Best Inescapably Poems
September’s almost coming to its end.
The shining green that clothed the trees in June
Has darkened as the shorter days impend;
Their battered leaves will presently be strewn
Beneath the boughs, which tremble in the chill
That rushes in where winds till now waxed warm,
With Summer's swelter weakening until
We sense the Equinox's looming storm.
Because for all its beauties and its joys
No Summer can persist resisting change—
When held too long, what first creates, destroys;
And only then is born what’s rich and strange.
For Autumn heralds Winter, which will bring
The frosts which in their turn give way to Spring.
October 2, 2019
Previous title: "Summer's End"
Revised October 15, 2019:
The second quatrain originally went--
Beneath the boughs, which tremble in the chill
That rushes in where winds till now blew hot.
The days fly – they inevitably will—
Still, that is inescapably our lot.
But the second sentence seemed to me to be too weak and even bordering on the trite, so I rewrote it as above. Apologies to all who've read it to date!
At the center of my orbit,
You were Jupiter, huge, remote,
Surface roiled by raging storms.
I was a dim, distant moon --
A tiny ice-bound clod
Eternally held at bay --
Still, snared inescapably
By your awful gravity.
My dearest troubled humans,
This is the bitter voice of Appreciation of old that
You are hearing
The one that, once upon a time, people much revered
But
The younger generations seem not even to know
My name.
-
I remember
When all of you, on your lips my name had
When:
Children constantly appreciated what
Their parents for them were doing
-
Students were thankful for what their
Teachers were teaching
-
Citizens grateful were for what their
State for them was providing
-
People thanksgivings were offering to
God and nature alike for taking care of
Their needs
And that
Statues were erected everywhere in my honor.
-
Now, my name,
As though forbidden to be pronounced,
Obliterated from your memory appears to be
Thus
Each one of you only to himself gives credit
Forgetting that
Without the contributions of those that came before you,
Yourselves wild animals would be,
Lacking language, sciences, and numbers,
Just ignorant brutes striving in the wilderness to
Survive
-
Beware,
My beloved humans,
For
If the road of ingratitude you keep following for long,
Sooner or later,
Back into the wilderness, your egotistic selves,
Inescapably you will find!
-
-
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 July 2016
-
‘TURQUOISE-- INTUITIVE PAUSE’
Mixed hues of green and blue- Peace, calm a tranquil view
Retiring from the world at times- a temporary loner paradigm
Refreshing compassion, aquamarine cool—swimming serenity found in the pool
Teal feminine sophistication—intelligent whims of imagination
Open communication between heart and soul—spoken words are seldom whole
An independent and spiritual grounding—Caribbean healing often binding
Tranquillity, beautiful shades of serenity—crucial escape from noise and stupidity
Sequential self-sufficiency necessitated – realms of reality obliterated
Surfing the tides of modern humanity—breakers surging our living profanity
Rushing neglected creative domains—prevailing insanity inescapably remains
Our poise and intuitive shade turquoise—we need to shut down on intolerable noise
Flood out the deluge of untamed insanity—restoring cerulean peace replacing our vanity
When but a child the world seems set in stone.
Too soon this cozy surety fades and dies;
And verities, like passing clouds, are flown,
Confusing right with wrong and truth with lies:
The ground’s no longer firm beneath our feet.
What once was bedrock now is shifting sand,
While warring interests jostle and compete
And nothing seems to turn out as we planned.
Yet know, my love, that even though all life
May be uncertain, nothing else be fixed,
Amidst confusion, doubtfulness, and strife
One thing is always pristine, pure, unmixed:
While much is inescapably unsure,
My love for you shall steadfastly endure.
Days pass...
Seasons change...
Months meld into years,
And we stand looking back at our lives--
Childhood memories,
Exciting moments,
Crises,
And turning points.
In january we think of new beginnings;
In february of valentines,
First dates,
And first kisses.
Does ever a day pass without thoughts of our wonderful lives?
Surely summer evokes backseat memories of seemingly unending trips.
