Best Expiration Poems | Poetry

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Expiration Date by Tones, Raven
Expiration date by Hopper, Anna
Premium Member Expiration Redacted by Babbit, DM
Love expiration date by Duffy, Alex
The Expiration Date by Olson, Richard
Expiration Date by Wright, Tom
Expiration Fate by lawless, John
expiration date by Barrera, Ren
A Date With Expiration by Schumacker, Earl
Expiration Date Past Due by Murphy, Joe

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The Best Expiration Poems

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Last Stages of Love

 You're in the last stages
of lost wages,
of empty pages,
of spent rages,

You're in the termination 
of inspiration
of imitation,
of expiration,

You're in the culmination
of emulation,
of exploitation,
of domination

of me.


Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006


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-Untitled-

A gentle tickle belies the sadness as the corner of my eye swells and my vision blurs. The beauty and the joy fading from my mind, the "what was" and "what could be" but longing memories and lost dreams, like fading shadows, of a wasted life, and all that is left is the loneliness. Lying alone lost in somber reverie, the welling in my eye inches ever closer to flooding past the impenetrable fortress created by my, now, tightly shut lids, the specters of my past slowly filling my unseeing eyes with visions of all of the special moments and the caring caresses that we once shared. My lashes quiver and moisten as I breathe in deeply. The words of love we once breathlessly whispered now only wisps of meaningless expiration hidden among icy, broken emotional shards, a million pieces of sharp frozen feelings piercing so deeply inside of me, freezing what remains of you in the deep crevices of my broken heart. The tingle sharpens as the dam breaks, one forlorn drop escaping slowly down my cheek, meandering, lost, in the creases of my aged face. I reach up to wipe it away, but can't for everything I am, everything that is me, everything that we were and could ever be, I've set adrift inside of that tiny, tickling, forsaken tear.
06/19/2017


Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2017


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Frustrations

As our patience wears thin
We encounter the Moment
Where our frustrations
Boil to the surface

That deep part of us
We choose not to reveal
Even to ourselves
Is the legend of nightmares

For what awaits us
When this dimension surfaces
Are bits and pieces of knowledge about who we are
That are too painful to see in the clear light of day

Better to be afflicted
With all manner of ache and pain
Than to see 
A part of which we really are

This denial 
Has an expiration date for all
Yet most wish to stay in denial 
And passively wait for that date to transpire
Rather than actively confront truth

If only we could believe
Really believe
That by confronting and exposing these 
Inner dimensions of ourselves

We are actually addressing the nightmare
Changing who we are
And eliminating that expiration date
From having any real meaning


Copyright © David Mayerhoff | Year Posted 2017


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Generations

Denial is a can of peas
whose contents
should never be indulged
beyond the expiration date.
Yet there I stood, 
evidence screaming reality
at my eyes, their gaze steadfast
upon the wailing baby girl 
before me in her bassinet.
My mind then confidently knew
that what lay there
could have never come
from briefest self-indulgence.
Still, my heart wouldn't listen—
And rightly so.

I turned and faced
a solitary window,
which framed a cold and gray
November day
that froze as well
the unrecorded moment.
Though soft upon my parted lips
came unbidden words:
“I love you, dearest child”—
knowing all that was yet to be,
for here lay an open book
in which life would write about
a young girl’s timeless, playful mirth,
but also test her brazen dreams
and tireless hopes alike.
	
On life’s other end,
my mother wearies
of her endless days
and puzzles
over life prolonged well past
these ninety-seven years—
asking with familiar eyes,
undimmed by age,
the reason why,
which none can answer,
and which none tries,
and silence reigns.
Then, soon enough
both memories and questions fade,
their cycles now complete.

Mark B. Peterson, Any Poem/Any Form, December 26, 2013


Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2013


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Another Crossroad

Another crossroad.
Invalids weep when 
wearing another's
soiled diapers suddenly 
disappear.
In spite of the battered off-chance -
from a despondent interruption;
I'm the exposed exception.

Coarse fingers bleed.
My wheelchair spokes 
are hardly friendly.
I proudly bawl when no one 
can see me bow my head
amongst the company of
irreverent observers.

At rest
with this solemn disease -
the embrassing stench of inhumanity
forces me to open a 
newly glass-stained window.
I whisk swallowed past-killings
onto bent steel hangers.
Neatly there, they elegantly droop -
angled and uninteresting;
in a dank closet where 
falsified myths
and I 
silently hide.

Leukemia, I personally, thank you.
Mid wives laugh at me.
Jesters poke a crooked finger, also.
Kings, queens 
and jacks are left behind.
I chuckle, too - with an
unbridled Lucille Ball lament.
Four spaded-aces and a forgotten spittoon;
the uninviting hospice where we 
comfortably bed together
crocheting darned finales.

