Best Manmade Poems
Reveled in ancient times, words escape from the crevices of nature
Through soils that many have tread
The living and the dead
Eat everything and take a great big look
Something is waiting for you—someone is there for you
The history of mankind will not tell you otherwise
The vines of truth and peace surround your being
You are something new and true
And the words are willingly fleeing from my grasp
Life is a spinning top—it spins as long as you keep it going
Manmade trinkets are concepts of lives untold
Objects hold energy that are more powerful than mere words
The feeling behind the whole of it all is all too satisfying
Listen to the breeze
It whispers riddles that lift the spirits of the deep
I can hear it calling
Can you?
Humanity has closed its breadth of hearing
But they can always reopen!
Consume me—let the fires of your passion envelope me
I want to know everything I can before I leave this world behind
I want the living and the dead to be satisfied in luxuries
Luxuries of love, appetite, desire and cool water fire
There is a secret rhythmic chord in every brain
You must accept yourself
You must accept your surroundings
Let them curl all around you—let your heart turn from serpentine to
Clear fluid
Consume the waters
Consume me
Before the worms in the soil soak in what is rightfully yours
The earth will be your companion
Engorge what you may . . . but respect
The Calamity of Nepal Part 2 Concluded
The crisis of Nepal is not only the result
Of manmade deeds and erratic constructions
Of erecting unplanned houses and roads
Creating illegal buildings and dams
And erecting high mountain reservoirs
On ocean like river Brahmaputra. 08
All these and many other
Horrible acts
Of changing or removing the mountain peaks
For roads, rails and for
Making concrete jungles
Without caring that
It is the most sensitive area of Earth
Where two giant Earth plates
Meet regularly almost everyday
Not for making gossips
But for making their kind of Love
Where, they often collide with each other
To determine, who has lost and who has won
These forces create
Havocs like the one we are witnessing in Nepal
They do it to take revenge
For the cruelties
Done by humans with the Nature
And with the mother earth. 09
The Earthquake is also the result
Of hollowing the heart of Himalaya
For making tunnels after tunnels and rails
For mining the hills and
Deforesting the green valleys
Removing forests after forests
For illegal mining and for erecting dams
For these reasons perhaps
The Earthquakes has hit Nepal and India both
But in Nepal it has done the worst
In spite of being affected by this crisis too
India is trying its best to help the people of Nepal
And now there are many other countries
Trying and helping the people of Nepal
Like a true good neighbor and well wisher. 10
All that is needed
In the hour of this terrible crisis
Is that we all should try to help
The people of Nepal
Treating them like our own
Next door neighbors and friends
For which every faith and religion
Always inspires us. 11
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur India 30th April 2015
fog weaves silence into the cool morning,
consorting with cousin clouds
as treetops sway and sigh
a lone spark ignites
flames that spread like bold disease
while smoke-smog smothers
skies that cry acid raindrops
onto graves of bark and ash
highways part the trees...
another cigarette butt
tossed out the window
For Constance's "Three Verses" contest (Kimo/Tanka/Senryu)
Away from life’s whims of bustle and rush
Not even the wind will brittle shells brush
The bird’s eggs rest peacefully on their nest
Work of fibres at their best.
(What in the world can be more beautiful?)
The value of a filament cannot best be told
Otherwise its stick of fire will soon be drowned in the dew.
Our pot is broken:
Our world is split in seven pieces;
Some greater, larger and some left unspoken.
The black clouds that welcome the rains of the month
Is the stench breath of the cannons mouth?
And to think our worst fears are manmade meteors from the sky
Would forever be one pathetic lie.
Ebony and ivory together
Can’t you hear the sounds of piano keys?
Like the singing free spirited birds that will always fly.
Oh mankind! Oh mankind!! Oh mankind!!!
Do you not feel the chill in the uncaring night?
In our minds the tale of the broom
Mummy earth still rewinds
“A stick will only prick dirt through your eyes
But together they can clean the room “
Bone Lady.
Pippa Gray
If you have come for romance, please leave.
Follow the fireflies and they will lead you
back through the woods, to your manmade path.
There is no sweetness or solace here.
I am a thunderstorm, a fierce force of nature.
My heart is a patchwork quilt of tattered skins,
Hand stitched with lengths of bloodied sinew.
I shall decline your perfumes and silken robes.
For I have my bones.
I throw them upon my thighs and listen
as they whisper of your future.
The dark to come,
Creeping in through the corners, from all directions,
To disturb the parts of you, that you refuse to examine.
As for necklaces or gold
I have no time for tin trinkets.
My jewels are mustika pearls,
Dug with my hands from the corpses of snakes and foals, from red fox remains and oak tree roots. As I roll them in my palm,
their spirits share secrets such as you'll never know.
There's no polite conversation in this space.
