Best Philosophyme Poems
I am bipolar,
That’s what they say,
Maybe the mood swings.
Gave me away,
Maybe it was the battle going on;
Much deeper inside,
That caused me to run,
That caused me to hide.
Peaks and valleys, up and down,
Try to stay the course,
They pull and they push, twisting,
Tug and shove, inside out,
I am powerless to this force,
I am not living, just existing.
The world is full of wonders,
Happy breezes are blowing,
The fresh air tastes sweet,
My aura radiates, I am glowing,
Roaming free on the open range,
Mania rules on the peak,
Soon it will change.
This evil is back,
Taunting me, haunting me,
An overbearing cloak of black,
Do not cross me,
Or you will come to regret,
The beast that swims,
In my twisted sea.
It’s too late,
It has begun; crystal clear,
Eyes wide open; heavy breathing,
Tunnel vision and hate,
The beast is seething,
No time to run, no time for fear,
Submit to fate.
Regret is a vengeful troll,
Who is always around,
Rage is the noise, making a deafening sound,
Anger is a blanket, suffocating my soul,
Tortuously slow,
Eating me alive, keeping me cold.
No place to turn, nowhere to go.
Never give in, never give up hope,
In view of the trouble ahead,
Buckle up and try to cope,
Remember what I said,
This is you destiny, punishment for your sins,
To wait for history to repeat again.
Before I scarred the page
Raging what your letters cannot invent
Let me invite you to other books
I wrote before you owed me wage
For all maladjustment and discontent
Tettering on tentacles on hooks
Invite you to an open age
Of change and discourse transfigurment.
In a quiet moment read again
Shards of clay and artefacts beyond
A material functional disdain.
Look at the words like old bones
Bringing chromosomal tablets to rinse
The eyes of prejudices and conceit
You may wince
At what your arrogance did delete.
I have winced for years in broken jars
Unleashing rivulets of tears
For I gave you humanity as a gift, stars
Gave you dust and vessel for it
Time etched your abuse against this spirit
As you idolized barren observations
As if them alone could tell truths
Without the presence of experience.
Strange how you so prone to the material
Destroyed so much of its substance
In us. Yet it is inescapbale in the footprints of dust
The chromosomal bridges in our bodies
Linking us, reaffirming the gift again
Documents on my body like a stain
Irreducible by Mercator's illusions
There is no survival without the spiritual.
After protests, marches, firehoses and ropes
Still hanging from leftover branches of fear
I have earned the right to forgive you
The inherent gift make me your brother, here.
So now let us turn the map upside down
And draw again the latitudes unbending
In a straight line to your old thoughts,
Can we agree about the silence of the moon
Is a prohibiting noise in our head, a blind despair.
For thoose of you who may not know.
Just call me gonzo I write the absurd for life is insane and sometimes
it takes a madman to speak the truth so very clear.
I write for the broken vacant faces that have lost all hope.
To the dreamer who's well is slowley running dry from everyone
telling him to stop wasting his time.
I write like a endless highway fueled by whiskey and wild women
every adventure leads to pain but life is pain and i love in spite of it.
I thirst for every unseen mile the desert my brother it's people dwell
in the spirt of the west the opium parlors and brothels spirt still linger.
I write with a hint of danger and a promise of disaster.
Im a blues player whos trying to out run the devil.
Im a outlaw riding to cross the border a woman looking to the
empty range for my return.
I write because I breath in a world were the creative air has gone
stale.
The bottle sits apon table and I welcome any strangers company
I just rather that stranger be a warm woman instead of a
unfriendly amigo who is a little jelouse.
Write to be more than just part of the highways landscape.
Some may call me crude crazy insane some even vulgar and
liar and thief.
But aside from thoose compliments.
No matter what you may call me.
Dont ever forget to just call me gonzo.
My autumn wine; white winter rose
Please tell me how your garden grows?
I’ve lost my touch, I feared as much
You are fragile and it shows
Can I still call upon you?
With no words ever spoken to you?
And would you come to me?
Could you hear me in a dream?
Would you “sense” me if I came close,
But not in sight of you eyes?
Would you tempt me if giving up hope
Could cleanse me of all the lies?
I survive through a disguise
Designed to hide my immortal light
You will never see it
For I am a chameleon
Crawling through the ancient garden
The (other) not known as Eden
For it has no name to keep it safe
Until light shines on this darkened place
“April showers bring May flowers”
And so your flower has not yet soured
You still have the power to reverse your desires
My white winter rose, will you grow any higher?
Prosper or wither
The choice is now yours
Bound or severed
I’ve done all I could
What keeps me awake
When the cool breeze bears whispers of things to come
Promises to be fulfilled on the morrow?
Is it my joyless moment of cognizance
knowing that this stagnant night ripples from no real breeze
Only imagined promises birthed on the whims of a longing heart?
