Best Entitle Poems
Slowly I see the light decrease off your hand
You say love but do you see my eyes
Surviving you is a long vanished pen
As building it through is what I witness
Occasionally you grasp me effortless
This new found conviction is astonishing
As you see my devotion but never entitle it
Perhaps in time you will revolutionize
So I give you my voice to authentic expectation
Love should never harm, as I do find you irresistible
I pray to up beyond but at wish some things aren't precise
So I just listen to a spirit, as my future plays a shipping canal
And this is the power, the power of now.
"Thou art That" (Chandogya Upanishad 6.8.7 of the Sama Veda)
You wanna know what’s something you are not?
It is that easy. Take a piece of paper,
divide it into two parts with a pen,
entitle the left side as “I”, the right
one – “It” and then think twice about who
you are. A mate? A son? A spouse? A father?
Etcetera. Write down them on the left
and think again. What’s It? A pen? A paper?
The writing table you are sitting at?
The house you’re living in? Write down
them all on the right side and then cross out
the features which are neither You nor It.
Is “I” of you entirely determined
by features “man”, “taxpayer”, “citizen”?
Cross features out. Cross out everything
that’s not the real Itness which includes
all sets of Its throughout the universe,
reducing both lists until just “I”
and “It” remain. Read the result aloud...
Hm, I am It. The rest is I am not.
01.08.2019
Something I Am Not Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
First six lines of my triolet entitled “Wrapped in White” followed by my contrasting six lines which I’ll entitle “Crestfallen in Snow”
I long to tread upon the snow
in hush of winter, wrapped in white;
in feathered mounds serenely go.
I long to tread upon the snow.
The boughs hang low; no wind doth blow.
My love, come see the wondrous sight!
Who wants to trudge in knee-high snow
especially in cold of night
when wind chill factor’s ten below?
Cars slide off roads and fierce winds blow.
Boughs break and icicles hang low.
Stay, Dear, instead, by our firelight!
The stranger is strange, pariah, leper sounds offbeat,
Neither truculent, nor relevant, all destined to encounter the doomed relic;
The bizarre outlander, alien to stimulate the instant pulse-beats!
The uninvited hobnobber, one despises to welcome in routine frolic.
The stranger is unsolicited, the object of latent fear,
As strange may be the ways of the unbidden ones' intentional cares!
The stranger is unfaithful: weird to tranquility, comfort and cheer,
For the sceptical one, we become anxious by a mere fateful encounter!
The stanger lies in our conscience; in a distant land in paradoxical disguise.
Masquerade, the image generates an uncanny fear to sigh!
Sounds delinquent to subjugate the wires of prudent conscience!
Nonetheless, cogitates as usurper of peace; an ineffable parti pris.
Self-centred, they are loquacious, spell bound like con stars;
Babbles from the masks, camouflages as the epitomes of pretenders.
Unknown, unfamiliar, stirs alarms not to mingle, to be away, to be cautious.
In disguise, comes the alleged stanger to ruin ones' peace to shudder and shatter.
But the most alarming of all preconceived archetypes, are the strangers:
Who lingers on, as routine friends and well wishers,
On whom we doted on, are the real dear strangers,
Who by feigning friends, acted quisling, an obvious stranger!
'Hold!' sometimes left us dumbfounded with their insensible fickle deeds;
Even when the unknown stanger might spare and stand by us in awful needs!
When our intimate ones deny to wink at the distress;
While busy in spilling the beans, our woes go unnoticed by the feigned well-wishers.
Indeed! They are the untagged apparent strangers, fugitives in our trials.
Beware of those strangers, whom we adore as near and dear ones, 'bosom friends,'
the agnates and cognates, to entitle the crown, “an actual stranger" who elopes in tmes of miseries!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
At cockcrow, I head down to the river, forsaking my little log cabin situated in the dense forest till dusk, which was strongly built by my endemic hands. I have no compulsion for rods and hooks, no bait. I have my ways. I be sincerely unwanted at the riverside. Others be fearful of my gruff, contemptible guise and demeanour. Fearful that I'd snipe their catch or peck their lunch. Incomprehensible! Hence, I descend the forested hill on which I dwell in the purpose of pilfering the village of food.
I plead the inhabitants for at least a bantam amount of vittles but it is nearabout in vain. All individuals barring an altruistic gardener be scornful towards me. He understands my plight as well as harking what myself alleges. He feeds me his residual edibles. It's his generosity that keeps me alive.
When I be passing the villagers shun me and ensconce me from their young'uns. When I be nigh to them I be able to hear mutterings under breath:
"Undesirable,"
"Accursed tramp,"
and an occasional"Eavesdropper!"
