Best Outpourings Poems
Poetry
In poetry the words impart
where muse has touched a poet’s heart.
Not only those who speak in verse
but all who share in poet’s curse.
It matters not if words don’t rhyme
as long as each and every line
has words that flow with perfect ease
and rhythm that our ears will please.
The stories that these words must tell
should capture souls within their spell.
Outpourings from a poet’s pen
help guide the paths of mortal men.
For words passed on by poet’s muse
are strands of knowledge that they choose
to share with all who care to read
the wisdom of their planted seed.
A poet’s words, when thus enthused,
become the vessel that is used
to place within the minds of men
the words of those who guide his pen.
Words meant to fall like gentle rain,
or storms that rage within man’s brain.
In poetry these words impart
where muse has touched a poet’s heart.
Ivor G Davies
Categories:
outpourings, on writing and wordswords,
Form:
Rhyme
A note in the wind is released by our soul,
borne of burning yearning to unite with God,
for entwinement alone will make us feel whole,
so in silence we enter our heart unshod,
feeling therein divine bliss, scriptures extol,
becoming the flame itself, that leaves us awed.
Our unvoiced intent thus released into space,
ignites bliss within, as outpourings of grace.
27-October-2022
(not for contest)
Categories:
outpourings, spiritual,
Form:
Ottava rima
To see her blog, adorned with pastel tones
Widens the gap that pervades my bones
For now we eat her passing meal of plain white rice
Leaving us all alone, without much needed fashion advice
The red light district has lost an inductee
For I would have love to be involved in her naked party
Yet for now we must all be content
With the debauched path she hath went.
Sadness invades a binary world
Where tweeters and bloggers hearts have curled
Bringing back memories of Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’
Her fashion advice precise like a mastoplexic surgeon
I remember the fervour when you were followed by Kath Kidston
A similar experience when I had my first Jar of Branston
Yet when you found out the intensity with which I was following you
You wanted to change species and become a Gnu
You learnt to accept my frequent outpourings of love
When you finally spoke to me, I felt as free as a pure white dove
But upon your departure I feel pathetic and hollowed
The best I can hope for is the number of one of the hot bloggers you followed
She was always my muse, my intimate inspiration
No-one can cause such an outpouring of personal perspiration
My heart now yearns to see her type a special tweet
One that would make Mr Sexton act like a dog on heat
Now the world mourns the passing of Lily Fulvio-Mason
I can still see her face reflected in my wash basin
With every heart beat, every full blooded pulse
My sadness streaked blood makes my body convulse
But now it’s time to go, my heart says goodbye
The pain eats my nipples like the Syrphid Fly
I can finally see your body laid in an eternal rest
And now I can now finally uncover your breast.
Categories:
outpourings, angel, art, beautiful, black
Form:
Elegy
People tell me that I’m now a poet
I've still got a lot to learn and don’t I know it
I like to write with humour and wit
You may like my writes or think they are rubbish
(couldn’t think of suitable rhyming word here)
Some days my ideas just flow and flow
Other days my muse has a long way to go
I hate the days my brain is constipated
When I can’t find the words I get so frustrated
I need a dose of Movicol to get my movement going
Blockage will be cleared and my poems will be flowing
Other times my words gush like verbal diarrhoea
Inspiration flows like a river and I whoop and cheer
Thought I’d share this with you and keep you in the loop
You can read my outpourings here on Poetry Soup
Jan Allison
1st October 2014
Categories:
outpourings, humorous, poetry,
Form:
Couplet
When I put pen to paper
To write in free verse or rhyme,
What I create is according to mood
The feelings I have at the time.
When I'm in tune with my inner self
I write from the level of soul.
Outpourings are deeply spiritual
For Divine Love writes the scroll.
Sometimes I'm philosophical.
Understanding wish to share,
So I open my mind to wisdom's touch
Let her take over from there.
If I'm feeling playful
Then a sense of humour I use,
To create some joy and laughter
Young and old alike to amuse.
I might just want to share feelings,
So with the gift of empathy
I try to reach other's hearts and minds,
So to set their feelings free.
I also take from what I see in life
Nature's beauty spread all around.
And so portray with expressive words
To capture every sight and sound.
