Best Owing Poems
Feeling hurt owing to belied expectation
The earth entity floundered hither and thither
Spiralling gloom causing consciousness contraction
The wound cut deep since he relied upon his transgressor
Pain amplified by cyclic thoughts plunged him into despair
For healing he visited a reputed clinical psychologist
Listening patiently seated on a swivelling chair
Of no avail were therapists or hypnotists
Finding no way he asked this question
Who feels the pain and why is relief not simple
This line of inquiry brought him to a clear recognition
Cause of suffering delusion dwelling in images ephemeral
Reflecting deeper if an animal is ensouled in human form
It goes without saying that it’s actions will be feral
We expect not from a carnivore embrace warm
Thus our cognition should be spherical
Meditating thus in silence and stillness
He knew each being acts as of his evolution
With all our flaws we too seek divine connectedness
Yet hastily condemn others by our jaundiced eye perception
The afflicted soul then rose in the light of clear understanding
Looking at the other with kindness and compassion
His own orientation thus prayerfully correcting
In quietude of transcendental meditation
17-January-2021
Categories:
owing, forgiveness, muse, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
It's been 9 days since I've posted in PS because of being needed by my sister. She's progressing, but very slowly. Thank you to those who've expressed your concern and offered prayers for her recovery. My granddaughter is over her crisis.
I've had little time or desire to peek into PS, but from what I've seen and been told, not only is AI rampant but plagiarism has returned. I ask you, poets... which do you consider to be the bigger offender?
A poet's voice will not be drowned out in obscurity
when from our conscience thoughts it is displayed.
But when the soup is riddled with AI cheating
and plagiarism, it's rancidly sour with impurities.
No surge of waves will stop a poet's ink from flowing
nor will gusting tempest winds cast their pens away.
It's the deep desire to write that all of us are owing
to the need of words seeking escape from the mind.
Those of us who write from heart and soul...
yes, that sounds like an overused cliche,' but AI
poetry is just a click away, written by machines
and plagiarists steal it from another source...
posting it as their own. It's demeaning to the Soup,
or as Jan would say, "It's nothing more than poop!"
I would like to think the community is worth saving
but I've seen no signs of that taking place.
Indifference is not the attitude anyone should take.
If the site matters, clean it up... for goodness sake.
Leave your thoughts in comments if you're craving
a say and I'll respond when I can from a hospital room.
None of us should take for granted a single day of life
or our family and friendships for we are not immune
to life threatening issues that always take precedence
over everything else beneath the glowing haloed moon.
Categories:
owing, community,
Form:
Rhyme
Written: November 19, 2023, For Ink Empress Contest
The garden of the world has no limits except in your mind. Its presence is more beautiful than the stars with more clarity than the polished mirror of your heart. By Rumi
________________________________________
Clinging comely crimson cleome curb cosmos
Sky is nebulous with dusk, owing to camos
Ornaments that balmily flicker in the background
Amid whirlpools of jade, scarlet, and indigo found.
Nothing beats a comely asterism of fall nights
To gaze up at the stars and relish the sights
Space wideness may induce mankind to fear
We fathom how desultory we are, through tears.
Diaphanous moon beams brighten the land
Crafting creepy casts curdling children's strands
But the moon is breathtaking in its own right
With a million-year-old mountains and sights.
Amid a silvery sky ignited by the moon
Lonesome island of stars, in a druid swoon
Streets that glisten with dazzling lighting
Crystals of iridescent amethyst shining.
Efflorescence is diaphanous in appearance
Lawns are studded by ruddy lilac buds entrance
Creepy crawlies in azure wind their way upward
Gazebos are sleek and clad in ivory word.
Wispy clouds start to split or disperse
Nebulous mist of the island, to immerse
Elysian Symphony builds to a crescendo
Regarding the violin-produced echo.
Cosmic bodies aligned akin to pins on a map
Assist sailors in spotting their suitable cap
Waterlilies float, creating a gorgeous scene
Lullaby is sung on an idyllic lake, so serene.
