Best Of Import Poems
I find myself in this moment, reflecting on many instances -
ones that brought great joy or pain, some that brought change
or love or death, extraordinary moments of memorable things,
and a million moments in-between of varied levels of import ...
The thing that ties them all together, the common thread that weaves
the tapestry of life - that ties this blessing of breaths and heartbeats
into a bow - is that each moment, each precious period of time's
steady passing, is given to us to make of as we see fit ...
To take into our spirit's hands with care and intent, as a raw, soft clay
for our molding ... to think deliberately on its design and purpose,
allowing for space, order, simplicity, and contemplation, and focus not
on the destination, but accept as a rare and precious gift.
We ALL have the power within us to shape that clay to our choosing ...
to form blessing or a bane, to create something to recall and cherish,
or something to cast onto the breath of indifference and apathy ...
to receive with joy and reward, or let drive us into defeat.
No one moment is any more or less extraordinary than another,
except in regard to how we shape it, or how we let it shape US ...
for learning to appreciate ALL the moments in this journey,
is learning to be truly happy ... truly ... at peace.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the ZEN Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 9th Place ~ in the "In The Moment Of Time" Poetry Contest, Kai Michael Neumann, Judge & Sponsor.
I sit alone, invisible, on this chair
In a climate conditioned 22.
Surrounded by pin-boards, computers and boxes
At a grey corner desk in a zoo.
Detachable shelves hang, offering a space
To put all our things of import.
People whisper and gossip and mutter and moan
Complaining about public transport.
Glass walls are spotless, cleaned beyond clean,
I sit quiet and silent and wonder
Who fills these filing cabinets with heaps of piles
Of forms too many to number.
The clock, the exit sign, first aid, water bottle
There’s so much fun stuff to look at.
Nah, not really, it’s dull as all heck,
My earphones block out the chit chat.
This music blocks thoughts, blocks phone conversations,
Blocks noises of office and drawers.
Allows me to focus on the book I am writing
On how to teach maths to the scores.
Teaching gifted, and strugglers, hotshots and lazy.
How to engage every single school student.
To inspire their minds, how to make them solve problems
So their life can experience improvement.
I sit alone at this desk, this desk of deep thought,
In an office of busy and clean,
Not to be entertained or amused or treated
But to strengthen the mind of the teen.
A busy wife and mom, she always seemed late
But she didn’t know why, at times she would wait
When a sense of urgency was of great import
Especially to those waiting, most in need of her support
For those of us wondering, “How could she always take so long?”
Since it wasn’t obvious why, oft was heard a car horn
But many times I noticed, even as a small lad
There was intent in her lateness, usually to aid something or someone who had
A need greater than ours, or those we were meeting
Like our dogs needed water, or the horses needed feeding
Or, stopping to talk to an elderly neighbor
Who had just learned of an illness that caused them great labor
There was the time when she stopped the car to explain something of import
We got to ask many questions, she never cut us short
I also remember a stressful day, one where we were late for carpool
And an irate father took it out on her, very un cool
Later that night I could hear her crying as we went to sleep
And I prayed for an angel to visit and tell her not to weep
And to show her how her small decisions to be late
Greatly affect people and other’s lives, which then go on to create
Such a wonderful world for us all to enjoy
If we just keep in mind, that if all of us too employed
A sometimes-slight hesitation, a thought of others before plunging ahead
We’d all get to experience a life with more threads
That fulfills that promise to our creator who asked
Only that we fill our lives with greater weight
And maybe, just maybe, it’s because we’re a few minutes late
ATLAS SCRUBBED
Let’s all sit down and discuss this rationally
Since it is of import internationally
And hysteria will get us nowhere
So let’s get a few facts clear
First of all, from the first of us to the very last, we are quite frankly,
F*cking up
Wait………… before you fly off the candle
Allow me to defend and amend my statement
What I really meant to say was we are all f*cking up this atmosphere expediently
And exponentially
This is an emergency of preeminent planetary proportions
We are inventing diabolical devices that scar the flesh on the pride of Atlas
And hold our grandchildren hostage to a hoard of hedonistic heathens
Who mar the face of even Mars
As if f*cking up the earth forever isn’t near enough
Perhaps I’m not making myself clear enough
We don’t hold our environment dear enough
And flocks of flagrant fools don’t hear enough
As the magma is moaning
And the crust is turning to dust
Because countless millions of mindless men decline to design what they must know
For absolute sure………..
that there is an absolute cure
But men don't listen and will come to rue what must eventually come to pass
Because their all f*cking this f*cking planet straight up the f*cking ass
© 2012…PHREEPOETREE..~free cee!~
Lackluster lives filled with emptiness
Around us everywhere
But … seldom do we notice
They are even there
For we have lives of import –
Things of urgency
Making our time busy -
It’s our dependency.