I am like the artist
That paints on canvas for all to see.
My pen is my brush, words my colours
And feelings do the artwork for me.
Categories:
outpourings, imagination, introspectionwrite, feelings, write,
Form:
Verse
I write to you, my darling love,
emotions felt most tenderly;
I read anew the words you wrote
upon your latest scroll to me.
I keep them all together, love,
precious collection - all apart -
outpourings of the dream we share
from your dearest, purest heart.
I wait for you and you alone,
no other one will ever be
as treasured as you always are,
God's sweetest gift on earth to me.
My world is quiet, seasons change;
I write my heart upon the stars
in hopes you read the messages
in the midnight skies where you are.
I pray that God will keep you safe
upon your journey for our king;
the day your ship sails into port
will set cathedral bells to ring.
But no bells will peal more loudly
or with more melodious art
than the bells that your returning
will set to singing in my heart.
Copyright, August 1, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
outpourings, absence, journey, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Tremulous soil plays host to fleeing frightened fauna as
cacophonic outpourings shatter my serenity.
Whilst my delicate limbs shake in symphonic sympathy,
spluttering engines of destruction belch caustic black plumes,
burnished blades gouging vicious fissures in Mother's carpet.
Horrified, I bear witness, as immemorial kin
are butchered and unceremoniously hauled away;
their dessicated carcasses destined to line pockets.
Now I stand alone: sole survivor of this massacre.
Left to contemplate my fate, I muse: when will my time come...?
--------------------------------------------------
(14 syllables per line - checked with howmanysyllables.com)
16 September 2017
For the "Personification of Plant" Premiere Contest, sponsored by Kim Rodrigues.
(4th Place)
Categories:
outpourings, environment, imagery, inspirational, metaphor,
Form:
Personification
An ovoid of soft rainbow light beckoned her
to step into a realm that seemed beyond reach
but she had no fear and felt soul within stir,
whispering as love divine does so beseech
those who’re pure of heart, with God’s laws to concur,
becoming living light, path that sages teach
and so it came to pass, she beheld God’s face,
bringing back with her, outpourings of His grace.
20-December-2022
Beyond Reach Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Categories:
outpourings, god, light, love,
Form:
Ottava rima
But then, how am I to say it ? Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : Pero como decirtelo
(To those who are familiar with the Bhakti religious outpourings in the Hindu tradition, in
certainly all the vernaculars of the sub-continent, this poem and its symbolism coming from the
Iberian peninsula might be a delectable surprise. T. Wignesan)
But then how am I to say it since you insist on being
so light and quiet
like a flower. How will I tell it to you
when you are the water,
when you are a fountain, spring, a smile,
a(n) ear of wheat, wind,
when you are the air, love.
How can I say it
to you, incipient lightning,
early light, dawn,
that you will have to die one day
like somebody not here any more.
Your eternal form
like light and the sea, scarcely lays claim
to the enduring majesty
of matter. Beautiful
like the permanence of the ocean
against whatever will hold it back ; your flesh is more ephemeral
than that of a flower. But if you’re
comparable to light, (that’s because) you are the Light,
the light that would express itself
(and) which would say : « I love you ! »
that you would sleep in my arms,
that you would be thirsty : eyes, tiredness
and be possessed of an infinite need
to cry, when you see
the roses in the garden
blooming, once all over again.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Categories:
outpourings, god,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Hope
In God
Jesus Christ
Keeps my faith* firm
Led by His love’s light
Magnified thru His grace
Nourishing, nurturing me
Opening blessings' outpourings
Propelled midst prayer service-pursuits
Quests for God’s glory quieting doubts’ qualms.
*Hebrews 11:1 “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
Etheree with ABC
February 7, 2019
3rd place, "Hope, Old or New" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire; judged on 2/9/2019.
Categories:
outpourings, blessing, christian, faith, god,
Form:
Etheree
OUTPOURINGS
the ultimate
functions
of sheer will
an absolute
criterion
pursuing
convention
emotion
hovers
on the verge
& wanders
into
the
collective
whisper
a teemimg
triumphant
finality
disappering
with
enriched
significance
an ominous
reality
undecipherable
a corollary
in a
linear perspesctive
a attempt
to achieve
consciousness
Categories:
outpourings, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Love beckons, let’s take the plunge
but first dark desires expunge,
lest cravings lead us astray
and our soul, we so betray.
