Best Philosophically Poems
Battling the instabilities of reality.
Behind daylight's closed doors.
Imaginary chains keep me captive.
White walls decorated with
silhouettes of suppressed shadows -
disappear, upon the sight of twilight.
Alone, my eyes search for companionship.
Then she appears, smiling down at me.
Her solitude in darkness, shows,
it's not only the moon,
who sings an undefined rhapsody of loneliness -
helplessly, watching an exodus of stars.
What is life, but an unexplained metaphor.
What are we,
but leaves blowing in the wind.
Our emotions spinning - around and around.
Wondering if we will be lost forever?
Like you, I have no answers,
but search for meaning or at least understanding.
To open the veils of one's mind.
Kissing the silence, I too,
long for clarity to fill the emptiness.
Yet even with an open mind,
blanks appear - will they forever remain?
Will things ever be the same,
or will we persist with the distance?
.... Every face a stranger.
Every place a memory...
Have we lost the sensation of touch?
Will we love in the same way again?
Will tomorrow, forever, be a mark of yesterday?
Do we know what matters now?
The ignorance that plagued us,
do we understand it?
Do you even care?
Will minds unravel and evolve,
accept, co-exist or feel?
Or will some remain asleep?
I see those who leap with faith,
run spiritual marathons.
Yet are criticised,
for their intangible philosophies.
Because their creator, is not your creator,
and that creator, is not my creator -
so who is the creator, of the creator?
But is it not better than the tangible?
I guess we all have our own theories,
our own stories, our own destinies.
Whilst motionless, pondering philosophically,
the moon disappears behind blackness.
However, street lamps come alive.
A reminder, unlike the moon,
we are not immortal, but we are all lights,
who illuminate the universe.
And.
I am content knowing -
death is a beautiful virgin,
adorned in white.
Sunday Simple Musings
Silent One
21 June 2020
Forevermore, this fantastical
free verse features
a fortuitous tale
featuring forty-four flirty
frilly fabricated faeries
fractionally forsaken,
forever fictionalized
philosophically and phonetically
free to force
feisty forest phantoms
to frenzy. These feisty forest faeries,
frequently act like
femme fatales, for whom
we fire phantoms feel free
to fixate for future faerie flocks.
Foundationally, this un-formidable free verse
is free of falsities, but fraught with fiction and fantasy.
"Spiritual Narrative"
After life began, appeared “Evil Twin” mind’s obvious sin
‘Evil’ naught of nothing, using the power of love’s “something”
Giving rise to evil self, far to left, image of self
Love created, but mind deviated, it’s love abated
Love’s logic created Soul, but I am so bold, left heart’s gold
Lost in a wilderness mind, became the Soul of evil twin
Lost in it’s philosophies, mind’s logic of complexities
Has philosophically debated, Love that created
Saying, ‘how can this Love be the reality of me
I shall exalt above, this creation of heaven’s Love’
But crucifixion of mind regains Love’s self in time
As the mind is refined, Soul is re-aligned, with Love’s vine
Man’s discoveries, pieces of the recoveries, of true self
As pieces of the mind crucified, must learn to abide
From Love light’s truth cannot hide, reality has not lied
Being one with reality, God true technicality
Evil self is naught, except, in a mind of worldly thoughts
Live of your mind if your will, create life’s bitter pill
Your bitter pill will not spill, into Sacred Heart’s will
This proverb is proverbial, `Tis non swerve able
Within one’s love, one must abide, for on death’s cross it was tried
Also mind must abide, for on the cross was proven it lied
Death and life was set before, human mind to explore
To show evil twin, death’s sin, just no way for death to win
Make a tree good or make a tree evil, for is by man’s choice
Lie on God if your will, lie `Tis your own bitter pill’
`Tis by your own choice, by your own voice, `Good or Evil’
Death failed, life’s tree stands still, on yonder hill, alive and well
12-25-09 johnmosesfreeman@yahoo.com
Cherry blossoms stargaze as spring air comes;
East and west cross at Bells of Ireland: warm and calm;
Welling slowly to cede: tender sage thoughts,
Upon two hearts link, after hundreds of sought and fought.
Cathedral posts accent with ribbons of violets.
Congregate white orchids grin alongside the aisles,
Roseband sings tunes: forget-me-not to highest.
