Best Intuitively Poems
Quote: A man can fail many times, but he isn’t a failure until he begins to blame somebody else.
John Burroughs
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Inspired by life’s goals, winners are intuitively aware,
A loss is but a steppingstone, not a reason to despair;
Again and again, with certitude they play the game,
For triumph, they envision, is written in every name.
They never seek to blame others, for own mistakes,
Instead, they course-correct, averting heart-breaks,
Re-learning, deep in introspection, as they re-assess;
Ameliorating ways of failures, reaching for success.
When life is perturbed in adversities, they fear not,
Cognizant~ anything worthwhile must be hard-fought;
Summoning conquering ways, every failure taught,
To attain ultimate milestone, reveries of victory sought.
They accept, they advance, when things go wrong,
Strumming theme winsome, emanating from life’s song,
Echoing a pledge revered, treasured for quite long;
Avowing~ to them, the reigns of future shall belong.
Dreams of passion, dreams coveted, refuse to die,
For resolutely their objectives, driven believers vie;
Until triumphantly, bells-elated, of success chime,
Trumping sad sighs of failures, defeated over time.
On your umbrella countenance,
I saw misty eye dew drops fall
You had a sad season covering,
your face telling me
that cold winter came before wet autumn
I knew intuitively
someone cruel broke your heart
And lately your walks have been so lonely,
so thankful that the sky
hide your tears when you cry
But I wasn’t gonna just let you pass me by,
without asking you to give love another try
The sad smile you gave me told me,
your heart was too vulnerable and afraid
And I put my virgin lips to your downcast eyes,
then begin to gently kiss the tears away
Said I was gon be your new, happier sunrise
That today would be your last teary midnight
With a cup of hot cocoa conversation,
I let your pain evaporate
in the warm hearth of my heart
Promised you that you could stay
for as long you needed
in order to completely heal
No hurry ... no worries,
come rest your love inside of me
Just let me kiss your tears away,
whenever life
should rain on you another day
Please let me kiss your tears away
Believe me, baby ...
forever, my love is here to stay
Figuratively there is good and there is bad
Intuitively we know there are high paths and low
Rewarding goodness; not hatefulness when so sad
Eliminating love, the thief comes to take what you know
And there are consequences for each choice made
Children who wander lives without a mother nor dad
Destitute families who’s last night never laid
Unless a miracle occurs their lives will be bad
So, in the course of suffering and destitution
Come magnificent family courage and strength
And some how a divine illumination
Causes a peaceful and caring restitution
And the answers come often at the end of time
But, looking back, They’re no more blind
©2016 All Rights reserved
We act.
Rationally or irrationally,
logically or at random,
often intuitively.
Wise is he who considers first
the consequences of his actions.
For we do fashion our destiny,
like it or not. Then we complain,
a futility of whining,
nitpicking trivialities
fashioned by our own hand.
We oft do wrong:
For which we pay.
Then
we blame our God,
we blame our devil,
we never blame ourselves.
Society loves immorality,
it is food for the ingenious,
served so well by a mediocre media.
The gift of wisdom,
the discerning of what is right
is trampled underfoot,
much to our later dismay.
Red: A Definition
Primary and indispensable.
Intuitively felt as warm, never cold.
Romantic in its nature with body and depth.
Wafting sentience from a glass,
Willing drama to a bedroom.
Regaled as royalty by nature,
Often reduced by perception.
Best known and least understood.
Loyal, virtuous, the keeper of secrets,
The orator of life,
The measure of love.
Your childhood abode left scars unhealed
that I yearned to kiss and make better.
That sense of abandonment I recognized
As I too grew up feeling unwanted, unloved.
I beheld the tenderness in your sweet soul
The way you showered your dogs with love
Melted my heart, as flames began to burn instantly.
The vision of your handsome face danced in my
Mind day and night with the melody of love.
I knew intuitively that oneday we would be together
And I would bear your children, bonding us forever.