The aurora shimmers with an aurified glow
Sewn from spools of gossamer light and flow
A veiled glade is seen by a translucent moon
Rosewood, wisteria, periwinkle, iris leaf tune.
Elixir of gems at night, shine, and dazzle
Host the discovery of feasible ways of gravel
Quintessence of empyreal magnificent form
Bright kaleidoscope prismatic of stars swarm.
Categories:
owing, analogy, appreciation, beauty, stars,
Form:
Rhyme
My Beloved ,What difference does it make , if we are or if we're not belongers ?
If I never see the moon in your eyes, taste stars from your lips
feel your touch upon my hair and your breath over my skin .
What difference does it make ,when we know our quiet thoughts lay side by side
When wherever I am it's your warmth that descends softly within me.
My first dawning moments are filled with you , So are the last seconds
before I close my eyes in the stillness of my room.
My cherished one ,I think ... And when I think, I think only of you
When I see, I see only you.Wandering by in sun-dappled fields
Wrapping my heart , veiling my soul , stealing my breeze, owing my dreams.
For Brian Strand -Contest 226 (any form , any theme with max. of twelve lines )
Categories:
owing, love,
Form:
Free verse
At 13, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed
Brimming with youth and flamboyance.
With a myriad of of vying admirers,
A family to love and to be loved back.
Her life was a blend of love,laughter and rebellion.
Then,all of a sudden,
Dragged out of the felicity of her childhood.
Stripped off her citizenship and freedom
For Anne was born a Jew--an outcast.
Suffered owing to the sanguinary Fuhrer.
The Devil, he surpassed.
To escape the bloody clutches of Hitler
Into hiding ,they went
But never did Anne let her hope perish
In the two years of lonely confinement.
Two years of struggle to cope with adults.
Two years of struggle with food and supplies
With the thrills of love and pangs of goodbyes
Hope was her strongest weapon
To combat severe isolation and oppression.
Eternal hope kept her alive.
Courageous Anne continued to strive.
Her eyes could penetrate into the deeper meanings of life.
The pulchritude of relationships
The sublimity of nature
The plenitude of being
Life's purpose and importance
Demystified.
Alas! Betrayed by a close friend
Resulted in Anne Frank's tragic end.
The blood red hue of autumnal leaves
Stained the Earth , as the nature grieved.
- Angom Amy (15)
Categories:
owing, bereavement, betrayal, death, political,
Form:
Bio
Day one of her stay,
and it was with my yellow slippers I had to part away.
She seemed to love them too,
though they were worn she treated them like new.
A lot younger than me,
when she smiled you could notice a missing tooth or three.
Her unkempt hair and shabby face almost gave me a fright,
yet there was something magnetic about those eyes that shone so bright.
Giving me a sly look, hiding behind her mother's faded saree,
I knew with her around I had a lot to worry.
Within a week she was to my mother what the moon is to the night,
owing to which not a day went by when the two of us did not fight.
One fateful gloomy day when I came home from school,
with the winds wailing loud and the rain clouds of the deepest grey looking so cruel.
The house looked deserted with no one in sight,
it was only later I learnt that Meera, our maid's daughter had been hurt.
A bus ran her over while she was crossing the street,
and no matter how much she willed she will no longer be able to stand on her feet.
My gaze now settles on the yellow slippers lying abandoned in a corner,
as if mourning for it's limbless owner.
