Best Empiric Poems
Drowning in foolish beliefs;
Pixilated portraits falling off
Corroded walls;
Blank canvases pervaded by
Grainy brush strokes,
Billowing amidst scattered flickers of
Crumbling structures,
Ambling in blighted stillness.
Venturing to find equilibrium in
This cryptic world,
Stranded and abandoned,
Layered upon a
Pillar of empiric darkness,
Glazed in meaningless semantics.
Wrestling with time,
an illusion supreme
Its trinity empiric,
three masks to deceive
Past, future, and present,
our dreams undefined
Outside of their stricture,
new presence unrhymed
Rejecting convention,
short sighted and slight
Imprisoning our vision,
with capture and fright
In seizing this instant,
its moment sublime
All truth flowing freely
—unfrozen in time
(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2019)
OF THE COMMON SEAS
"We must come down from our heights, and leave our straight paths, for the byways and low places of life, if we would learn truths by strong contrasts; and in hovels, in forecastles, and among our own outcasts in foreign lands, see what has been wrought upon our fellow-creatures by accident, hardship, or vice." **
Truth need not be found
in philosophers' musings,
or complicated by thoughts bound
with theorems and words, fusing,
nor within the intricacies
of mathematical proofs,
as one and one may indeed
not equal two; un-truth is truth.
Truth becomes vast in life,
and like the pearl, can be found
as beauty captured, in seas rife
between the common oyster's gown,
Or found within the common leaves
of books written by common men,
discovered by those literates who read.
Truth is simple, now and ever been.
I stumbled on such a prize
In Dana's autobiography;
of common men on common seas
living truths of common humanity.
** Dana, Jr., Richard Henry, Two Years before the Mast, World Publishing Company, 1946, p. 283
1
Like a moth to a candle flame
I pondered the perceived right
of those of wealth, culture, piety and fame
to control and lead the common blight -
(the average, struggling and forsaken souls);
yet have never descended to the lowly station
to learn the culture of these earthly ghouls,
their dreams, their pleas, their damnation.
As gods atop their cloud draped mountain
how dare they, in their empiric quackery
force the masses to their impure fountain
to drink of the laws and life that they decree,
yet having not trod the tracks of the plebian path,
having never felt the sordid plebian passions,
but worshipping instead their comfort and wealth,
adorned in decadence and richly clothed fashions,
how can they govern those they do not know,
minister to anguish they have never felt
or heal their sickness of body, heart and soul?
How can they play the cards, to them never dealt?
Are they leaders, statesmen, kings and lords,
or simply counterfeit men full only of themselves,
vainglorious peacocks, strutting hordes
deceiving not a common man, only just themselves?
We have them here, in this land of the free,
politicians, preachers, corporate men and judges.
None have suffered and worked, you see
yet dare to rule, when by common men begrudged.
Is it just me or has “poetry”,
Become a word for “vomit”,
They’re words without phonetic symmetry,
As if “poem” was synonymical for “omelet”.
Can a poem truly be anything and all,
A writer deems or seems in any way?
Are words without rhyme or flow to y’all,
A “poem” no matter what they say?
I long for Shelley and Whitman and Wilde,
Whose content coalesced with form and lyric,
Rather than the written words of a child,
Whose empiric entries are at best satiric.
Oh poets remind us of what our voice can do,
When laced with lust for literature and nomenclature,
Whose languid lore can lavish in tone and hue,
Within the art that best defines the beauty of human nature.
A gaping mouth, desperate to, in the end, consume all else
The Beelzebub that knows its place and, once denied, is felt
Lays open all the questions that can lead to what we knew
And answers what could never, though empiric, be untrue
This blood of apathy
Drains to a depthless sea
The voices deep inside
Embedded, cannot lie
The other soul knows of itself
More than the mind can comprehend
The other soul cannot be felt
But neither soul can still transcend
So fanciful, desires to create, to but control
To overlord, to master what we think we cannot know
"Play God, Play God" the demons cry
"Enough, enough", we can't deny
"Sublime, sublime, extrapolate
Transcend, transcend, corrupt and sate"
The horror, horror, demons' cry
Beneath the fathoms of the mind
The real demon, that am I
My devil is my heart
The lightly torn apart
The darkness
The darkness
The horror
The horror
The end
To end
All
AFRO WOMAN!!!