Tell me of your descent into madness,
Where your mind wandered through worlds
not known in your pleasant awareness.
Where your limbs were torn apart by
winged shadow creatures,
Who devoured your flesh.
Do not ask to stay the night.
For salamanders sleep with me,
Gliding through the embers of the fire,
caressing my skin with their warm licking tongues.
And my journeys to the other worlds
are not to be disturbed by lonely, snoring men.
I am not to be rescued or conquered.
For I am vast, unchained...
Indeed, freer than you could ever hope to be!
You there, shrinking, stinking in your self imposed conformity,
while you weep at night for the lost parts of your soul.
They flew, my friend!
To be with the talking swans in the faery glen,
Where they could live the life that they deserved...
I spoke with them in the lowerworld!
And they do not wish to be returned to you anytime soon!
So leave quickly while you can.
Return to the old sprung bed where you were born,
Before you are forever changed
by the reflection in my eyes.
For once awoken,
You can never sleep soundly again.
The fog frolicked in the hollow
Danced upon the verdant grass
Reached down to kiss sleeping leaves
Before its time to pass
Laughter echoed from the woods afar
Wildlife playing steel guitars
Birds sang a tune to blended keys
Their music a groov'n jar
The sun through the haze tops the pines
Fog has settled entertwined
Stillness prevails quiet disturbed
By manmade motors fine
The radiant beams of morn's sun
Filters through fogs clammy gray
Soon the heat will fill the moist air
The poet's night turns to day
The whole truth
and nothing but the fu(king truth
That laws, and math, only help solve
local temporary problems,
All of which fall way short
on the infinite needs scale
were we rely on estimates, theories,
and other manmade truths
Still here we are,
alone on a goldilocks planet
All 8 billion of us milling around,
living our lives
guaranteed nothing
other than this moment
and whatever came before
To think otherwise
would be presumptuously human
As for choice is there really any
other than try feed ourselves
and sate the instinct to survive and thrive
We are a civilisation built on
disparate societal values and creeds
Each day is an imperceptible handover
from one generation to the next,
with no guarantee they’ll do a better job
But the real problem is not truth,
It’s why!
Why anything at all,
Why life
Why the fu(k am I asking these questions
I’m apostate, No!
I have little faith, No!
I am honest, No!
A nihilist, No
It’s because I have a sentient,
curious, unapologetic mind
that compels me to ask why!
Sometimes I think
i’d be better off a sponge
floating in crystal clear turquoise balmy oceans
Soaking up oblivious unintelligible surroundings
Indifferent to mortality and the universe,
popping off a few buds every once in a while,
or whatever sponges
brainlessly do to further their species
Such basic life is so very tempting
but just doesn’t sit right
Never to experience love
however fleeting,
Never to endure pain
However crushing,
Never to feel like throwing in the towel,
Even if just to mop blood
off the floor like a sponge
See, I’ve had moments
unimaginably beautiful,
Alongside unconscionably awful ones,
Moments so real
they can’t have been synthesised
by any stretch of any imagination
I believe a God or the universe
created me as a vessel of interpretation
to perceive itself
from my unique perspective
Well not unique per se,
more a personalised handicapped view
I am nothing and everything
in the grand scheme of things
No more! No less!
One that uses swear words
language you may not like,
yet clearly understand
The weirdest part is not the feeling
I’ve written this fu(ked up poem
in previous carnations
It’s my swearing
just seems to be getting worse
By
David Kavanagh
Boiling gray clouds upon the horizon
Moisture dripping from lazy oak trees
Fog rising in the valley, rose clouds surprise and
A golden sun peeks through pines with ease
The dove upon the hill sings a sweet refrain
A gentle breeze covers me with damp
His presence and peace reach my spirit again
A few minutes upon the porch to praise and proclaim
Life so unpredictable but here seems same
Never know the hour or second of future change
The sun has reached above the trees aflame
Manmade sounds quieted, the doves coo in range
The solitude and peaceful moments so brief
Relived only deep within my spirit when seeking relief
What story should I tell?
This is the tale of how the lonely acorn fell
far from where the mighty oak had stood
cut by the hands of man, felled for its wood.
The mother-father tree lay across the laid bare land
cut down in the forest no more to stand
and the branches stretched out along the dirt
releasing the acorn from its berth.
This acorn scratched and bruised, browned and torn
slipped into the streamflow of new rivers formed
and floated out to the open sea
she rode the tides salted and found herself - free.
The gulf stream path sped north into the wintry chill
as she cut across the sands where tidal waves were spilled
and a gull eyed her glistening shiny coat
and scooped her up but not down into her throat.
Pass the inlets, along the earthen roads
the gull dropped her beyond the manmade folds
where fertile land had long ago appeared
and squirrel and chipmunk vied for burrows cleared.
