Best Mixed Poems
Mixed Messages
One last ticket.
One last seat on the train.
Running fast,
to make it, before there is
no chance to escape,
the fate of the ages.
Stone statues,
frozen in time...
put up, taken down,
pulled apart and destroyed.
Toys to the elites,
making sweeping decisions...
that effect us all.
Shooting rays at the sun,
that warms our world.
There... there is life bleeding out,
in torrents of colors,
red, gold, blue, and even green.
Soon there will be
no living thing...
left.
The rich man buys up acres,
and lets the land go fallow.
The homeless starve in their tents
downtown.
Food lines, and riots by pirates,
a caravan of the starving
mongrels, zombies,
and the lost.
The journey coming to an end,
the roller skates stopped on the concrete...
signs that say go home,
but there is nowhere to go.
Relaxed, lying in a hot bath
Inhaling lavender fragrance,
Watching flickering candles
And shadows dancing on the walls,
Listening to the soothing music
Of Mozart’s piano sonatas,
She gently strokes her silky skin
While feeling her unborn genius
Making music of his own.
---------------------------------------
Music ~14th September 2015
Author: Paul Callus
Contest : Mixed Senses
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Placed 5th
For us to
Grasp the Love
There are promises of . . .
Of us
The promises
Are there for
Love to grasp . . .
Grasp to us
For the promises of
Love are there . . .
There are promises
of us for
Love to grasp the . . .
The promises of Love
Are there for us to
grasp.
As a kid they said technology
would lead us to a better life,
and in many ways they are correct,
tech does many things right.
I suppose I was just naïve
to thing there would be no downside,
now I love/hate the internet,
there are a thousand reasons why…
I love that endless information
is just a single click away /
I hate that there is so much
that it overwhelms the brain.
I love that I can buy anything,
have it delivered rather quick /
I hate endless adds in e-mail,
trying to sell me something slick.
I love that every genre is there,
in every medium, and every type /
I hate that half of it hides viruses
that will steal away your life.
I love that video posting sites
bring old music to the crowds /
I hate the video ‘commentators,’
so inane, rambling, and loud.
I love that every point of view
has a place to makes its pitch /
I hate government and tech giants
always trying to censor it.
I love that every single interest
has a place to blow of stress /
I hate people acting like morons,
and then claiming they’re ‘oppressed.’
I love that you can meet others
who may share your predilections /
I hate that being ‘connected’
soon becomes a damn addiction.
I love that you can reach the world
from the comforts of your home /
I hate that this very same world
then never leaves you alone.
I love that a person can work
from anywhere on any day /
I hate that distance no longer
makes reality go away.
Of course it’s not like it is
ever gonna go anywhere,
we’re forever stuck in between
thankfulness and despair.
I guess the net will ever be
a both sweet and bitter pill,
I love/hate the internet,
and I guess I always will.
It’s a mixed up day
Nature wants to play
White snow with brown leaves
Blowing in the sunny breeze
Pinecones flattened on the road
In the arctic air, so cold
A white curtain at the mountain veils
Snow squalls fill the sky in trails
It’s a mixed up beautiful day
Nature wants to play
I watch in wonder
If next, will be thunder
For now it is a winter’s blast
Coming in real fast
Leaving fall quickly in the past
While the sun still lasts
Heidi Sands
11/10/17
2: If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished? Rumi
In realms of illusion,
pain is a sharp reminder of reality.
I've been polishing since the day I was born,
reluctant to resemble the 'Tin man,'
as there is no one to guide me
away from a path of affliction,
but I know in each test, there is a lesson.
Burdens of life,
place pressure upon my heart.
Sometimes, I'm afraid it may burst,
yet, I suppress the sorrows,
worried that people may see me as weak.
Is there a metaphor for the crimson tears,
which flow through my blood vessels?
Each palpitation is reminiscent of suffering,
so it feels like a rock is banging against my chest,
but I keep rubbing it rapidly,
hoping it will reflect like a ruby.
In my anthology of adversity,
I've become tired from the pollution I breathe,
afraid toxic tumours, which once consumed my existence,
may return to contaminate the oxygen I desire.
