Best Pragmatism Poems
She returns my gaze when I'm too restless to sleep
a lustrous pearl mounted, deep set in a sapphire sky
I lie awake in my room, papered in spider spun silk
Slumber is allusive to us tonight; the moon and I
I wonder what thoughts she holds in her heart
Surely not man's doctrine of trivial pragmatism
Not by the one who rules the tide's ebb and flow
Her mellow glow is a healing ointment of chrism
Morality’s general
with an intimidating aura
and a commanding presence;
this charisma’s description
is a single lane void of corners
written in a dictionary
consisting of a single page.
Blamelessness so standardized
to be empirical
and ruthless to liberalism.
Pragmatism functions but under
the administration of apt discipline
with no chance for taste
and appetite to have their says.
Lips when open
are gates for words of absolution.
Yeah and nay
never exchanging importance
and with an illumination
so exact and precise
that even distant acquaintances
can join in attestation
of its attributes
to become a part of a bunch
of its unsolicited witnesses.
Shoulders of personality
grow high above the heads temple
and character, steeply mountainous
and impossible for compromise to climb.
Such dart hits same spot
over and over again on the board;
such skin keeps to its attitude,
never longing to be tanned or bleached
what a wealthy tiny island
so respected by its surrounding waters!
A delusory pleasure bristled the solitary abator
And the dusky night rides down the sky
An ethereal beauty demoed with her au naturel demeanor
The solitary abator bumps with illusions, thus far realisms high.
Elated with red-hot mysticisms the abator closed his eyes
And mildly felt the zephyr over the mum wispy time
She reposed in her bareness beside his devout envies
The abator fluffed up ca-cacing his limbs to ease with spirit and bine.
An awaited soul perked up with flavour of lust and zeal
And the midnight silence prolonged to be livening with insidiousness
She abreast herself over his frvid spirit of unreal
The abator matte-up bosoming her with barmy tenderness.
The ravenous abator intimated himself in the same state of bareness
And the dark moonless night beamed with perfect ecstacy and elan
She ooohed legalizing the demon-ridden enduringness
The abator held himself with an abrupt spasmodic movement of his organ.
The wonky estrus abator coaxed himself with the pleasure of onanism
And the gentle breeze was felt to soothe the pragmatism
Slowly her au naturel beauty faded, idling the eroticism
Bequeathing the abator's midnight oneirism.
Exracted from Gerald Nforche's Epic, The Slave's Tale
-Across the Atlantic, 1793-
We cry out cursing to our very gods
Whilst mokala and plotters lead us in lots.
And slaves we have become, slaves we are groomed
And setting in the milken sky, is the moon.
This is the hell that befalls one’s prism
If he doesn’t open himself to pragmatism.
The ways of mokala are not our ways
And their days are never like our days.
Hope you fall in line with my tune’s knell
As it would guide souls to wisely dwell:
Now permit me continue with my sad tale
Before we are rapidly placed on sale.
For here I stand under an alien sun
Faraway from my own sweet land’s rung
Battered, chained to the queue’s label
As humans are placed on the auction table.
Here I proceed with my tale feeding you
With my pain, pains of brothers on cue
As they are sold off like fresh tobacco
Whips meeting flesh if anyone plays the hero.
***
Rocks! ebesse rocking, shaking like old
The chains cutting into arms, legs to mold
Croaks and groans climaxing to a sadistic rhythm
Beating us to yield forth into realism.
Light strained in through rat nibbled openings
Else we would have left the hold like blind goblins
Vicious to the point of abandonment
Scuffling for blood, mokala’s disbursement.
Aided by the scurrying light, my head worked
East, west, south and north, on shoulders, rocked-
Acquainting itself with the crampy hold
Taking in every detail for any bolt.
In long prodigious rows we humans lay
Meditating, some wide-eyed not to say
Tear tracks dry on their black paling cheeks.
They now submissive despite the reeks.
A cough here, a huff there. A groan here
A croak there. A curse far afield, a stifle near.
A prayer whimpered here, a shiver rippling
There. A horrid sight it was, a grappling.
That pungent stench, from decaying beings:
Men awake whilst parts decayed in rings.