We do not see the child who
Needs our time alone
To comfort, guide and teach them
So their thoughts remain: unsewn.
Then there are the aged
Abandoned in their cocoons
Of experience and history
But … ‘tis we who are marooned.
We ARE our brother’s keeper
But … if we are self-obsessed,
How then can we consider:
‘Tis we, the ones are blessed?
Control of breathing is quite complex
And if you really check the specs
You find all kinds of balances and checks
Within the medulla, cells playing their role
The DRG, inspirational control
Using cyclic neurons for their goal.
Actions potentials from the DRG
These cells are cyclic and fire intermittently.
Then muscle contract to the best of their ability.
To the external intercostals and diaphragm they talk
And these muscles, at the neurons’ stalk
Follow orders and they do not balk.
And when they stop, the muscles relax.
Air is forced out as muscle slacks.
Volume decreases and Boyle’s Law acts.
So breathing in costs ATP
That means the use of energy
But calm expiration? It’s just free.
But when you need to force air out
Or at something, really shout
The VRG is what it’s all about.
It talks to abdominal muscles as well
As internal intercostals to make pressure swell
And air in the lungs can no longer dwell.
The Apneustic center in the pons is a source
Of a center dealing with force
Of an inspiration’s course.
The pneumotaxic center deals with duration
And both centers talk to each medullary station
And help regulate breathing condition.
The limbic system has some sway
In breathing fast or slow at bay
More than most realize, an important say.
And the hypothalamus, always of import
With its influence never falls short
In aiding ventilation, it lends its support.
For other than limbic, it deals with fever
When it tips the temperature lever
And makes ventilation a greater achiever.
Lastly there’s the cortex of the brain,
Whose job most think, is always to reign.
But when it comes to breathing, it is quite plain.
You can’t stop breathing by your will.
The lower centers always still
Make breathing a reflex, cortex input almost nil.
And just what drives this reflex to ventilate?
From where does the need originate?
From the chemoreceptors, it does emanate.
Receptors monitoring proton concentration.
Then messages sent without cessation
To the brainstem for increasing ventilation.
And hydrogen ions, where are they from?
Carbon dioxide and water, voila, they come.
The magic formula, carbonic acid does succumb.
there once was a man from afar
who stood and held forth at the bar
but the tort he invoked was no more than a joke
in defence of the hot pink galah
now the judge who was wearing a wig
when he heard this did dance him a jig
for a poor constitution conveyed no solution
in the case of the flight of the pig
so the case was referred to the crown
who replied with a quizzical frown
how dare this galah make a pig fly so far
i refer to the case of the clown
but the clown at the back of the court
said surely there's more of import
than pigs and galahs who can fly through the bars
when the judge is so easily bought
galah: 1-gregarious australian pink and grey parrot notable for its often comical behaviour
A Remarkable Occurrence in an Unknown Location Witnessed by a Handful of Beings
Who Most People Say Don't Exist
There's a place that no human has seen
In the depths of a forest, pristine.
In a range called "Cascades,"
A great shyness pervades
In the lair of the Sasquatches' queen.
An event will be soon taking place
Of import to the whole Sasquatch race.
In a dimly lit cave,
Mrs. Squatch, being brave,
Has a look of concern on her face.
All six Sasquatches came here to meet,
And behold the new face they will greet.
Finally, it begins.
The queen gives birth to twins.
In existance are now eight Bigfeet!
the talk around the table turned
to matters of import
and one of those there seated
was heard to make retort
above the hubbub and the drone
of lively conversation
being carried on at once
expressing reservation
on a point of relevance
to the current topic
underlying all the words
the feeling was entropic
silently they heard her out
and weighed her every word
then they went back to the task
her point was not absurd
the level of intensity
that of the conversation
had risen a degree or two
'twas how to save a nation
without the need for shedding blood
while protecting property
they felt belonged to all of them
the weal of the free
What is this soul we talk about?
Might I find it in a droplet of water
Perhaps, in a pop tune … a shout,
In a loving mother, an abusive father?
Elusive and ethereal, so hard to find
Is it in our unique thought processes,
A synonym for the individual mind,
Something every human possesses?
Perhaps, a figment of imagination?
Something we cannot understand,
Many a theologian’s rapt fascination
Part of being under God’s command.
A faith word of import, I assume,
All that’s left of us when body dies
All that matters, we can presume –
Is it the ultimate goal or life prize?
A longstanding mystery, to be sure
Many folks say when we die, it’s over
What is to be gained by being pure,
When we’ll be buried under clover.
