Best Meaning(A) Poems
All alone you sit there in grip of graveyard, hosting demonic thoughts,
Listening to cries of tombstones, squalling from lovers’ somber epitaphs,
Recounting how you chased prospects, innocent souls you courted,
Celebrating your maleficence building bonfires on the burial grounds,
Where you buried them one by one, watching the dance of demons,
As your stony heart laughed aloud, mocking the dead in total disregard.
You lured them with synthetic smiles, faux glamor of loveless stance,
Never meaning a word uttered, attired in stares of spurious glance,
As you prayed on them, then discarded; in landfills of broken-hearts.
Relationships initiated in springs of life, often parched in summer heat,
As passionless encounters burned in flame of hideous promiscuity;
Got washed away by the feisty storms churning scurrilous intensity,
Propelling hurricanes lovelorn, flooding realms of lovesome prairies,
When aspirations of your lust subordinated inspirations of pure love.
Old and fragile, you ruminate now, in frigid winters of your miserable life,
Speechless, motionless, fearful of your pitiful world swiftly passing by,
Haunting your eyes, as paranormal spirits, the silhouettes of the dead,
Mock your decrepit existence, shouting insanities at your grimacing face.
Remorseful beneath moon and stars, you inscribe your own epitaph:
She was a gloom of stygian clouds, shrouding arc of love on sunlit dawns,
She was a dubious counterfeit act; she was a vile curse on romance,
A cooing dove of morn she was not; a phantom of love she sure was.
What is life?
Euphonies, cacophonies and chromosomal anomalies
intertangled destinies and illusive methodologies
Occurring in obscure dimensionless time
Millenniums fertilized to create the sublime
Perceived by ideations so pure it would seem
To exist beyond mind and to all in between.
Lingering as lore to an all distant past
There is no redo, there is no redraft.
The questions, the answers so rightly proclaimed
are composed and transported by thoughts still unnamed.
In limited struggle, the moments unspent
Become the result of a living lament.
In what and wherefore and why and with whom
we unwrap our existence in this paradoxical womb
Can we find meaning, a clear sign that we see
inclusive to all, this existential decree.
From naught made of all and conceived in a star,
we landed on earth, neither near nor afar
For reasons unknown and telegnosis unclear,
These salient projections are all jockeyed by fear
We stand in the way of unknowing surmise
And find the world is still much a surprise.
A quest overwhelming in distressed sanity
For answers not known play havoc to vanity.
To end these remarks with a questionable phrase
all becomes known in 'one of these days.'
SYNOPSIS
From the moment of birth to when we die, life presents us with dilemmas and questions that amuse, titillate and confuse us. As we get older, we realize that what we thought we knew was all pure conjecture. This poem is meant to reflect the myriad of disjointed thoughts that have run through my mind throughout the years. The "why me?" and "what is my purpose in life?" questions usually are met with ambiguity and incoherence.
Many of us are beleaguered with these conceits and although some find solace in religion, for people like me it becomes an existential never ending struggle.
CAK 8-18-2013
Republicans and Democrats, democracy’s a joke.
Capitalism is the key to how our engine’s stoked.
The rich swap hats and argue that they know what’s best for folk
The corporations buy House and Senate, then they sit back and gloat.
Election laws guarantee the wealthy keep their poke,*
Republicans and Democrats, democracy’s a joke.
We have the vote, they say and so Democracy makes us free
But surely they’ve not bamboozled the likes of you and me.
We know to vote is useless since money’s the only key
Justice takes a back seat to political debaucheries.
Like we believe they're different what do they think we smoke?
Republicans and Democrats, democracy’s a joke.
* Poke - a pouch or bag used by a cowboy
to carry his "possibles" (small personal items).
(Derived from the French word poche, meaning a pocket or bag.)
Also used as cowboy slang for sex.
In the stillness of the night
Not a whisper anywhere
There came down a feather
So much lighter than air
In the stardust of darkness
The light from the moon
My hand reaches out
It’s never too soon
The contact is made there
A feather and skin
The weight is so nothing
It’s almost like sin
What meaning a feather
In the dark of the night
It floated towards me
No bird in my sight
My hand just relaxes
I gaze there within
A tiny white feather
Made soft and so thin
I close up my palm now
And feel the life there
The feather from darkness
A place with no care
And all right around me
The peace of the night
The magic of being
In this time of life
Take what I have here
Ill share it with you
The magic of friendship
The feather of truth.