Wearing her lavender gown,Heather walks with smiles;
Clasp in her hands,tulip bouquet, guests she stun
Her Lilac in tuxedo waits: eyes locked tight in knot
Gentleness bestow from heavens, ever won
Their iris fuse glued; love radiating allot
Matching band's inscription: embroidered golden rings
Baby's breath, a grand wish soon very soon, will spring.
NOTE: All bold words are different flowers.. :) I always love flowers. I am always fascinated of their beauty and charm but more than these I am inspired by them: philosophically and emotionally as well ... :D
(c) Olive Eloisa
11:45pm
June 24, 2014
Sponsor Cyndi MacMillan
Contest Name GARDEN PARTY: VERB-alized NOUN-sense with FLORAL ACCENTS
placed 2nd place.. :) to God be the greatest glory :)
A bird in hand is worth two in the woods
Teaches us to take care not to be greedy
In the air, quite very easy to build castles
The water and the image are not a reality.
The image of sky and pool, even the wood
This material world is, philosophically, illusion.
We know the way to create imaginary world
We humans can not dispense with illusion.
Now slowly taking the hands apart or aside
The water, the image will disappear soon
It was just an illusion in one’s mind created
We live immersed in dreams and illusion.
“We are stuff as dreams are made on and
Our little life is, with a sleep, surrounded”*
============================
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest : Pick a line any line
6th place win
This sonnet was written earlier by me (The Universe is Maya "Illusion") but
I revised and changed the title of the poem)
*A quote from William Shakespeare
* Maya means illusion in Indian languages.
============================
Enthusiasm, the planet occupied.
As Sapiens lives in rage
Strives to come after
But all in sleeveless
Hence, in the land of the living,
Arouse a living Queen,
Waved by nature,
Tormented by hindrances,
And tempted by viles.
She stays through the storm,
Fight for her triumph,
And not easily bothered,
By countless thought of others.
Hmm! What a courageous Xena.
A pretty creature,
Creature, loved by the creator,
Endowed with courage,
Bestowed with beauty,
And blessed philosophically.
Every problem has it's own time and expiry date,
For, fear kills faster than the problem itself.
Putting *****Sapiens at Tjunction.
But, she never does. Moremi of our century.
You are a blessing in disguise,
And motivation to others.
Engrossing lady of the 21st century.
Let your courage shine through,
As your eyes speaks of your true beauty.
See the recumbent lion,
it yawns, mouth stretched open
a wide silence – he is not tired,
just philosophically bored.
It is a yawp
as much as the startled jaw
of a newborn kitten
is a visible caricature of surprise
for having arrived and survived.
Sparrows yawp in the beaks of raptors,
raptors yawp also in the frozen mandibles
of a relentless winter
but pity the man or woman
that does not yawp
at least once in a lifetime
their lips will become sewn tight
and an innocent horror
locked in forever.
Bright and polite
kids. Deferential
squirrels. Leaders of
leaders. Each man
his own man
living with his mate.
The great and the small,
all, the state.
On the other hand,
you find yourself
no hawk
but stuck
in traffic. Lack of
spirit, spiritual identity,
not free or free
philosophically about
no freedom. Caught
no sign
of letting go.
One. Bo-Peep's
sure Woody
is her man, an answer
to the question why
be a toy? Buzz too
would do.
Two. The men at least
have missions
leading other toys
through risky situations
sprinkler weather
or just play,
cleaning schedule.
So it goes
not homosexual
not hetero.
Not defined
by circumstance
or genetic material.
Gone beyond
the creator
to an infinity
that contains
him and us and our
collective minds.
Question is
can it exist
without us?
Would it matter?
Yes, if
that damn squirrel
gets run over.
A bird in hand is worth two in the woods
Teaches us to take care not to be greedy
In the air, quite very easy to build castles
The water and the image are not a reality.
The image of sky and pool, even the wood
This material world is, philosophically, illusion.
We know the way to create imaginary world
We humans can not dispense with illusion.
Now slowly taking the hands apart or aside
The water, the image will disappear soon
It was just an illusion in one’s mind created
We live immersed in dreams and illusion.
“We are stuff as dreams are made on and
Our little life is, with a sleep, surrounded”*
============================
*A quote from William Shakespeare
* Maya means illusion in Indian languages.