She rules supreme in all climes
Elegant as the stallion she is in her prime
Resilience chariots her purpose to fame
A rugged activist, with a cause
As a mother, she needs applause
Afro woman, has come a long way
Give a chance; she will make your day
The black woman,
She has and flaunts her root
Our civilization, she marked her foot
A continuous custodian,
Our culture to an endless generation
An unending legacy your works show
History becomes famished, excluding you
Your bowels of love, house many great warrior
Even your breast,
Nourished the very weakest of us
Our great continent like others,
Your love built.
Modernism, challenge your virtue
Yes! A true test to size her stature
A colossal pageant, she dominate the picture
In all fields, she blends with the mixture
Her ballooning ambition,
Goliath s spear can’t puncture
For a prosperous nation,
She deserves the credit
Global appeal, your fame conjures
A real woman, not cheap to capture
Being her guest is always a pleasure
Inside her lies true treasure
Her worth none can measure
Afro woman!
The real deal in a woman
All hail!
The African queen!
Her whole essence, is never in doubt
A great woman, fortress to the weak
A woman Moses, standing for all
Very audacious, yet gentle like a dove
In her veins, runs the blood of greatness
A real cover, when all is blown open
Yes! The African woman,
An empiric icon of woman hood
“A beautiful dedication to the BLACK AFRICAN WOMAN”
Author: Felix Osaeghemede Joseph
Email: chumfin4poem@yahoo.com;+2348037825027
Written: 22/11/2007; 2pm -7:27pm
I'm spirit
Be not afraid of it
I'm clear
legit
I'm lyric
Empiric
Satiric
I visit
the other
I'm water
You're hot
I'm hotter
I'm son
You're daughter
My spirit is tall
My flesh is shorter
I'm wind
Free
Not pinned
Neither thick nor thin
I'm skinned
I blow as I wish
No one knows where
I'm coming from
And where I'm going
People hear my roar
It's my game
My score
I'm not less
But more
I'm not peripheral, minor
But core
I'm central
Elemental
Principal
Crucial
Vital
Essential
I'm Primary
Fundamental
I am flung against the drab ashen phonon sky, weighted with ghostly iron clad jaws of bitter winter's grip, biting the feather-flared Doves gravid with fatigue from the ill-laden onerous air. The rough-coated dog with ice-tipped ears had surrendered to the corridor of gutters in the toilsome cold, a fugitive of neglect of his own demise. In this empiric city, a shrine of humankind, vespers of frozen conflict rose up from its bowels, like sweat from otherworldly gargoyle watchmen of stone and mortar atop the surrounding spires of fortune. Beneath the steeples of holy crosses and frozen muted lights, faceless, heavily cloaked phantom transients trudged through half stacked drifts of dirty snow moving farther away from hazard, blinded in their apathy. The grimy yellow cab bedraggled on its mucky, viscous boulevard strained and bellowed as a labored oxen. Desperate, surreal sirens blaring from a distant byway echoed and purged from the back alley resort of homeless, despondent souls, laying like pale-blue corpses in garbage bins that sheltered their weakness - interred in their obscure tombs chasing their fate in a bottle of booze. And I stood frozen in the moment, displaced with the cold reality in my icebound, paralytic soul, shuddering with hurt.
ice laments silence
cloaked in bitter winter's grip
trapped in bitter spires
December 17, 2019
December or January Haibun Poetry Contest
Moments of Reflection - Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
PERPETUAL PETALS
The
bouquet
of autumn,
lasts but a short
while-
but
real
flowers live-
that spring from our
soul
to
sprinkle
here and there
in posies of
love-
such
coloured
aromas,
garland others'
day
SPRING
Purple vetch and ribwort plantain
Jostle lush clover in English rain
Dogrose dotted on a briared sprawl
prickly as it meandrs tall
Speaking volumes of words,unheard
Spring,flowers,in which all senses merge
FLOWERS OF THE FIELD
Daisy,buttercup,yellow cowslip
together mix in fellowship
MUTED
Silent,
nature's flowers
with which all senses merge-
become a dialogue with words
unheard.
SYMBOLIC INTUTION
She
moved the
empiric
into abstract
form
from
above
and beyond
the natural
view-
a
close-up
of flowers
in magnified
bloom
Ekphrasis tribute to Georgia O'Keeffe
LOVELIER than LILAC structured prose
Along the primrose path,passion flowers
luminous beauties all of a flutter,true,
natural and gentle on the stream of time.
This drift of time fashions silence into
words,silent thoughts.flowers of perfect
speech by wayside haunts.Sights sounds
and secrets so full of sweet song.