I was nauseated, my eyes reeling, pained
My stomach flaring to throw up content.
And there they ran, hiking on heaving bodies
Playing hide-and seek- on chained enemies.
Tossing about, screeching on their suppers-
Causing a kick here, shrieks there, left-overs.
And my groans joined the choir, a dirge
Loud to fissure walls, and seditious to merge
Vocal forces to kill, kill! Kill! No shy-
And we’d die sober, die! Die! Die!
Every being must be captivated by something
what else draws so much passion if not football?
Watch me scream and dance as I give my all.
Colours show emotions and personality
purity and stain best observed when white
consisting of others combined in a flight.
The future is clear of what is to become of me
greatness and power as ordained by Nature’s oracle
would be fully expressed to give life a miracle.
I preach absolution, I reject mediocrity
it is best when foot prints are carved in excellence
leaving for the upcoming a remarkable visual lens.
I’m a strong believer of ruthless pragmatism
though balanced by virtues so feminine
so that with any, I can wine and dine.
So much to be done, especially in my origin
a quick scan and tears are shed for Nigeria
so broke and needy for such a fertile area.
Crude ideas in me burn and try to be refined,
working with all I’ve got to reach the stars
but time ticks slowly, not wanting to pass.
My hands are trembling, my head is desperate
mind in copyright to such diversity from Da Vinci
still not there yet makes it completely itchy.
My life has travelled roads less taken,
a tumbleweed, east, west, north and south,
all around the world.
Sprouting, enticing horizons beckoned,
each just as fair, opened to discover
by youthful emancipation from entangled roots.
Never an answer to who my grown up would be,
endless opportunities, challenges and changes,
in effect, constrained ever looking back.
Well along nearly two score and ten later,
sunset in the dwindling distance, I take momentary pause
for a meditative gaze back along the ways.
Lennon said life happens, displaces other plans,
an evolution of maturation from hopes and expectations
to what has been, is, and what is yet to come.
In the distance, an inquisitive, self-assured youth,
unstoppable, for whom failure was alien,
que sera, sera in mien.
In between, the midlife self schooled in life’s reality,
nil tallies begetting pragmatism, tempering intrepidity,
with neither hope nor hopefulness suppressed or quelled.
Today, my senior citizen contemplates its
ageless twenty-something heart and mind,
with as many questions, but fewer answers than they had.
There is no sigh, no lamentation, no regret
as I turn to continue along the current byway,
trusting that I have somehow made a difference.
© Copyright J. Nicholas De Bonis, 2015. All rights reserved.
Screech, Coo, or Gobble –for contest
The Dove!!
What would we do
in the darkness of icy winter
sit cold and hungry
listen to its inane cooing?
The Eagle!!
The lofty hermit…
soaring above - alone
screeching at the wind
unapproachable aerie dweller.
The Turkey!!
Ah, the delectable turkey
fat thighs of hefty drumsticks
pale white meaty breast
sweet rendezvous at dinner’s plate.
Less handsome – yet
more filling than the dove.
A sensible choice
Eagle vs Turkey
Symbol vs Sustenance
Ideals vs Pragmatism.
10/10/2015
submitted to – 1776: The Eagle, The Dove, or the Turkey? poetry contest
sponsor – Mary Oliver Rotman
As with many dreams, I do not understand the dream I had last night. On the night of December 19, 2007, I dreamed about a candidate for President of the United States. I dreamed that he was the recipient of a strong spiritual awakening. In the dream, it was evident that it was not a political ploy, but was sincere and truly genuine.
I do have a pull toward governors because of their prior experience and administration abilities. Also, Although it matters, I am not very concerned about the candidates' religion. It also concerns me about their marital success or the lack thereof. In addition, I like candidates that are fiscal conservatives with flekibility and pragmatism with regards to social issues.
This country needs more balance with regards to military interventions. We seem to swing too far to the left/right extremes. We must defend America's way of life and our vital interests around the world. However, it is time for both parties and all Americans to reclarify and redefine what our vital interests are.