And don't november and december bring to mind family traditions and celebrations-
Held tightly through the years?
Like ivy on the garden trellis,
Our lives are inescapably entwined with the seasons and months of the year.
Childhood memories,
Lighthearted incidents,
Cherished traditions,
And the dreams and spiritual adventures encountered in a lifetime of living.
Days,
Week's
Will take you on a journey through the times and seasons of your life.
It makes a tangible family record to pass on as a gift to a son or daughter,
A loving memoir of written words that are windows yo a mother's and father's heart.
No matter what your age,
Memory and reminiscence open a richer,
Fuller understanding of who you are as a family.
Let this memory be a starting point--
A door into discussing and sharing the unique qualities of your life.
May reflections from a mother's and father's heart draw you closer to each other as-
You share the experiences of a lifetime.
And always cherish your loving memories!!!
Told we were safer to stay a home...
The rising water in evening gloam,
Told us how wrong we were to believe...
Picked up our pets and prepared to leave.
The sadness that comes from leaving homes
Adjusters called, and insurance loans...
Devastated fam'lies in great grief...
Praying heartily for God's relief
Rely on hope and faith to revive,
With faith we pray will keep us alive.
The rain keeps falling in large inches
Our fate inescapably cinches
That we must all faithfully abide,
And know that our Lord will be our guide
Through this great storm that is Texas size,
That God will indeed help us surmise,
Almighty is watching over us
As politicians deign to discuss
The shelters for us will be decreed,
By the severity of our need.
America please pray for us all.
We are placing our lives in God's call.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Come, lay thy kisses on my body
A sacred tribute be thy sweat
Exalt my each and every chord
Oh spike, deep thrusted in my being
Will be my torment but a hoist
Oh, sweetened poison without cure
You kneel me inescapably
Slave-made from cold and prided king
I search for you without a speck of judgement
Ferocious hidden hunger is desire
I burn, just feeling lacking thoughts
You abet me and still remain apart
And in my blinded thirst you have no face
See just the us that could've been
Am left with crying bleeded heart
Lorn bleakly by the like's dearth
My prayer goes for complete oblivion
Will wash away thy smell and haunt
No fire burns in touch deprived flesh
Come, wait thus for our spell to end.
Childhood memories
Brief - impactful moments in our lives
Profound neurological occurrences
Strongly anchored in our subconscious mind
Like an iceberg in the deep blue ocean
Immersed are the feelings frozen down below
Precipitating thoughts, emotions, and behaviors
Tragic and beautiful – inescapably manifesting as the whole
We revisit – we reflect
Moments are embellish or minimized
At times it’s hard to discern the reality
From the story we've created, a blatant lie
Our vessel carries the drink of our knowledge
Like our palettes preferred cup of tea
Perceptually we see what we want
Dogmatically we confirm what we believe
Nature has provided a framework
Nurture guides and confirms our beliefs
We see through a glass half empty
A preoccupied mind steals our life like a thief
Time provides clarity from a distance
It's easier to see our habitual patterns from afar
The identity we’ve chose to live with
Couldn’t be further from the person we are
The memories from our youth are profound and precious
They are the foundation for our thoughts and beliefs
They are the substrates for our conscious identity
They are our palettes preferred cup of tea
George Fulwider
1837-1918
My beating-heart age,
Reached the half century mark,
When I and my “better second,”
Found hopeful roots,
And an oleander trellis,
On burgeoning Philadelphia street,
Here in this Quaker colony,
Of a thousand trees.
Our small wooded house was,
Most unfortunately,
Within earshot of the stately Union High School,
And its noisy ragamuffin minions,
And inescapably contiguous,
With the bustling tentacled trolley tracks;
Up and down they groaned,
With their loud clanging,
Every day and night the house shook,
As they rumbled on by,
Those modern moving monsters,
With steely grinding wheels,
Made ever alive by,
Those drat hanging wires,
Of killing electricity;
The doom of progress was upon us!