My dreams came true and I felt our damaged souls
Would taste years of long-lasting redemption.
Sadly I could not tame the wild spirit in you that would
Venture off into unknown territories leaving me
And our children behind to morn your loss.
After 12 years of prayers and hopes your love faded
Into a ghostly remnant of what had once felt so blissful.
We both endured such pain in parting, and sorrows
Followed you with a dark shroud clouding your vision.
When you asked me to come back to you is now but
A bittersweet memory because I found my Knight
Who galloped to my rescue and cherishes only me.
Sometimes love is not enough and we were not to be.
9-10-19
~Second Place~
Sometimes love is not enough Poetry Contest
Sponsor Silent One
Of course, art is always somewhat
subjective, breaking established rules: the artist
intuitively adding imaginary inches to a canvas;
a work in progress, riding waves, finding depth
both on and off the easel, creatively flowing – a
vision on the loose –
(paused, but never finished...a true birth
having voice and life beyond the parent's release,
like a child going out into the world alone...
a must, for the painter to keep fluid a moistening eye:
that mysterious exorcism by his instruments...a true descriptor
ultimately not bound by the Catechism of Lines nor a Page's
World-edges;
no mural out of the soul, seeking spectacular release
is ever entirely confined to interior walls nor the sides of buildings~
that is why certain poems are read over and over, as if catching up
with an old friend~filled-in on what is new, an evolutionary rapport...
or one revisits The Museum of Modern Art – finding aged modern
in the old modern, the past meeting perhaps a cloudy moment and
today a day of awakening transparency – each vintage, an individualized
spirit-manifest,
a motivating shade of scentful-color~of brightness and overcast,
with searchable, unseen dimensions, the spaces science
has yet to fill,
the private domains of both
experimenting student and seasoned mystic...
the limits of what we
know, transformed by the revelation of what we dream,
the artist, and not the scientist, life's true conjurer of miracles,
only bound, when at all, by his own restricted conceptions of
time transforming space.
The bible
our pure poetry
Divine voice
art -- gallery imagery
Father’s expanding palettes of time
space infinite –
shadows of unframed
formless canvas -- man's freedom
to light, shape, transverse supernal grace,
we, alone, limit speed
and trajectory
bridging dark gaps, colors
dappled, dropped and splashed
faith will make mix, both consciously
and intuitively apply:
heaping our scrapers and brushes,
the chill of the chalkboard screech
the joy of the slip and slide
the rankle of arms and hands figuring
otherwise meaningless medium
Creativity man's Adam
ligaments of my elastic being
dutifully, lovingly allowing stretch
for explore
sinewy constructs for
mental lift and taut endurance,
the unshakable frame that
holds all upright, and
makes daily challenges
superbly sculptable, while
retaining elasticity --
God let’s be
and we decide
if when and what…?
His unseen hand
yet in the flaming attributes….
.
I saw her's at the
distance
I tried the whistle
It flew out like
tweety bird's
caught by sylvester
featherz and
all
hern soon
oke
choked
Hitherto
i whistle not
at fine
hers'
her's
lets lips
mine
not
*i ofttimes spill the nouns (the)hers
:>shemales; i meant, females..(did so ')
(the)shes
therefore I explicate and may the poetic astute
accept mine artistic license :) hers: females... 'period'
shes: the feminine plural ;) oh stop ,)
edvard'z lisp and *sensitive feel> (fem~i~nine)
^:uh wight guy ') her's: possessive
* oke^ hern: belongs to her e.g. her's, in the broader sence; 'twuz her decision I.e; the poet, can say "her breast were in mine maws", yet, wus it her decision that her breast were there(the 'terse' poet would need to explicate, cramming hiz lisp with unnecessary werdz)..but, if the poet (i exspecially)exclaimed; "hern" breast were in mine maws", hiz readerz intuitively would know, that 'she gave' her breast up willingly(her decide). If the poet exclaimed; "hern pussie wuz pink"
^('she' lets poet see it's
pink
etc.)