That's what they entitle me but I possess a name. I did not merely crawl up out of the loam and come into existence. I did not start off as an abominable creature spawned on the riverbed (some consider I presently be just that). I be correctly known as Grey, I be named Heron Grey.
By Sean Martin-Byrne
Her love may cause strife
At times she remains as faithful as a pious wife
Without her you will find no spice in life
Yet she is famous to be a double edged knife
A mother she is
The care-giver and a fountain of bliss
Religions praise her declaring that paradise lies under her feet
To protect her progeny always ready to fight and defeat
Her beauty has empowered creativity
A poet's imagination becomes fertile with her entity
Sad though she had to fight for ages for equality
Some religions entitle her as being the doorway to prosperity
Wearing her veil she hides her sorrow
Her being is considered by some male-chauvinists as hollow
She was as if created to act as a shadow
Her stories prick and hurt like a poisonous arrow
Condemned to her duty she has accepted imprisonment
A daughter, a sister, a wife and a mother lie in that assortment
Consider her not to be the other
She is your partner...
You believe me to be an altruistic man as I smile with sneering reluctance.
You may think me gentle as I extend my hand in goodwill, but degraded am I as I wistfully watch my hand recoil from your filthy phalanges with its foul clutch.
You wave me off poised as I stand here in this field laden with perennial flowers as they stir aloft, but unbeknownst to you I berate you as you retreat afoot and go forth from my company into the night.
You deliver beautiful words in my image unto your friends, but I carry your name with seething indiscretion into the fire.
You entitle me as a "friend", but I explicitly fornicate your secrets as I spitefully scathe and scoff unto you.
You divulge your mysteries but I deprecate them and take exception to your standing as I plunge you within rueful nether worlds foreboding in treachery and wretchedness...
Why? For I have no pride unto you.
You place your life you into my palm and recite proverbs appealing for my heart unto yours, but guileful am I and in wicked glee do I carry unto the grave your beauty with its secrets.
You inscribe me as a "fiancée" into forever without recognising the falsifier whose witness bears mistaken.
You smile as your recite dreams aforementioned in times bygone, but I chastise you, and your children do I condemn into hell for their fondling fledgling and fornicated perversions.
You call me a "friend", but I am forever you
days go by and i am the same
things around me change
yet my mind thinks the insane
good things happen
but i stale on worse ones
opportunities missed and i live on regrets
my head spins on a thousand stories
assumptions-lies-words-actions
interpreted in ample different ways
dwell on thoughts that dont matter
ignoring things that actually matter
if it's not perfect it's nothing
grinding myself everyday
fear clouds my mind-what if
worst case scenarios I entitle myself to
criticizing everything that makes me- me
highlighting my insecurities
not letting me be
you'll never be enough
you don't deserve love
walls built around me so i don't wound
you chose to break the ice-i choose you
oh how i wish i showed my true self
how i wish i would show what i really feel
do what i want to do
so at the end of the day
I wouldn't come back to a miserable me
To E.M.T.’s a vital sign
Is something they can measure –
Your pressure, pulse rate, temperature –
Not data we can treasure.
But I would add one to the list
That I believe’s worthwhile;
To me, the most important sign
Has got to be the smile.
For when we’re feeling happy –
With no sickness, grief or stress,
Our face reflects that knowledge
With a grin we can’t suppress.
It isn’t fair that joy is something
Life cannot entitle
Yet I would say it manifests
In signs that sure seem vital.
YOU ARE ENTITLED TO ENTITLE THIS ONE YOURSELF
Whenever I stop to think of it
I don’t stop to think of it
I eliminate the crap, the slop and the rest of the s**t (phew, almost forgot the infantile *’s)
Did you ever think it ironic that if you take George Washington’s initials and sandwich an “I” in
the center of “G” & “W” well simply view the results
It might just be me, but I happen to think that parents, under no circumstances
Should be allowing the chances that their baby may mistake a live rattle snake for a rattle
Who is the bigger coward, propose I,
The man who wants to die and can’t
Or the man who wants to die and does?
So I’m talking to this recent immigrant from China who spoke fluent but broken English, so I
said “you know what Cum of Sum Yung Guy” I said that because that’s his name. in any
event, I said wow, some day in November I think we get a day off from work but I don’t recall
why.
Cum replied rapidly, “Because it’s ******** day”
Did you ever have a severe and urgent urge to take a lot of dynamite, stick it in your sibling’s
ear and light the fuse
But going to jail is a lost to lose
So I never did it
I often get this overwhelming feeling that I am a lizard clamped by the powerful beak of an
egret, as he tosses me from head to tail, as I pray for only one more breath of sweet Florida
air.
