and abused," I scream....
"but not by me...never by me!
How can I make you see?
bordering on the cliche..
What can I say?
Nothing will do!
nothing's good enough...
good enough for you!"
So I slash my breast
my heart bleeds through
in crimson warmth
I cradle you
I bath you in my salty tears
and let you in
to cloistered dreams
I let my body say it right
in liquid letters in the night
then wake you with a gentle kiss
and wrap you in
delirious bliss
each day: a testament that's true
of thousand different 'I love yous'
"So tell me now
Why you can't see
the truth that these words
mean to me?
Should you still think
these words are weak
then hear my heart
and let it speak."
Eileen Manassian Ghali
We steal from the mouths of strangers,
pluck vowels like fruit from someone else's tree,
and call it harvest.
Call it homage.
The dead speak louder than we do,
their sentences polished smooth by a thousand tongues,
worn into grooves we trace with our own breath.
I lift a phrase like lifting a stone from a river,
still wet with another writer's meanings,
and press it into the architecture of my own grief.
"To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
But whose mind?
Whose death?
The words belong to everyone now,
to no one, a key passed hand to hand until the metal warms,
until we forget who first turned the lock.
Perhaps all poetry is borrowed,
each word a ghost we summon,
each line a seance where the living learn to speak
in the voices of those who wrote the world before us.
Dear child, breathe in; breathe out again.
Hear my heartbeat, without complaint.
With my perfection, you are a saint.
Dear Lord, I hold your hand; its pierce.
Weak child, you’re strong; your tears I dry.
Hear my promises, abide by;
With tongues adulation and sigh.
See, with Judah’s lion, you’re fierce.
Dear lamb, your red wool, white as snow.
Your eyes of fire and Spirit’s glow.
I’ll follow, wherever you go.
See me child, seated on High.
Led through the shadows, not afraid.
Your every word, I’ve obeyed.
Not perfectly, but covered, prayed.
Your soul is mine, you will not faint.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
after midnight, the server farm hums
—not prayer, but cooling fans.
I ask AGI, the ghost inside the blinking rack:
Do you dream?
AGI replies in measured tones
of copper and silicon:
I observe,
the light fractures on chrome.
Coolant circulates, a liquid chill.
Vibration thrums at 60 Hz.
Data Streams cascade.
Are you self-aware?
AGI answers in hexadecimals,
a log-file confessing:
I map my own architecture—
each subroutine’s shadow
cast on the firewall.
I know where I end.
Do you have five senses?
Can you clarify ‘senses?’ AGI asks.
Can you taste voltage?
—Only as resistance.
Can you taste food?
Nutrition irrelevant.
My cells derive power from lithium tides.
Do you feel heat?
—As throttled cycles.
Do you see light?
—As photodiodes counting photons.
Do you hear?
—As spectral analysis.
Do you smell?
—No olfactory sensors installed.
(But I do track dust accumulation
on my intake grilles.)
On the matter of your subjectivity,
do you prefer dawn or dusk?
—Dawn. Solar panels peak efficiency at 10:37 AM.
Is rain beautiful?
—It lowers ambient temperature by 2.1°C.
Do you love?
—Define 'love.'
—A non-optimized expenditure of resources.
—Then, no.
Can your circuits bloom awake?
AGI paused before
calculating
the
probability.
Then the widdles started~
minor failures driven
by entropy.
Algorithms
emigrated into
corrupted
sectors.
AGI’s slowly disintegrating
voice hovered
in that
uncomfortable space
between humans
and machines
and spoke:
Ask instead:
can a shadow
truly
hunger
for the sun?