Say farewell.
Don't tell anyone.
Blood bleeds beyond 
frowned staled dales and

expiration is a personal moment.
Daddy and Mommy need to witness 
the definition of 
an unwarranted demise.

Open ended the 
Grimm fairy tale concludes,
without a finely tuned 
Aesop moral,
leashing the braille-exhausted
onto another muddied 

crossroad.


Copyright © John Heck | Year Posted 2011


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Exit

Why are you here?

Your familiar skin,
Radiating miscellaneous emptiness

Trembling wanton security
Filled with finite smiles
Infinite complexities

Why should we indulge you again?

A rejected buffet of frozen tenderness,
Aching for high horses to help you gallop

Hunger, no vacancies to reside in your malnourished smile

Wishing for a soldier-in-arms
Wishing for a human-in-arms
As you reach for your step-stool glory
Another dignified teardrop
Stolen by cacti palms

Proverbial residue streaking across glassy 3rd eye
How would our cries
Affect your tomorrow

Meaningless

Why do you return?

Did your rose tints become another concaved agenda?

5 identities, incarcerated
4 revelations, engorged
3 embellishments, glorified
2 pre-judgments, sexualized
1 memory, tainted

Yet, your leech aches for another devouring of serenity.

Hoping to feel #1 again, before expiration
Of your 90 day return policy

Another Cinderella, with a shoe that was never going to fit…

©Drake J. Eszes


Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2015


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I am, Error

Love should only ever kindle the present and the future. Not the past… Primarily, I am second. For I have placed others on similar platforms Made of charred cedar and revamped memories Unintentionally It is not intent that we embrace, but the end result. Good, brief. Bad, seared.
Branded
I hang my smile on half-mast remembrance, The elaborate touch of yesterday’s smile
Forgotten
And days go by Where cryptic anger holds me dear Because my identity becomes nothing more Than a discarded 140 characters Yet, this handsome error Will still smile through the equally equivocal flaws Of others We are a marathon running on seismographic parallels. Faults, unbecoming Faults, embedded One-sided Expiration, denied The pricelessness of my heart, cost overridden Perhaps it has become the only option To keep love’s punishment, subdued While songs of psychic animosities, Lay judgment on unawareness’ smile It is not easy to reach wanton goals, While attempts to (mind) read incoming ruptures Incorporate 50% success rate We stumbled when we ran yesterday. We will stumble when we walk today. We shall stumble upon the sunrise & sunset of tomorrow. Why couldn’t you just hold my hand when we fall? … I am, Error. One day, I will become a candle in the wind Extinguished Will the winds upon angel’s wing Be guided by those same smiles Tossed into amnesia’s similar gust ©D.J.E.


Copyright © Drake Eszes | Year Posted 2016


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Heartbreak on the horizon

How I'd like to make it last
Instead of a memory of the past
I cannot disavow
That im happy in the now
The flesh begins to manipulate 
Sadly knowing of an expiration date
The more I'm here the more I wizen
With you heartbreak is on the horizon


Copyright © Eric Oakley | Year Posted 2016


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THE UNIVERSE IS IMMENSE

How many people with foreboding palpitations
have I seen slip from middle age and slide into old age?
They slither into their last refuge, the dirt hole,
and nestle into the unknown life stream that continues forever.

The ones who grow older, breath by breath, carry a last wish,
a final wisp that life be sustained for one minute more,
to last long enough for death to be quick and painless.
The dead, even the almost dead, know hope is futile.

Hope is only for the living, the years that brandished hope
and vanished from our hours as we lived in joy,
decayed quickly into last, precious dying seconds 
revealing that recoiling from death is folly.

We are finite beings with an expiration date.
Death always triumphant shows no mercy 
and leaves no room for hope or idle prayers.

At my age, death is my constant companion, I do not shun it.
I welcome the old rattler without hesitation or fear.
Life and death are just what they are, a before and after selfie.

Nothing more, nothing less and in the in-between years 
I stuffed my hopes in plastic grocery shopping bags 
toting them with fears and lofty aspirations.

I’ve lived my life as a happy-go-lucky tourist
seeing interesting places, but finding people with minimal common sense, avaricious to a fault and lacking compassion ready to believe anything.

Questioning has been my guide to understanding this convoluted world,
but what I see is a war-torn Disneyland in chaos, 
controlled by wealthy men with a malicious agenda. 
But I’m grateful for having visited and lived through the malaise.

The call to learn critically is imperative. 
I await my next perplexing assignment,
eager to explore the universe to satisfy my curiosity.
Surely it must contain more common sense and astute logic

Time brought age and wisdom, but also laughter and confusion,  
gearing me up for the next bewildering wonder to be revealed.
The universe is immense, but humorous and full of deceit.

