Best Pure And Simple Poems
In the breathing forest came memories of my youth,
Nothing more than happiness shadowed by the truth.
The rising sun pulchritudinous like the smile on her face,
Let me think of her once more of pure and simple grace.
In the center of the wood lived a solemn rose,
Surrounded by a cruel weed which prohibited it to grow.
The weed was not considerate only thinking of itself,
Hurt the little rose not caring of how it felt.
Now the rose has grown up and overtowers the weed,
Making it undernourished and causing it to bleed.
Through tolerance and patience the rose has been well fed,
And for the spiteful weed, he gained a brand new bed.
Glancing to the falling moon, I've realized what I've done,
I've killed my inner self by following the sun.
I only hope that things will change far before the end,
So that the enemy I have gained will turn to be my friend.
1989
Seventh Place
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 15 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Third Place
YOUR PERSONAL FAVORITE, NO. 2
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
It is not always about you.
Sometimes it is about me.
There are things I hide inside
And they are waiting to be set free.
It not just about the cure,
Some times it is the disease,
That needs to be extinguished
By a simple word called please.
Please let me tell my story,
Please let me fuel my flame,
Please let me find my strength inside
That I have put away in shame.
There is one pure and simple truth
That I search for everyday,
And sometimes i feel the closer I get,
The more it fades away.
So let me tell my story
As you sit and wonder why
I didn't tell you sooner,
And just left my soul to die.
Angel?
Demon?
Faerie?
Witch?
Random labels
None apply.
We are all changelings
Pure and simple
Or complicated and unpure
Depending upon the mood, the moment, and our momentous events.
Divorce, death, cancer, car wrecks, they all take a toll on us.
Changing us completely in one second.
Giving us a perspective we never had before.
Showing us that our opinions are not the same now.
Sometimes switching to the opposite side in one second.
When we become the needy, we stop bad-mouthing the freeloaders.
When we realize how close we are to homeless, we maybe develop a little more empathy for them.
There are life-changing events happening every day.
We may go into some of them kicking and screaming,
But we still
Go into them
Changelings that we are.
Angel? Demon? Faerie? Crone? We’d best leave labels well and good alone.
Today is the day of a big fall festival, about twenty miles from here. I have been juried in, and have purchased all the equipment, set up a white tent, and put out my paintings, a few hours ahead, and stayed around for days of waiting. It took a lot of energy, and time, and I did not enjoy it, which is why I only did it twice. Two different shows, both the same year, about four years ago. I sold about eighty-five paintings, and they did not come anywhere near covering the cost of the tent, display pieces, and they did not give me back one ounce of time that I lost. I considered almost every second of tent time “lost time”, unless someone loved my work, which happened only three times in five days of waiting.
This art gig is therapy for me, pure and simple. The best part is, that it keeps me out of stores, buying new stuff – a bunch of junk I get tired of in two or three days, shiny things that will be dumped into a bonfire when I do not use them any longer. I lie. The best part of painting is the pleasure that it gives me. It is the most relaxing hobby I have ever gifted myself. I have mediated, and painting is like that only better, because I get to add color and glitter, and I love seeing my creativity unfold in surprising ways. Since I already own a couple of hundred canvases and the paints, and I just ordered a hundred and fifty new brushes, I might as well do this cheap hobby that I love, right?
I am not tempted to go to the fall festival. I feel the vendor’s pain, but I always try to buy something from each one, so I will not hurt their feelings, and if I keep it up, I will be working until I am ninety.
In case you're wondering what's in my heart
It's LOVE my friends, pure and simple LOVE
Now that I've reached this advanced age
I look back and realize love is all I've ever wanted
Didn't ALWAYS feel that special thing I was looking for
But who ever does... it's a figment of the mind
Everyone's definition of love is unique and personal
But the basic underlying theme is the same
Most times it doesn't need to be said
It's a feeling of happiness and indescribable joy
Like no other we have ever experienced
I have loved more than once, most of us do
In my years on this wonderful planet
Some I would call flirtations, some ran much deeper
Some were within my reach... some were unattainable
I would not trade any of those experiences
For a pot of gold... they were worth much much more
Now that I look back and reminisce
I am thankful for all my happy experiences through life
Because they have made me the man that I am!
Will you take my hand and walk with me
To view all of nature’s offerings to see?
Will you escape with me a while, with only a smile
And dance with me, beyond the very last mile?
Will you open your heart, as I trust you with mine?
Enhancing the brightness of the light to shine?
Will you skip the puddles with me and laugh along our way?
To land in each other’s arms at the end of the day?
Love is pure and simple, together we share truth of it all!
As colors blend around us, I touch you in the leaves that fall
And I say, thank you for this walk, for everything
Because you take the time for me, to help my spirit sing!
