Best Not Personal Poems
When I was young, I wanted to run away to the circus. Then one day I realized the circus was life! Are we not the clown, the strongman, the freak, the daredevil? Is there not personal sorrow and the desperate search for pleasure? The flying trapeze man and woman are in love, and every performance, they risk the breaking of their heart. When one almost falls to their death, the audience cries out, and then claps even louder! The freak show is hidden in the back, though its location is well known to local politicians. Then to play the games on the midway, with its crooked carnies, rigged set ups, and worldly women. The city is 'the big top', its chaotic gyrations and jaded excitements, all part of the show. The grandstands are filled with 'television head' people, buzzing with excitement. See the eye of the tiger, hear the trumpet of that greatest of beasts, cowl at the jungle kings exclamation! Later that night, a young boy lying in bed, wonders if it was just a dream. Then, far off in the distance, a whispering growl was heard!
Marybeth, my little sister, the baby of the family.
A wild blonde, just like her mom,
She had to have her candy!
From weed to perks, triple two-ees and ludes
Marybeth and Judy were always stewed.
That was in high school, and a few years before
They both settled down like the girl next door.
A husband and children just like Karen and Kate
But mom never met them
She had them too late.
Spent time with her dad, she loved him to death,
He hated her husband, She was his Marybeth!
She shared all her secrets and turned him against
The man that she married - it didn't make sense.
Mare landed a job with the Kromberger clan
They loved her like family; maybe more than...
Her life was too short, her children too young
To lose their dear mother, God, what have You done?
She paid all her dues with the pain she endured
For the past seven years with no hope for a cure.
Being blind was another effect of the coma
And a few years went by before carcinoma
Eating food from a cup was humbling for sure,
But Mare always kept some humor in store
Her wish when she left us, was for us not to cry
Remember the good times, and stop asking why.
Her time was her time and we'll all have our day
For leaving this life, for slipping away
Our guardian angels are right by our sides
They take our hand gently along with our Guides
And cross us to where we no longer need
The pain and the suffering to which we agreed.
There's always a reason, for the things of today
We can't see the big picture, Faith asks us to pray.
One fact is for sure, we all have a Life Purpose
It's always much deeper than what's seen on the surface
Marybeth's purpose included us all
I'm grateful for that, but what the heck was it for?
Someday I'll look back, probably next New Years Eve.
A year will have passed, I'll still not have grieved.
The hard part for me is the 'wanting' to leave.
Tired of living? I just can't conceive.
Watch what you 'give,' you will surely receive
Exactly the same as your intention conceived.
It may have been wrapped in beautiful gold
Expecting more thanks than the newspaper-rolled.
Giving without expectations in mind
Is the secret of leaving this world behind.
Then we get to stay and see what makes us tick
We don't judge, we don't talk, just observe
Don't get sick.
It's not personal. Whew....
Love you Mare, See you there.
I throw down poems onto a page, and look at them fondly.
Some glare at me, others take a swift bite out of my neck.
Trying for attention.
I know it is not personal, so I let it slide.
Enthusiastic poetry always starts out with the words
“dancing and prancing” which is tedious now, but Trixie is stuck there.
Do I retire her? Fire her? Inspire her? Aspire to guide her gently?
It is a quandary.
Rhymes I love, but they take a bit more work, for I
am compulsive enough to want each line to have exactly
the same amount of syllables. Often an impossible feat.
And yet, here I am, throwing tally marks all over my paper.
Someone asked me how I come up with ideas.
They land in my lap, on my shoulders, they hit me in the petootsie.
When I least expect it some of my most unlikeable co-workers
will run in to confide something, and voila. An idea is born.
I have an affinity toward making fun of co-workers
silently, stealthily, behind their backs.
Or in front of their faces.
It matters not a whit.
They never see
themselves.
It's not personal, it's business,
says the guy overcharging you.
Knowing you'll begrudgingly pay:
they keep squeezing until you're broke.
You cringe inside each time you hear:
it's not personal, it's business.
And yet, partial payments increase
the amount owed on their ledger.
With no job, you live off food banks
and grift on the street for your rent.
It's not personal, it's business;
doesn't help when your hydro gets cut.
Society's a heartless beast;
that chews up souls and spits them out.
And as life beats you down, you hear
it's not personal, it's business.