As if there is no one like I to match
Why is that?
I ask all the time where is that other hat?
The head to my ball and catch to my cap
A mind to protect head rounded grounded
When would a cross of paths guide the blind?
The blind sight that hides confined
Through the eyes that find the beauty in line with heart
Why is this? I ask all the time wondering if it will ever be
A mind like mine to have and converse all the time
Not just my own when I am alone struggling to write
Thinking yes thinking that monster thought creeping
Tender loving care is what I have always been seeking
The meaning a meaning to be called a purposeful life
Traveling my endless futures conceptual mind
A mind like no other I find is hard to compare
Share with me that time in mind yes share with me I say
Where ever they are I do ask each and everyday
That question no answer to myself as to why
A one why to my life arriving back to begin
The beginning to one a two three and four
When my minds value over heart is the fractional score
To denominate my numeral path inset with a dream
Meeting someone with a mindset like me
Flattered... my name meaning a Princess of ancient times,
In the state of Malawa, where temple-bells rang chimes,
Bard, Kalidasa, composed in Sanskrit an epic great
About a Princess and her story of disguise and fate.
Agnimitra, handsome Prince, enamoured by her beauty,
But he was not aware of her true identity!
Thrilled to imagine myself heroine of such a story,
romance, and intrigue - part of a history and glory!
To some, my name symbolises a purple flower,
Which never fails to charm viewers’ hearts, in its bower.
To some others, it represents a graceful supple plant,
My mother thought I was a blessing which her God did grant!
My father exclaimed - she is the “garland” for me,
My daughter, my ultimate joy, a sublime beauty!
Many years they waited eagerly to embrace a girl,
My parents thought - they were gifted a gem purer than pearl.
Her
love
so true
it brings a smile
makes the heart sings
softly
kisses
her charming
kisses
softly
makes the heart sings
it brings a smile
so true
love
Her
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
Author's Comment: Palindrome, also known as the Mirrored Poem, reads forwards and
backwards. It stems from the Greek word palindromos: palin, meaning again, and dromos,
meaning a running. Combining the two together, the Greek meaning gives us, running back
again. The concept of the “mirrored images” reflects an “image mirrored,” which includes a
word in the center of the poem as a reversal point for the sentence or even the poem.
There is no set number of stanzas or any rules for construction.
~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~
Rising sun so soft,tender
like your forehead's red bindi
splashes colour in my mind
another new dawn.
=========000==========
Contest name--Red Sun
Date--- 24th June 2013
Bindi--A bindi ( Sanskrit bindu, meaning "a drop, small particle, dot"), or a pottu/bottu (in Tamil, Telugu, and Malayalam) is a forehead decoration worn in South Asia (particularly India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka and Mauritius) [1] and Southeast Asia. Traditionally it is a bright dot of red color applied in the center of the forehead close to the eyebrows, but it can also consist of a sign or piece of jewelry worn at this location.
Part Two
SEVEN STARK WORDS
Seven alliterative blockbuster words struck so
they rhymed initially in juxta-positioning lineal parallels
pausing but in the fourth
to resume breath in the fifth
Leaving the interstitial morphemes in resonating ellipses
The economy of your parsing has wreaked havoc down the ages
in all trans-explicatory tongues
Tough-minded men come from afar
with other gods to serve
and sacrifices to make in the name of their Lords
bent your versification to limp rhyme
and left meaning a hung pursuit
in the hands of plagiarists professors preachers
who
not knowing nor divining the reason for your craftsman’s
concatenation of weighted phonemes
advanced theories for your elastic pregnant mind
strung myriads of pages in exegeses
each staking a claim to posterity
the villainous hanging on your lips
In a time devoid of papered learning for the poor
When to be born a Sudra or Pariah was a sin
When masters were those top-heavy manically-mantric Brahmin priests
Preying on the duped loyal sycophantic Vaishyas
wishing to earn karmic merit with their agricultural gain at their altar feet
such servant-financers as they by legions now lay their souls down
as even the long-gone royally leisure-dispensing Kshaktriyas
how would he who sought the spread of knowledge
not seek to encapsulate learning in mnemonic couplets
arranged according to rigid design
for those who could not count either
Ten fingers in the hand so
Ten the number of facets of a thought
a subject
a theme
even if theme subject thought were stretched too thin
(The scene from Movie Ulzhan, Drama/German screened at 2007 Festival de Cannes)
( English Style)
I met, Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words
He travelled a lot and the words he sold.
