Best Fulcrum Poems
Line of inquiry: track where lies the fulcrum of the fragrance of a rose, then likewise find within, your soul. By Unseeking Seeker
From whence comes the fragrance of a flower?
At its fulcrum, the floral organs
attach to the stalk, which has poked
up out of the earth to sprout
the beautiful petals -
that sweet-scented face
which I adore
in the form
of the
rose.
My
soul is
like the rose.
I am planted
on this earth, but I
need proper nourishment
to fulfill my roles. Heaven,
please let your sun reign down on me.
My soul, like that of a rose, provides
no sweet fragrance without enlightenment.
My works need not be successful
Just when consciousness-centered
Success can be spiritual
Mundane and ill-tempered
If the living Holy Spirit of the
Absolute in me abide
My thoughts, words and actions
Will, indeed, be love-linked
Linked will be my neighbor with me
Each creature of the universe I see
As part of the consciousness fulcrum
And cosmos would flow in free rhythm...
12 March 2022
Consciousness Fulcrum Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Stamens and pistils
delicately poised
Shamans and pistols
making too much noise
Soft buzz preferred,
a silencer’s desired
Pollinator’s sense
the triggers just fired
Nectar brings balance
agape open wide
Willing the seeker
to do laps inside
Comes with a snag
also stitch in the side
Fulcrum of a rose
the thorn realised
My soul’s not a flower
just gives and takes
Wants what it craves
accepts all, even fakes
Opens too early,
closes far too late
Can’t tell if I’m full,
yet knows when I’m sate
Possesses a thorn,
and stabs by design
Fulcrum of my soul’s
human not divine
Protects at all costs
only thing that’s mine
Not pain or loss,
just my life to define
Light and shade are vital to life's beauty, charm, and richness. By Poet.
sun
sunshine
dawn to dusk
nature supplies
vivacious hues clash
cumulonimbus cloud
sprouts expanse toward the sun
every day, it swells keen and vast
as crocus sprouts muzzle widespread breeze
in stark peacefulness through the strides of verve
Melted gold gleams in the thoughts of moonbeams.
As light wanes, faint stars tackle to glow.
they shimmer like zillions of studs
while embedded to sunbeams
Scudding blue-purple swarms.
soar through azure sky.
gazed birch leaf buds
and clean grass
spring's rays
warmth.
scour
the bliss
tweaked and deep
blue fades to mauve
humped at hearts of stem
stream heavenly keenness
as waterway of sheer praise
sequent the path of least toughness
same as a flower's smell loads the air
linked to bode love, uttering lease to flow
Written: February 15, 2022
1st place contest winner
E Forms- Etheree - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Line of inquiry: Track where lies the fulcrum of the fragrance of a rose, then likewise find within your soul~~
The wired airplane
sits
upon a single
pointed fulcrum
It can be spun
around
but
stays balanced
Jesus Christ is
my fulcrum
my rose of Sharon
my stabilizing point
I met Him
when I was a wee
child
so young, in new faith
Years have passed
my faith
remains
He is my Rock, my Savior, my Rose of Sharon
Line of inquiry: track where lies the fulcrum of the fragrance of a rose, then likewise find within, your soul —Unseeking Seeker Contest
Fulcrum of a Rose
pinwheel spinning
reds, pinks, whites, butters
I found the garden’s rest in
peace s i g n
a spray, spewed across this holder
of breath
letting g o
the mailbox painted army green
underneath my nose
I know no more no less
than lessons l e a r n e d
with win some whiffs
does it pass the sniff test…
I’d like to find delightful the p r i c k i n g
of my nostrils, the inducement of petals
at first velvety soft
their perfumes
make my heart bleed
my uncle’s in a green suit, laid out
with just one truck punch, and it lingers
his scent, his lack of smile, the coldness of
the hand I touched -
he’s asleep…he didn’t move a finger
f r a g i l e
youth forever bathed in rose-scented water
a single red rose fought for his life in the snow
the scent lingers in
the leftover towers
I’m adept
in such ghostly afterglow
my husband knows
I prefer T U L I P S
Fatherhood holds great pivotal power:
To lift or let down, bringing laughter or frowns.
Your words have potency, proven by deeds.
Do what you promise and plant for renown.
Be the hero, the parent your children need.
Be more than you dreamed that a father could be.
Be a fulcrum of joy, praise extravagantly!
Fatherhood bears a life-changing might:
To give worth or debase, esteem or erase.
Your words are harpoons, or pillows of grace.
Listen intently, be still, SEE their face.
Be the dad that your children love to embrace.