Yet, I keep searching and fighting,
before they place me in a wooden box.
Listening to the messages tribulations bring,
hoping my eagle spirit overcomes each storm.
From the strength of healing,
soothed from the moral of each trial,
I'm content, knowing, I am stronger.
I know one day in my final defeat,
I will lay down my sword and shield.
Unable to soar, forever silent -
I keep faith that God will call me home.
Written: March 2nd, 2024 3
Rumi's quote: Let the beauty of what you love, be what you do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Allow love to spur you in whatever you do,
Life's a canvas, awaiting artwork to ensue.
Ignite your passions and spark in the night,
Allow your soul to be your mentor, at full might.
Allow nature splendor to serve as inspiration,
Exploring the cosmos with fascination.
Allow hues of sunset and budding flora to flow,
Assist you to paint art that makes souls glow.
Allow pristine music to lead your way,
whilst you empower melodies to play.
devote the beat to invigorate your soul,
Let music convey the soothing console.
Allow diction to flow fluidly from your pen,
You have skills to lustering tales echo again.
Allow your mind to flow freely, akin to a river,
Express out explicitly with words that shiver.
Allow euphoria of smiling at the scenery music,
As you put delight in each minor task you pick.
Maintain that your amusement is pervasive,
Send smiles to everyone's faces; be persuasive.
Allow mellifluous kinship to serve as an anchor,
facing various hurdles and rewards, or rancor.
May your ties be sturdy and your bonds deep,
Genuine friendship is a commodity to reap.
The way his perfectly messy hair
falls upon the back of his head
with his breathtaking smile
that knocks me dead.
He could captivate a crowd
with just his dimples and laugh,
but you couldn't understand
from just a photograph.
He texts me once,
he calls me twice,
always checking up on me,
and always ready with advice.
He acts like he cares,
he asks about my day.
Little did I know
he would eventually send me away.
We'll talk one day,
and we won't the next.
And after two months without talking,
I'll wake up to a text.
"How are you?" he'll say
as if we'd talked the day before.
The inconsistence is painful.
I can't take it anymore.
Mixed signals are tough,
How am I supposed to know
whether you like me or not?
Just tell me so I can go.
I feel like I'm trapped.
But when I try to move on,
he doesn't leave me alone,
it seems like he'll never be gone.
He tells me I'm his "Dream Girl"
but won't show me to his friends
He tells me he wants me
but says I'm a "nine" not a "ten".
It's been four months now,
without a single call or text,
and I guess he has a new girlfriend,
but who knows what will happen next.
Thrown together
by circumstances
outside our realm
of control-
as in a bowl
our varied shells
create a still-life
a study in contrasts
of creative coverings
devised so well
Some like smooth pebbles
all polished and shiny
or rough and scarred
all coarse and craggy
Some barely masked like
peanuts, thin and papery
others heavily armored
walled off, impenetrable
Light and dark
bitter and sweet
mere tender morsels
in our shells
vulnerability itself
delicately raw
ever so fragile
and flimsy-frail
Need for these shells
protective coverings
begs the question-
Who hurt you?
which echoes back
over and over
to you
and you
and you
and you-
Who hurt you?
Was it your mother
father, brother?
Sister, cousin, uncle
aunt?
Can't we figure out who
hurt who?
Can't we stop this
question chant?
Who hurt you?
Who hurt you?
Who hurt who?
Some would like to
crack the shells
open every one
up wide-
But, for me
I'd have to take
quite a different side
For shells are Nature's
loving way
of protecting
what is good
so shells are not
the enemy
they're doing
what they should!
3- “Let the beauty of what you love, be what you do. “ - Rumi
When the moon unfurls her magical wings,
and stars come out; sparkling silver
I listen to soothing songs within my nocturnal heart,
for unspoken thoughts, I let them rule.
I’m a believer, splashing colors of faith,
a poet, weaver of love and hope~
mental health advocate with an untamable quill,
painting hurting spheres with empathetic ink,
to cover their pain with honey warm verses.