A MAN RECENTLY SAID THAT THE FUNDAMENTAL TRUTH IS THAT OUT OF MANY, WE ARE ONE. HOWEVER, PEOPLE DEEDS TODAY, TRANSFORM THAT FUNDAMENTAL TRUTH INTO A LIVING MYTH! THERE WERE MANY HISTORICAL LEADERS WHO FORGE THIS DOCUMENT THAT WAS SUPPOSE TO HAVE BEEN THE CORNER STONE OF AMERICA. ALL MEN ARECREATED EQUAL. YET I PONDER! IS YOUR AMERICA A COUNTRY, OR IS YOURAMERICA A BUSINESS?
ITS EVIDENT THAT A WRITER CAN MOVE THE HEARTS AND MINDS OF ITS READERS TO SUCH A DEGREE, THAT THE RECIPIENT OF THE WRITERS WORD WILL BLIND ANY BEING TO UNDERSTANDING, WISDOM, KNOWLEDGE, AND THE QUEST FOR TRUTH. THOMAS JEFFERSONWAS TIRE OF PAYING TAXES TO BRITISH, THAT HE WROTE WORDS THAT INVOKE MEN TO BELIEVE AND DIE FOR THOSE WORDS AS HE SAT COMFORTABLY ON HIS LEATHER COMFORTER AND DRANK WINE TO SUCH A DEGREE HE BECAME A WINE BABBLER.
HE NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HE WROTE, BECAUSE HE, HIMSELF CONDONE, TOALLOW HIS OWN CHILDREN TO LIVE IN SLAVERY. OF COURSE YOUR HISTORY BOOKS WILL SHEDDED LITTLE ON THAT MATTER. ITS NOT GOOD FOR BUSINESS TO SHARE SUCH TRUTH! HE FATHER SEVERAL CHILDREN AS HE SECRETLY IMPREGNATED SLAVE GIRLS UNDER HIS MASTERSHIP.
IS YOUR AMERICA A COUNTRY OR IS YOUR AMERICA A BUSINESS?
FROM THE TOP TO THE BOTTOM, THEY SAY WE LIVE IN NEIGHBORHOODS, COMMUNITIES, TOWNS, AND STATES. IF THAT'S SUCH A TRUTH. THEN WHY DO YOUR DEEDS REVEAL THAT'S ITS EVERYONE FOR THEMSELVES? IF YOU TOUCH MINES I'LL HARM YOU, IS THAT THE TRUTH? WHY IS THERE ON 20 COUNTRYS THAT'S ALLOWED TO CONTROL THE GLOBAL ECONOMY? WHY ARE AMERICAN BUSINESSES SECRETLY SELLING LARGE DEGREES OF LAND TO THOSE ENTITIES WHO HAVE THE GREATEST DEGREE OF CASH-FLOW? I ASK YOU FINALLY! IS YOUR AMERICA A COUNTRY? OR IS YOUR AMERICA A BUSINESS? OR DO I CLOSE MY EYES AND WEEP, BECAUSE APPARENTLY ITS JUST BUSINESS? ITS NOT PERSONAL!! PART 2
Ram followed “Indian Giver” as poet
By entering a poem in contest
Results declared by sponsor
He was not a winner
Took back his poem from the contest.
Sponsor wrote don’t mind withdrawal
I have used your poem after all.
Thanks for your entry
Help complete registry
Good luck to use it for other call.
*****
Dr.Ram Mehta
This is not personal write. It is purely fictional:
I was inspired reading on the term"Indian Giver"
and have tried to draw essence and humor from it.
There are two popular etymologies for this term for a person who gives a
gift only to later demand its return. The first is that it is based on an unfair
stereotype of Native Americans, that they don't keep their word.
In the other popular explanation, the term doesn't cast aspersions on
Native Americans, instead it echoes the broken promises the whites
made to the Indians. Neither is accurate.