Lead on, Grim Reaper, 
I will follow your lead with bated breath, 
worried what other idiocies you have in store for me
in that unknown theater called the hereafter.




Copyright © norberto franco cisneros | Year Posted 2017


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Earth

Earth
Endlessly revolving
Exquisite in its form
Exists despite abuse
Enjoy a view from space
Entices adventure
Encourages travel
Expiration date real

Pleiades contest
11-22-2015


Copyright © jill spagnola | Year Posted 2015


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Never An Expiration

She is:
beautiful &
precious
everything i'm looking for

We kiss:
extraordinary &
fabulous
surely, I want more

I have spent so long 
waiting,
imagining your style

I want you because your strong
debating
unwilling to cramp my style

In your memory
I've written a Limerick
a Senryu
maybe two

On the phone 
I speak in rhetoric
with lustful words 
to you....

JP_____AsAvvy1 4/3/06


Copyright © Jared Pickett | Year Posted 2009


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Take Two Bullets

            Take Two Bullets

Take two bullets orally with gun powder dry
Loaded water as a chaser can shoot them down
Some cinnamon for flavor to encase the rounds
Ensures the procedure is correct, is profound
Torpedoes are too difficult to swallow
Something about their shape and size
Avoid bazooka breath when you digest
The aftertaste is hollow and benign 
Keep projectiles away from children
Who creep up from behind
Stir things up with barrels of a pistol
Two bullets is what the doctor ordered
But not as suppositories
If all goes well with the original directions
Fragments should come out intact about the other side
We can project that these projectiles
Will have a happy healthy outcome in the end
Keep extra ammunition by your side in bed
Always check the expiration dates
Take your bullets every day to stay alive





Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2015


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Why I Choose to Transcend

From crumpled and wrinkled to blinded and half dead
Howling and regretting; on the decisions not taken- thinking
Why I choose to transcend?
In desire, I roam the world like wind; and become static
To be the consumer of depths of destiny, of fate and love;
How could I forget to get directions for my passion?
I lost my way and become one with trash of the world
I see my extinction, my expiration, my death, my doom
I burned; I turned and transcend myself to bits and bits
Why I choose to transcend?
And realization transpires but seems too late- now
Nothing to fix and nothing to stitch- REPENT


Copyright © Muqudus Shahab | Year Posted 2016


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Acceptation, part 1

Life, love and communication, this is something for every nation. It started with temptation and verification, but ended in complication. So listen to this declaration.

We gave each other inspiration, but also forced confrontation with our own situation. You have my admiration, but also my exclamation of condemnation. I've been on probation, negation, suspended animation, holding back this accusation of flirtation. My automation, caused the stagnation in our relation. One last conversation, ventilation, would be my liberation of this infestation of indignation. 

But I'm not gonna ask for comfortation, an explanation, a reason for separation. A confirmation of expiration, information or explication. I have my own meditation, salvation, a new foundation of my own creation. My frustration, agitation, my never-ending contemplation, is under restoration. No more manipulation, exaggeration or expectation; I'm done with argumentation, suffocation and speculation, this implication of obligation. This is my adaptation, transformation and reparation, my graduation from irritation. No more hibernation. Only acceptation.

This proclamation needs clarification: it's not a profanation or defamation; you still have all of my adoration and appreciation. I'm just finally taking vacation, with a newfound determination. We don't need justification or vindication, a modification or translation. We only need commemoration, to remember our sensation of elation. It was not a simulation, just pure stimulation, accumulation of exhilaration.


Copyright © Timmy Burchard | Year Posted 2015


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DINOSAURS

DINOSAURS

Let me take out my thesaurus
And talk about them stinky dinosaurs

I have my own theory on the Mesozoic Era,
First I'll share my reason on the Continental Drift
Who's to blame for the disconnection of our jagged sierra?
It could've been the Jurassic reptiles that caused the world to split!

My favorite meat eater is the ferocious Allosaurus
Sharp claws- sharp teeth,
terrorizing all the dinos walking on all fours.
Sneaking up while they eat and gaze the veggie heath.
Striping away chunks & chunks of meat!!!
A prehistoric predator eating his way to the top.
Preying on other dinos as if they where all pork chop.

I also like the silly Velociraptors!
These carnivores gathered and hunt in packs.
Should I call these wanna be birds 'gangsters'?
Since they had each others backs!