Be more than you dreamed that a father could be.
Be a fulcrum of grace, give extravagantly!
Fatherhood sets generational ties:
To move up or down, the family tides.
Your words are their seeds of self-worth or shame.
Invest your best to build grooms and brides.
Be the man that shows them the worth of your name.
Be more than you dreamed that a father could be.
Be a fulcrum of life, love extravagantly!
I used to live my life
by planning every step
factoring in every contingency
like a sales pitch for a Life Insurance policy.
I flipped the coin and it landed on its edge.
Oh...and hello
to you, some hours past, I
returned from counseling,
(hence this boy yent -
albeit beastie boy
figuratively basking
in fading afterglow)
great kickstarter session,
countless moments ago,
sans treatment plan,
she facilitated emotional airflow
i.e. Stephanie Dodds,
(sat straight as an arrow)
whereat this client purged, avow
hid lee, his psycho
logical reflux backflow
(Matthew Scott Harris) did crow
as said professionally trained
medicine woman actively listened,
(no doubt other male patients
similar to yours truly entertained
(alignment with see
thing hormonal concurrence,
where ego super vies iz
Id dee hot - hook line, and sinker
attributed to Sigmund Freud,
who sired, midwifed, and fathered
psychoanalytic theories)
sexual kindled fantasies,
viz being bedfellow
this soul, hood doth not bellow,
but keeps mum
(during my allotted time),
yet willingly shares
with utter strangers
intimate gal olive
hunt ting fantasy,
that doth beshadow
obviously no intent to breach
such prurient thoughts, bestow
foolscap upon mine noggin,
and most definitely blow
future appointments
with aesthetically pleasing
(tomb maa cryptic) bowwow
wing hot diggity
dog inner primate, perhaps,
and not surprisingly get brow
beaten, where dire
erect tor of facility
wilt hell me
"go take a hike to
penile solitary bungalow,"
where all manner of
libidinous desires wanna burrow
(where warren peace
can thrive hare and now),
on par with rabbit - burr reader,
which confinement would
not principally peter out
till dawning transgression vetted,
and avered final cockrow
trumpeted, norte - til last cornrow
reaped, hence unable
to thwart counterblow
permanently, doth nada
different she hate
lustful zeal from eye
dims sum – genital fateful dayglow,
thence high lee
grant ting deathblow
to testosterone laden satiety,
randy proclivity, and
concupiscent adoration from
combine nation of #endow
ments to ghost of - Grant
yule leases eyebrow
raising candy cane upon fallow
da weeder foreshadow
wing sowing field of poetically
wet dreams plying fecund,
feminine, and fertile ground
godaddy on his gangplow.
When the raspberry horizon
is curled up,
shaping caramel-lilac lips
of the cashmere kismet,
singing in a choir of cherry chivalry
and honey-glazed fireflies ~
those snowy stars
simmering in summer silence,
f l i c k e r
a w a y
leaving burgundy blurs of beliefs,
wrinkled in those blinking blemishes
of clementine memories,
which once trailed hysterical footprints
across my fairy-threaded horizons...
And I lay, breathing l o v e
on a pillow of pristine pearls ~
succulent with the silver songs
of perfumed yesteryears ~
chiming through chocolate valleys
and rippling in the ruffles
of origami reveries,
weaved in scarlet sonnets...
where you and I, chakras of the divine ~
w a l t z
like the sunset
and its shadow
through a halo of rose-rings ~
our spiritual silks
rinsed in rubies,
as every aromatic alphabet
caresses those syllables of storms,
stained with the murkiness of maroons
and the velvet rain of remnants
leaves a champagne spark ~
igniting indigo illusions
that whisper
whirling intuitions
in my saffron-kissed kundalini...
" O' thistle-light
distancing me
from my dandelion i n k ~
I'm no longer a paranoid petal
swirling in a havoc of hate and rust,
rather, I'm blossoming ~
aesthetic in strawberry arcs,
dreaming of a reality
above imposters of nightmares,
where my honeysuckle sepals
hold hope as a golden anchor ~
fluttering in pink opal warmth,
and I feel like the heat of life,
for those decaying flowers,
betrayed by
the
torrents
of
t i m e... "
dear lord of the scintillating swan light,
in the fulcrum of fragrances ~
this sailor soulfully sails,
as a telepathic trespasser
tangentially
steering
to an orchard
without
rose-tinted
reveries...
to be the last scent
of forget-me-nots ~
manifesting a meraki of miracles
in those mulberry mosaics,
where the esoteric zephyrs of elysium
still remember me ~
as a sandalwood-scented soulmate
of the forgiving sun...
