Best Interacts Poems
The coastal lighthouses, intervening
in many dangerous undercurrents.
it's beacon interacts vigorously
as vessel realigns, manoeuvring
past many obstacles undistinguished
by any obvious visionary.
So sailing faultlessly, continuing
home without treacherous impediments
Penned 19 September 2014 by Seren Roberts
Galactic curls in spirals swirl, entwining twisted mystery,
where time unrolls in blackened holes, no longer bright and blistery,
but writ like runes on starry dunes enclosed in cosmic history
Galactic dust, from novas' gusts, congesting empty spaces
once fatefully flung beyond the tongue of burnt out astral traces,
may recompress and coalesce in distant times and places
Galactic dwarves, like ancient wharves with silent planets mooring
yet still in spin though long done in, hide flares no longer soaring -
magnetic webs of eons ebb, in thermal fusion roaring
Galactic tides warp space divides, call forth sublime creation
while bending clocks in rippled shocks, unfolding time dilation
that seems to crown the flowing gown of pulsars' pulsed gyration
Galactic stew, a seething brew, midst background noise and chatter
like Chaos reigns, the sole remains of missing antimatter,
with just a trace to form a space-time, curved or somewhat flatter
Galactic glue holds something new: dark energy and matter
that interacts and counteracts the ancient Big Bang splatter:
a cosmic soup of strings and loops, a universal batter
Galactic life's replete and rife 'neath lactic milky wafer,
though solar gales leave unseen trails of cosmic rays, the strafer;
but nonetheless, one must confess, it seems there's nowhere safer
Submitted 21 Aug. 2016
“The weather phenomena, Fogbows (also known as ghost rainbows) form when sunlight interacts with much smaller water droplets contained in fog or mist, rather than rain.” ~~ The Australian Broadcasting Commission.~~ YALTO.
It’s something,
If anything. It’s so.
It is real. Tiny mist droplets,
All a glow. Glistens.
Do you see? Fogbow.
What is it? Do you know?
It’s a ghost rainbow. Light refracts from the mist.
Twist. A pearl white rainbow.
A flash of lightning
creates shades of trembling light
interacts with shearing pain,
as a fleeting moment
cemented within a grievous mind
a wrench of nostalgia,
a reminder of you
on that fateful day,
where in the unsung meadow
you lay in disheveled jade.
23/7/2020
Entered 'Just a moment' Poetry contest
sponsor John Lawless
Your heart is what God gave you. Your life is what God made true. You was nothing, not even a feeling. When God created you, he loved you before the beginning. Just a thought of love is what made you appear. Just a touch of sight is what made you see clear. You were the one that God has chose. Your the one is why God rose. This is all about you and true love from our divine creator. You was born and put into a incubator. Their is no other greater love for which we can find. Their is no greater soul that would cross the line. Jesus is the only one true savior, he is the only one who can correct our bad behavior. It goes as deep as this, when he see’s you he see’s right through and gives a trillion bunches of kiss. His love just wants to make you shed a tear, his love is what we hope for at the end when our time is near. If you look way past space and galaxies even stars you can see that we are healed through Jesus scars. He made another person for us so we can love. He interacts with us from heaven above. Here is a song that you would dedicate to someone you love. Imagine how much more God dedicates his love for us, sooo many beautiful doves. As the river flows, the trees glows, the wind blows, God’s love never goes. So forever we are who God made us, let’s all praise the lord because he is the only one we all can trust. God bless and love each other like God loves us!!
We enter this world and the story begins
The early chapters a distant and hazy memory
As awareness grows we begin to capture memories
Most of which being those that define us as an individual
We learn from our loved ones and peers as our persona takes shape
As we progress and more chapters are added "who we are" is firmly defined
That person that we have become now interacts with others’ lives
We love, we form prejudices, we project our likes and dislikes
All of this is captured by time and forms a storyline by which we will be remembered
Hopefully, these chapters will tell a story of compassion and caring
Unfortunately, this is not always the case as some take another path
If this be so, then the middle chapters will be filled with turmoil
As always time moves on and the chapters of our lives continue
Advancing age brings thoughtfulness resulting in either pride or regret
That which we are, that person that we became many chapters ago
now stares endlessly at a world moving too fast to comprehend
To live the final chapters of our lives we must do so with the realization
that past chapters now cast in stone cannot be rewritten
Our book of life is of our own making and each chapter defines choices that
we and we alone made based on factors that we faced.
Yes, sometimes our choices were seemingly not of our own making but in the end we must take ownership of the story line for chapters to follow.
As the final chapter of our life unfolds we either look inward and commend
ourselves for doing the best that we could - with no regrets and/or,
we look outward seeking the hopefully healing hand of our maker, or that
“power" out there that we perceive might conclude our final chapter with a
journey ending in restful peace throughout eternity.
