Best Existentially Poems
Let me love you like a poet would do.
Let me bite on the lid of my pen, thinking of you.
Let me write you down on pieces of paper and scribble you
down on the back of notebooks.
Let me make sonnets to you and of you and fill your neck with haikus.
Let me translate you into polyglot texts and use dictionaries to decipher you.
Let me spill black coffee on my verses of you and delight
in every bittersweet thought of you.
Let me use metaphors to transform you
into a mockingbird or a blanket or a fresh morning dew.
Let me love you, so theatrically, so dramatically, let me
be the moron of all the oxymorons I use to describe you.
Let me engage in a long soliloquy trying to fathom you
and then weep helplessly, existentially like Hamlet would do.
Let me love you like a poet would do.
Let me love you with so much further ado.
Let me lose my senses and declaim my poetry to you,
and then lose myself in a jazz-like catharsis, singing to you.
Let me implode and explode into a million little words,
and a million little worlds loving you,
until I no longer am the poet.
Existentially you think
you know me
having eaten a slice
of my mind
delicious you think
the bubbling froth
of this poetry
peppered with sprinkles
of rising undertones
the sugar depth charged
unstirred, yet
touch the lip of my cup
you’d feel the burn
the tongue means to speak
unhoneyed
the kiss stings
the pain
swollen
and
sweet
Candide Diderot. '24
light penetrated dark, sound birthed
the Word ~ p o e t r y
a superlative emitting that which changes
emerging when ripened as verse
speaking to people faraway
unlocking alphabets from minds
to glide, fast fly, jump or slowly crawl, landing
at destined places, swords or aces
I am Poetry ~ weep or whimper not for me
existentially dancing, enthralling, glancing at
blank paper to be embroidered in ink
ruby red, black or olive green
free flow I from fingers fragile, artistic or sturdy
regulate me only for joy or exploring expansion
perhaps for judicious judgement
I, P o e t r y ~ sequins of Love convoluted or rayed, in service
purifying emotive sentiments conditioned, romantic, missioned
Heart is my home where rest my letters, forms
cadences, couplets, epics
in non-bewildered intelligence visioning dreamscapes
divine, liberated from bandages, buckles, bondages
alive is my Supersoul breath giving voice to electrons
protons, neutrons which fleetingly capture
essenced life through observed elixirs
as Poetry, I witness action followed by pure
stillness ~ transcendental whirlpools in orbits
my limbs reach language lyrical or plain
burnished and wise
cherishing recitals in sacred spaces
I activate thoughts and visions remaining
supremely unattached attuning words
for Grace ~
undulate imagination in perfect waves
misty, clear or intricate, intriguing, unblemished
gratifying, swivelling, sizzling in my own
fire or ice
I, Poetry, consummated
voice the W o r d
Dear son,
I am told I should tell you things not in books
It is hard for me to begin
Your mother said only what is in the book I know
I think my dilemma is neither you nor I
But the whole purpose of the book
This letter may turn into if I try to understand me.
And if I am not in the picture
Then your existence becomes questionable. We must
Establish our need for more than mere presence
And this makes us listening to each other significant,
Make this letter existentially important
And you significantly more important than either of us think
I do not read books because I believe all books
Books took a wrong turn just by their necessity to speak
And to make speech more permanent than memory
They disrupted a whole tradition of history to write
What we were, and are becoming
By making picture out of words for reflection
As they tell us who we are
Without beat of tongue, and rhythm of gesticulation
That surrounded the melody of oral communication.
The literary man made an ulterior civilization
Telling us with barbed cynicism: the pen is mightier than the sword
I handled all books carefully like a weapon
For in them are seeds of destruction
Not intended alone for our history
But for the civilization of our identity.
My dear son
Every structure and fiber of our imagination
Is no longer about us
For we have been reduced to incongruous metaphors
Supplanting faith in history
Supplanting us with toxic ideas of utopia
Knowing full well for this dream
There is no remembrance after sleep
For waking is an hypnosis for those in too deep.
Even as I proclaim this preamble on clutches.
"Knock-Knock!" - Who's there?
"Diaphragms!" - Diaphragms who?
"Diaphragms...Don't always seem to work...
...I don't know how else to tell you this...
...So I am just gonna say it
as politically correct
and incorrectly apolitical
as I've been reprogrammed to speak
by The Disney Company:
"Luke, I am your sperm donor!"