What would men do, finding a rock they cannot lift? I will not chase the red herring but simply tell the truth, since God is an omnipotent creator. God can create a rock He cannot lift, then create a way to lift it, with His next breath or just uncreate the thing, which is unliftable. Thereby, lifting that burden of proof. If you simply add "and cannot be changed by him", the "crisis" remains. Logically, only defiant men would try to put limits, on omnipotent canceling, any logic they thought they had. Jer 23:29 Is not my word like as a fire? saith the LORD; and like a hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces? Luke 7:35 But wisdom is justified of all her children.
Souls arrive on earth compelled to survive dramatic impacts.
Each child of spirit will eventually reach for reasons to be here.
Living finds the soul striving for intangible roots, tangibly real.
Foundations are sought to lead, gift and uplift one’s true self.
Fertile roses grow blind to the forces aligned on their behalf.
Unconscious insistence diminishes man’s resistance to its menu.
Layers of intuitive insight incites and invites us to a spiritual level.
Colors of otherness within us highlight discoveries of all authentic.
Revealing layers of our source may be sought and found in prayer.
Uniting with God grants exciting stances on His supporting plateau.
Mindfulness is the plume of God’s rhythm that rhymes our bloom.
In the sea that I float in
I wonder about where
The limits of consciousness lie
Sometimes, I believe they sparkle
In my dreams, set
In a world not yet discovered by the rest
Of my peers who are too tired to keep afloat
And who have not had any shine of mercy
Thrust upon them
At other times, I believe they vociferate
In that which my material self can perceive;
My duties, my enemies, my toils, my inspiration
And of course,
My interests in a world which shall remain immaterial!
But then, everything around us is troubled
In that we are all confused
About the essence of our own origin
And about the meaning of our purpose
We understand not from where our blood
Gets its reddish colour
And we keep studying ancient sculptures
Drawn on the remnants of lost societies
To try to perceive,
Something, if anything
About ourselves!
So, our consciousness then weighs itself
Against mercy,
Thrust upon us by that power so subtle
That our human eyes would burn
If we were to merely glimpse at it from afar
And thus,
It decides
As to what it wishes us to hold on to,
Whether it be a simple life lived by following
The pulls of our own senses
Or it be by letting ourselves be driven
By an awakened mind
All set and ready to set foot
In a world fairer,
Someday, at some time
Which we shall not choose for ourselves!
Fulcrum
Listen to me sweetheart.
It is easy to be a fool.
It requires no intelligence at all.
You will always listen to those who speak
Words you personally want to hear.
You will always ignore and belittle those
Who disagree with your tentative notion
Of what the definitive truth is.
If you say the earth is round,
And there is a tone of finality in your voice,
I will say, fine, but I disagree.
I say it is flat, and I’m right because, well,
I have more college degrees than you,
I am obviously smarter than you,
I’m whiter than you,
And have more money than you.
My house is bigger than yours,
And my car is faster.
Besides, flat objects don’t turn
Elliptically in circles that
Continue on and on, ad infinitum,
Without some kind of radical transmogrification
Occurring in its plain and acute geometric form.
What would Einstein say?
He would agree with me of course!
He would say: “Two things are infinite,
The Universe, and human stupidity.”
Here sweetheart, have another chaser.
I detest talking politics with you,
But I love talking about Einstein,
And I love watching you sit there,
Showing off your shiny scented legs,
As you cross and uncross them
Restlessly.
Here, give me your foot,
I will massage your toes with cotton swabs,
And peanut butter,
And I will feed you my electric eel eggs.
The orchestra of the world
become violently overplayed
become muted white noise
sanely adjusted to a nigh-zero
And here where the colors are bright
here where we living meet
here there are questions, questions all the time
can't make anything out,
there's nothing but garbled nonsense
drowning out a single answer
Through the noise
the dissonant truth we hate
burning wire of gold to follow, made of words
ignores irrational fingers pointed by languid vice
ignores stones cast by the righteous and justified
ignores missiles and bombs and bullets and guns sprung from bottomless wallets
all weapons leveled against this disharmony
and god forbid
and mother help us
it won't stop
We can hear it and it terrifies us
We can hear it now
definition creeps back in, terror itself
Thus the fulcrum of the times
So important are these final lines
That they're written here in rhyme
Are you broken and chained
In a prison of mistakes
Or do you have what it takes
To reap the fell crop, and a truer world
Create?
When you hear it,
and you will,
you'll make the choice
and be fulfilled