Categories:
owing, feelings, life,
Form:
Couplet
The Boatman’s Song 2/ Many
Urvashi’s heart was aching to hear and to see the elegance
Of the boatman, while he sing those melodies on earth
A great longing started sprouting in her bosom
To visit the earth and to listen those heart touching songs
Which like a powerful magnet were pulling her towards earth
Where flows the Ganges and lives her unseen love
To control her ever increasing desire of hearing those songs
And to see that unique boatman, who lives on earth
Urveshi tried to engage her more and more
In the courtly dances and engagements for Indra
But the more she wanted to escape, more she became enchanted
By the echoes of boatman’s songs
Which were tearing her heart and
Making her mind almost intoxicated,
By the melodies of those heavenly songs
The pleasures and comforts of heaven began to pinch her
Like the piercing thorns
Even the dance and music, which were her pride and passion
Became dull and charm less in the wake of those songs
For which she was hailed
As the best among all the Apsaras in the entire universe
Heaven seems to bring no joy and rejoicing for her any more
Her dancing steps, which were the symbols of perfection and beauty
Even started betraying her
As her own heart was no longer in her possession any more
And she found that her mind and heart
Were swept away by that unseen boatman
Sailing his boat somewhere on earth
Apsara Urveshi after finishing her dance that day
Told the God of heaven, Indra
That she perhaps can no longer perform any dance
Owing to agonies of her heart and restlessness of her mind
And her legs were not in tune with her mind to perform
A flawless dance and song by which she had captured the
Hearts of all Gods and Goddess, what to say of humans on earth
She thought and thought and found that she can only normalize
If she can hear the songs of the boatman
Singing in full throated ease on earth
The echo’s of which were hovering in her mind like clouds
And twisting her heart to see that singer sublime
Ravindra
Kanpur India 5th January 2010
* Apsara = A Nymph dancer of heaven in the court of Indra as per Hindu Mythology
* Indra = The Lord of Heaven as per Hindu mythology
* Urveshi = One of the beloved Apsaras of Indra
* Saraswati = Goddess of knowledge, music & arts
* Jungle = Forest
Categories:
owing, life, love, musicdance, heart,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
“Amazing tradition. They throw a great party for you on the one day they know you can’t come.“
Quote by Jeff Goldblum.
JOHNNY SPICER
In this tomb are the bits and pieces of the butcher Johnny Spicer
Got distracted whilst cutting meat and fell into the meat slicer.
JAMES.D.BOWLER
In this crypt are the flat remains of James.D.Bowlar
Tripped crossing the road into the path of a steam roller.
FREDDIE ALBRIGHT
In this grave is the head of surfer Freddie Albright
It was all that was left when he encountered a great white.
JIM BYRONS
Buried below are just the bones of hunter Jim Byrons
His rifle jammed and his body eaten by lions.
THE COMEDIAN
Hear lies Sid the comedian who thought it was funny
Kicking the bucket and owing the taxman money.
WILLO THE WISP
Lying below are the charcoaled remains of fire eater Willo The Wisp
Who drank too much petrol in his act and was burned to a crisp.
EMILY GRAF
Interred in two pieces is the magician's wife Emily Graf
Something went drastically wrong, and he sawed her in half.
PETE THE BUILDER
Above this grave is just the statue of the builder Pete
Fell headfirst into a cement mixer whilst mixing concrete.
JOE McNAIR
The loud crackling you can hear in this grave is of the killer Joe McNair
Too much power was used when they executed him in the electric chair.
Written on 11th August 2024.
Categories:
owing, dark, death, humor,
Form:
Epitaph
Benumbed Jane!
"he'd never give a plain Jane like you a second's thought"
(but hellishly reign his godly wife)
O Jane!
Be little prettier
Be more wiser
Crucify your benumbed senses
Resurrect your eloquent vehement
Why she choose to be the godly wife?
Why he choose to be the beastful husband?
Let's not brawl and yawp
Let's not cuddlerape and strangled with a scarf
In unwieldy guilts and sins of the battlefields of the Great Marriage
Give up now
Or
Surrender to salvation
You are not owing to “Beauty and the Beast” - A French Fairy Tale
Time has no time
Be little prettier
Be more wiser
O Jane!