Actually I hate
This state
I hate Florida’s flora
And I hate it’s fauna
And I’m convinced, in mid-august, this is where Satan comes for a hellishly hot sauna ©
2011.….Phreepoetree ~free cee!~ ok, all 3 of you can go to another poet’s page!
P.S. and I maintain, and I maintain strongly, that I believe to this very moment Jesus Christ of
Nazareth used grape Kool-Ade to change water into wine, I mean if he was the only begotten
son of God, a trick like that wouldn’t impress my mother’s aunt’s first cousin’s uncle’s twice
removed pet chimpanzee
DID YOU KNOW THAT REPEATINGS ONE’S STATEMENTS IS AN EARY SIGN OF ALZEIMER’S
DISEASE
DID YOU KNOW THAT REPEATING ONE’S STATEMENTS IS AN EARLY SIGN OF ALZEIMER’S
DISEASE
Oh My Luxurious Mind!
What should I entitle thou
What unique name?
How to portray you perfectly,
With which auspicious flame?
My mind, you’re my worst enemy,
My weakness, my whimsicality.
I strive for you,
Still you mock at me?
My luxurious mind,
You’re a rogue, a devil I see!
You are so artful, so restlessly you move,
As the stars of the galaxy travels scheduling their loop.
You seem to be consequently full of activity,
Busy for destructive mechanism
No time to put your feet up a bit
You fly from one to my other occasion.
One scope after another, restlessly you pursue,
How can you be so bitter, a vicious destroyer?
You should be chained, the devil inner power!
You should not get so scope to be bare!
Mind, you’re never contented with adjoining comfort
Always you strive, you brawl,
How can soothe be your enemy?
You disgust your appease, you grab the utmost doubt.
You are my destroyer, you stupid!
You are so rude,
You do what you decide
You are to curse too!
You’re so egotistic; never hang around your love
Why are you still burning? Ever unsatisfied soul?
Why all the means of pleasure are not that you care of?
You’d better be buried than disturb all.
Trust or mistrust, my heart afflicted with the disease of love,
The love that brims the feeling in waves of fluctuation,
The affection that soars up in heaven and drills down an abyss,
Staying love in constant is not my heart's complexion,
World of moderation, nurtured and raised I, yet resistance to alteration.
Lady, profess not your love because my heart is untameable,
Nor I can comprehend though I contemplated much for change,
More than tears my heart hurts sometimes, of unfindable reasons,
And the saddest spot in the globe is nowhere, but in my heart,
Inscrutable I, to receive and take your love is; abhor blunder.
Lady, you pure and fair as wings of the fairest butterfly,
I, the blossom of the bush, trampled by every living souls with hatred,
I deserve not even what I owe, so I shall not entitle your love,
Leave! Spread your wings and take a venture, as rose and lotus await you,
I am ruined and withered already, so ere conversion of me, leave
Have you ever eaten an apple
By sitting on a speedy bicycle?
Difficult? Sympathy is like sizzle
Shouts when not got in coddle;
Smiles if given in time subtle.
Shrewd! With poor does giggle
With rich it does struggle.
How can I, Poor Soul, entitle
Sympathy with me in puddle
Of sadness which hardly ignoble?
My friend, Hardik, never finagle
Stood by shoulders to face unstable
Time, with me, removing a pustule.
Sympathy can’t be won at a raffle.
They’re virtues divine which ripple
With love of God even in middle
Of sufferings, and appear in bubble
Lasts for few moments in swaddle.
Sympathy, moves slowly like turtle
But reaches surely like Rakesh recycle.
Hardik or Rakesh will never diddle
You in need, let it be Prafulla baffle.
I found sympathy for peons little
Swanking abound in both to fiddle
Sonorously growing quadruple.
About scriptural paradox, "No one who
comes to Me will hunger," book of John
answers, albeit at surface value, aplomb
nature believers' satisfaction that they too
disburden all. Book of Matthew in that it
lights, "Blessed those who hunger," oath
everybody who seeks in need will receive.
Lesson: Teaches a somewhat juxtaposition
insights side-by-side parity as it's entitled.
True believers hunger for God, He satisfies.
I could pen a thousand lines or maybe more
Solely to esteem the majestic skies
One million more, merely
To tell the tales about thine eyes
Upon every verse and hereafter
Thy beauty shall ever spring to life
Each word, a heart surrogating
As passions pulse ignites
Then, each in breath recital
In what ne're thoughts can entitle
Aught all of thy love of all days these
And still poetry shan’t near, to ever begin, to portray thee