============================
First Placement
For the contest : The power in your hands by Carolyn Devonshire
Like a tumbleweed aimlessly blowing in the wind
across infinitely open and wide prairie home companion land
(which wasteland famously epitomized by T.S. Elliot)
a barren vista ravages metaphorical landscape
of one measly mortal malcontent male
bumping and scraping along accursed habiliment
just barely avoiding and dodging diabolical demons
mercilessly and unrelentingly ready
to seduce this somewhat sanguine Simian
who finds himself amidst the pitfalls
of a tortured and twisted existence
racked with pinions describe bing
a demonic dragon filled dungeon
damp, dark, demented domains –
a veritable no man’s land
impossible to escape no matter how fast I -
as a foo fighter flee
from the fearful, fierce-some phantasmagoric forms
figments of my imagination seemingly real
tangible as bone and flesh
who haunt sacred crowded house of slumber
transmogrify me into a loathsome madman
ranting raving senseless gibberish and sic gobbledygook
perceived as metaphysically n philosophically insane
as soundgarden syllabification
from one womanly World Wide Web wayfarer
which virtual vagabond venerates vowels
and possesses means and tees to till verse
akin to a sorceress who waves a magic wand
to produce supreme sentences
weaves tantalizing terrific tweed topographic tundra’s
that this admirer of her artful and colorful poetic endeavors
prompts me to accompany my mindscape
as a thought-provoking troubadour
amidst the information super byways and highways
along winding labyrinths of critical thinking
or simply stepping o'er rolling stones
of silly rhymes without wing less reason
all the while giving subtle egress
into that chamber of secrets
long kept shut tight to maintain
that sure footed stance of solitude
whose only entities happened
to constitute trappings of literary lugubriousness
those tombs of largesse identified
as great works and masterpieces of literature
yet careful to avoid complete intimacy
lest that cherished solitude shattered
and a heart rent asunder
twin tower ring inferno imp perils of loss that provide
an understandable cautionary tale
to the author of this rambling missive
a most profoundly perceptive acute Ape man
touched to the quick with a bit of angel dust
aware that this agonized and angst riddled arboreal beast
contents himself with the confines of cyberspace!
Princes dart to take cups and cups run away very very fast. Fear not a well trodden cat and bear not a bead or a pillow when journeying across the lands. Knock at wooded glades. Taste the dew from a Moulton cup and throw two hundred buds into the sky. This will surely be worthy of classical clapping. Geese attend opera houses and listen very attentively to the performance of heifers and bulls who twirl with arias to thrill the crowds. Organising a creature is not clever. And dusting should only ever be carried out in a mile long queue. It gives great pleasure to greet distinguished guests at a banquet of vegetables. Unseen underneath undergrowth uniquely unified. Tailored not. Trained not. Tempering not. And noted are the teaspoons travelling like nomads over the bridges. Headstone head heading home. Radiantly watching a nine foot mineralised rugby ball smiling on a train. Hahahaha and now a dance for the floors and ceilings. Hahahaha rapidisation raiding radios racing. Hahahaha decentralization decorated dogs. Hexagonal oxen. Xx philosophically z
What if the great Rene Descartes,
Renaissance man of many parts.
for all his fame and coruscation
is nothing but a fine creation
of my own imagination?
Philosophically disabused.
I think therefore I am
confused.
When people say don’t use the F word, do they have any idea how formidable fellowship, flux, foxy, finite, and figure-head are freely and fervently formed?
The F word?
What F word?
This crazy admonishment has led me to
This F word poem.
A fantastical fabricated tale, formulated and foretold by
four flirtatious faeries who frankly, felt fractionalized, forever far-fetched, finely falsified, and furiously fantasized by formerly frozen phenoms.
You will find words like fervent, frilly, formidable, feathery, figurehead, and flicker, in this finery.
You will forget fizzles, falls, fits, feeling fervently and frivolously focused.
Foundationally, this formidable fleeting fable of a quadrant of feisty feminine femme fatales
Is fraught with falsehoods, fictions.
My assistant, Franchesa, who was one of these frivolous faeries, is in a frantic frenzy toward focusing her feminine fancies on a phenomenally fragile finish,
What? I have not even added my favorite f words yet.... Fun-filled, flesh-eating, form-fitting
freckled, frozen, fast track, fair-weathered forget-me-knots to name a few.
