Best Oneself Poems
A Picture Of Oneself contains not too much to tell,
Except the package showing that in which they dwell.
This is the only purpose a picture has and does,
Telling nothing about the person who is or was.
A Picture Of Oneself shows nothing that's inside.
Who is the real character that within does reside?
Are they a soul with compassion, full of empathy
Or are they all about themselves with only apathy?
How much do they care? How much do they Love?
Are they ego driven with pride derived of?
What character traits does the picture of possess,
One of integrity, virtue, along with humbleness?
Do they seek and tell the truth or do they lie?
Do they have a code of ethics they only live by?
What do they aspire for in life and/or hope to gain?
Do they care how or if it's by causing others pain?
What are they feeling, happy with joy in their heart
Or are they battling pain in their deepest, inner part?
What have they been through; what have they endured?
Have they overcome with an outlook, healthy and secured?
All the aspects of a person are left unaddressed
In a Picture Of Oneself, the real is oppressed.
The packaging is glorified, says nothing of its host;
Though appearance is deceptive, it tends to matter most.
Technology would surpass itself and be truly smart,
If there was a camera that could capture one's heart.
All the devious hearts wouldn't have invisibility
And all the hearts of beauty would shine then brilliantly.
A Picture Of Oneself may preserve one's appearance;
May be used to con others and to run interference.
But a Picture Of Oneself, nothing does it tell.
It's just a package picture, a picture of one's shell.
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2018-04-13 08:55:00 (EDT) All rights reserved.
Calling oneself a poet takes unmitigated gall and guts
And he or she should be prepared
To throw oneself off a high cliff
Or under the proverbial bus
Whenever the expression of innermost thoughts,
Emotions, ideas or beliefs are concerned
Those who lay it all out on the line often times
Get busted, beaten, belittled or burned.
Speaking straight from the heart
And soul typically involves taking
A road less easily traveled
Or mountain made steeper to climb
From those who read but cannot see
Beauty and truth hit them between their eyes.
To write of an ex-lover may tend to uncover
Bones buried deep in the past
Which are better unearthed for whatever they’re worth:
Sweet memories rarely fade fast.
Or perhaps you agree with riots in the streets
And nothing is worth more attention
Than a poet who subscribes
To every person who ought to strive
Towards the greatest good
For self and other friends
While you might think it better
To mind my own business
And stop writing about reality and make pretend…
Penning one’s personal moments
For others to debate
Is akin to placing their head on a stump
While waiting for the blade to penetrate
Skin and bone and taking us home
To a place where no one laughs
At anything we say or think
And our poetry will forever last.
Longer than the blood-letting
That oozes from our brains
While others stand outside of us
Laughing in the rain
As we foolish, fussy writers keep on
Twisting words and phrases
And the world keeps right on turning
Like our pithy, poetic pages.
12/4/2014
To see oneself in another is Beauty
Like sunlight through water droplets--
For it means we are not alone.
That as we travel through this "Never"
There is someone who cares
6/2/'13
Finally,
After several decades of heroic battles, which, unfortunately,
Most have ended in innumerable humiliating defeats,
Proud is he his freedom to declare today
For
At last, he succeeded in subjugating all his passions and
By doing so, he triumphantly took over, the control of
Himself!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
21 June 2022
Each one of us is three things:
What he thinks he is
What others thinks he is
And
What he really is.
What one thinks he is, certainly he is not,
for
he doesn't have knowledge of his real self.
What others think that he is, by all means he is not,
for
others suffer from double ignorance:
They ignore who they are in the first place, fact which
renders it impossible to know others,
therefore
one's self is unknown to both in different degrees
but
it is known only to God
thus
for to know oneself one has to know God
but
to know God one has to know himself!
Confused ?
Join the club!
I am here waiting for fellow ignorant!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
31 August 2018
An evanescent bouquet of skewed briars,
is how a tinsel laden tawdry essence wickedly unfolds ,
scuppered signpost to a fetid human compost,
faint light pendant on soul crushed quantum migrant,
who might chortle at vivid veil flimsy vacuum,
skirt recklessly around bogus symbols,
peer behind the squalid limp sodden hedge,
mock myopic moribund mist upon boundary busting dawn chimera,
sneer at synthetic spectrum elastic in its irritating tidal wave surfeit,
cerulean fabric‘s milky way escape plot,
in a perilous quest for that eternal tape loop mantra,
the synaptic heart of that vainglorious horizon,
self-knowledge under charcoal moon and silver cloud veneer,
or feral waste rapid fire contagion,
the indecisive day glow dither on the margins ,
of fly weight feeble frantic dash,
that velvet shadow treason daubed pettifog,
known as tangential wanton cobweb fester creed,
the mind a bloated ripple vortex numbing in its scope,
golden mirage but faux fur real concoction,
against the banal backdrop of complex-ridden superficial eddy,
from floral garland poseur stricken en train,
some vox pop indignation mere shrinking violet showcase waver,
the gleam-hued truth has this dastardly demonic derailment,
that I brush aside as spiteful oxalic sting repost,
that deceptive mint green forest of chameleon cant,
sly nuanced molten maple syrup hint,
from out of kilter tree pierce otherworld,
unseen yet bliss-edged virtual garden of firm conviction,
not just from isolated enigmatic individual script,
such as torrid turbulence or mindless scattered rim shot,
when conventions can be altered in exotic prose,
human zeitgeist has this far too often penchant,
for silkworm rapt effervescent double speak,
whilst plain unvarnished uplifting utterance,
resides within the deep crystal spring well,
of us torch aloft emerald earthling sages,
please augment the rock buttress stark phrase,
whose bluntness is a carrier pigeon of candor,
devoid of muted gray cloud blind waffle,
aromatic sprig to giant spasm of bold pluck,
quandary of human race at hearth,
frightened cliques, hidebound yes men who yen,
to swim the azure gulf of august freedom,
to the Eden where lucid tongues herald pristine witness.
