Best Find Oneself Poems
“Nobody likes a clown at midnight.” Stephen King
CLOWN AT THE ABYSS
Darkroom abscessed
with neon blush and black-blood —
sunken eyes look surprised
to find oneself in a dank dungeon.
Fecal stench, not humorous,
screams on each bold painted-on face.
“Are we dead?”
“When did I die?”
“I didn’t want to take along this honking nose! It never quits!”
“These humongous shoes, like flippers, so cold they grip!”
The clowns, their smiles and frowns,
continue to gripe in the big tent abyss.
The epic fail of their lives an applause
from the demons who have them in grip.
Like fools, they suppose, they can feel their way out.
They march in one straight line with clanging chains,
chortling, “Heigh Ho! Heigh Ho! It’s off to work I go!”*
You see, they can’t help being funny - never could.
So on they march clinging to claustrophobic walls.
Yet they, one by one, begin to notice no floor exists.
Squalid birds, their chains rattle and roll,
with cheap jokes that never cease.
“Take my wife…please.”
Rings through the air. The demons cackle and boo
their despair, occasionally deflating the roof of the tent
on their heads - it sticks to their gooey faces, causing
them to run out of hot air, go limp, confine their space
even more - no audience to exploit. When the roof rises
each one finds water caterwauled at their faces, then
strapped to a chair as sufferable makeup - acidophil -
leaks behind their eyes, into their pores, maliciously.
Clown at the abyss digs his nails into the soil, climbing
a mountain of ill will, always failing...falling, and then
the jokes hammer again...over and over, head over heels.
...head over heels,
with no end…
2/27/2020
Clown at the Abyss Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
*Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
Dreams came true
Between me and you
The circle of life
What a fight
reincarnated to take flight
Only to be gunned down
Regrets at night
Sadness in the day
Discouraged on the way
Followed with fright
To find oneself in a sorry plight
The sun always shines bright
Ready to get back up and fight
To correct my wrongs and make them right
For life is beautiful
Now get some sleep tonight
what has been manifested
Will leave me well rested
Left out a few details
That should have been invested
Fears became a reality
I have ruined my family
I swear dreams do come true
For I have manifested the life between me and you
Now and then sometimes and then in-between
The way of the wind is a way so serene
To find oneself carried completely on air
Just drifting in silence with nary a care
The way of the wind cannot simply be caught
It isn’t a venture so easily taught
A mindset of karma for fortunes outlaid
Will hopefully spend now with gratitude paid
So free and so easy, a sea-breeze delight
When floating in freedom all day and all night
But when one can find it, when head space permits
Then everything questioned all finally fits
A tempest, a zephyr, a current or whisk
Just let yourself fly, go ahead, take a risk
The worries that burden in life underpinned
Will suddenly vanish, the way of the wind
A canvas washed with pastel hues
In palest pinks and liquid blues
Perfection seen through Monet’s eyes
Recounting where his genius lies
The lilies floating on the lake
The water, greenish blue opaque
A fluid mix of subtle tints
A flowing dream with fragile glints
This work of art from sable brush
Perception, depth, a hazy blush
This masterpiece both cool and warm
All bound up in poetic form
To gaze in awe, to stand and stare
To find oneself transported there
The tranquil view, unbroken, whole
Will heal the heart, rebuild the soul
The peace, the calm, the beauty rare
The artist’s gift for all to share
Margaret Foster- 21st September 2011
To find oneself in such yearned for embrace,
no words required, all spoken with one's eyes,
with loved ones, once long lost, now face to face,
joyous eternity where no-one dies.
I know them yet I don't because I see
them with my heart where memories are kept
in times before- age and illness would be
cruel companions of theirs until they slept.
But now they glow in loving warmth and joy
the barriers time made all stripped away
before them stands the man, the youth, the boy
they lead into the light of God's new day.
On top of all this I am grateful that
by His good grace he's let me keep my cat.
Viv Wigley
26th November 2015
For contest 'I went to heaven', sponsor Laura Urbaniak
Now that I have gotten that over with,
Being straightforward as a piss-ant on fire,
Telling you it just is what it is,
That behind all the frizz,
Is a beardless fake whose heraldic bearings
Are the arms of a sickly snake,
And that all this derogatory self-derision is decisively the result
Of a disease smitten assault by a prodigal bug
Whose virility is known to create sterility of poetic taste-
Oh what a waste to find oneself in such a caste,
Outcast in a landless mire of sea,
Where there is no Sea king to lead back to land,
Where seeking leads not to seeing
But only to being the miserly plot written by this poetasters hand-
Now, to repeat, that I have gotten that over with,
I can really try,
Once and for all,
To really get it over with.
Like really really real.
So here it is,
In medias res,
The big ordeal:
Merde! Merde!
J’ai oublié on this very day,
To have taken my ressurectine,
The nectar which this fool requires with some dismay
To not forget his pointless points.
Where is my medicine Edison?
Where is my pill?
How shall I cart this over the hill?
O’sir,
Dear sir,
For in the middle of this rabid petri dish of sheer excitement,
Close to moiety’s shribble,
With voice shrill,
Ready to take aim and avoid all shame,
I was, I was, I was, I swear
Almost there,
But alas,
I am,
Now out of gas,
With nothing more to gain,
A timid loveless swain,
A witless poet with no further words to amass,
A neutered puppy in a jungle,
Without a rumble,
To stumble upon just the right word,
To close off looking less like a turd,
Then this early morning bird,
Preferably one day,
Could theoretically mumble.
Did I mention that between finding Absolute Knowledge,
And miming Absolute Knowledge,
I would like to find myself snuggly ensconced in the arms,
Of not only Winnie the Pooh,
But surely Yogi Berra too?
Lost in a desperate mind world
Seeking a sense of community
and a need to belong
through an innate desire to be whole again.
But confused…
The path nebulous.
And through indoctrination
either directly or unintentionally
or perhaps inadvertently
harboring a vision that individuality is the answer
through a desire to see and “find oneself”
but left with only a false mirrored reflection
of who one really is.
And one says, “It is my right!”
hoping that it becomes “their destiny”
but really is only “deluded identity”.
And this desire
gives life to the belief
that one will find and understand oneself
by way of separating from that “other”.
The result…
illness within
then spreading to community
for the connectivity link now broken.
And without humility…
there is little compassion.
And without compassion…
there is a lack of understanding.
And without understanding…
one becomes lost
in ones own separate ways…
severed from the natural world of community…
exhibiting the dark side of humanity.
Loneliness...!
Loneliness - the one that visits you in the womb,
keeps you accompanied, well past your tomb!
Brace yourself to that friend - once and forever,
shying away from it, you should attempt - never!
Meet her with elan and meet her with grace,
meet her with silence 'n' calm with a smiling face!
Remember, all those who came along were alone,
and those who come across, for sure are - alone!
We fail to take note and ignore that lifelong mate,
attempting to gain knowledge and chart our fate!
In this competitive world, we rush in to compete;
survival of the fittest and chaotic madness replete.
Surrendered single status to club oneself with one;
find oneself asunder with desire one's own none!
Running amok from pillar to post - none to pay heed,
groping in lonesome dark, only ruminating all deed!
Change of status, from spouse to parent and beyond;
yet, deep inside in loneliness - that incessantly hound!
Spot-on with her, the one 'n' only all weather friend,
with all time to spare and broad shoulder to depend!
Search for ancient wisdom in books or a wise Seer,
to steer through the course, though himself a wayfarer!
Discrimination, judgement and decisiveness imparted,
set to roll within - find anxieties and sadness departed!
Home-in further within deeply and look nowhere else,
in solitary contemplation - a state of thoughtful trance!
Seeking higher knowledge on that 'One Absolute Truth',
finding which, none comparable, will ever internally soothe!
Awaken and realise in that deep abyss of lonesomeness;
envelopes in entirety, with a sense of wholesomeness!
SUGAR, SPICE, SOUL
Oh, yes~ my friends, that is what poet friends are made of!!
Givers, in the main, not takers. You can count on their constancy.
They read you more than once a year. Not…run over your poem
like a speed bump with no feelings!! They even soupmail you, to ask,
“How’s it going, my friend?” And you really should do the same!
If they really are your friends, they do not, like ghost-ships…disappear
into the foggy night! Nor worse, have the rule…
” I only read, who reads me!” This really would limit my world!
Just pretty words and form-acumen, nor cleverness, a poet,do not make.
It takes a true, warm soul. Whether simple or complex the poem, it is still great artistry! It is sugar and spice for the soul!
Find some soul poet friends, you can trust.Not rare, but you may find
some out to harm you. They haven’t the courage to tell you what is wrong.
So they sneak under other poet’s comments to insult you. It’s painful to
find oneself being shredded. But for me, simply confusing.
The ones with fangs work behind the scenes,actively, working to get you removed from the site. Yes, no kidding. So be forewarned! There are poets with backbone who do stop this infantile and malicious behavior.
God bless them! Hugs to such genteel poets.
I have poets alert me to any evil going on. Hugs to them all. Their numbers
are few, but such poets with high integrity!
Such chutzpah, they have and will back you to eternity.
There are excellent poets on site with over fifty years experience writing
poetry.
Then those who just began. Like myself! Be patient with yourself. Learn the
classical forms. It helps control your thoughts gets your message across clearly.
I wish you all sincere, long friendships here and the joy of writing your best
poetry. An acclaimed poet told me, “The number of poems you write is highly
insignificant. The quality of the poem, is far more important.” I
I do miss Connie Wong as many of you still do. She was the poet’s poet!! Unafraid to pen more than four words in a comment. Never a cookie
cutter comment from her. One felt embraced by her. Remember that?
No “drive-by” comments from that angel. Now in heaven.
Wishing you all sugar, spice and soul! Not only in poetry, but in life!