==============================
Seventh place win in
Contest: Indian Giver by P.D.
at times it seems to be their only ticket out of the hood
young black men with athletic talents that are exceptionally good
be it basketball, football, baseball or any other type of sport
it's their natural athletic ability where they don't seem to fall short
but not all of them are gifted enough to have top-notch grades
they use what they got to lie in the bed of life that they've made
to get out of the projects, beyond the violence and the crime
to rise above their circumstances, away from the troubled and hard times
but the pressure is tremendous and there are only a certain numbers of spots
they will attempt to do anything to rise up to the top
many of them are overwhelmed, many get lost and confused
everybody wants a piece of them, they can't seem to win nor lose
awesome responsibility placed upon their untutored minds
many of them will misstep and get left behind
the prestige and money make a most seductive bait
a number of them will bypass college as they can not afford to wait
organized sports, the fast track to fortune and fame
but all it seems to have done is take the fun out of the game
it's not personal, it's business
and the athletes are just tools
to make money for those in powers
but what about education and school?
to turn pro, to get paid, to have the American dream
organized sports, it's no longer about fun nor about the team
In many ways your being sways,
Ask for better days, seeing what surrounds us as the matrix haze,
Fill ya temples layers with divinely shinning sun rays,
Be gone, go away ignorance that can't comprehend what I’m saying,
Boom it hit cha, is there room for futuristic bangs, bringing in scripture?
Visions scripted and travel here from the future,
Are you sure you're ready?
The word, bringing word up story rhyme’s showing us,
Alluring poetry hella dope,
Broke and awoken,
Interstellar knowledge meets you,
Intrigued,
This leads my being,
Instead of weak minded rubbish,
Change your situation if you need to,
Wishing? Me? No way!
I’m like the healthy rain water I drink every day,
With third eye eyesight and vision,
I see the bleeding,
You have heard it before but saw nothing,
Rushing waves of uncontrollable internal chatter,
Splatters your brain, lapses and collapses
Shattering what? I don't know!
But having flow putting on a show of poetry,
Sweet sounds like whistling birds is my thing,
Ringing bells I hear,
Alarms feel like swear words yelling in ya ear,
Aware of awareness can be obtained,
I chose to seek what's contained outside the box,
Lost if you enter untrained,
As I say, poets playing with words bringing new concepts in different ways,
Sustainable status as strong as a bus but can crash,
Stash wise wisdom before ya brain becomes mash,
Words may lash out at you becoming beliefs,
But they are concepts! Not personal!
These are written for me and all,
But fools will always ignore the ballers,
Worst is the acceptance of never coming 1st,
I strive to be the best I can be through scripts heard,
I hit the notes and sounds leave my throat,
Levels of quantum learning continuing to be a challenge,
Lesson learnt, I believe I'm the best because I know I am,
I need to examine my ego and let go?
Nah!!!
I'm heading down a road, Is it my path? I don't know,
But I’m still sowing seeds,
Growing into ancient necessities for growth with rhythm rhyming melody,
Check out my history,
A mystery with mass poetic weaponry,
Repping what I invest in,
I live for this!
Quincy Mac
Date Written: 26.8.2016
On a Good Friday at 3PM
He was called into the office by
Pontius Pilate and told that he would be put to death.
He had waited for the execution and worked the full week after being
warned that he would be fired if his production and sales were not
up to snuff.
He was hired with four other wise men and women to
turn an upstart company around and save it from the greedy bankers.
He had hope in his heart because he left employment with another and thought it
would be fruitful on the other side.
Pontius Pilate had wooed him with big money and promised him the stars.
Just about everyone loved their products and it would be an easy sale like
children pitching low-hanging fruit from a tree.
But after one month Pontius Pilate changed her course and said that the
Honeymoon was over. One among their ranks had told him that he was their hero
and would emulate him and dress like him. But he knew that this female Judas
would betray him when he dreamed that she would fall from his favor.
Judas was from the professional teaching world and she said that she was in adequate working in sales. She would call sales meeting to learn their motives and work late and holidays in the office while bending the ear of Pontius Pilate.
Pontius Pilate believed everything said to her because Judas was producing sales
but stealing fruit from the others. This did not matter to Pontius Pilate as her
golden calf and state of affairs was being threatened by the Jesus lovers.
On the advice of Judas- Pontius Pilate set her plans into motion and publicly
falsely accused the three wise men
of being bad sales people and spoke of
their elimination. They were accused three times on three separate days before
3 PM.
Like strange fruit he was called into the office by Pontius Pilate and her political
advisor Menenius and duly told that this is not personal but he must die. The one
sacrificed did not have much to say but thanked them for the opportunity and
that he will rise up in three days.
"I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die.
Wallace Stevens said:
"Poetry is not personal."
He tried never to divulge
anything about himself
in his poems.
So he said.
But the work is
self-revelatory: veiled confessions,
repeated choices -- water, sea motion,
weather, the sky -- introspective isolation --
those silences and descriptive phrases
that communicate and characterize.