I also like that funny looking pea brain Stegosaurus
Look how his tiny little head is attached to that gigantic body.
I bet that dino was the dumbest of all dinosaurs

Once again imagine an 80 foot long Diplodocus,
or, a 90 foot long  Apatosaurus- also known as the Brontosaurs.
Along with the largest known 45 foot tall Brachiosaurus.
Can you imagine a herd of these dinos over 40 feet tall.
Leaving a path of destruction like a tornado.
Turning the earth upright, tumbling the ground with one fall

Flying high in that sky, swooping down to the seas.
In the Pteranodon eyes, every thing looked like Pease. 

Don't think I forgot about Mr.. T.Rex
How funny he looks with them little claw like hands,,
A nightmare in his own neighbor hood, 
A scavenger, prowling to see what he could eat next
What a big O' bully that Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Lets not forget about the 3 horn Triceratop.
I wonder how long it took Mr.T.Rex to bring Sara to a drop

Last but not least 
I like the little egg thieves
Hiding and kidnapping all them babies,
before they hatched, into their herds like armies.
Now that could be a theory to the real Dinosaurs Evolution.
One can't really say why the dinosaurs went away
Maybe the climate, or a star explosion leaking out radiation.
Scientist don't know why dinosaurs had an expiration!
I have a crazy thought!
Maybe all them egg eaters ate the dinosaurs into extinction. 

By:P.D.


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010


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Love Always, Your Grandson

His limbs misplaced.
His presence weak.
His actions laced.
His sweat reeks.

Inevitably trapped.
Careless existence.
Leaking, dabbed.
Inherent resistance.

Awaiting….
Cessation…
Inviting….
Expiration….

Delayed Exit.
Troubling loves.
Features placid.
Destination above.

His inside crumble.
Just within reach.
His outside humbled.
Welcoming immortal sleep.

Dear Grandpa,
I bid you farewell.
You’ve been strong, I saw!
Its been intolerable, I can tell.
You have been missed in our hearts.
Still learning the lessons you teach.
Our love will hold and never part.
Your spirit always near, always within reach.

17th April 2015


Copyright © Fariq Yusoff | Year Posted 2015


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Jonah And The Whale

Jonah found himself in a most dreadful fix

   He nearly had an encounter with the River Styx

      He was freed by the whale's timely regurgitation

         Thus easing its bellyache and Jonah's expiration!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved


Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2012


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LINDA-THE BIRTHDAY GIRL

( Poet Destroyer-our dearest PD) Loveliest and greatest poet, sis and friend of mine in poetry site, Loved so much by everybody, I’m shouting this with all my might; Let’s make October 7 a very special day again for her this year, Let this poem of mine heralds the biggest party, I loudly cheer! In this home and family of ours, now extended… big and so happy, If she isn’t around, everybody is lonely without her and her stellar poetry, I’m making this day the most memorable and happiest moment as can be, In this world, she’s one of our most precious gifts from God, the Almighty. North to east, east to west- -in both primary and secondary directions, Never miss this moment… let’s all dance and sing in her grand celebration, Now sending all my loving wishes as she blows out candles on her birthday cake, Never fading love, joy, health, blessings and more best wishes, she’ll take. Dearest sis, friend of mine and greatest poet of everybody, Day ‘til night… every moment I whisper special prayers for you so dearly; Drop all your loneliness and keep in mind that everybody cares so much and love, Dream of yours will be fulfilled for I know you’re blessed from above. An exceptional poet who never ceases to amaze us, A unicorn lover dazzling us with her unique and stupendous writes; A queen and muse of both poets and Librans, so brilliant and so smart, A very beautiful celebrity deserving great adulation, here’s our huge sweetest hugs. Sept. 22, 2013 7.15pm HER BIRTHDAY: OCTOBER 7, 2013 (Now, Monday here & Tuesday in US)
HAVE A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DEAREST POET SIS & FRIEND LINDA. I LOVINGLY WISH YOU ALL THE HAPPINESS, GRACES, BLESSINGS , GOOD HEALTH, GOOD LUCK & PROSPERITY AND ALL THE BEST THINGS IN THIS WORLD THAT LIFE EVERYHOLD TODAY AND THE YEARS TO COME! MAY ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE! GOD BLESS YOU AND YOUR FAMILY/ LOVE ONES! Notes: 1. This birthday poem was posted ahead of time on my special blog for our very dear Linda because I was worried that I can't post a blog anymore due to the expiration of my pm before her b-dday. I supposed to post both this poem & the blog on the 7th. 2. The above special birthday poem is called ACQUAINT FORM/Leo form. ;)))))An acquaint form is my newly experimented form of poem combining 3 forms: an acrostic, quatrain form ( stanza with 4 lines) and a quintain english ( with rhyme having no set of measures or foot) ;))))))). Proven & tested to be one special form in my mini-poetry lab.;))) This is my give- away sharing to u for enjoying my birthday poem & special blog for her & also for your greetings to all Librans. I hope you will enjoy! Thank you so much! First Place Contest: Birthday Girl Judged: 10/7/2013 Sponsor: My greatest poet, PD


Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2013


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The Banker

On our lawn I stand
Admiring three Islands
Perennials returned
Your harsh words they've outgrown
How would your garden grow?