- I sure hope I don't disappoint you as much
as George Lucas disappoints God and such..."
Present, but not independent,
Of societal flows, expectations,
Not understanding sisterhood,
Out with reachability and love.
Together with a voice each,
But screeching sometimes,
In a soft note or look away,
Fondling community law.
Hard for me, but it’s ok,
As we all exist existentially,
Relationship are assumed,
Between you and punter.
Our fine speech narrates,
Our posture, our identity,
With the joy of free will,
Carting societal standards.
Not our families or friends,
Nor TV, teachers or crooks,
But our lives are formed,
Only by our own voices.
Poetry is the air I breathe,
lifeblood trickling 'tween
luscious marrow in my bones,
existentially rooted crux reflecting
Amen's utterances & hallelujah certainties
'round reality's technical formalities
foreshadowing furthermost prevalence
of comprehensive earthy assumptions
& defining whispered whimsies,
exhaled betwixt sunrise's saturated ache
for fiery transpired virtual presence,
literally composed of complicit
synchronicity resoundingly set ablaze
mid expounded otherworldly desires
Listen in,
I, hear in rhythm, speak in rhyme,
watch my words reverberate through space and time,
a 5th dimensional element,
the existentially elegant. One.
The harvest of the father's seed,
reaped by the mother's hand. Son.
Facing the trials of endless miles of unseen roads,
with sole-less shoes and open wounds covered by tattered clothes.
Just me and God, and where this journey leads,
only one of us knows.
A story in the making of glory for the taking,
of triumph, of victory, betrayal, forsaking.
The story of a king, serving under the King.
The story of the proven one, prolific one, of me.
If you could look through my eyes and see what I see,
you’d see the pieces to life’s puzzles hidden beneath.
A surface made of, shady vanities
masked in sensual profanities,
that appeal to the masses,
and exploit all humanity’s,
weakness, is what it boils down to,
we all have it. But rather than rooting it out,
we choose to conceal it under million dollar camouflage
and use perfumes to mask the scent of our doubt.
Trying to realize our identity within
but failing to realize our identity in Him,
He being the one who allows us to transcend,
and hear in rhythm, speak in rhyme,
watch our words reverberate through space and time,
be a 5th dimensional element,
an existentially elegant. One.
Crossing boundaries this world has deemed prohibited.
Because God’s Universal Reign is Unlimited.
One.
"Knock-Knock!" - Who's there?
"Knock on would!" - Knock on wood who?
"Who the hell would ever knock on wood?!"
"What are ya some kinda unbelievable idgit?!"
"May I offer you a complementary pamphlet?"
"It explains how and why God loves you
more than anybody else ever could..."
(continued from part 1)
But we’re all witnesses here,
Right from the very start,
Veiled from conception,
Driven by Heart.
Dieu vivant grâce à vous et à moi,
You ever think to wonder,
Who it is that smells the rain,
Or really hears the thunder?
Take for a moment,
Whose wings we’re under,
Witnessing from across the vast open sky,
A mumuration of starlings,
Unrehearsed, yet in unison,
What humanity’s intentions should exemplify.
We can all be absorbed in our own self-interests,
Dwelling on the sum of our parts,
We’ve all bared witness,
Yet, in heaven’s sweet disposition,
The whole seems what’s greatest,
No matter the situation,
This life’s an experiential syndication,
Existentially drawn from Love,
It’s primary objective.
Mending wounds, touching hearts,
Believing in the greatest gift of all,
Right from the very start.
Depicted internally,
Revealed in time,
Be it more a celestial experience
When I am gazing upon you,
Your heart,
A vision from within mine.
One’s experience may not be yours but His,
Your spirit’s the vehicle,
Accumulating and proving,
A feigned Elysian,
Under the sun,
Solely God’s introspection.
Just know you’re here for a purpose,
You’re living proof what Heaven on Earth is,
Your life’s truly a blessing,
Embrace it for what it’s worth,
Becoming truly immersed.
Never neglecting loving you first,
The weak prey on the weak,
Rest assured, it’s just love they thirst.
Life’s about being that someone,
You come across so rare,
Aspiring others to want better,
Even at their worst,
Even if they'd be fooled by despair,
Life’s an unrehearsed soul search.
And we’ve all our crosses to bear,
So be genuine, be forgiving, and loving too.