I savor flavors of tender delicacies,
the world may frown upon this spiritual indulgence,
while ignorant to smudged skin of wounded silhouettes.
I let my voice be the tranquilizer for imperfect perfection,
although truth has no place in a society that lacks perception.
I’ll allow these phrases to speak to the blind,
preach kindness till we attain nirvana,
I have a poem in my soul, that shall only reach pages~
fluent in compassion, pain and trauma.
Elton John, Billy Joel
Simon and Garfunkel
Dan Fogelburg, Jim Croce
Streisand, the Hollies
John Denver, Phil Collins
Don McClean
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
These artists created a
brand of music that - no way
has ever been eclipsed
Its mix in me will always stay
Quote: "Let the beauty of what you love, be what you do. "--Rumi
Upon life's stage, where passions brightly gleam,
A sonnet weaves, a tapestry of dreams.
"Follow your passion," whispers truth unseen,
For in joy's embrace, fulfillment streams.
In authenticity, find beauty's grace,
Rumi's wisdom guides, let your true self trace.
Express the soul in every vibrant hue,
A canvas painted with a self that's true.
Integrate life and work, let them entwine,
No separate realms, but a dance divine.
Let passion lead, a harmonious song,
Where daily toils with dreams belong.
Creativity, a river flowing wide,
In art, in words, in melodies that bide.
A soul's fulfillment, a journey grand,
A life of self-discovery, unplanned.
Enthusiasm's spark, a beacon bright,
In passions' wake, spreads warmth and light.
A ripple in the pond of others' fate,
Positive impact, love does create.
Let us heed these whispers, soft and wise,
Follow our passions, where our spirit flies.
In doing what we love, we find the key,
To unlock the door to life's symphony.
Poetry is a drug, mixed in the alchemy of the night,
An elixir of never-ending dreams, the bitter drink of wandering souls,
Poured into the empty goblets of thirsty minds,
And it flows, softly, through the veins carrying the sap of unspoken desires,
A sweet poison that opens gates to hidden worlds.
With every swallowed word, I lose myself in the endless labyrinth,
Where words are torches burning in the hand of time,
Illuminating dark paths where my steps hesitate,
And discovering in the depths, forgotten treasures of love and yearning,
The remnants of battles between dream and reality, between sky and cloud.
In smokey dreams, I let myself be carried by the turbulent rhymes,
That float on murky waters, ink butterflies in their evening flight,
They carry me toward horizons where stars write poems on the celestial vault,
And the moon, the great poetess, pours her silver over seas of unclear thoughts,
Embracing lost souls in eternal poetry, where everything begins and ends.
But, oh, how bitter is the withdrawal when the ink dries up,
And the letters melt into the night, leaving behind only the shadows of silence,
In those moments, my soul breaks, searching for a way back
To that endless ocean of words, where poetry is the drug that keeps me alive,
And in each verse, I find salvation, a lighthouse in the night, guiding me to dawn's light.
Thus, I let myself be caught again in her enchantment, this sacred dependency,
Poetry - my panacea and my curse, the magic that weaves me into a web of dreams,
Where every word is a falling star, and every verse, a new world,
A refuge from reality, where I can fly, fall, be reborn,
In an infinite journey, where poetry is the drug that fuels my soul.
~ Each Day ~
(Mixed Aquarian)
Let's pray
Each day
His Blessings send
Lord help hearts mend
Eager to know Him more
Each day more than before
With Hope
Can cope.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
February.19.2019
It happened at the wrong time
But what happened was beautiful
I denied it for a long while
Never wanted to fall victim to it
But when I realized what it was
I never wanted to let go of it
It made me feel whole again
It made me want to do more
It made me believe I could do anything
If only there was more time
I could have become accustomed to it
I could have known how to deal with it
I surely hope I have not lost this
I do not want to be without it
I don’t know what I would do without it
I hope I can deal without it
I want to feel this way forever
I want to hold on to every memory
Just to be able to go back in time
And relive every precious moment
Give myself hope that it will be there
That the future holds more of this
And I will become stronger by this.