Categories:
owing, 12th grade, divorce, husband,
Form:
Epigram
As along our long life journey we sail
We all do encounter belied expectations
Feeling of deep hurt results from betrayal
Our shrivelled heart writhing in contractions
The hurt needs healing so we go to a healer
Who examines blotches in our aura field
Looking grave is this wheeler dealer
As his magic wand he does wield
Half who visit healed, the others not
For he simply invokes the placebo effect
Opening up our mind beyond its fearful slots
The faith healer does nothing yet no one suspects
With this comic interlude over with let us examine
The root cause of our pain needing healing
We negate not potency of toxic poison
Simply look at origin of so feeling
The aspect of us hurt is our identity
Plunged into dark gloom owing to its loss
Recognising not that in world of ephemerality
Attachment to fleeting images of pain is the cause
In monk mode detached thus free from pain and sorrow
Lower mind vaporised, we abide in blissful joy
No expectations or desires for the morrow
Mind illumined we recognise ego ploys
Acceptance of others just as they are
Knowing that maya oft causes misalignment
Acts of others be as they may leaves then no scar
We empathise with one and all resting in blissful contentment
We then are our own best faith healer having faith in love divine
Offering no niche within for rancour to anchor onto our being
Knowing that in timeless time with love all souls will align
We nonchalantly breeze through life ever celebrating
29-November-2020
Categories:
owing, faith,
Form:
Rhyme
Bulbous, flat, keel-like ridge, and in other shapes I see you,
Curved or carved; you shine painted in red, green, purple, or blue;
As the rainbow is placed splendidly on bone china clay,
With many musing and mourning moments, you swing and sway...!
Roses, lilies, tulips, jasmines... dancing in the cool breeze,
You can contain floral species of the skies and the seas;
Never even a moment, you seem to discriminate,
Flower from flowers, based on differences, small or great...!
A fountain of water for the flowers, trimmed and adorned,
You stand by coal-black coffins of rich or poor who are mourned;
A gorgeous and glamorous demonstration of marriage,
You decorate dazzlingly valiant soldier's carriage...!
Symbolizing plentiful wealth and lavish luxury,
Indian goddess, Vasudhara's endless treasury;
An icon of self-exploration and self-expression,
You are a portion of any art-lovers possession...!
Even when you're broken, blooms you hold with satiation,
Enhancing existential elegance and elation;
Owing your acts, optimism flows in me like flawless streams,
Not nightmares, heavens, and angels, nowadays, fill my dreams...!
19 April 2023
Writing Challenge - 'V' Words Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables
Categories:
owing, flower, inspirational, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
WISDOM WAS FOUND
The day moves me into this ultimate search
Of the principality that Lords over life
And rules over Kings, nobles, aged and Princes
As my desire yearns for that which is profitable to direct.
Steadfastly aiming to avoid the natural consequences
Invited by my wrong actions and life's fitful fall,
I grope for the path of the higher realm,
Then realise that even the word of God
Is searched and tried in the furnace of fire 7 times.
I surrender my eyes to her rebuke
And embark further into the land of the greats
Even the discouraging and slothful wind
Couldn't strangle my lamp
Amidst intimidating and daring storms
Where men's soul stagger not
But swaggers into celestial hall of fame,
Owing to grace, persistence and doggedness.
If only I find her, discretion will preserve me
From the perversity of the diabolic whose path is crooked,
I thought of the rags of time,
How I had stalled in movements in life's race
Where I was born to take the lead;
My heart cried for an ornament of grace.
Who shall then buy me one?
Still I hear no answer but one from me
Then I sell all that's within me just for her bosom.
Even my manliness and ego holds me not.
Who can withhold himself from speaking?
For real you have instructed many,
You have strengthened weak hands,
Your words have upheld him who was stumbling
And have strengthened the feeble frigid knees.
By the blast of God you were let loosed
And all your enemies are subdued and fade away.
God understands her way - ask Him 'how'?
And He knows her place - find it now!
For He looks to the ends of the earth,
And sees under the whole heavens,
To establish a weight for the wind,
And apportion the waters by measure
When a law was made for the rain
And a path for the thunderbolt,
Then He saw Wisdom and declared it;
Prepared it, indeed, He searched it out.
To men He said, "the fear of the Lord is wisdom
And to depart from evil is understanding."