Buried deep in fertile soils blessed
this acorn was welcomed as the forest began its undress
with autumn fall and winter tamed,
she was awakened by the sun and rain.
This acorn found a place in the northeast spring
with hairy roots that began to form and sing,
of an acorn that was newly born.
escaping the outer shell coat torn.
She began to grow far from where she fell
and as life took on its hold in sapling meld
the newest oak began to watch history unfold
and knew then she was not the last acorn in the mold.
As time and historic years hurried pass
she knew she was not nor would be the last
with nature's watch and thirst
she was, the very first.
4/24/20
for John Lawless contest
The Last Acorn
plying females with manmade bait ~ is not an animalistic trait
beasts instinctively lie in wait ~ a misogynist will dope its date
By
David Kavanagh
Time
Time, like age, just an ordered number, not ordained
Place marker in human chronicles of sunrise and sunset plains –
Book mark for seasons and blue moon tides
Flags the divisions between light and darkness
In twilight and dawning,
Powerless to stop Orion from appearing – the Southern Cross ascend,
Blocked from sneaking into infinity or the soul
At one with an eternal childhood escaping age,
No breaking in to steal the elliptical vitality of gifts
Or untarnished giftedness
Seen and begotten in full view before the abyss -
Locked out of the continuum of eternal light
Sun, moon and fiery orbs absent source of birthright
Beyond the vortex speed of light;
Soul living in the presence of the perfect circle -
No beginning and no end for grace -
Past the hands of manmade divisions circling on a numeral face
Not hearing rhythmic ticking rhythms – echoes lost in perpetuity –
Where time and seasons, blue moons only watch
Like forgotten keepsakes
Time, like age, just an ordered number, not ordained.
11-15-20
Contest: T Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
We follow the river
Along the Taff Trail ****
Where will it lead me
Somewhere beautiful without fail
We pass Llandaff Cathedral
With Epstein,s statue's within
Cant say that I like it
But thats not a sin
We keep walking for miles
My dog Tilly and me
Soon will be at a castle
Used in films u see
The name of the castle
Is Castell Coch
Whose translation reads
Red Castle of course
It called locally as
The magic castle
Looks so mysterious
As though ready for battle
The rooms arent big at all
Carved small animals adorn the wall
Been sanctioned for weddings
Though numbers must be small
Time to turn back
Homeward bound
Along the manmade track
To the mighty rugby ground
Where voices echo
Hymns are sung
The 6 nations contest*
Has begun.
Come on Wales The reigning grand slam **and triple crown ***champions
*wales, ireland, scotland, england, italy and france, battle it out annually against each other in Rugby Union.
**Grand slam is where you beat all the other teams
***Triple crown is where you have to beat the other 3 uk teams.
**** the river running through Cardiff is the River Taff, that is why we in Wales are called Taffy's
Taff Trail is 50 miles of track between Cardiff and Brecon through countryside and over mountains.
PLEASE GOOGLE. Castell Coch hopefully you will be impressed.
Life seems-like an ever forbidden story {!!!} one day you're happy, the very
next...{?} "You know the story". Why are we still feeling the wraft of an im-
plicable story? "No Guts No Glory."
Times persistently comes with it sordid details of Up's & Downs. Noone will seek
to explain...(why) the reason. But in all due-season....it seem impossible at times
trying to avoid the difficulties and still maintain one's own sanity. Anyone dare
try to explain...or if you could, does it matter whether or not I'm Democratic or Re
publican. Life is only rewarded Happiness when the common causes of living misg-
uides us to believe in the Unjust Principles of Process. The Process of dealing
w/families and friends and still be befriended as if life punishes you for being Reces
sed. And then no regrets for our our own failures, we as everyday americans still
accept the pain and the gain of fausely do's and don'ts, only to be place in a cell for
breaking manmade law's that never accompblished nothing but...an untold story..(?)
"No Gut's & No Glory."
If I had to tell you the story of my life, its hardship and disappointment or in noway an
attempt to try to explain my in's and out's, my doubts of which has lead me at the
crossroad of good and bad, only to choose the way of my own understanding of
the poor-of-me. "No Guts No Glory"
The Ring of Fire sits ready to erupt
Perhaps Mother Nature has had enough
Of pollutants invading reservoirs
And oil-drilled coastlines, sands coated by tar
Sea creatures poisoned by hazardous waste
Trash left on beaches by people in haste
Sea oats destroyed as construction proceeds
Turtle hatchlings wandering toward manmade beams
Whales wash up and expire on ocean shores
Battleships litter the deepest sea floors
With thinning ozone, sea temperatures rise
Igniting rage in Mother Nature’s eyes
Volcanoes, tsunamis are her weapons
Earth’s last days may be man’s time to reckon
*Entry for the "Mother Nature" contest