Oh, for the olden days!
The simpler times!
When life was for the strong and the smart,
Not like it was, when I,
Gasping for air in 1918,
Said goodbye to this silly modern world,
This long life,
This unending waiting game.
Now my restless stifled ghost,
Haunts the dark grounds here,
Roaming o’er the stones and the shadows,
At midnight when the wind dies,
Seeking still, a moment of hopeful silence, no,
An entire afterlife,
Of sweet heavenly golden silence,
Away from those modern moving steely monsters,
Those groaning grinding interlopers,
Of killing electricity;
The doom of progress is upon you!
I unsteadily
Drift away on an air balloon
Vibrantly glancing at the crowd below the surface,
Sharing my utter enthrallment
I unbelievably
Cascade into the stomach of the churning ocean
Ceaselessly infusing my bleakness at the crowd above,
I disclose my utter frightfulness
I inescapably
Collapse into the bottomless paradise
Intensively eying the crowd before me,
I conceal my devastation
I face
A confrontation between life and demise
I trace
A pathway that unsteadily drifts back to reality
I glimpse at an air balloon released in the swaying wind
And I hope urgently to drift back into ecstasy,
But it’s above the surface…reaching for the universe
And I hope appallingly for another tranquil lifetime
three score and ten
eighty , ninety when
all too soon incised
souls inescapably fly
away
time when life ends
purpose transcends
an appointment met
life’s book read with
candor
death comes to all
times last curtain call
with two destinations
we select our options
freely
death- the great equalizer to heaven or hell
“And it is appointed for men to die once—but after this the judgement”
Hebrews 9:27
© October 2013—Kim van Breda
Wandering human beings each
Enslaved by personally true doctrines of the existence or
Inescapably twisted with the nonexistence of the Existing One
Rampantly whirls around to face thousands of destinies all in one:
Death in color: paganism, science cutting edge, madness, and suicide.
Dla, November 17, 2014
Jaafar Sadig el Waad
Blighted Happiness
Our love is like a withered leaf
That lies on the brink of the river
Waiting for the winds or the waves
To swiftly be scattered and driven
Or for heavy rains or pearling dust
To be abruptly abrogated forever.
Our love like a withered leaf, bleeding,
May stand firm and clasp together
Or, oh Lord! Inescapably sink
In the sea of oblivion, melting.
Such is our destiny, for tiny souls
Have no rooms where dreams dwell
We walk filled with people’s many
Dreams, desires and fires and still are
Unable to grasp the meaning of being
Together!
Douala, January 14, 2013
Jaafar Sadig El Waad
inescapably booby trapped in the region of self
anticipating illumination with a dopey grin
and a grimy determination masked by ungodly brio
gimme your best shot you goose stepping goons
you Ragnarok brothers of Odin and his Twinkie dancers
If I weren't one of you you wouldn't exist
right here where my pencil fornicates the vellum
the confederation of misfits get what they deserve
what do we deserve what devolved practice
continues to move our arms and mouths
in the direction of justice and of merit
in the company of demiurges and beatitudes
endlessly considering the direction of Fate
in the manner of men cheetah headed and scarred
yet survival requires data and survival is future
so add future to your shopping list at checkout time
all reality is calculable there are enough numbers
and furthermore there is still enough curiosity
left over from the great War of Cognitive Suppression
Galactic rule number one nothing forced
volitional free will sacred and deadly precious
his consciousness far from its source of thought
he continued without the slightest reason why
of course it is all but a mental reproduction
we all worship the Grand Master of Disguise
a meme-written forehead in uncharted waters
he slid his pawn forward to end the muddle
love is not all you need you need smarts
if the world is to be a correctable world
fabled dons of economics playing dumb on cue
corruption ran in deep ocean trenches
the life spark mystery rarely discussed
free from the tradition of taboos and fetishes
fixation and more fixation the gaze never shifts
soon swept away by their uninformed zeal
and a sense of inviolate justification
with which to welcome the new plantation