We can be proud of the fact that we have always sought to discover, invent, and innovate new ideas and new ways of doing things. I believe that we have led the way in making the world a better place in which to live. May our fathers' God show us the way out of our present wilderness.
This dream will force me to take a closer look at the candidates. We are clearly at a new crossroad in the quest for a God fearing, peaceful,, and properous America. Perhaps this dream also portrays a longing for a rebirth in the hearts of all Americans.
The high level of prosperity that we have experienced in America has not silenced the cries of the human heart. Could it be that I have seen a preveiw, not of a particular candidate, but of America's new leader, whomever he might be? Or could it be that America has come to a place in our history whereby every fiber of our being is crying out for a new awakening?
I cannot interprete the meaning of my dream or what it might signal; but I can say with certainty that it is most crucial that we be vigilant in employing our next leader. cj122007 (Edited and condensed for PS, 10012016)
Guided by pragmatism
My feet are firmly grounded
However, my mind oft-time takes flight
What things I see are a pure delight.
My thoughts do fly on occasion
Wandering so far and wide
The Valley of Kings sent out a call
China was next to see the great wall.
I took a gondola ride in Venice
And walked the bridge of sighs
So many places and I never got lost
Being pragmatic there was no cost.
My mind escapes to marvelous places
But my feet are firmly on the ground
Daydreaming in the here and now
The best of both worlds you will allow.
Pick-A-Title,
Wandering, but not Lost
Poetry Contest.
Sponsored
by:
Edward Ibeh
07/12/2021
The daytime radiation changed the forenoon breeze
And the windows were kept close
Flames hemmed in my room from the furnace terrasse
Brought my afternoon snooze at dispose.
Abounded myself from my brazier bed and stepped on the het up floor
And outcried mutedly against the cataclysm
Pelted along to take a bath, water pour out perceived to be boiled more
Brought all my desires against summer’s pragmatism.
The awaited evening was bored by the midday coercion
And the fun fancied by the birds those choir
Slowly by the virtues of lyricism, windows were open
Versed the liaison where the vanity fluxed by the twilight zephyr.
Eased myself from my midday muted hollers and trod on the stairs to the terrace
And felt the birds nested as the breeze became soother
Prostrated along to feel the charm, stars twinkled by their self-reliance
Brought all my desires worthy at 8pm with summer’s be after.
The quiesce voice of the leisurely leaves by the solacing breeze
And the dim rays that softened the ambiance
Noetically by the oath of imagery shadows that molded by my ease
Comeuped with this summer rhyme at 8pm by my essence.
Bedeviled by the world so brutal
He still bring – off with a grin
Baseless towards one among the nation
Still the only one to conform every time of year -
Once in a blue moon
One will surely inquire
How he find himself one among the elite group.
Lost in the woods to construe the pragmatism of nature
Yet she finagle to retrace a new ménage
Migrated from a distanced island
The Macaw can flee to a new world.
Flocked by same species and aggressed by foes
Over again a fresh habitation
One will surely inquire
Indolence if ever existed.
An aeon latter the brightest star even bears away
The brightness of a solarday
The duskiness undimmed environ is then
Oppugned by thous admiring oculi
In a moment of agitation
Back to same state
One will surely remember
The brightest ring god has ever created.
Rare to our naked eyes
One-time she dupes and one-time she comes along
A glimpse of it in the morning and in the evening
Hesperus usually appears at sunset in the western sky.
Viewed by few, yet known to all
Later annotates
And the former waits for the next eventide.
In America’s Pragmatism,
the urgent question is "of" individual sanctity
now can be tweeted as:
“what is the Pragmatic or Aesthetic function "of"
******** or PUSSY, anyway?”
and "of" the 2 types of Humanity:
the Good Dudes and the Bad Dudes—
in the view of this “Trash Culture” or “Pseudo Culture”!
In European Phenomenology,
it is about "aboutness," about, for example,
the 4 kinds of people:
the Ass-holes, the Ass-wipes, the Ass-kissers,
and
those who **** all over the world and
come home as “Sir”!
some of those exist in the understanding,
some in reality!
Phenomenologically speaking,
persons should be explored
like an uncharted wild terrain—
a person reflects the society he/she lives in.
In an African Perspective,
there is only one Human race
in one Home called Dachii, Oikos:
Ume Walaabuu baate—
Creation began at Walaabu!
Nutu kana, natu akkana—
We are, therefore, I am!
safuu! oofuu! ubuntu!
We Africans are not uncivilized
We are civilized differently—
and maladjusted
with different thought patterns!
Simply put, it is
too much a "Progress" folks
too much to cope with
one is too shallow, the other is too deep a "Civilization"
to figure out
and too hard to focus.
Africa, oh Africa
land of Love&Light
happy to be maladjusted?
_______
Operational Definitions of "Eidos" and "Oikos":
Eidos:
-for Ronald Barthes "eidos" = appearance, idea, constitutive nature,
-or as a Greek term, it means "form" "essence", "type" or "species".
Oikos
-is a Greek term for English prefix: eco- for "ecology" to refer to three related but distinct concepts: the family, the family's property, and the house
Who said the ancestry of human knowledge is Greek or Latin anyway?
Mine is a connection twix body and soul
Beliefs based on values, the earth as a whole;
In league with creation of moon and the stars,
To strings am related on tenor guitars.
In marriage enable the vows to confirm
Ensure that relations in love will stay firm.
Extend pragmatism in fields of mystique
Approach every challenge with focused technique
Directing attention in moments of stress
To angels who show you the way to success.
I came from a planet to keep hopes alive;
Of Garde am a number between three and five.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: What’s in a Number
Sponsored by Juliet Ligon
Placed 1st
© 7th February 2020
It has come to be all so apparent,
That life is so bleak and desolate.
My world has fallen over with nothing to remain.
Oh, how I long to once again,
Be in that ignorant bless,
So that I may once again live.
Your red lips have faded to
A gloom infested perpetual grey.
Those blue eyes that I once so loved,
That I would wake to,
Have vanished into the haze of black and grays.
You are a blank canvas to my eyes.
I will forever see the world,
Not as it is wanted, but needed.
The colors have faded, the sharpness gone,
But the shape remains true.
I am not blinded by the beauty,
But presented the form.
On my knees begging, I am here,
Once again wanting
Ignorance over fact, beauty over pragmatism.
Oh, how I want see the facade of beauty,
And never inner workings of it.
Oh, how I want to be shallow and see beauty.
JudeoChristian monotheists,
from fundamental conservationists
on back to radical creolizing multiculturists
inspiring nature-spirit co-revolutions,
declare YHWH to be unchanging,
in constant loving relationship with planet Earth
and all EarthTribes
And therefore constant integrity,
synergy,
creativity,
regenerativity,
macaronically iconized as creolizing fertility.
Mystics and prophets,
seers and heretics,
science-fiction and deep ecology writers,
teach a more complex view.
God as constantly unchanging Change,
both restoratively therapeutic
and retributively traumatic Processor,
co-arising regenerative flows of Win-Win nutritional history
with degeneratively evaporating energy.
Mahatma Gandhi
and many others after,
and probably before, him
taught and mentored
Become the Change today
you long for Earth's Change tomorrow.
So,
putting all this theology and ethology together,
if God is constant ClimateChange
and Gandhian mentors are wise
to advocate our becoming Beloved Change today,
right and left within this timeless NOW,
then this would be another way of saying
and doing
We could all cooperate better
as polypathic, yet with merely mortal EgoMemories,
descendents of Elder gods and goddesses
polyculturally co-creating restorations
healing Earth's sacred growing ClimateChange,
CoMessiahs
who are also,
in this limited atmanic
EarthBound
ecoHeaven-At-Hand sense,
Bodhisattvas restoring
Ego/EcoJustice CoMentorships,
within as without,
as below, so above
Karma-yogis
practicing
humility of EarthLove--yagna multicultural embracing praxis,
compassion of positive faiths, truths, trusts--tapas co-empathic disciplines,
generosity of cooperative hope--dana GoldenRule social pragmatism.
And of these three,
the greatest diastatic culmination
is Love.
Which some may see as Golden Matriotic EarthDay dreams
and ultra-violet
by dualdark competing nightmare-powers
of constant ClimateChange.