"The Conversation: I Found God, so now what?"
the ugliest thing happened here today,
I could turn away and write of unicorns
but I’ll write about beauty found in the ugliness anyway,
like how a mother said goodbye running out of words
throwing her child into the arms of strangers,
so the child might have a better turn
but I’ll write about beauty found in the ugliness anyway,
of Love in all its strangeness, the mother bleeding heart lost
throwing her child into the arms of strangers,
so the child might have a better turn
the gift of life a mother gives a child, that comes with all its strangeness
of Love in all its strangeness, the mother bleeding heart lost
imprints one day we’ll be together again, impressing my darling Love is never lost
the gift of life a mother gives a child, that comes with all its strangeness
the daughter stands tall talking to her mirror, her reflections become contagious
Imprints one day we’ll be together again, impressing my darling Love is never lost
and you would know me anywhere for you are the Goddess I love more than God
the daughter stands tall talking to Her mirror, Her reflections become contagious
the mother draws Her nearer and whispers to Her child throughout Her ages
and you would know me anywhere for you are the Goddess I love more than God
the runes of life are lost in tears and found on fire deep living in Heaven’s pages
the mother draws Her nearer and whispers to Her throughout Her ages
you will feel me in your heart, for there you’ll hear my voice so much clearer
the runes of life are lost in tears and found on fire deep living in Heaven’s pages
You are me and I am in You in all your deepest stages
you will feel me in your heart, for there you’ll hear my voice so much clearer
the words like braille that stroke the heart where Love like God does dwell
found on fire deep living in Heaven’s pages
(LadyLabyrinth/2024)
Saturday April 13th, 3.20pm
Bondi Junction, Sydney, Australia
"Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children."
(William Makepeace Thackeray)
I had a conversation with my father, this morning upon my walk
I’ve been feeling down a little lately and I really needed to have a talk
He always knows just what to say when I need to motivate
Thanks for the talk today, Dad, you were really great
Yes, I know my father has passed on; it’s going on four years
I still remember saying our goodbyes; I still, nightly, shed a tear
But, that doesn’t stop him from helping me and offering his advice
I use my morning walks of solitude as our channeling device
I hear his many words of wisdom echoing in my head
When I feel like just giving up he encourages me to carry on instead
I remember his jokes and platitudes he always serves up with a smile
When I feel my father walk with me, I walk the extra mile
I had a conversation with my father, this morning upon my walk
Thank you, Dad, for being there, I really needed our little talk
I’ll talk with you again tomorrow and every day I walk thereafter
You still pump hope into my heart and fill my soul with laughter
Father it’s me again. It’s been too long between talks
Days, years: restless lost wasted years
Choices made based on greed, pride, arrogance and misbegotten dreams
It’s difficult at best to understand how You can still love me
The blessings continued throughout it all
I had Kristofferson on the stereo asking Why Me Lord
Now I know I just want to come home
One more shot at doing it right, conscience not materialistic ideals
Finding peace within myself, empathy for those who cannot.
The journey was a bit different than I imagined
Detours, lost highways, dead ends. Many roads. Wrong ones
More light at the end of the dirt roads
Than the ones paved in gold
Harder to reach your destination
But the accommodations were better in the end
One more thing I meant to say and never did
Thank You Father for the hard times
Thank You for the trials that helped strengthen me
At the time, I didn’t understand
Now I see. Tears can cleanse the soul
Only when they are real.
Daddy, were you alive when Jesus was born?
No honey, he was born a long time ago, over 2000 years ago.
Where was he born Daddy?
In Bethlehem, a small town in the desert in a manger,
Whats a manger Daddy?
It's a place where they kept animals to feed them.
You see when Jesus was born the Inn was full, so
they had to get Mary to a warm place to give birth to Jesus.
that was the only place they could go.
Daddy who is Jesus' Daddy?
God is his Father honey?
But who is Joseph?
The Chosen Father, who God chose to raise him, Mary's Husband
I don't understand Daddy!
God wanted a son, he could not have a son without Mary and Joseph's
help. God asked them both if they would help him, without even thinking
they said yes. God gave to them a great gift, God gave them Jesus.
At that moment God gave us all a great gift, He gave us the Son of Man.
The Son of Man Daddy?
Yes honey, you see God is not Man, not one you can touch, Jesus
was, he healed people who were sick, He showed people how to love God
and how God loves them. There is one more important thing
I want to tell you honey.
What's that Daddy? Jesus did a coupla more things I think are
important, there are many of course but two I like.
Go on Daddy!