She carries one of the heaviest pregnancies in the world
with more species of monkeys than any other region.
She stands huge in her territory
with a unique speech different from all others in the same domain.
Her name specially recognizes a Tree.
She directly interacts with all other tenants except two distant ones.
She’s timely scaled into three different parts
possessing water course which is the immediate younger brother to the Nile.
She’s home to the Armadillo, Tapirs, Jaguars and Pumas
and so fertile to accommodate the most dense amount of living hairs
which has secluded more than seventy groups of humans to civilization.
Her armpit once covered the Nazi’s angel of death
and her street lights shine the brightest rays of football.
In her very rich possession;
is an island with about five snakes per square mile;
is the world’s best beach in Baia do Sancho;
is the accumulation of Airports; second only to the world's power;
and the city painted with heavy congestion to reach global peak in recent times.
Her neck houses the biggest black settlement outside the dark continent.
She carries a slogan of hope in “ordem e progresso”.
The aerial view plane structure of her heart
required three years and five months only to make it a possible existence.
She had graced the only European capital away from Europe
as number is her meeting point between global size and population.
The glory of her international significance is well deserved
and her beauty, nowhere near expiry.
Somewhere deep in the recesses of one's heart
A tiny voice speaks of love and compassion
Of what one could be, if one chose, even now for a start,
But want it one must with an all-encompassing passion.
It needs not the urging of one's other self in the brain
Asking one to use logical thought and set on the path
Of pleasure and avarice and, in endeavoring, refrain
From the clutter of ideals, altruism and angst-filled wrath.
Between the two (the Yin and the Yang?) lies the pit
Of perdition resonating with the twang of irretrievable arrows;
Words once mouthed shape scenes which neither fit
With whatever the feeling or thoughts of the selves in their narrows.
Thus each, caught in one's own mix of the madness
Goes about creating individual worlds and carries out tasks,
Sometimes filled with elation, more often with undefined sadness,
Donning, as fits the scene, grotesque tragic or comic masks.
Did Shakespeare speak of the world being a stage, and, before exeunt
Players saying their things, acting out their parts, of seven acts,
I agree with the bard but to a limited, very limited, extent,
For a man creates his own world , his stage, with which he interacts.
He watches the way the world
interacts and ponders the reasons why.
He responds to artistic imagery,
Lost in creativity he dreams often of his own reality,
He acts with haste and risk is routine.
Hair to the wind, his life an intentional spin,
He lives and walks, listens and talks
Happy to commemorate, his mind compulsive to contemplate...
Is the universes size infinite?
Atoms cling together...
Neutrons and Protons randomly whip around the nuclei
with the one oddity, being nothing the absurdity...
Infinity also being a normality or illusion
The infinite reality could be an oddity or
falsity of infinite realities of infinite infinities..
Is vision along with your auditory perception real
when the universe truth could be soundless
formless nothing but emptiness and nothingness.
Intellect and knowledge a certain fakery
only measurable creativity.
In our own imaginary pretentious perception
of custom and race, another false reality of space.
Or is it now imaginary created by falsity
devised as normality just as a Tv.
A conundrum of conflict sanity to insanity
He travels contemplating the complexities
in humanities innumerable technologies.
Humanity distracted and refracted so
disconnected from the reality
Rather led by faculty they will continue
Desecration and obliteration
Which leaves one more reality...
Annihilation...
He has a Roman nose, bright eyes, flashy teeth,
Chocolate brown complexion,
Features which animate only when he interacts—
Otherwise, typical unscholarly looks!
A nonconformist in religion, a revolutionary in spirit,
A stoic in practice—
Epithets can be multiplied.
Sought strange experiences:
Travelling in a locomotive,
Witnessing a surgery,
Learning math on his own.
And living on a glass of lassi,
Which I would call starving!
He speaks with conviction.
His memory is prodigious;
To call him a philosopher is no cliché:
He is one by temperament and self-training;
Teaches philosophy involuntarily—as praxis,
As ‘a set of operations,’ as he’d put it.
No nonsense,
No snobbery:
He has been
To New York—as a Fulbright Scholar,
To Oxford—as a Visiting Scholar.
Never chips in to say, “When I was in England/US….”
Never affects an accent.
He is an Indian source of the Poststructuralist virus,
And I was the one immediately infected—
On his return to India
From his stint at New York.
The infection still remains—incurable!
His love of me is something like election love:
Parallels are Krishna and Kuchela,
Kopperuncholan and Picirantaiyar,
Johnson and Boswell.
Would speak for me
Without my knowledge or consent!