Heidi Sands
10/11/19
Love's Symphonic Passion
by Odin Roark
Shimmering whispers urge forth,
A beginning seeks release from darkness,
The voicing of struggle proclaims arrival,
Like miniature cymbals of resolute announcement,
The humble cries of emergence
Clash ever so quiet with air and space,
Once portending grace,
Now its melodic genesis.
The matrixes of parent/conductor
Anxiously hum nursery rhymes
Through white enameled side-rails,
Vertical portals to unfettered ears,
Absorbing even when sleeping,
Evolving passion's invitation.
The precious first movements
Grow from those one-finger dissonant phrases,
Sometimes pounded upon the black and white landscape
Where an merging piccolo's infant smile
Finds support by paternal contra bass and maternal cello echoes.
Remembrances of tinkling melodies
Soon enjoin its pure and simple
With conflicted movements of trial and error,
Evolving the inevitable adagio of growing up.
Hence forth
The scherzo's innocence of adolescence
Crescendos into threatening measures,
Where layered tones of choices
present challenge,
chaos,
counterpoint to independence,
or sympatric harmony.
The family of voicing
Develop love's thematic material,
Rhythms,
Keys,
And more complex harmonies,
Creating the free fantasia,
A coalescing of passion's varied workouts.
Its strings worn thin,
Arriving at life's largo movement of peace,
That place of reflective consonance,
The weight of its chambered containment
Rests forth its closing bars,
Housing now but the waning echo of a baby's chorus.
Its shimmering whispers
Float upon one last wave of the baton,
Stirring life's ethereal essence
Into heroic chorus
A higher bonding…
Awaits.
Dry Facts Can Perform Juicy Acts
In the EFL community
all around the world
it’s an undeniable
and unpleasant reality that
no matter how well-motivated
you and your students are
no matter how real and acute
the need for learning
a language may be
no matter how well-equipped
the language center is
no matter how well-trained
your instructors might be
still, teaching a language
as a foreign tongue
in a foreign country
in a classroom environment
within four walls
is an artificial endeavor,
pure and simple.
Moreover, the minute the students
step out of the classroom
the little language environment
created in the room
is left behind,
lost and forgotten
until the next class.
Minds boggle at how lively,
how attractive,
how delightful and entertaining,
how effective and powerful
languages can be
at the hands of skillful comedians,
orators, actors, poets and authors
while they all become
utter bores, dry and irrelevant,
with chalk-and-talk-addicted
unimaginative, ordinary instructors
in the language classrooms.
Though language itself is dry
and teaching it mostly boring
the way you introduce it
may engage even the cynical students
if only you yourself believe
that teaching is acting.
Instructors must act
to attract and impact
never mind if students
react without tact
each act will surely get
a few shells cracked
“teaching is the art of changing the brain”
that’s a well-known
neurological fact.
Acting will deliver
student participation
a recipe for motivation
a remedy for alienation.
The target is communication
and retention, not full accuracy
nor perfection, and, please,
leave aside incessant correction,
which definitely leads to
disenchantment and rejection.
Value student participation
and production
encourage interaction
feed vocabulary in collocation
grammar, like medicine,
in the right dosage and proportion
and for God’s sake,
keep your chalk-and-talk
at a minimum fraction.
Remember, an ELT instructor is
a confidence booster
not an error-seeker
or hand-pecking rooster.
Who said ELT was
an educational roller coaster?
Nope. It’s more like a bread toaster,
which takes care of all on the roster.
Idris Esen, February, 2016, Istanbul
Little girls and happy feet
Fills the soul with hearts, laughs loud.
Links girls and heaven; cheers a crowd.
Where ballet and smiling fun soon meet.
A steady dance upon life’s coarse.
Too soon, they up and go away.
Always remembering their smiles that day.
Pure and simple; joy with no remorse.
Dreams and flowers a retreat.
Sweet memories and dancing feasts
Uplifts the face of mundane beasts.
Oh, little girls with happy feet.
© February 10, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
You know me in every aspect by piece
Sun up sun down
You're the one thing I'd be lost without.
You know me the sound of my voice
In loud or whisper
When I'm singing and moaning your name.
You know me the feeling of me
Of my touch
When I'm loving you tenderly.
You know me the shape of me
Of my heart
Pulsating for you alone.
You know me the warmth of my body
Of my love
Spreading its wings to cocoon you forever.
You know me too deep
Of my passion my need
That only you can give me satisfactions.
You know me that no matter what comes
about to complicate our lives
I love you pure and simple to no end.
You know me like the hidden treasure
Discovered at long last
Inspected and affirmed all aspect by piece
Tenderly ensuring she's imperfectly perfect
to be displayed in your heart alone.
You know me you love me I'm yours to
treasure... The Jewel of your heart!
Written by, Akkina R Downing
11-9-16
'Twas two old men from Greece, is said;
Who sold two bottles of potion.