If pure joy we wish to find,
we must first rest lower mind,
rushing forward to embrace,
outpourings of divine grace.
Know love does not hesitate,
so why for then, do we wait?
Oh worthy monk, take the leap,
feeling bliss mists seep in deep.
Resting habit of thinking,
head and heart, with love linking,
no sooner we come undone,
our soul with God becomes one.
28-March-2023
____________
Writing Challenge - 'P' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Categories:
outpourings, love, spiritual,
Form:
Jueju
From Latin and ancient Greek, English derived three words:
poesy is the creation, the art work of poetic composition.
poem is the created, with beauty of language and expression.
poet is the creator or maker, with the gift of poetic thought, imagination,
and eloquence of expression.
A poet is born with a troubled and jangled spirit within,
forced to express what is seen, imagined and dreamed in words
for themselves and for anyone who hears or reads their works.
A poet is a miserly wordsmith, in love with words, their meanings, sound and strangeness.
A poet is an artist, painting with words and expression, but not constrained by form or method.
A poet is a skilled craft person, creating and making works and compositions,
but is not restricted by tools nor craft rules or disciplines.
A poet is a skilled musician using rhyme, meter and rhythm to create word scores,
but can also use line breaks, punctuation and the words themselves to create sounds.
Often the sounds made are jarring and discordant to create an effect or evoke a response,
but not all poetry is for a performance.
A poet is a peddler of emotions and feelings evoked in the writer and reader,
eliminating from deep within and as reactions to what is happening or not happening.
Poets are free to use whatever verse and form they choose.
There is no right way to eloquently express their art and craft; it is the poet's choice.
The best description of a poet is a person with an eternal fountain of jangles.
The jangles of emotions, feelings and life's journey within must be expressed, written or spoken about.
Nature and the world about triggers jangles, metaphors, memories, responses and associations to be expressed.
The poet writes to be read and have their thoughts and mind outpourings jangle response in their audience.
Artistically rendering words, much loved and cherished, in ways to evoke intense emotion in the hearer and listener.
The poet seeks jam sessions of free improvised jangling with self or with anyone who reads or listens.
The poet a lover of words, a wordsmith, peddling jangles.
Categories:
outpourings, poems, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse
Voluble, vocal
He didn’t agree
She remained non-committal
He thought, “It’s so dull.”
As he wanted everything
In black and white
Too suddenly
Too quickly
His watch words
Transparency and openness
No roundabouts, no guess
Scared to offend
She tried to mend
Willy-nilly toed the line
Bringing a sparkle
And a shine
To the relationship
Which now seemed
To take off
After the initial blip
Resulting in gushings
And outpourings
Too much
Too soon
Suspense killed
Mystery resolved
Thrill evaporated
Excitement got jaded
Relationship meandered
Before coming to a halt
He wondered
But could not pin the fault
Eventually asked
‘Who messed?’
She replied,
“Things would have been better
If unexpressed”
Categories:
outpourings, relationship,
Form:
Didactic
Music and painting,
Singing and laughing,
Sharing, confiding,
And then illness came.
Supporting, and silence,
Sharing and weeping,
Deflecting, defending,
Bridge building, not judging
And so friendship grew.
A keeper of secrets,
The pig in the middle,
Outpourings and trustings,
A dam nearly bursting
But friendship stayed true.
The tide started turning.
'No, you needn't help me.
There are others to help
With what you used to do'.
Unguarded actions, though truthful
They injured.
The dialogue stopped
And the silence began.
'I'm still here, I'm remorseful
I've said that I'm sorry.
Do the years count for nothing?'
But the silence still grew.
A gap growing wider,
But then, out of nowhere,
Someone needs money.
So NOW I'm in view.
No cards, no remindings,
No involvements, no parties.
No meals out, no phone calls,
No thanks. 'Who are you?'
I don't want to give up.
Those years are important.
I'll be still and be silent.
I'm here if you need me
But my trust has been damaged
And I'm slowly dying.
What am I to do?
Categories:
outpourings, loss,
Form: