Best Ponders Poems
Romios, oh Romios, my
own star twirling across
the night skies.
What say you to Panagiota,
having hot chocolate with a
floating marshmallow bobbing
on her thighs?
Are you coming to take her
to her heavenly home this very
night?
Do whisper to her gently, I supplicate,
as she pens her poetry tonight.
Tireless and fearless, like a tiger prowling,
she roars and expresses her bare truth.
Greatly disappointed when poets fear penning
a political comment as if it were a painful
abscessed tooth?
Poets shaking in their shoes,asking one another,
If they are safe...are you well?
Perhaps they might reconsider, a thing to be feared
far more~~an eternal life in hell!
We are paying the price, Panagiota knows, for tossing
God aside.
Man, at the height of his pinheaded arrogance, thinks
he can control, the air, the sea and the tide?
Further, that man will stand together in world peace?
A constant farce shoved down our holy throats
There only is one leader, in charge of us all on this
grand human boat.
No, He has no party nor political affiliation.
He just loves you unconditionally, and died for
your salvation!
**Happy Easter**
~Panagiota~
March 27, 2020
12am PST
Imprisoned by shackles of being born in a lower caste, his roads are blocked.
Rejected by society, he's sidelined to garbage ridden streets, where he sleeps.
Providence left him abandoned as destiny became the harbinger of mortality
Ravaging his saddened life in grief as if his existence is damned in punishment.
His hardened mind hosts no feelings, having lost all hope, dredging in survival
Saluting any glimpse of generosity with humility--the only expression he knows.
As misery and suffering take turns to torment him with pain he can't endure,
The only dignity he ponders : will his newborn manage to escape the same fate.
June 27, 2018
Placed 3rd:Eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late contest by Silent One
End of June 2018 standard contest by Brian Strand
A
Robin
Sits alone
Perhaps he's just
pondering lifes’ point;
Sage.
A Poetess Ponders
When the sun has fallen asleep and
the moon chooses to care for us.
When the Creator, makes us sleepy,
it's so divinely glorious.
Our hearts travel to be in His warm,
loving care each night.
So that at sunrise we arise to do His will.
It's so joyfully and clearly right!
August 23, 2019
I sit here, night after night, watching human children and I am so bored. They bicker and fight about everything. It’s the same old thing, never ending.
When I shine my light upon some, they run and hide; no doubt guilty of something. I ponder how we of such intellect, birth such petty babies?
Earth had so much going for her; such potential until she birthed humans in her womb...what went wrong? I try to shed light on it; to show the glitch, if I, Sister Moon can’t reveal it, perhaps my Brother Sun can? Oh well, every family has its problems but, one would think a family the size of mine and at our age would’ve progressed beyond them.
When Sun awakens, I’ll ask him to look into the situation; he smiles through everything. Me, I ponder and watch the humiliating spectacle; I’m puzzled by those creatures.
I find it fascinating how the human mind ponders
the origin and shape of ideas
and how everyone
wanders.
I wonder why I
can’t help but think
in terms of rhythm and rhyme
when oftentimes others
prefer a more subtle approach
to how their thoughts are imperceptibly
dreamed, derived, or discovered.
They say everyone's chemistry is a mixed bag
of good and bad, sour, sweet, sad, mad and
lugubrious to laughably glad.
And I confess I don't know much
about psychology, psychiatry, or the brain
but this I know like the moon that glows:
the mind is a wondrous, thunderous thing.
So, if you're anything like me and
hope to see
the intricacies and mysteries
of the human mind,
better
take a step back
as a matter of fact, finding
answers may be lying
still,
undefined.
pondering --
why this smaller bottle
has the larger cap
Nevertheless, we hold one another accountable, every fertile, confluence, pre-term,
Me and mine, you and yours, words in, rhymes and reasons, and every Dum-De-Dum
Blue in tranquil blue
Clear and pristine clue
None but the eternal one, standing in witnessing time,
seven verses, in recitation, long
Prestressed condition is not something enjoyable in life,
if the reinforcement is not strong.
Yet, time will heal all,
through tests and trials, to mean more,
for a better world, better song,
And , the sky will ponder there too,
in the coming morn,
as this serene moment will prolong.
Picture courtesy : A relative of mine.
Address: Blue Lake, Purbachal, Bangladesh
Arthritic Vision Ponders Dementia's Dreams of Love's Future!
I’m a fool for you, dear one, if weakness, my choice,
As a man, though redundant, a poetic voice!
I’ll rain showers of kindness (won’t blitz your parade),
And have umbrella close by should glare suggest shade!
There’ll be lemonade iced down for days that it’s hot
And a jacket to borrow whenever it’s not!
Hold your hand if you tremble (from fear in some way),
As both ears lean to treasure what you have to say.
On a day you need rest, yours to cuddle and spoon,
And my home is your home (the back side of the moon?)!
Should we muse in Moon's crater, enjoy Earth’s green dells,
May we laugh, sing with birds, feel a breeze that foretells
That should we reincarnate, past’s gold’s ours to mint
To exchange for a future, it’s Karma well spent!
Might we live love in gardens, as husband and wife?
Is time ‘blush on a rose?’ Care to share afterlife?
Long Tooth
May 1st of 2019
Poet’s Notes:
I’ve long felt that there is nothing wrong with boldly declaring
that there are several friends in my life who I genuinely love,
women I still feel sexually attracted to. So am I then a new Don
Quixote (if not insane)? Am I tilting at windmills, to even dream
this quest is on a path of honor? Who has the time? What man
can clone himself, even in these days of moon landings!
To love any woman, even one woman is like trying to juggle
razor sharp Samurai Swords standing up in an empty canoe
without a keel or any ballast to stabilize you. It borders on the
edge of too much work, though the rewards may (to many men)
seem worth the effort, a dropped sword can sink one's boat!
How can one’s spirit be wholly free and feel love at the same
time? Nevertheless, to experience this is my purpose in life,
and my goal (if it is even possible) is to share this gift with as
many as I can, given the constraints of human life. Is there any
truth higher than this, “to love, one has to let go?” Oh, let ME
be loved by YOU in such a way (and still find you there!)
The Old Soul Ponders
The Old Soul Ponders
Old soul, ripped its tent and retired
into another long daylight fog
Pay the wages, old age is soundly mired
in the barks of a lazy dog
Serpent like- Each day twists its tail
where angels fear to ever tread
Sticky- Those tentacles leading to Hell
rude awakening even for the dead
Tunnel is long and dark with no light
thrashers cutting stalks for the corn
Bruised thoughts invade before the fight
as wisdom belches out its high scorn!
Alas! Wise words shot me in my back
as blood soaked my racing feet.
For courage was never what I lack
Yet Time eternally laughs at our defeat!
Robert J. Lindley , 11-17-2015
I love, love to write poetry, period!
I can find tons of inspiration, myriads!
A Muse? I have none, and no dappled unicorn either.
Poets might declare, oh my, she has a fever?
Both Muse and unicorn~ as helpful as egg beaters.
Or lovers who are just plain cheaters!
Just get strong coffee, my pen, great music and paper.
Add a lifetime of experiences and my time in theater.
Drama, joy, comedy, sorrow, what more do I need?
I start writing, it foments a grand ocean of speed.
Ah, yes to learn that divine art of true classical poetry.
You see, my friends, my poetic road is carved out for me!
2/20/2021
~2~
Dawn, and the magpies are black and white ink
on a white sky.
All things sign-write and advertise something,
even if that something is to stay away or
I am invisible.
Before I put pants on and wash my face
I have already walked far,
seen the road to its end, travelled beyond,
made choices at forks and junctions.
The town has written its shape in my mind,
I am the map that unrolls it.
The world stops spinning when we stop turning it.
The magpies are deep in debate
with other birds. Avian tribes vie to write
in the boldest fonts.
If I do not journey or go out at all,
but stay behind the screen of my thoughts,
moving those thoughts from here to there,
creating new scenarios,
then the world spins on faster and faster.
as I write myself upon its revolving reality.
What if I grow weary
of turning the world around?
Then I could close my eyes and rise to the center
where the stillness is.
All things, birds, and flying dust motes
now will stop writing their names
over and over again.
I may cease reading, stop spinning words,
just watch as the world erase's itself
for one endless moment.
Now I can go somewhere
and not carry the world on my shoulders,
reality may even become
simply space
for magpies to write upon.
A Simple Poet Ponders..
Along a lane of glowing orange
trees, I leisurely sauntered.
Reminiscing of my lovers in the past
Then,suddenly, a strong wind blew them
all away in a one, refreshing gasp!
Instead, I pondered my virtues and failings,
in the stillness of the autumn morning dew.
Hugged by loving trees on either side.
Knowing that in God's hands, I did abide.
The crunch of His leaves beneath my feet.
I longed for the day, the face of my God to meet.
11/2/2019
12:30am
*An addenda. Thanks to Line for correcting me
via Soupmail re: a typo! In appreciation and
love, Panagiota ***
A black bird ponders. Wind suddenly blows.
Below on the ground, autumn leaves swirl.
She gave him a letter. He gave a rose.
A raven has all the time in the world.
I like to think of Leonardo da Vinci
Staring at his unfinished painting
visualizing butterflies for they represent transformation
depicting her as disheveled, thus more human
it was bold of da Vinci to select a woman as his subject
suggesting there is more to femininity than most men realize
what would he have added if he had finished?
would it be the same or better? It is fun to ponde