Human, no one --
especially not poets --
can really hide.
Hello Love, how are you doing today?
Me? The same as yesterday.
Although there remains sorrow,
I reach for tomorrow.
Hello Love, will you please pass my way?
Oh Love, I met an old friend the other day.
Like old times, I knew just what to say.
Why were you not there?
I believe you lack any care.
Hello Love, will you please pass my way?
Each time I call Love with you that I fall.
A feeling so strong how can you be so wrong?
I know it is a shame but Love you are to blame.
How can Love be so blind?
Sorry Love, I should never talk this way.
It is not personal, I do hope you stay.
Why must you go?
You just got here, you know?
So long Love, please come back to me someday.
...............................................
Contest Entry: A Conversation
Date Judged: 09/05/2016
Result: NA
Contest 2: Take the Dagger from My Heart, Please 2
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Result: 2nd Place
............................................
Elderly people are living in poverty and mostly they are on a fixed income.
Their struggles abound, families breaking down, lonely they are stuck and every one they know is gone.
There are many people who care like In Home Service Providers, plenty of infirm on their lists with patients in need.
Programs that out of love do what they can, getting paid way below average they make sure of their patients welfare, and they do it with speed.
Lonely people with memories of better times when they had someone.
Now alone and afraid, their twilight years in sight, they reflect on what was and what is now, can’t change anything their lives are done.
Those who have love in their hearts visit them, spending a few hours, to make their lives a little better, those who really do care.
This is what the Lord is all about, love for others, it gives them something to cling to, a way to make their lives better so they can share.
Take the elderly Veterans out of love you’ll learn of a different time a different era, learn about the past.
It will bring you much joy, the knowledge of a forgotten era it truly will be for you a memory that will linger and last.
Our Savior Jesus tells “Us” to help the infirm elderly orphans and widows, to love one another like you want to be loved.
Love is given freely, the workers in this field do this for this reason not personal gain, and through them they show love to all, and even the forgotten are beloved.
My truths about self are important
To me but, can be different from others.
I ‘ve wiped tears from my cheeks from being knocked down.
I’ve told myself, fail I will not; personal honor, self-respect
Is important; I will fiercely fight.
I will not abandon my trust of moral values, personal,
Or political; or harshly criticize and place myself in guilt.
I will abandon ego of self-importance, work on personal growth.
I have a lot of weakness, but accountable.
So, I look for my strength.
Want to be appreciated for contributions and who I am.
Alone in whimpering gloom darkness alone I do not desire.
My truths about self, trust God.
Believe; with Him, I can do all things.
Come join me on my erratic journeys over earth and sea.
I'll take you to nowhere special or, perhaps, a place you want to be.
I'm neither friend nor foe, so you need to know it's not personal at all.
I might appear as a gentle breeze or even a violent squall.
If my presence is not welcome; I do apologize.
Sometimes I get carried away and therein the problem lies.
Heavy-handed or light as air, I touch everything in my path.
At times, I lose my temper and then you feel my wrath.
Depending on my disposition, I've been called by many a name.
I am really just the wind and my nature brings me my fame.
March 24. 2024
A whirlwind of shiny hearts and pink confetti, you're the month of love. Red frosted treats, diamond rings, and babies in October. Frozen and fast, you never last, the ghost of the year, you disappear. Incomplete, no closure, a quick breathless tryst that thrusts us into Spring. Days missing at the end of the last week, you're a puzzle with lost pieces. Every year, you make no sense, like a passionate Valentine from a secret admirer, you ramble on. Substance. You have it. Rich with history, full of love, your purpose propels us forward into living. You're the feeding tube for March. Your rank on the calendar proves your spine is strong. Resilient, with so much affection, yet the weather overwhelms your harvest. Oh, how you're the "Little Engine That Could", the scapegoat of the year, the little guy, the underdog, and the one who perseveres annually. You hurt my face, but you warm my heart. With a scarf and gloves I would embrace you! You're a blizzard of hope and new beginnings. The end of a cold season, and a reminder that better days are ahead. The pungent smell of wildflowers, the hum of honeybees, and the warmth of sunshine are all right at the end of our fingertips, as we patiently move through your month. When you're over. We're relieved. We don't look back. It's not personal. It's because you did your job. You sent us on to where we need to be. Unstuck. Alive. Free.