Yet, what keeps me awake
is not these dreams of flattering winds
but it is this night of lifeless branches and unrifled leaves
the lack of real whispering winds taunting my heart
What truly keeps me awake
Is the silence of tomorrow.
Sleep has become a thing of fear,
the Darkness is so frightening here.
Uncertainty creeps over me-
am I awake, or still asleep?
Do I exist just in a dreaam?
Sleeping makes me want to scream.
No longer does it bring me rest,
to me, it is to much like death.
My soul's unsure as what is real,
a terrifying, dark Ordeal.
On sleep I unleash a Coup de Grace,
Inducing my Insomnia.
Form:
I came out screaming from the womb
No I am not a malcontent, I innocent
Was slapped upon my nakedness. Gloom
Was the first thing I grasp, a dissident
Wet and squirming in ackward light
Suddenly changes, I could not swim
This new ocean of day becoming night
I slept so that I would not know the grim.
My mother's last child sixteen years gone
All the flowers were dried up in their bed
And yet old skies make still a brighter dawn
But someone superior wanted me here instead
I had a purpose before I was conceived
My mission awaited me the day I was born
My father was being rolled up like a sleeve
They were at late evening, I was at morn.
I often wondered what he said to her, before
I am sure they did not hold hands about me
The liquid tongue of tidal waves on the shore
Sang not in prophecy, nor splash of memory
She must have surprised him with surprise
Ebb and flowing either which crinkling way:
O I am about unamask our love's disguise
And then came March, and the phoenix spring
Ecstacy that came long before, now to follow
The puffs and groans of agony, making the wing
Puts a strain on the moth. March is a mellow
Month ending when I am coming new
From the wet blackness where God too
Wet his ankle in the milk mildness of dew
I am a child of spring, but how dry I grew.
What was the boring sum of my days you ask
This waking and sleeping and smiling on cue
When my physiology grounding them in task
Spoke of my humanity, making me like you
O I had such dreams then, not where
I am heading now and still do not know
But where I coming from, the comfort there
And memory fading, fading the more I grow.
Here is the sum of it, the absolute beauty
Of being born, and brimming with reality of God
Heaven is somewhere in the past, O duty
Shall find me there if earth backward would trod
There is a mystery paling life at the edge
Of life, There is a depth in us shallowed by time
And I cannot unthirst me of this knowledge
It is too absolute, and O, it is too sublime
Silently he waits for me
Shrouded in mystery
I've never seen his face
But I sense his presence every place
He thinks he's kind
i think he's cruel
I wish it was a game
Where I could change the rules
But deep inside, i know he'll be
The last person that I'll see
And since this is true
I hope that death is kind to me and to you
I too believe
Flowers have more purposes than the bringing of fruit
So that all of me is not known
Though dig to the bedrock of my root
And I have feared that I shall go away
Before the golden fleece
Of many colors set me laughing at sun, moon and stars
And ever walked between the morning and the evening
Avoiding Martha's doubt
And the tears
From the depth of veiled despair
It is not evening etherized here
But common dust
When every atom is built by faith
I am sick today
And was sick yesterday
And again they brought me
To the gate Beautiful
After he was swallowed in the clouds
Yet I did not wait like Lazarus
For I too
Can be sick unto death
With these two voyagers:
Goodness and mercy
On eagle's wings and loaded with sunshine
Piloting me.
I can set my chin against the wind
And even shut my eyes to sin.
Yet, I live my days with a purpose still
To help someone, someway, with some will.
The person needing help the most
Is he that from me has sometimes been lost.
It is me, of course, of whom I speak
And this discourse is more than just a peak.
Though I try to be savvy, witty, and upbeat
There are those moments alone where I fall to defeat.
I have found a few words though, to help get me by
Often I use them, so I will continue to try.
Someone once said, "Life is like a vending machine".
You wonder why...well, here's the thing.
From the day we're born I have no doubt
"If you don't put something in...You won't get anything out"!
So, put the coins in your vending machine
Let others know that you have been.
Take the choice you have vended
And pray that it is enough, when life has ended.
“Why?” I spelled out with my finger on my bathroom mirror
A pair of green eyes glared back at me through the wavy letters
I looked behind me but when I turned back the steam from my shower had washed away my essential
question, and the eyes.
I raised my hand and felt the cool mirror on my open palm as I cleared a space hoping to find the eyes under
the thick layer of gray haze
There they were again, the pair of eyes, but this time a small pink mouth accomplanied it and a blurred vision
of the rest of the face.
Suddenly a cloud of thick steam englufed the farmiliar look.
I raised my palm again, and with a circling motion I could see the green ovals sparkling
I breathed in deeply and felt calmed as I inhaled a cloud of steam, clearing my throat I stared into the eyes
until they faded.