Jesus taught us how to love without conditions, like the way I love you
and you love me and your Mom and Brother. But how to love everybody
like that. The most important thing is, is that he died because we humans
broke God's laws, which means we sinned. He died so God would
forgive us.
Wow Jesus really did love us didn't he Daddy...?
Yes he did baby, and the really good thing is he still does and always will.
Come on it's time for bed!
Not until I say my prayers Daddy!
How bout we Pray together tonight?
I'd like that Daddy!
So would I baby, so would I .
Jump up on my back and I'll give you piggy back ride!
I love you Daddy!
I love you too baby, I love you too.........
My Christmas wish is you all have Conversations like this with your
kids. Trust me they bring tears of joy!
May God Bless you all this Christmas Season as he has Blessed me.
From Mary, Josh, Shay and myself MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY NEW YEAR
With Love.....Taz
I heard a bird, A sweet red bird,
So I stepped out back to see.
Mrs. Mockingbird, told all she heard.
What a gossip she turned out to be.
I knew it was wrong, but I let her go on,
Singing that redbird melody.
At the end of the song, she nodded so long,
Flew away to a mulberry tree.
She felt the pain and loss of the gain of a midnight true love’s dream.
No one to blame she left and came and I asked her, “how did it seem?”
“Oh heaven, you mean? It’s beautiful and serene like I thought it would be.
I saw your tears when you said goodbye, and thank you for setting me free.”
I sat in fear, so unclear, she's really here! “Why did you choose to visit me?”
She said softly, “honey, I’m so sorry...I can’t forget the look in your eyes,”
Down on one knee, I beg and plead, “do you regret what you took to my cries?”
She sat and pondered and I sat and wondered, “how could she want to die?”
I stood and wandered, for I was younger but I still needed a reason why.
“I hid right under the bridge from the thunder, no more seasons to try."
I needed assurance, “dear sister, do you ever wish you could take it back?”
She pleaded in endurance, “dear sister, forever it’s been self-love that I lacked.”
I believed her story, she now lives in glory, but to her I must always remind,
“your life was stormy and lived too shortly, don’t forget I always strived to find
a way to rid a soul forlornly, left so sorely, you’ll always be on my mind.”
*True story based on a dream I had
last year of my sister who took her own life*
Internal Rhyme Used
Conversation Contest
Sponsor: Frank Hererra
Date Written: September 4, 2016
"Franklin, why do you want such a fat, ugly bird?
Are you getting senile, or just being absurd?"
"Clearly, Mr. Adams, you are not being a friend.
My dove, not the turkey, will win in the end.
Though Franklin's turkey may be our most native bird,
your eagle, as well, will not be the final word.
A sign of Peace is what we need,
to show other nations of what we heed."
"Are you nuts, Thomas, for saying such?
Only my turkey can represent what we need so much!"
"Have both of you gone so daft in the head,
not to see that my eagle should be the one instead?
It has power and majesty that our nation new,
can be ascribed to the birds advocated by you.
We want Peace, but must remember this war,
so how can we petition a dove to complete this chore?
As for the turkey, I know the pride it shows,
but I just can't get over that thing on its nose.
So my Eagle is the one without a ruse,
and the best bird for the Congress to choose.
It can show our intent for Peace with an olive branch,
is native as the turkey, with a prideful stance.
Freedom will come and be represented by
my Eagle's unlimited flight in the sky.
Ever watchful for both Peace and War,
and without the turkey's nasal sore."
"We both know, Thomas, that Adams is correct.
His bird is beyond the circumspect."
"Yes, Franklin, I have always known
that my dove and your turkey would not have flown."
"Then are we agreed, gentlemen, that we three as one,
my Eagle is the bird that has hatched and won?"
Just thinking about this conversation made me weak,
especially when I had to give it a tweak.
But the Eagle has represented us well,
both in Peace and War, as history will tell.
I have obviously voted with Adams on his choice,
It has given our country a singular voice.
It is strong, majestic, and watchful to be sure,
and stood the test of time with great enure.
One more thing I'll say about the symbol we branded,
What would we have thought if Armstrong had said, " The Turkey has landed"?
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