where values at the centre of our being should blossom
Believe you can and you're halfway there" - Theodore Roosevelt
****************************************************************
Beautiful Shine of Faith
When swirls of sadness swamp the heart
And vile men hold lovers apart,
When clouds of anguish grip the mind
And one`s path in life one can`t find,
When the spirit is at low tide
And no one can serve as a guide,
It`s time faith in oneself to light
And seek its shine that`s sparkling bright.
What of loving oneself?
Ponder three allusions
and think through self-love...
Thou shall not kill ever,
don't take what is not yours,
neither should you deceive.
So say I to you -
you, workaholics -
Don't put your own life
in the grave working
eighty-hour work weeks.
Don't rob yourself
of the pleasure
of true success -
a job well done.
Hear me out!
never lie
to yourself
seeking
fickle
praise.
We often strangle ourselves within,
Quietly, choked and suffocated within.
Dare no one can read it,
Not even a close one dared to feel it.
The load that has been weighing heavy,
The grueling and strenuous task to carry.
We ignore the pain and soreness to feel less petrified.
No one sees how much we have sacrificed.
To bridle the feeling and win the fight within.
To be oneself
To be oneself more
Deeply and freely
How oneself is intended
To be
Is truly liberating
And brings about
Calm and inner peace.
On a broken pedestal
Under estimate our worth
Run away from problems
Wishing for the impossible
Open to resistance, not change
Relish in misery
Self mutilation
Trust no one
Enjoy little of life's pleasures
Not negotiable
Energy exhausted on nonsense
Making mountains out of eroded sand dunes
Yes, you.
~ Stepping Inside Oneself ~
Uncertainty shadows the hollow the stream…
A stroll through a battlefield of broken dreams…
Pieces scattered from walls to ceilings…
A puzzle of sins and subconscious feelings…
It climbs from the ashes of burnt redemption…
Inside a prison of one that bleeds salvation…
Behind ones soul sits a staircase made of scars…
Leading to a door left purposely ajar…
When I shun people easily at will
When relatives and friends get alienated
When finding time for others is no priority
When dropping schedules no longer matter
When not keeping standards don’t mean a thing
When attention span has lost its stretch
When listening to others is no longer wholesome
When others views and opinions
Good or bad go for a toss
When thoughts about siblings
and their company feels good
When loneliness gives peace
When being oneself brings happiness
When self becomes significant
When expecting attention
becomes an expression of right
When hobbies become priorities
When compliments bring in joy
and are often sought
When being served food feels special
When being given a lift feels great
When being given importance assures a lot
When what others think is right has to be accepted
When silence is a easy option
When what others say is becomes the right thing,
When others presume what is uttered by self is outdated
I guess it happens to everyone, everywhere
Be it in the past, in the present or future too
Aging is a common phenomenon
Others see the physical change
The mind actually doesn’t feel so
Attitude and personality hang in forever
Yet the impairment is undeniable
Sometimes short tempered;
Many times touchy and meek
Often bypassing the falling respect and regard
I guess that is what is ‘getting old all about’
And everyone reaches that point
Sooner or later, but for sure”
Thrusted so unexpectedly into
this whirlwind of vehemence.
Insanely unhealthy,
the inclination - hesitation. They
cannot resist coinciding consumption.
A nervous admission to
an untterly untrained grade of ardor.
Soradic reaching and receding,
when nothing is static
save my constant fleeting feeling.
My bitterly antagonistic,
dramatic manner of dealing.
Losing the earth under my feet
from traveling from place to place
on cars, trains and planes
and even ships that are in the race
Life is exciting with an emotional feel.
When do we take or give the steering wheel?
Who do we take on a short trip and who do we take on a long journey
When do we break and when do we accelerate?
When do we pause
to idle the motor
to search for oneself
with eyes wide sober?
it's not what we take with us,
As the best is inside you that you'll unfurl.
Your true being is at the gate of the heart
And that is where you'll open your soul to the world.