I was curious
“Who?” I spelled out with my finger on my bathroom mirror.
Hoping to see the face again
I stopped my running shower, and as if this were the answer the face reappeared.
This wasn’t enough.
“Why?” I tried to write over the face.
This didn’t work.
I asked it out loud.
I screamed it out loud.
I whispered it to myself.
Could this question not be answered?
Such a simple question
Yet another?
Such a complicated answer
“Who?” I tried again
The face stared back at me in frusteration, she knew something that I knew as well.
I realized
I nodded at the face and the face nodded back to me
We both knew.
RENOVATION
"A battle against yourself is the thorns on a rose."
~Miranda Lambert
I walk
Head held high
Through a low valley
Searching … seeking … fighting…
Myself~
I am the sand
That buries my feet
Deeper
With every step I take
I pull myself down
Every step makes me weaker
I deceive my own eyes, and drown
Them in lustrous beauty
Deceit tells no truth~
Greener grass
Bluer seas
Seems preposterous to let pass
My mask is so divine
Nothing’s the same in a looking glass
Inviting myself to stay
Welcome arms wave my way
Deep into my allure
My own hypnosis forbade me to stray
Blinded by my eminent veil
That lured my feeble mind in rapt
Forthwith rooted myself in an underland
With silent moans of the entrapped
Over evil, good shall always stand
True sorrow sets my spirit free
Awake to delicate light
As it glimmers through my window
I hit my knees at the glorious sight
I’ve fought myself down an onyx road
At a time torn myself, borderline
I paid myself a visit
Defeated my inner monster’s shrine
She refuses to remit~
Asks why do I fight scared
I thought we love the life we lead
Here’s your chance to choose your destiny
Time to emit your final plead
Not guilty~
Inner demon from me part
Clean parchment, brand new quill
I can now renovate my heart
©2011-06-27
Miranda Lambert
Something sits slunk in the corner
Am I the only mourner?
This stranger rocks weeping
it has been sleeping
It has awoke to find
its nightmare was not in its mind
It realizes that this is real
sadness it begins to feel
I step closer to this unknown
For in this dungeon no light is shown
Darkness envelops this victim
My cigarette the only light on him
As I step closer "help me" he whimpers
"save me from these night tremors"
This is no dream my friend
Your sorrow will not end
"I am dying" he tells me
How can I save thee?
"Carry on my word
So little am I heard"
As I step closer to the helpless soul
Gasoline penetrates my nostrils whole
Who are you good sir
"I am Mankind's Conscious mister
I have lived in the shadows as mankind
cuts each others throats without mind
of the consequences of heartless acts
So will you help me in the face of these facts?"
I contemplate his pleading
A conscious this world is needing
But what is that to me
No benefit for me do I see
With the smell of gasoline still in my nose
I flick my cigarette at his body and ragged clothes
As I turn and leave I hear his moans
As I turn and leave I trip over Chivalry and Honesty's bones
Trousers and tights shirts
Tights and baggy blouses
Buff boots and converse
Heelys without wheels I do
Is what I wear
Is what I am
Is what I be
Under that dress and flats
Behind that hair style and makeup
Is what I pretend to be
Is what people want me to be
Is what they want from me
It’s a switch in personality
From boy to girl
Or that is what they say?
I act boyish?
I am being me
But they just won’t accept me
It’s not like I committed a crime against nature
I was just being me
Acting to be myself
And that is my nature
But what people also say
What I also noticed about myself
I intend to succeed in having
Two personalities
Tough? Soft?
Wild, sensitive?
Adventurous, poetic?
Athletic, lazy
Singer, screamer
Dancer, deep?
Fighter, surrender?
Strong, weak…
Is that what they say?
Or is it just mixed up?
I’m glad I do…
Roaming about in the valley of love
I saw an enchanting dream
To hold on to the treasure trough
Of purity of soul and self esteem
Cross swords with the demons of lust
That swallow the serenity of souls
Neither my soul to greed entrust
Love and compassion to be my goals
Virtues that flower in the thought’s garden
Dazzle the eyes with the rainbow of colors
A comforting word is a paradise bliss laden
To banish anguish provide succors
My lofty resolve was to be steadfast and just
Undaunted in sunshine and rain
Smilingly in all adversities and failures adjust
The luck awards me a shackle or puts me in chain
The devil stood on my way wearing an ugly face
With designs to undo my dream
With an aim to see me end up in disgrace
With electrifying speed he raised his team
Would my dreams survive the onslaught of devil
Should I walk out and quit the race
Would my unsheathed sword of tenacity subdue the evil
Alone I may not this goliath successfully face
But what if you lend me your hand
Together we can win with grace
And Devil’s designs to quarantine send
Vanquished we can destroy the evil’s trace