Songs of picture poetry chasing shadows
in an eclectic amalgam ,lovelier than lilac
FLOWERY WORDS
Meadowsweet & wiilow herb
and forget-me-nots
Blue,white,green & yellow
Wild flowers in abundance
Pastel shade my garden plot
LITTLE PIECES OF HEAVEN
Flowers to us,may teach
as to them,our fingers reach,
of God's love,they preach
Flowers to us,so bright
colours to fill our sight,
reveal to us,God's delight
Flowers each day to inspire,
igniting poetic fire,
God's poiema,never tire
Flowers,that smell so sweet,
good enough for us to eat,
'til that day,God we'll meet
Changed in a moment,our bodies too
on that earth and heaven, new
inspired by Christina Rossetti poem Lillies of the field
She
moved the
empiric
into abstract
form
from
above
and beyond
the natural
view-
a
close-up
of flowers
in magnified
bloom
Ekphrasis tribute to Georgia O'Keeffe
Invictus
The stories that shows the resilient spirit,
against all odds and rationally is empiric.
It is not where the hero is seeking attention,
it’s the nameless person providing redemption.
The living urge in purity of spirit, without we could not exist,
only by lost egos continuously resists.
Walking on dreams, prayers and whispers clearly spoken,
solitary spirits changing everything what is broken.
The vale of the nightingale profound,
the stranger giving all in joyful chant.
Where the song of praise has no ending,
giving texture of serenity aiding.
Words of wise council is the currency,
long after all with certainty.
We all coming with a purpose in this world,
only fears establishing that paradox mold.
All one knows does not change the situation,
especially when one is worried about a reputation.
Some sacred text mentioned, not to give false witness,
more even to one’s own truth in brightness.
When the system is blinding your eyes immune,
its time to take real fortunes into tune.
Playing with the remote from the couch of ignorance,
will have its handicapped forced consequence.
Multidimensional spheres of worlds in existence,
intangible place in touch without resistance.
Unknowable known of all knowledge,
incomprehensible adorable relic.
Spectrum of visibility in fractions displayed,
Fragile, surely, purely imaginative portrayed.
Spirits of protection and ghost of dooms,
playing light and shadow in many rooms.
Sculptured and embossed through many stories,
living myth to the imminent picture of worries.
Silver vapor in frosted twilight morning,
the least of natures whole still keeps the mind adoring.
Tested motions, voice of heart and tears at hand,
as we observe and really little understand.
The moon wanes out all its precious waters by gracious will,
until the empty dark of month turns to its fill.
If love is the living water unfathomable and sweet high,
it will touch the impossibility to amplify.
The stories in many worlds show the resilient spirit,
against all odds and obscurities, is divine empiric.
Is life about how many
or then about how much
Is the truth in computation
or in what those numbers touch
Is the measurement empiric
with a final answer shown
Is salvation in the lyrics
with the word count still unknown
Is there faith inside the mystery
that mere reason can’t abide
Is there something deep inside you
that excuses cannot hide
Is there a wind that blows indulgent
carrying an echo from before
With a voice that speaks the loudest
the one you listen to—reborn
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Is life about how many
or then about how much
Is the truth in computation
or in what those numbers touch
Is the measurement empiric
with a final answer shown
Is salvation in the lyrics
with the word count still unknown
Is there faith inside the mystery
that mere reason can’t abide
Is there something deep inside you
that excuses cannot hide
Is there a wind that blows indulgent
carrying an echo from before
With a voice that speaks the loudest
the one you listen to—reborn
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)
Invictus
The stories that shows the resilient spirit,
against all odds and rationally is empiric.
It is not where the hero is seeking attention,
it’s the nameless person providing redemption.
The living urge in purity of spirit, without we could not exist,
only by lost egos continuously resists.
Walking on dreams, prayers and whispers clearly spoken,
solitary spirits changing everything what is broken.
The vale of the nightingale profound,
the stranger giving all in joyful chant.
Where the song of praise has no ending,
giving texture of serenity aiding.
Words of wise council is the currency,
long after all with certainty.
We all coming with a purpose in this world,
only fears establishing that paradox mold.
All one knows does not change the situation,
especially when one is worried about a reputation.
Some sacred text mentioned, not to give false witness,
more even to one’s own truth in brightness.
When the system is blinding your eyes immune,
its time to take real fortunes into tune.
Playing with the remote from the couch of ignorance,
will have its handicapped forced consequence.