One was logic, pure and simple-
The other was pure emotion.
What bitter rivals they were
Both persuasive in their way,
Each believed his potion best-
The battle would often sway:
"Mine is more refined,
And truth the only good;
While mine can be explained,
Emotion never could."
To which the other replied:
"Not everyone's a scholar,
Not everyone is golden.
When men do not understand,
They simply do not listen."
"Truth is not the only good,
And be my end as just-
To arouse and quell emotion,
Is an effective leader's must."
To which the other replied:
"But what of the damage done
By the hands of one unjust?
Manipulating men like beasts,
And trained by you, I trust?"
"Men must learn to reason;
To know the truth of things,
To think only rationally,
To envision the good it brings."
To which the other replied:
"Life without emotion
Is a sorry end, indeed!
A tasteless life of logic
Would surely end our breed."
"Emotion may not rule you,
If logic be your boast.
Yet, to taste the taste of life-
Emotion is your host."
The two old men from Greece, is said;
Had soonafter passed away.
Neither had conquered the other-
Both potions were here to stay.
'Twas a second generation pupil,
Of the logician I might note;
Drew swallows from both potions,
And this is what he wrote;
"Logic pure and simple
Is good for you, 'tis true.
Yet, this one has no taste;
'Tis hard to swallow, too."
"The other, pure emotion,
Is pleasing to the taste;
And I cannot explain why-
I downed it in such haste."
The pupil then concluded,
"Neither one should stand alone."
He proceeded with a mixture
Of thoughts he wanted shown.
"Three parts of the logic,
To one of emotion.
For logic is the greater good-
Emotion is the motion."
He tasted from his potion,
A taste both common and good.
As emotion related to reason,
The logic was understood.
His potion stands the test of time,
Only fools put down his bottle,
Thoughts are better balanced-
When you drink from Aristotle.
What about New Year resolutions?
Of course forgotten!
But why forget?
What a question!
It’s easy to forget:
Cruel to remind!
That’s right.
Almost any reminder is cruel.
It’s himsa, pure and simple.
And we are all for ahimsa,
Though we may not practise it—
Outside this domain.
But there’s this starting trouble.
Almost all of us seem to have it—
Except perhaps Napoleon
And some crazy people like him.
Cruel reminders are to blame!
Then, why not think of kind reminders?
A resolution often turns on emotions,
And emotions evaporate.
Then a cruel, if impotent, reminder!
A resolution fueled by feelings,
Remains stable:
A New Year resolution excites me,
That’s my emotion.
I feel happy about the resolution.
And that’s my feeling.
My resolution lives long.
I’m not excited at all—
About my resolution.
Well, that’s another story!
So, no more starting trouble.
Bon voyage!
To see you in the morning
Be with you in the evening
To see you here
At every time of day
Such a simple prayer
To see you at every time of day
To hold you when you're laughing
Console you when you're crying
Take care of you
At every time of day
Such a simple prayer
To see you at every time of day
So tell me why you push me away
When I've sworn to be forever true
When I've pledged
My pure and simple heart to you?
How can you be so cruel?
To see you in the morning
Be with you in the evening
To see you here
At every time of day
Such a simple prayer
To see you at every time of day.
Here is a nonsense ode,
About why the chicken crossed the road,
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Why are its motives being questioned?
Maybe the chicken had the best of intentions,
Perhaps the road moved, eh,
And the chicken stayed,
Yes, the abstract road did not still remain,
But, pure and simple, here's the nub,
The chicken crossed its road to go to the pub!!!!
Yes, that was its good intention,
A day at the pub, beer inventions,
Why are the chicken's motives questioned?
Here is a nonsense ode,
About that chicken crossing the road,
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Why are its motives questioned?
Maybe the chicken had the best of intentions,
Perhaps the road moved, eh,
and the chicken stayed,
Yes, the abstract road, still, did not remain,
But, pure and simple, here's the nub,
The chicken crossed the road, to go to the pub!!!
Yes, that was its good intention,
A day at the pub, beer inventions,
Why are a chicken's motives questioned?
In case you're wondering what's in my heart
It's LOVE my friends, pure and simple LOVE
Now that I've reached this advanced age
I look back and realize love is all I've ever wanted
Didn't ALWAYS feel that special thing I was looking for
But who ever does... it's a figment of the mind
Everyone's definition of love is unique and personal
But the basic underlying theme is the same
Most times it doesn't need to be said
It's a feeling of happiness and indescribable joy
Like no other we have ever experienced
I have loved more than once, most of us do
In my years on this wonderful planet
Some I would call flirtations, some ran much deeper
Some were within my reach... some were unattainable
I would not trade any of those experiences
For a pot of gold... they were worth much much more
Now that I look back and reminisce
I am thankful for all my happy experiences through life
Because they have made me the man that I am!
© Jack Ellison 2014