i pray there be shes reserving sum hern for mine
indulge....words...that's what i well i tried to meant ')
“We look at spirit not at form
Our touch is gentle, kind and warm
We but reflect God’s love and light
‘Tis the path to which we conform” ~ Unseeking Seeker
I read the violet sparks
of untouchable lightning,
allowing the butterfly breeze
to wrap me in wet bliss,
tracing the afterglow
of compassionate consciousness,
where kindness has no motive,
where empathy holds the quill
to narrate and nurture
nature with nameless frequency,
like a tercet without a title ~
a sunset without an end,
woven with wild petals of wisdom,
for what is love without light,
what is wisdom without composure,
what is humanity without
healing hymns of the soul?
In silence, I feel your pulse,
the palpitation of profound passion,
the vibration of untamable truth,
and I remain ~ immersed in awe,
adrift in the amplitude
of absolute awareness,
of what breathes between
rising fire and water,
like an estuary that escapes
the evilness of angst
by holding the ripples of rivers
and streaming sapphires
of salt-kissed serenity…
But must I name the throb
that aches with the weight of peace?
There is no form, no label,
no letter, no ink,
no colour, no cadence
to spell what spills
from the spirit of starlight ~
when love resides on the chalice
of the third eye,
intuitively engrossed
in the essence of clarity,
unclothing the chakras
to reveal the pining purity
of faith beyond form,
as the Almighty synchronizes
the inner motif of mindfulness,
merging the mystery
of surrendered sacredness,
where ego has no home,
and manipulative monsoons
cannot erase the awakened
flame of blazing dawn…
O beloved soul searcher
seeking timeless tranquility
in sunflower stillness,
listen to the unspoken ~
you and I, we know
the scented skin
of roses and revelation,
the kingdom of unseen reality,
guarded with illuminated epiphanies,
and in muteness we muse,
transforming to an ethereal realm
where heaven is closer
than the air that touches
the holy shivers of electric scriptures,
written from the lotus aura
of an ageless utopia ~
forgive my need
for cosmic confinement,
‘Tis the path to which we conform...
Hidden though unsought
Ran from myself
Still got caught.
Mind, Body, Soul wrought.
Vengeance no longer mine
And yet I insist to ungently reside
Within the "desperate to love or to be" walls of my own heart.
Most continue to disrespect my house
Yes, I live in my heart
I refuse stubbornly to give in or give up
Forcing my belligerent mouth to remain shut.
Gritting my teeth praying to abstain running away.
The displeasing words that knock on the back of the smile; forced
With an impatient desire to allow angry words to spill out, onto the floor, into their eyes until they can't see out.
I will still love them all-despite my incessant desire for it to cease
If only "just barely" were enough.
It feels like that's all they're willing to gift me.
Tolerated!?
I've given what I felt I was given to hold, multiplied by more.
Alone is so cold even with 10 winter coats on.
Fortuna Audaces Iuvat
Trying to remain strong-strong.
My whirling mind assaults the clock that won't stop
Possibly because I feel as I'm perceived. Intuitively.
Not just due to self-definition
Expected only to lie, a true story's falsity
Never believed causing my heart's soul to exude profusely.
It's how it's always been-their denial tastes like reprieve
They just tolerate me, my song on repeat?
"Why can't I feel like I belong?"
I want their truest heart minus their pity.
A Mother is gone
An Angel is born
As the wind blows
Intuitively you'll know
Her spirit will glide
Right by your side
Her voice so gentle
Pure and sentimental
Comfort she'll bring
Wrapped in her wings
The Debate
as i sit upon my porch
the red orange sun dying like a torch
the strangest conversation i overheard
a spider and a mantis speaking words
says spider to mantis
“how do you sit about all day,
without a place to stay?
is that really how you prey?”
says mantis to spider
“why do you hang about that way,
just to be busy all day?
is that really how you play?”
arachnid responds
“i am resourceful i'll use any corner for my lair,
when it’s complete i hide and wait there.
infinity in my web i balance
i feel it vibrate and then i pounce!