Panagiota Romios
10/7/2022
A struggle getting up today,
often now those days be,
and as I spluttered into life
a thought occurred to me,
it would be nice if human life
ran like desktop computers,
and certainly my better half
has said that it would quite suit her.
On days when one may find oneself
in various sorts of pain
just switch your life off, count to ten
then switch it on again.
Backup all your memories,
download them from your brain
and when you're in your later years
upload them all again.
My systems are compatible
with ones I had before
but I've upgraded my arthritis
it's now version two-point-four.
To be insane and psychotic that is what I'm being called
The tendencies that I find myself face;
To lose my memories, my personality;
To forget myself,
Only to be reborn time after time again,
With new experiences as they are 'new'
Only to be forgotten again...
I cannot help but to call this a curse...
Despite its treasures of being able to forget
And unable to relive segments of life
Which I found to be
Horrendous,
Devastating...
Painful.
I find myself in debt of also forgetting
Moments of greatness - fond memories
Of gatherings with loved ones,
Friends and family alike...
The long feigned desire of that smile...
No amount of pain
Neither the threshold of human capacity of ignorance
Could equate to such a paradise
Of thoughts, of wonders, of life...
And yet do I find myself in this cursed curse...
To be 'blessed' with this thing at the top,
To be 'blessed' with the ability to think deeply and profoundly,
To be 'blessed' with the inability to sleep,
To be 'blessed' with the immediate misunderstanding with others...
To be 'blessed' with the ability to forget.
How would one preserve one's memories?
Experiences in such a way that he could relive
That very temporal stability at the shut of the eyes,
How could one cope with the loss of such memories?
An unimaginable extremity - they say write;
But it could not possibly amount to any measure of specifications and details
That one endures through the six senses,
The sixth especially, more than any other...
My fear is not of that of a menial thing - to sit there,
Being fearful of not relocating that memory again;
My fear is much, much greater,
It is the one fear that exceeds all others,
Even my fear for my own death,
My fear for God;
It is simply, the fear of oneself,
Myself,
Me...
I.
The fear that comes with the loss of memories,
Which, inevitably leads to the loss of oneself forever,
And to find oneself change forever to a person,
whom may not want to relive that moment again...
I fear him.
Thoughts of A Lingering Heart...
loneliness, fear, brokenness, self deception, blinded by one's own deceptions
Thoughts of A Lingering Heart check it out tune in (turn-up) as the young people say...LOL
Stop trying to fix something old that has been shown, proving unfixable, try something NEW, Oh we hear & heard that before...Yeah okay what's n-e-x-t
Stop battling the war within, facing challenges within oneself, we often find oneself stuck in the moment.
Those moments has no limited time attached, it just isn't fair... So sing and make a effort or sing away the Blues...
Thoughts of A Lingering Heart
Learn not to let your emotions VOTE....LOL
WE are ALL emotional people that's just life. But we are overcomers
change & transition.
We are a people of change,change, change, change...
By : Deborah Vines penned 1/1/2018
Listen you who think high minded
Who's placed yourself at the doors of God
Who speak for him wagging index fingers
Forcing yourself into chambers so Holy
Rejecting tolerance of men whom God loves
Issuing judgements on reverent behalf
Might find oneself in dubious places
Just a warning friend to embrace humility
5/29/16
Knowing that hindsight is today’s wisdom
And yesterday is where my smarts come from.
Of many lessons learned ,some I can share
So that maybe others may be more aware.
So, from now on I will check for my keys before I slam the door, and not use pledge to shine the hardwood floor.
From now on the bread will be at the top of the shopping cart and that garden rake will be teeth down from the start.
For it’s no fun to be locked outside or find oneself on a flat sock slide.
And slices of dough that are flat as pie are hard to see through a rake handled eye.
So from now on
that sun lotion is applied first thing and the phone is off before I sing , I know who’s car that I am gettin in,and that spare ain’t flat before I need the thing.
For a sunburned noggin hurts,we clear?,even when screaming my song in some perplexed persons ear,
And those folks were sure fit to be tied when I opened their rear door to climb inside and changing one tire is bad enough, But a flat for a flat is really rough.
From now on speaks volumes to me, for it allows transformity.
So as long as I can say “from now on”
I can look forward and back with great anticipation,
For hope and reflection equals my transformation.
Not many, will ever get, the pleasure,
not many, will ever get, the chance, to be.
Instead one is standing, in the place, of many,
whom for all, fight for, those, to be free.
Staying in unfamiliar, unwelcome countries,
where one is a target; while there, at the scene.
One can not divert, thoughts away, from mission,
or else, find oneself; in the final, rest of lean.
Unfortunate not all, will even, come back,
is real life, unlike movie, can't be, in rehearse.
As one flies, to there final destination,
they're in an american flag box, going in a hearse.
Giving is the one, whom fights, is their life,
in regards, is a respectable and beautiful honor.
When some mock and ridicule the blood shed,
suffered by all, it's an insulting, shocking horror.