Again you scoffed at
Sheer joy I earn with carve and trim
Life to lawn once dying
wins.

I know that feel inside
As you rock with breeze
Rocking chairs have held you
Have heard, "We don't need those."

There you go again
Denying flowers before I die
Your pie waits in the sky?
Keep banking sans expiration date.


*


Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2015


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Healthy Politics, and Sex, and Religion

I hope I know what is healthy sex,
in an experiential kind of way,
in a biblical swell of stay,
and I can imagine a world with healthier,
more cooperative, political empowerment,
but I am clueless about healthy religion,
which most of my friends would claim is an oxymoron,
like military intelligence.

Well, I think it's easier to have any one of these,
if you already have the other two.

So, if I am feeling warmly resonant with my good vibe
positive political psychology
of ecologically cooperative relationships,
including those that are sexual,
which,
now that I think about it
I'm not really sure what a sexless human relationship would be.
Maybe ambivalently androgynous,
but isn't that somehow the same thing as saying transgenderal,
and somehow that doesn't seem sexless at all.
Anyway, 
what does all that have to do with healthy v pathological religion?

What makes sex and political relationships regenerative,
and sometimes, unfortunately, degenerative,
is also what makes religions syncretically regenerative
across all Earth's more celebratory ecosystems,
Creation Stories,
both Left-scientific languaged
and Right-artistic mythic,
divine as regenerative sacred inspiration
breathing through each moment and day
and night and death's last eternal expiration.

Breath memories are sequential
but also consequential,
and empathically cumulative entrusting 
remembering
reweaving
religioning healthy politics 
of Earth's sexy sacred cooperative ecological economics.

You seem to see politics as the religious business of empowerment.

And disempowerment.

Yes, to control nutritional and pathological regenerative/degenerative trends
of multicultural and multigenerational contentment,
absence of suffering and ecological loss,
for you, a Taoist Christian Zen-Jew.

More typically comprehended 
as love ultimately comprehensive
within Judeo-Christian nurturing circles,
rather than demi-terrorists marching in Red Patriarchal Squares.

Yes, love takes a paternalistic-dominatrix tribal paranoid WinLose
Left turn 
in Mohammad's search for a more ecologically helpful Allah.

Love is synergy,
according to Bucky Fuller.

Yes, and consilience,
says E. O. Wilson,
over at Harvard
with that Positive Psychology clan
on the social science side of campus.

Syncretic and perennial philosophy,
for Alduous Huxley.

Yes, but why both?
Why not just syncretic, 
like integrity of Earth's ecological-nutritional values?

Perhaps because Huxley saw multicultural syncretism
as evolving polypathically and inclusively across time,
like the evolution of DNA's intelligence;
so perennial,
like the seasonal cycles of development,
mutually and perpetually enriching future generations
with further layers and networks of interdependently healthy
metaphysical paradigmatic ecosystemic integrity of co-gravitating
Creation-ReGeneration Stories, Aphorisms, Wisdom Literature.

The pre-millennial transliterations
of post-millennial (0)-ego-sum-invested ecologically EarthCentric Soul,
gifting cooperative-nurturing-nutritional resources and ecopolitical ownership forward,
to include WinWin choices only,
inclusive of all time, all generations of Golden Ruler ReGenerativists,
at least in our positive-nutritional, non-socio-ecopathological intent.

Sacred regenerations of incarnated Elder DNA 
sensory-nutritional-digestive ecopolitical climate-normed consumer balancing producer organic functions,
looking at 7-sacred generations forward
in Earth Tribe's multiculturally ecological 
Ego/Eco BiCameral TaoEconomics
of New PostMillennial PermaCultural 
Interior/Exterior EquiValent 
NotNot Zeroist 
PolyCulturally Climaxing Feminist EcoPolitical BodhiSattvas
and EcoNurturing Messiah Circles
and double-helixed fractal (0) sum zen-tao-bilateral spiraling temporal Yang/Yin mandala networks 
of cooperative DNA/RNA solidarity
revolutionary
climate and landscape health-regenerativity.