Miss Mantis your life is dull and dreary,
you need a web like me my deary!”
cousin of the roach replies
“i am patient and intuitively calm,
i sit like a leaf without a qualm,
i meditate about the simplest things,
then i strike with sharpened springs!
Miss Spider you're the boring one,
i travel with the wind just for fun!”
the mantis sitting the spider doing
the spider spinning the mantis knowing
winds of eternity flow and ebb
the mantis praying in the spider's web
"The Feral Mind’s Fibonacci Dream"
The true lamp of the heart
knows where and where not to roam
It hides its secrets, yet shares its open songs
like a Fibonacci shell held to the ears
whispering like an ocean Life sailed
gathers us all up and back in again
its heart whispering requests like tithes
our soft fortunes, it captures all souls
that hard and fast, sink and rise,
slowly we crawl, well salted
rhymes slide along wet tongues
lips to cups whisper dreams
drugged like prayers in silent communion
unheard strange language misunderstood
worldly yet their true meaning truly forgotten
each day tides high and drowning knowledge low
treacherous depths are intuitively followed
the Sun always rises; the Moon pulls us back in
by open hearts towards the Always Known —
some keys unlock the unknown way home
back into the ocean the closed are thrown,
they think they are alone
fish for new schools of thought
something of meaning rolls over-and-over
lost in the grasping wanting moments,
submerged we rise again in the wake
until we swim back up again sharp teeth
into Love’s light-strung net, feral minds
treasures sought each thought a jewel
the poetic savored and kept;
words followed like bait
are never alone.
No ocean is without a shore
its undulating song always
calling like a humming siren
to those rippling minds hypnotic
wading further out than the shallows
to turn around and stand
in the sands of time
listing reasons at the watermark
those poetic broken waves
ride us always, back home
to face the grand scheme of things
Candide Diderot. ‘25
"Blue Avians and the Poetic State of Mind
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures.
they had a keen sense
of the poetic.
without speaking,
they intuitively
understand
the misunderstood.
The Blues
shot right through
to the heart
of the matter.
Triangulation.
seated in
lapis lazuli
Merkaba
thrones
they fly
in fierce squadrons
sharp eyes, and minds
surveying the In-Between Place.
extra sensory perception
they lock into targets
reading signals hidden
under the radar
the cloaked
co-ordinates
of the Draconian
the great pretenders,
finding weakness
in the criminals’
fading camouflage.
slippery scales, light weights,
the Draconian
are bird bait;
too shiny,
inherent and inherited
reptilian, lizard minds
unsettling reprobates
in false light armour;
their dangerous enabling
supporting the
underbelly of it all,
their brother,
the venomous
Arachnid army.
The Blue Avians
saw deep inside
the Necromancer’s
deep indigo heart,
the blue heart of true mother.
they were for her
with faith
every time;
for like them, after all,
she also could fly
with the full strength,
the force of will in her mind.
they would fly
by her side. anytime.
they held no fear
of her motives,
her just moment,
her calling mission
for return of her child,
in the fullness of time.
they see
and they feel
the fierce call
of the Necromancer’s
true mind.
post apocalypse
the mother
sought the assistance
of Blue Avians.
when it came to
eggs stolen from a nest
who better than to
seek the assistance
of those ancient
wise creatures,
they possessed a keen sense
of swift justice.
they read
without speaking
truth in
the poetic,
a unifying
undying
poetically alienated
state of mind
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"I am the blue-lidded daughter of Sunset;
I am the naked brilliance of the voluptuous night-sky."
"In the sphere I am everywhere the centre,
as She, the circumference, is nowhere found."
Eye of Horus.
Horus.
Thoth.
Nuit.