I met, Shakuni, in a foreign land.
Sold words like “Moksha” an Indian word
Meaning a peaceful death without bad deeds
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words.
I met Shakuni,in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words
In words“O.K., Ciao,” not interested
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land.
He liked “saudade”, the Portuguese word
Meaning melancholy, longing andlove
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words.
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words
Sold “Dharma” duty and law combined
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
Sold“Tarof” an Iranian word,
Meaning to refuse something of wishes
I met Shakuni, in a foreign land
He was a seller of precious words
==================================
Honorable Mention
Contest : The Troilet Movie scene of Andrea Dietrich
*Shakuni is a character in the Movie Ulzhan. Une Coproduction Franco-Germano-Kazakh.
*Shakuni is a villainous character in the Hindu Epic Mahabharata. Shakuni, a Sanskrit
word means a cheat, very skilled in playing dice.
Can a man – all alone - foist a god upon his fellows
Even if it’s only himself
And they his subjects
G.. is Akbar!
Does the muezzin from the minaret of Qoutoub-Minar
look up or
down to the illiterate savant emperor
whose newly-ordered cosmos
much as Tamerlane and Genghis Khan's blood
mixed gods
invented the Gysin-Burroughs cut-up and fold-in method
a cornucopian chimera
shi'ite-sunnite-kharidjites
hindu/buddhist-jain
confucian-taoist/zoroastrian
orthodox-christian/judaic
saivite-vaisnavite
mahayanist-theravadite
shintoist-zen-chan
agnostic-atheist
A…. is Great!
In the begining there was no VERB for him
In the end
from
"brahmana" Himalayas to the "asurya" Deccan
from
Ghazna and Kabul to the spent chugged mouth of the Ganges
where bloomed the Allah-Upanishad
One common language
One uncommon religion
One classless society
One mutually nourishing art
One scientific quest
and the sweet music of friendly disputation
within then the world’s vastest book and art collection
though knowingly
took to wife an Hindu princess
chose his prime counsellor from among the Brahmin élite
where within hearing distance lithesome nymphs bathed in scented milk
his victoriously wearied warrior limbs back from punitive expeditions
through Panipat Delhi Agra Punjab Gwalior Ajmer
Gujarat Bengal Sind Orissa Baluchistan Ahmadnagar Kashmir
Khandesh
to circumscribe the sub-continent
a Ceasar at the court of Fatehpur-Sikri
Akbar is ___!
Who would parse and complete or conclude the syllogism
For « One » who dared abolish the jiziyah
Note: Jalal ud-Din Muhammad Akbar (1542-1605), the third Mughal Emperor, edicted that muezzins should herald the rising of the sun by the call: Allah-u-Akbar!
The « jiziyah » , a word of Arabic origin, meaning a tax levied on non-Muslims who wished to conserve their own property, and imposed by the Moghul sovereigns – on and off - in India, was abolished by Akbar in his seventh year of accession to the throne.
©: T. Wignesan, March 13, 1992 (from the sequence/collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent")
~~
I was born innocent and my consciousness began,
And from the beginning like everyone I have struggled;
Those baby cries were my first protests about my life,
And as a child I thought I was eternal.
So many times during my journey I have risked life,
I have taken it for granted without any respect;
And from my first awaking into this world I have searched,
And searched for the meaning of my existence.
Now, I stand back an observer and analyze my choices,
All the paths taken, the twists and turns, the huge hills;
The people who filled me with love and even those now gone,
And I realize that life is the opposite of death.
So my life needs to have meaning, a function, a reason,
I want a journey with soul and depth and spiritual hues;
I will never have all the answers to the whys but that is fine,
This life is a gift to be used well and to not be wasted.
"so I take my life into my own hands"
__________________________
February 11, 2015
Poetry/Narrative/"from birth to death"
Copyright Protected, ID 02-639-991-11
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, What Life Means To You,
sponsor Jerry T. Curtis, Judged 03/2015
First Place
What's In A Name
(Heritage, Proudly Honored)
From ancient lineage comes my last name
Brave warriors that drank strong ale, spilled blood.