Yes,
but I prefer Rabbi Heschel's
Wonder and Awe,
for all of the reweaving recreative regenerativity above,
whether sex, or politics, or religion,
and preferably all three,
together,
for a really nice cooperative bicamerally balancing party
to be multiculturally held and had and owned
and consumed and produced
and empowered and disempowered
with ecologically optimal cooperative-politically regenerative Tradition/Story/Sonnets/Stars/Light/Sun/BiLateral DualDark Integral 4D RealPrimeTime Interdependence/(0)-Empty DiPolar
NotNot 
WinWin 
Black Hole
()
.

Oh, I get it,
like Teilhard de Chardin, right?

Well, yes,
left with right,
right both/anding wrong
health both/anding appositional pathological imbalances
of sexually cooperative ecopolitically reweaving metaphysical revolutions
of DNA/RNA (0) thermodynamic fractal-balanced octave-harmonic
light frequency reiterative
bicameral ego/eco-identity consciousness,
both (0)Mega-InterdependentYang and (0)Virgin-EmptyYin
coincidentally co-arising cognitive-affective
co-empathic trust,
rather than more LeftBrain Dominant
overly-competitive mutual ecopolitical mistrusts,
WinLose survival of the fittest evolutionary models
substituting for fully regenerative ecologically supported
cooperative power-with history
trumps monoculturing power-over competitive enculturing memory.

If no DNA,
then no sex,
no politics,
no religion,
no science.

If no light,
no DNA.

Right,
and if no yinyin as WinWin (0) square root 
dual dark Black Hole (0)Rigin,
then no Perennial (0)Mega Yang/Yin 
bicameral multicultural-regenerative balance.

Hmmm,...
well, don't hold your breath.

Right, right.
Gotta keep breathing together,
if nothing else.
Would help, though, 
I mean, you know, just as a post-millennial start,
to invest religious time as spiritual energy 
on planting trees and native grasses,
green organic root systemic Earth-nurturers,
cooperatively conjoined together,
where we now ballistically create deserts 
of starving soils and souls, 
too competitively anti-religioning not together.














Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016


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Driving Alone Through the Sand Hills of Nebraska

My love is light (a fairy kiss?)          
               Like the pressure of sunbeams on your cheek, 
        Ineffable, and yet capable of changing lives…
		Darkening skin to a more attractive hue, 
		Pushing spaceships to distant stars (given time) , 
		Even causing cancer given sufficient lack of love for self.
        For love is not about just getting needs met by another, 
        No, love is more like a laser's coherent beam….
                For in reflecting back a portion of what is given, 
                The power of what is being created grows
                Until it can cut through the hardest steel
        And span the gulf between galaxies.

Poetry too grows through the cross-fertilization of newborn lines, 
        The lines of this poem insist that I record their birth.
 	        Each new line grabs me by the scruff of the neck, 
		       Forces me to hit the brake, grab my pen, 
		       And claim it in my family bible…
	        My only children, clamoring to be set in ink.
         As these Voyagers' pass into the present state of my art
                (Some that I barely recognize in their profligate parentage
	               Of older verse's new verse's newer verse still)          …
		               Somehow still carriers of my own genetic code.
                They press my design against the blank page
	                Flying in search of, homing on… your heart.
 
My love's intent is simply truth (do you want less?)          
	 Would you have me downplay 
	 	The warmth of our connection
                        Because it is complicated by here-to-fore
			        Unacknowledged passion, spiritual connection, 
			        And the remnants of former relationships
			        (Even those still gasping for breath) ? 
		        Or feign a lack of attachment to it's denouement
			         In a solitary attempt to feel safer? 
	 No matter can restrain the effects of gravity
		On the orbits of other bodies in its field of influence, 
		 	Gravity that binds us all in deep wells of space-time.

 Your kiss of greeting…
	After so many years of imagining such a possibility, 
	Imprinted deeper than even my memory of our first meeting, 
		Our moonlit shadows touching as we soaked naked
		In the steaming waters of a volcanic mountain spring.
	This new conjunction of souls occurred in God's clear view, 
		Without artifice or scheming on our part
			And rocked my inner core to it's depths, 
	Organizing molten currents of confused turbidity
	Into a magnetic flare of such intensity
		That iron flew to my spine
	Inspired me to finally declare my love
		To acknowledge your impact on my life…
	And after a period of gestation
		Gave birth to this poem of celebration.

 Back to Nebraskan reality and a new mystery…
	I pass an overturned car, 
		Its wheels tied by yellow police tape, 
	A metaphor for my life perhaps
		'Damaged but still salvageable.'
	The windows are broken out, 
		The occupants removed to a distant hospital somewhere
			(Hopefully arriving alive) , 
		Their odds and ends of life scattered like garbage
			On the inverted ceiling of their car.
	The explanation, perhaps, is the water still standing
		Several inches deep on the road side near the wreck? 
	A sudden orgasmic release of cloud in a desert….
		The car tops the hill to find the highway
			Buried by a lake of dimensions only God can know.
		Who would expect such a thing in Nebraska's sand hills? 