We have stuck together
For about five decades now,
Defying the Machiavellian dictum: There are
No permanent friends or enemies in life!
He can’t, ugh, bring himself to love a pet—
On which subject
We violently disagree:
He dubs me St. Francis of Assisi, though!
Was born at Christmas
And so christened Noel!
— Ram, .R.V.
Passing through, a passer through
Glimpse of the town under moon
True it left a sense of overused youth.
Stuck in a hamster ball,
As wide as you're tall
Keeping life alive is all
Dinner in 30 spins, make the call.
Clammy and cautious
Like preserving in a bathtub with ice cubes
God wasn't right, he was rude.
Cursed to puff up statements
That don't edify my placement
Of keeping straight in it.
Porous roofs let rainfall
Your pourous personality keeps you on the wall
Not spontaneous at all.
This town looks red
Frustrated and sky's come for the dead.
Fog interacts in your head.
Like you showered and left
To a cold situation,
Like the ski hills out west.
Or just a steamy head
And all the words you just read.
This town has patterns
That weave into lanterns
Light so bright
That beams into Saturn.
Relaxed people do it better
Grab your conscience and your sweater
Put yourself together.
I am one among,
People strung
For the same idea
That made them sing.
Why am I here?
I walk around the school, around my surroundings, full of self-doubt,
I wonder why I am here, for nobody really interacts with me, I try to smile,
To be nice, give my opinion, to be genuine, all I really want is a friend.
Yet I am still met with silence, they turn their back, I lower my eyes as to not be seen.
All my life I have been ignored, maybe that’s my fault, I didn’t reach out, for I knew that I
Would be ignored, why reach out, when they will only laugh and pretend to be nice,
Sometimes I feel as though My heart Is in a vice grip, waiting for the next person to
Come along and squeeze it with all their might, I mise as well give up the fight.
I resort inwards as to protect my feelings, I can’t stand much more pain, I just want it to
Stop. My only way of relieving the pain, the hurt is resort to self- injuries behavior, it’s not
Like anyone would care, They don’t see me anyways, unless they want something from me.
Again I ask myself, why am I here in this big cruel punishing world anyways? Would I be
Missed if I left? My words, my love, my tired sore arms I have lifted to many to give a
Big heartwarming hug, only to have them tell me No.. My only friend again I say is a
Pen and paper, my thoughts, my silent tears, have been built up for way too many years.
I ask you now Will you please accept my hug and dry up my tears?
love has taken a toll on me
on lengths very few could understand
i am still a huge fan
though the sight of feeling the genuineness seems to far from where i stand
love interacts with two compatible people
for which becomes light in life an strong combined souls of equal
its a gift that is shared of beauty and free will of expression
with very rare doubt and a decent amount of communication
trusting at the highest of mountains
as passion runs deep as the oceans sand
understanding even when unrelated to experiences
because the bond of knowing the person goes beyond expectations
many moments of laughter and shared secrets
like a teenage crush sneaking out to remain in keep sakes
its a friend as well as a lover
unlimited to be able to cry on a shoulder
judging or rebelling does not exist between each other
hands are tender to each touch
kisses are missed in between such
everyday is as strong as first met
as love is suppose to be kept
words generous to each syllable
loyalty and respect is never paused still
new memories are made for each day
isnt love suppose to be this way?
i could go on an on
because this is the love in which i was born
the love i yearn and desire that i claim as my fire
to keep in hopes that ill find
an that one day will be mine
this is the love i give
for which i live
though the kind to me thats been given
seems too much like undesirable sinnin
which has took a toll on me
this person that you see?
used to wear her heart on her sleeve
now in most cases is skeptical of being deceived
cautious of premeditated schemes
which is not at all as i had dreamed
that love would do to me....
I open a bag of
mixed-up vegetables
their chatter is deafening
I ask them, “What’s the ruckus?
“It’s the day of reckoning!”
I open a box of
Hamburger Helper
hoping to quench veggies’ yelping
As H.H. interacts with
mixed up vegetables
he laments, “I can do no helping!”
It’s hard to decide what to make for dinner
when surrounded by conflict and strife
After thinking it through the only sure winner
Is to leave dinner plans to my wife
“What’s for dinner, dear?”
Donald
Who is brave, beneficial and beautific.
Who is the son of Frederick Christ "Fred" Trump.
Who loves politics, congruity
and the peaceful world.
Who feels excitement, anticipation
and Elysian bless.
Who needs embolden, conduce and love.
Who fears felonies, ferocities and A-bomb.
Who would like to see peaceful world,
more sunrises and greens.
Who shares interlocks, interacts and integrates.
Who is a president, father and friend.
Who is a resident of white House.
Trump.