We are at the fidgety part of the flowery forest of fantasy now.
I appreciate your faithfulness in falling for my ferociously friendly, flowery, f-trap.
I find it funny that family, fellowship, famously, fleshy, formula, and feckless begin with the same F as fanciful, Felix, fanny and the word that shall not be named.
Formidable words forever feel forgiven in the forefront of the fanfare of the forest.
Philosophically, what about the furious finish, fortuitously finalized by my former free mason, Fritz?
Forgone conclusion, friends, the finale was fortuitously inspired, of course, by my favorite letter, F.
Why was my whole special school life,
An interpretation of nature and school?
A philosophical contemplation and analysis,
A freeway inquiry into the education tool.
Because the god concept was lain out,
On the household table, delicately spread,
I was sharp at social phenomenon,
Even as a primary child was not off my head.
When I journeyed down the corridors,
Slowly, because of my disability,
I was more often than not on my own,
‘Cos the others would show off their mobility.
So I thought about the politics,
Of the special school and our integration right,
Our need of ramps and disabled toilets,
The importance of everybody’s mindset height.
I classed the whole organisational structure as wrong,
For using the carers as playtime supervisors,
‘Cos in my old nursery school the teachers contravened,
In any tit-for-tat playground misdemeanours.
The teachers knew us in the classroom,
So adjudicated fairly and with respect,
Were able to administer justice,
Wherever there was a point of regret.
The carers were just not on my level,
And you had to do what they said,
Which overshadowed my whole experience,
Which made me much see red.
It was believed that the carers had a light on,
Because they scribed for us in maths,
But your profession level sets your reception,
Of high-flyers’ stares and laughs.
I mean, I didn’t ever laugh at them,
For their low rank and position,
But that just meant they never put me with,
My parents speech and religion.
But I considered myself determined philosophically,
Not in the free-will line of thought camp,
And just needed a man, board or committee,
To rejuvenate myself and amp.
So I often spoke with the school doctor,
The boss of the cliques and staff,
But the other pupils resented it,
Laughing at my physical prospects, chaff.
When your life does not go right,
Insist, if you can, on calling the shots,
Make appointments with the gods,
And beam with importance watts.
Spilling a stampede of ink's prisms in brilliant
words infusing a Poet's thoughts.
Conveying creativity to provocative
imaginations .
Implicitly complying to isolating reality
Creating new dimensions where
Clock's spilling time's perceptions living
the moment of now forever.
Clockwise wisdom from wicked word’s
of a Crazy mind.
Philosophically our minds process symphonies
of orchestrated word's allowing cognitive man
to stay in harmony with the mind & body
a climax of our souls.
Mind the symphony insane insanity
orchestrated by the body in climax.
Words infuse a person's thoughts.
Emotions are expressed by the pitch of spoken word's.
Words communicate & body language speaks
emotions relative to the words
infused of a person's thinking.
Wisdom can be found reading in between the lines.
A paragraph of powerful catchphrases speaks
melodies of a catchy tune & flowers of imaginations
bloom.
Philosophy is ergonomics of the mind.
Urban legends in the suburbs.
Sounds of absurd check out the proverbs.
Cognition is a subject of cognitive man.
Premonitions are permissions of man's cognition.
Relative to the fixed position.
Precognition is a psychic's dream
an heard but not seen.
Culture is a reflection of society's ideology
theories of mythology in series of theologies.
Hypothetical theories query a qued question.
The clocks bleeding times perception
of dimensions in galaxies
light year's away.
Romeo’s an architect of accentuating
love's aesthetics in romance.
Twice pleasing to appeasing
sentiments in orchestra's
of delinquent eye's to witnesses.
Accentuating abstracts in non-conformities
designs contemporary aesthetics
in modern times.
Contemplating exquisite elegance unique
powers doubling my mind's conspiracy
of forwarding complex sediments.
Orchestrated the dynamics time playing
noteworthy scales of creativity
All the syllables in a kilogram of lines,
echoing grams of killer dope words whispering
persuasive complexity.
A mythic's chanting elegant wizardrtrii
enchanting ageless philosophies elegance of
life's angelic orchids of ageless wisdom's.
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