Some were letters men, spoke in Irish brogue
foot loose fancy free, set for any game!
Patrons of olden villages and their pubs
They daily, drank to sing and sang to drink.
A few were artists, painters and that lot
sworn to clan, beloved clan was their club!
Masters of vast lands, in valley of trees
Shepherds of flocks defended only by staffs.
Others arms makers, broad-swords forged true
More recent times, sailors of seven seas!
Yet I dare to honor father's proud name
With pen marks and compassion's flaming glow.
Family dear, loved beyond my own life
As I breathe, teach my son to do the same!
With humility, pray these words hold true
Each day, I shall bless those I most cherish.
At night, guard lives even should it cost mine
With honor, pay great homage that is due!
January 9th, 2017
Syllable count checked : www.howmanysyllables.com
For Contest :
What's in a name? - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by SilentOne
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
1. BROGUE
The term brogue (/bro?g/ BROWG) generally refers to an Irish accent. Less commonly, it may also refer to certain other regional forms of English, in particular those of Scotland or the English West Country.[1][2]
The word was first recorded in 1689.[3] Multiple etymologies have been proposed: it may derive from the Irish bróg ("rough or stout shoe"), the type of shoe traditionally worn by the people of Ireland and the Scottish Highlands, and hence possibly originally meant "the speech of those who call a shoe a 'brogue'".[4] It is also possible that the term comes from the Irish word barróg, meaning "a hold (on the tongue)", thus "accent" or "speech impediment".[5] A famous false etymology states that the word stems from the supposed perception that the Irish spoke English so peculiarly that it was as if they did so "with a shoe in their mouths".[6]
I would like naught but the chance to glimpse a glimmering shadow upon a sun streaked field,
To find a place of darkening grace, that brings me to lucidity.
To hold and behold the essence of a thing that only kings had been able to wield.
To go beyond thought and embrace a thing that only Forever could comprehend,
To see within a light’s past and know that darkness had come before.
Skin of jade, and an angels smile,
the touch of passion that you enfold,
You move like wind, and dance like fire,
upon this landscape “my heart” you hold
Your thoughts are keeping, my deep secrets meaning,
to put forth the light that you have shown.
And in the eyes of umber gleaming,
I see deep within its meaning, a solace no fable has told,
so bring forth this, a hearing sacred, voice of resonance no string can fold.
And within this thought of heavens shadow, this ebony thing to me is gold
I have dreamt of you, in the darkest of night, and in the shadows I hear the calling
Darkness glimmers, a breath that shimmers to ring sound true a heart that’s falling
Overflow of the waters of Lake Itaska
You carry your wealth to the waiting world,
Mighty Mississippi, half savior, half sewer,
Plant and animal wastes, dissolved minerals,
Venting prairie deluge, dividing a Nation,
Exposed aquifer of Great Plains, home of Buffalo ghosts,
And their equally threatened ancestor, the prairie dog.
Standing at your mouth I can wade your depths,
Even jump your width in places,
Though it is more difficult than the boy imagined,
And the winter's overgrowth problematic.
Your lightning like flash across the land (1)
Has haunted my dreams the whole of my life
And pulled at my soul like the moan of distant trains.
Now I am here at last, my dream becoming liquid,
Wooden oars, tent, canoe and provisions waiting,
Dr. Peppers stored in a sturdy ice chest.
I am more than ready to see the world through your eyes,
And to meet the sea as well in your company (if fate allows.)
My wife a novice and myself not much more,
We launch ourselves, glissando (2) toward New Orlean.
Brian Johnston
Sept. 19, 2014
Poet's Notes:
Everything in this poem is true as I can best remember. I was 28 at the time and my wife Kathy was 24 so it has been a few years ago that we did this. The eight chapters so far are not the end of this poem. I have at least 3 more chapters planned, one on portaging around dams, one on going through locks (beginning in Minneapolis-St. Paul) , one on leaving the river after traveling over 1,000 miles in 7.5 weeks, and then a final clean up including lessons learned and post trip consequences.
(1) 'lightning like flash' - I was imagining here how much the path taken by the Mississippi across the land actually resembles a lightning bolt's flash across the sky to earth.
(2) glissando - A musical word meaning a gradual sliding (transition) in tone from one note to the next note on the musical scale.