Témoigner du fait que votre esprit envoyé de Dieu.
~Sealion
Your sight excites me
The thought of you imagines
That joy is waiting
In your presence I can be
Existentially content
For Joycee
always a Joyfully, joking, josher
Overflowing with inner opulence
Yet yearning still for love-filled yesteryears
Consistently conveying cerebral conversation
offering Easygoing encouragement to all within earshot
Evanescent to this earth ethereally existentially joined with George…
You will truly be missed,
Jill
A window of opportunity, arose on planet earth,
Reality is revealed, human intelligence gives birth,
Our mind opens possibilities, but questions coincide,
Trying to find answers, demise we might just avoid.
We search on a grand scale, yet also the minute,
Build machines to crunch numbers, do you compute,
Our weapons are terrifying, emulating the sun,
Split atoms by fission, then in fusion become one.
Most powerful race, known universe has ever seen,
Cannot be stopped replicating our own dreams,
Fairytales and fantasy, are no longer out of reach,
Genius; the ability to move mountains, not a niche.
Ok stop throwing bouquets, this all comes at a cost,
My poem’s allegory, it’s about truth more than loss,
I always try bring balance, but afraid not this time,
We have redeeming qualities, some actually sublime.
Our technology’s incredible, everything being said,
In the near future, we’ll be cloning off our dead,
I mean can’t you see, sky was never set as a limit,
Cosmos; is our playground, not the overhead zenith.
Show me one country, devoid of all corruption,
Our human nature, causes hell and destruction,
Without these innate traits, where would we be,
I’ll give it to you straight, still swinging from trees.
We are what we are, there’s simply no other way,
Call me controversial, for this picture I portray,
The device your looking at, that thing with a chip,
Don’t be so naive, it was harvested by the whip.
Sitting on our sofas, musing rainbows and clouds,
Whilst this pretty world, is built behind a shroud,
Not here condemning you, condoning to be exact,
You earned the privilege, I’m simply stating facts.
So like it or not, existentially we’re all complicit,
Don’t care who you are, or what emotions I elicit,
Unless in a cave, living off lichen and insects,
Yabba Dabba Do! Mr Flintstone, pay my respects.
By
David Kavanagh.
Peer into the red,
white and blue,
the forsaken rag on a lue,
whose bruises black and blue;
existentially ban the truth.
Hear the speech and it's waves,
defending freedoms none may claim
in a hypocritical world;
where we all shed our tears in plural.
The sons and daughters in their graves,
with their accolades, courage lapels
honor medals lay;
screaming betrayal at the ploy,
sacrifices null and void.
Dragging out the freedom.
Dragging out the freedom.
Dragging out our freedoms and our rights.
Dragging out the freedom.
Dragging out the freedom.
The hypocrites have come to power;
tonight.
- This poem was directly inspired by this youtube video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=My29YT1T4R4
Me again:
Blue parrots screech hawkers off the streets
Where rats and mobile devices scream
Insults into the ears of the sewars.
Whiskers and teardrops and plops of fun
Which dangle relentlessly above the
Green shoreline.
Playing musical pillows at sinister
Dinner dates In Sports bars with
Ponytails swinging and everlasting
Ss flying and flirting with blue
Spit flickered lips. Lest those lips
Go white I’ll write and wrongdoers
Will waltz into the twilight with
Their glorious mistakes.
Obey these invisible margins and
Tread these see through lines
Boys toys and girls toys are
Not to be mixed with those of the
Kids from the neighbourhood next door.
My fiddle will flee if you open
Your eye.
My obedience will flag when you
Look too hard at anything
Orange. Please and manners fly
Diligently tests and marking will
Not be completed.
These fish will suffocate once
They surface. Their faces extended
And their fish breath Fresh and
Poignant in the cool Sydney night.
11 July 2020
When these sores blister once more
And the creepers of this crises
Existentially intertwine with those of
The vines existing every-where, the
Aching strains and actual bodily pains
Will face into the façade of a
Blissful encounter with a unified flying object.
Mists and turmoil. Insecure privacy.
Lost loved ones and furls of ferns
Flirting with the edge of my conscious.
Industrial lovers mechanically
Pounding the pavement and seeking
Exists and making segments of
Cement crack and twist. These
Divine distractions create dopamine
Hits which levitate the mind and
Cause the toes to curl in a luxurious
Pantomime.