Written April 6, 2022
O sweet lamb of God,
giver and Ruler of my life.
In whose steps I would trod.
Whose mercy to forgive is rife.
You are with me every day.
In all my thoughts and indecision,
guiding as a light the way,
of ponderance and revision.
Help you gave throughout my life.
On every decision of import.
When I prayed to take a wife
you gave worthily my consort.
You were with me as a child,
glowing thoughts kept me warm.
And with me with supporting smile
as my own babies were born.
Through years of want or need
as the situations would arrive.
I saw your hand in every deed
that kept our hope and dream alive.
Through times of loss and sorrow
you held me up above the tears.
You gave me hope to reach tomorrow.
For more than my promised years.
Three score plus ten and three
for all those given me to love.
If another day I shall not see,
Sweet Lamb please take me above.
For Deb’s contest: Animal Guardian Spirits
© Apr 16 2010
*** In Simple Lines Poeetry Comes ***
(“You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your life…” Walt Whit an, “Leaves of Grass”)
My lines —
My life…
Riding moments,
Raising poetry
Like Beauty feels
Glorious
As Mother Nature is — when her winter here ends —
Brought on to her time of re-birth —
Sprouting life on toward the sun
From and within layers of earth
As Springtime’s newest whimsies grow
Dew-tipped on all and dawn vibrant ‘tho ephemeral…
Words of import
In simple combinations
Phrased memories come
To waves of fields of grass —
With their repeated reciting
Of Poetry’s honored lines’ past
And then, in sequenced words,
Time has amassed
The little aspects of me —
Presented and quite apt for pennings of similes,
Or for drawing on some imagery —
In my heart —
My simple lines were found
Stemming from radiant peace
Or ardent hours,
With persistence versing inspirations
Into my simple lines.
With all attention closely given
To reverberating echoes of a quintessential metaphor
From melodies ‘oft playing unnoticed in the air
Always
Some distance from just so close
By the fields of Spring’s fresh grasses —
Lyric-tipped all
Invite…Await
Wandering poets with thirsty pens.
E——————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 1/21/2023
Thanks be to God…
I have given up the carnal pleasures before me
It does not interest this soul or bladder which no longer matter
Teens will still sing with each other and adults will indulge
God and his Law are the only thing that is of import and concern
He would carry me to a higher plain from this tortured pain of existence
Students of the new generation can either respect or disregard my philosophy
The evil? of promiscuous lust can only be satisfied in the Holy union between
Gentle man and virtuous Lady who will seal themselves with the eternal blessing
from the Lord until all things,living or not,in this lifetime are done
Imagine,with folded arms and clear insight,the joy of walking along with our
Savior,on our Right,tasting his recipe for simple digesting of Nature's
subsistence,requiring only Faith and Peace as salt & pepper
I am forever done with that former indulgence
Now I will walk in The Valley of the Lord
Amen
Inconsequential grain of sand
No less a star upon the strand
Than nebulae,
in the Heavens grand
Tossed about by waves and tides
No different than a comets ride
Small in scale, yet traveled well
Smoothed and formed on every side
By Heavens hand and Neptune’s whim
And doomed to salty universe to swim
Polished bright as nova’s light
This grain of sand…once dim
Tiny grains of polished sand
Jupiter worlds of size so grand
Both afloat in worlds remote
Both formed by cosmic hand
Alien worlds, stardust keeps
Briny climes, darkest deeps
Both the same…just different names
Of stone that neither dreams nor sleeps
But roam about their different worlds
Bejeweled with stars and milky pearls
One in skies and Heavens grand
The other in tidal pools and swirls
But each of import,
no more or less Grander Than…
an inconsequential
…Grain of sand…
sentimentality has its place
it's in my heart, it's on your face
in an edict of government, for a hungry child
in the middle of nowhere, all windy and wild
it's in scraped skies over citied tall buildings
it's on the Louvre's walls surrounded by gilding
it's buzzing the field of breeze-blown wheat
at the photo-finish of a horserace dead heat
it lies with the dog quietly resting by the door
the cat's contented purr, the babies quiet snore
it's in the oven, warming with scents
it's under the tree, wrapped in presents
it's written in stories we've all known for years
it's in people you know in your daily spheres
it's right here, on this screen that you're reading
it's after, and now, and time since proceeding
it's in her hair, with its satin-soft sheen
her coy smile at you, if you know what I mean
it's in his brash boast with eased confidence
to do something of import with good consequence
it's kissing your lips, warm and alluring
it's filling your heart and quietly assuring
it's sunning itself, on sweating work days
it's enjoying each other in so many ways
it's in the glint of light shown on my eyes,
to this life lived full, and what it implies
© Goode Guy 2011-11-13