Written by: Vick Manuel (VickWizzy)
Copyright© 2013.
Reference: New King James version (NKJV), Thomas Nelson [1978], copyright 1982, Job 28v23,28; pg301.
Categories:
owing, 2nd grade, bible, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
When I, like an old professor, scoff all to shape;
My inner child scratches me within, like an ape.
I laugh aloud forgetting all belittling ills;
He says, I'm a hyena, and thus my zeal kills.
I cry and he says you're a soft sensitive girl;
And my emotional eruption gets a curl.
I lay peaceful wanting to have 'Kumbkarna' sleep;
He laughs at me and says, sleep has nothing to keep.
When I, like Buddha, go to the 'Bodhi' he says;
Any tree is 'Bodhi' if you're in Buddha's ways.
Each work he criticizes yet he's not ill-willed,
It's because he's my true and only inner child.
My child is critical yet so objective too,
He is, to his conscience, always honest and true.
It's he, yet, my life, like a judge, evaluates;
Owing to him, as the sun, my life operates.
Times might change; years become eras; life designs all;
The child in me, like the polestar, directs my call.
N.B:
1. Kumbkarna is an Indian mythical figure who slept for six months continuously every year and slept again once his appetite went down.
2. Bodhi is the holy fig tree under which Gautam Buddha received enlightenment.
9 September 2021
Your Inner Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Categories:
owing, life, psychological,
Form:
Couplet
I was an inscrutable, capricious mystery writer, like a pure mystery of days;
And I had composed best selling novels, like westering sun's scarlet phase.
An unparalleled passion for writing, had for quite long been the motivation,
Behind novels which captured hearts, like pink clouds, drifting in formation.
My office desk faced the picture window, near the border of riotous blooms;
And sunny views enriched often eager eyes, owing to birds of many plumes.
Friends were a forever force in my life, like the natural floods of floundering,
Or as sun and moon meet in an eclipse, darkening heyday, with no warning.
Fairy-like forests, and fields of colored flowers, flamed with furious abandon,
Frequently, as fulgent family found one, to dazzle brighter than amber sun!
I lived in the house of mist mysteries, in haze shrouded, mighty mountains;
And each cherry dawn doled surprises, like roving redbirds in the thousands.
So sleepy in sun-drenched summer, my silent street was stained with hues,
In new modern, stylish, songbird days, like a gold treasure you cannot lose.
Neighbors would navigate narcissistic night, bearing an apple pie, or a joke;
Sharing fun and noisy laughter, like a blue undersea volcano, magma awoke.
Birds swept peaks of sculpted, stunning mountains, in the hot, daisy season,
And sky and the earth merged twice a day, in affinity hues of love cohesion.
The naked man orchid shivered with breezes, like quivery trees of November,
And Johnny Jump Up puckered at lemon sun, like a sour taste remembered.
In a sapphire sea near the mountains, a friend and I set out sailing one day,
As a youth follows wildest, golden dreams. Yet, heavy fog descended to stay.
Were we heading for wide open water, or drifting to shores of purple flowers?
That danger held a lovely mystery, like adventure during the nighttime hours.
Hour after rosy hour, we were drifting blind. Our motor had long since died;
Like green butterflies, questing for hours, in a place pink daisies lately cried.
We were afraid of being lost forever, so Pearl and I joined hands and prayed,
Also praying for our downhearted families, if fate's hand would not be stayed.
After many anxious, vagrant moments, a foghorn sounded, loud and so near;
Our desperate prayers were answered, by the voice of our Savior, very dear!
Categories:
owing, fantasy, god, lost, mystery,
Form:
Couplet
Owing you a letter,
No time,
A postcard for now.
I picked the one with a bright red tulip,
I thought about your yellow ones,
The ones with red streaks.
They sound beautiful.
My tulip plants have two buds.
One bloomed
But was sun bleached pink,
The other didn’t open at all.
The drought still takes it’s toll,
Even into spring.
Categories:
owing, life, nature, sadred,
Form:
Free verse