And what does it say about me finally
	That I am so drawn to distant objects, 
        That the two women given access to my heart are
		Both still tied to failed marriages
			By dark chapters I am not part of
			And innocent children who need their love? 
	And at our age where is the partner without a past? 

 Is this all that God has planned for you and me, 
	That we 'just miss' every thirty years or so? 
		I know there are times I am afraid to trust another's love, 
			Cannot even hear words of genuine affection.
		Perhaps this explains my attraction to women
			Whose availability might really be in question? 
		Maybe I'm afraid to let a real lover in? 
			Is the simple dream of love a better choice
				Than the chance of finding real love anew
				(Even love with an expiration date) ? 
		I think I'm more distrustful of my own heart's passion
			Than I am of women being unreceptive to my love.
		Do you struggle with similar feelings? 
	And is it my lot to only remember passion like this in a poem
		While you spiral away to unimagined rendezvous'? 

The coldness of space is not after-all
		The simple absence of heat…
	No, in human dimensionality it is more the absence of others…
		Others who both shine life force toward us
			And reflect our own light back to us, 
		Who collide with us physically and emotionally
			Altering our pathways forever, 
				And who crater the façade whose design
				We imagine belongs to us alone.
	The void of human space-time is a true 'black hole'
		Sporting only star death fragments of the 'Big Bang.'
 
This is all I really know…
	I treasure the memory of our 'fly-bys'
		Even if that's all they ever are.
	And if I'm lucky this joy, 
                This celebration of your existence, 
	Will continue to pour out of me in songs and verse…
		For your ears always (if I am so honored) , 
			For God's heart (as I was born to honor Him) , 
	And to the stars alone if I have only them for company.

Brian Johnston
August 2009
     
This poem, like 'A Walk Near Blunt, ' began during an actual drive from South 
Dakota to Oklahoma and then took on a life of it's own. These 'real life 
narrative' poems are part of an attempt on my part to give precedence to truth 
and content over form and rhyme. For readers with an interest in science, I 
hope you also enjoy my attempt in this and other poems to bring my love of 
Physics into the world of poetic imagery.


Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014


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Opting Out

 So at 47 I have arrived.
A position most disconcerting,
Troubling? Nay,
Downright disturbing!
A blatant assault.!
An ego in default.
Should have steered left, 
Perhaps joined a cult.

Having settled back into the lap,
Of my original birth sack,
I am anything but patient.
I now care for
My matriarch. Ancient!
As she skids down that slippery,
Persnickety, slope,
That slaughterhouse of all hope.
Toward her final expiration.

Once a beauty of
The extraordinary kind
With the quickest of mind,
Don't get it twisted.
Aging is nothing if not unkind,
Names of her clan,
She now labors over, unable to find.

Her once glowing blonde tresses,
Sexy, 50’s signature dresses,
Athletic leaps, impressive,
All night sexual feats,
Replaced now with wrinkles.
A faint frame, once sturdy 
Now wobbles and crinkles.

I shall have her warped feet, it appears,
Twisted, worn down from all the years,
As I step back and upsize,
The navy blue faded from her eyes,
Now light gray, I see my own,
Paired with my offensive demise.

I say “Nay!!!”   
Launching a rather 
Loudly inappropriate protest.
With all of my feisty lather,
I attempt a half-assed jest!
But I'm not joking.
I am not. 
Gravity.  What a horribly shitty guest!

I opt out!!
I simply do. It just not for me.
This aging get-down,
Perhaps it's for you?
But not I.
Protesting with an icy chill,
This is a far cry from a thrill.
(Excuse me for just a moment,
I must go take another pill.)
Sore joints, crows feet, vision going South?
I   have   had   my   fill!

You must understand my decision,
Appreciate my unprecedented position.
I have been paying for the botulism syringe,
Carefully dodging sunbeams that offend,
From beneath my wide brimmed hat.
Ordering fine potions.  
(Please! Ship STAT!)
Getting any older?  
Nope.  Not doing that!
I opt out!

Yes, you heard me, 
I'm simply won’t go.
I've called the 800 number,
About losing my glow.
What about my sexual, slippery slide,
Threatening a possible dry run?
Not happening!

My feisty partner laughs and says,
“Princess Vanity,” you have no choice here!”
I say “Nay!” “I refuse!”
I’ll even give up my,
Lavish festivities,
The entire month I decided to show,
If I can dramatically get this aging thing to slow!

You enjoy getting older, but I’m showing age the door.
I shall remain the way I am at present,
Don’t care what’s inevitable,
It matters not who says it.
This girl is aging no more.

I opt out!!!


  











Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016


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Why Kites Fly

Fear and violence and guilty judgment
display synaptically sharp,
competing "Loser!" skittish economies.
Love and active peace sustain buoyance,
resilience,
robustly revolving away
from red skies of mourning;
cooperatively mutual Win-Win
ecology of evolution.

I want so badly to fly my competing belief kites,
and faith,
for my string to remain confidently taut,
vibrantly humming and singing my self-righteousness,
intrinsic value and merit,
for my eisegesis to transcend up and out
catching our multi-cultural wind,
decomposing old ways of competing
as we bow to my better judgment,
declaring my Orthodox wisdom kite
the Winner!

Still,
your kite won't fly this way,
or hasn't after all these frustrating
lean growing years of learning our faith
in competing paradigms,
where one must be more right,
the best kite,
but really not just the best,
because we would each love to obliterate
all inkiting competition.
Our ego-cycling judgment
reads and studies why each must be elite
to lead losers behind.

Meanwhile, some of us are relearning,
re-ligioning,
reconnecting,
reweaving kites flying best together
like wedges of geese
balanced and resiliently squawking
our glad tidings,
"It's warmer south,
and colder north,
and vice versa,
depending on which habitual hemisphere
you dominantly favor."
 
Together we catch post-millennial wind
to soar our joyously cooperating kites
in Golden self-regenerative atmosphere of inclusive grace.

If my eisegetical kite won't fly right,
if my EarthTribe can't hear or understand
or care about what I have to proclaim,
I listen deeper
to find how high
my kite might float
in richer racing flowstreams,
as positive deviant diversity
among mutually mentoring companions,
quacking our coincidental ecologic.
 
We find each Other's incarnated contours,
adjusting,
nuancing,
merging one breath,
two resonant heartbeat kites,
then three....

Then rise to fly apart.

Floating back,
breathe,
sustain mutual listening,
sync-rhythmic vibrant revolution
spiraling up and away,
soaring eastern harmonies,
dancing inkited incarnate breeze.
 
Left-Right well-bowed bicameral sparring confluence
balancing peace
toward mutual gratitude,
centering mindfulness soaring regeneratively up
reducing tipping-tail dissonance and stress,
waving down and up
in and out
back and forth to smile warm namaste.

Leaning left proposes inspiration,
flexing right disposes expiration,
together swelling prime (0) spinal soul,
our permacultural kite-fly system
fractally equivalent decomposing,
air-born swimming,
interdependent open windowed balance,
which was our Original Intent,
to reach up toward bicameral balancing flight,
as Left breathes in
Right breathes back out regifting Earth,
positively praying revolution's gratitude.

Breathing out what you breathe in,
breathing in what you breath out,
inspiring information,
expiring exformation,
my Yang inhale our Yin exhale,
my Yin exhale our Yang inhale,
balancing (0)-sum ecologic stress,
flying our long-taled inter-nesting kite.


Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015


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Waste of Time

Let me waste my breath
Scream this at the top of my lungs
Until my face turns blue
You'll never learn
I'll never learn
And I'll never disconnect this bad habit
You need me like a a druggie needs his needles
I need you like a bullet to the head
We existed once
We exist now
Just crumbling apart until nothing is left
So many years spent
In obidience, biting my tongue until it bled
Of wonderful laughs and bliss 
Memories that are inseperable to my heart
But what we have is headed for the grave 
Where it will lay it's head and rest in peace
This friendship has reached it's expiration date
Unraveled with time like an antique rug
You're the one pulling the strings, kneading the threads apart
I'm the one trying to sew it up on the other end
Stabbing and pricking my fingers till they bleed
Working in vain to stitch this friendship
Stitch this gaping hole, splattered in blood from these hands
That have worked hours, days, weeks, and months
To fix this while you unravel it
Down to nothing but the single threat that made it.
I'm wasting my breath
and I'm wasting my time
To salvage a friendship
That wasn't friendship


Copyright © Samantha Komornik | Year Posted 2014


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''A Closet Full Of Shoes''


my Shoes-
linger   at the bottom of my closet
oh sexy heels
in a rainbow of colors

oooh la la . . . 

high  and   lower   flat as can be

and when I need to find 
just one pair to wear 
it is a puzzle    a labyrinth 
to solve

my world is shoe-wonderful

my Shoes-
the flat as can be
high   and   lower
all in a tangled mess

    at the bottom on my closet
so on my knees
I search the abyss
for that pair that are 
           perfect and amazing

there are a few that are the best
can I be honest 
    they are-    
            my running Shoes
________________________
August 26, 2016


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Copyright © Broken Wings- Dear Heart | Year Posted 2016