Best Realistically Poems
Drizzling, dazzling
splinters of diamond
Shards of crystal
or liquidized glass!
Transparent drops
from a translucent sky.
Ooh, that lucid lustre:
No wonder they say,
there's something sexy about the rain
Atleast it does seem to drive
dripping lovers insane.
And then as if frenzied, suddenly excited
the drizzle converts into a heavy downpour
as thunders bellow and thunders roar
as rivers swell and rivers soar.
Rain battering our rooftop
like needless war drums
or heedless bass drums
The heavens having opened
to announce a cloud burst
Till it's said to be raining cats and dogs
or more realistically, fishes and frogs!
O' God bless the nimbus
Those soaking cotton wool puffs in the sky
Those candy floss rainclouds sailing by.
*
/ \
/ \
sliced
and whole
a cleaved life
in flux cast dice
state of non being
potential in between
eternity's randomness
flip a coin up into the air
unpredictability flies there
alternate reality hints upon
•>•
parallel universes going on
realistically just one path
life’s inevitable no math
untangled observation
spit out my creation
god particle sown
new baby grown
chop the cord
use sword
spliced
\ /
\ /
*
soothing your soul self
a knowing within your heart
what is best for you
dream state magic
introspective sureness
living your truth
bathing your soul self
hearing yourself realistically
being the most healthy statistically
living your joy artistically
following your absolute truth mystically
your angel guides know the eliminations and
inclusions that you will need to delight in
your bliss and live your true soul self
Thoughts On Infinity
Infinity comprises that endless empyrean reach of a
True continuous nature far beyond mankind’s ability
To truly comprehend and appreciate the sheer magic
Of the true enchantment and beauty of Almighty God’s
Kingdom of everlasting peace, love, and devotion.
Infinity is beyond all time, space, matter, and destination.
It is bounded by a mystical aura of a true divine cosmic
Perfection created by the heavenly design and intention
Of God Himself as He has made His revelatory overtures
To each of us for our eventual spiritual transformation.
Infinity oft bespeaks stark images of an endless cosmic vortex,
Punctuated by planets, stars, black holes, comets, and star dust;
When it realistically may be more of a perfected state of a true
Self-awareness and an accentuated level of consciousness that
Transcends mankind’s finite level of reality and understanding.
One day when each of us reach the end of our mortal coil on
This Earth, we shall, in turn, make that final storied leap to the
Heavens as our souls begin their cosmic ascension to God’s
Kingdom, and shall arrive at their ultimate state holy bliss into
The embrace and eternal love of Almighty God Himself.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 29, 2018 (Quintain)
Wake up a little earlier; another troubled night
But the remnants of pre-birthday make-up still do their job remarkably
Smile for the camera; these pictures are keepers, so realistically modelled for
Thank yous for unthoughtful offerings; why hurt feelings after all?
A dozen friends all come along; it's not their scene but they want to please me
Can't look over there, have to be the last to go through the door
They're trying so hard, all their love gathering on my windowsill
Some cards handmade with heartfelt affection, gifts so vague and cliched, more
roses than I could care for
And your dusty eyes still staring through them all from behind the frame
Complete the scene as my headstone
Couldn't have slept at all
Excitedly imagining what you were planning
Warm in your jacket you gave me to sleep in
Wouldn't lift or lower my foolish head
Jitters looking forward to you
Flash could've gone off but we wouldn't notice
Shroud me with your words, promises you could not keep
All the guests combined; a less than you companion
I wonder why we couldn't make it through?
And I'd never had to say goodbye 'til the day that I met you
All that I'd got for we pushed them all out
And I didn't miss them.
Didn't miss them.
Why are you still asking after me?
How do you still reach into my eyes
Before I turn away?
What happened to let us get like this and tell me
When can it end?
How is it I want it to stay?
Though there's a soft spot for you in my heart and you're
Slowly seeping out
Frozen as this face remains
Breaking when I'm forced to recall
I'm 18 and you're not here
But she passed on your message for me
Happy Birthday.
And in those obligated words it all crashes back
I'll keep all our secrets and ignore all the rest
The world we made and left to decay
Keeps me smiling for every wasted day.
When I mention my morning meditation practice,
many respond with wishes and hopes
they could
would
should discipline themselves
to also join in to this practice
practice
praxis
until fragmented uncommunicative ego/ecosystems
finally get life resiliently realistically right
more than ego-narcissistically wrong.
But this,
I ego-think and eco-feel,
reverses what is a more centrally profound point
of ZeroZone cosmic-organic view.
Everyday life is already our active meditation
which we Win/Lose unpractice,
Business As Usual LoseLose dis-practice
praxis
until we hope to get us egoWin-ecoWin
interdependently healthy right
more than pathologically diseased wrong.
*This is NOT meant to be morbid, alarming or negative. Most people who have seen my poems, know that I am positive often. It is realistic. I am a factual person, so it is based on facts, not panic. It is regards to the Coronavirus (Covid-19)
Over the years, I have had Cancer, Lyme disease, Head traumas and I have a heart issue.
Realistically, I know that if I get this, it is nearly or will be a death sentence for me
I have had many near death experiences in my life and I am fortunate to survive, I am a fighter!
I am also a survivor who prepares with action for any crisis and with faith gained strength to do so
So, I have been watching the Covid-19 virus evolve and spread around the world quickly
It is the most contagious illness that I have ever witnessed and it seems to be uncontainable
I also know what our hospitals are like where I live, which has often been very poor treatment
So, I am facing truth to what may or may not happen, as I prepare as best as I can
I also know what it is like to lose someone suddenly to death without a chance to say goodbye
This leads me to speak out today to everyone here and thank you all for your kind support
This does not mean I think I’m leaving for certain and if I escape this, I will certainly celebrate!
I hold onto gratitude closely in my life and I’m grateful for every bit of support I receive here
Thank you for reading my poems, becoming my friend, taking the time to leave nice comments
Some may ask why not wait to see if I am diagnosed with this first? Why rush to say this?
Because, I know by then, I may not be able to write this and I would never want it to be too late
I love this site. It has helped me through many things and taught me a lot too. It has become a part of my life since I found it.
So, thank you again with love for now and prayers to everyone here and I will keep writing!
Heidi Sands (*I am not leaving. I am just saying what I feel and will continue here, as usual)
3/1/20
I slid the slider to my art studio with cautious optimism,
Hoping to find my brushes and glitter and paint and glue
Somewhere close to where I had left them last night.
The bright pink paint I had specifically placed front and center was missing.
Let us not jump to conclusions, my socialized mind said. Maybe it was not last night.
Maybe you put it there the night before last night.
We were not out here the night before, my dendrites argued after they had connected last night’s thinking.
My paint water was in its usual place. My brushes were where I had left them.
I usually use thirty to forty brushes a day, so there is no way to tell if they had been moved or were missing.
Everything else appeared to be exactly as it was yesterday.
I immediately began convincing myself that I must have moved that neon leather paint at the last second before turning and shutting the slider.
Faeries and elves do not paint in here I argued.
That is absurd and realistically unsound. Right?
But what if they do move the paint, dancing and twirling through it? Creating new magic with their little ballerina shoes?
What if they come in here and slide across the canvases, dropping glitter and enhancing my stuff?
What if they are like the shoemaker elves, fixing my mistakes in the middle of the night?
Thinking I had heard a tiny little patter of a faerie foot, I turned and looked at my art table.
Whereby sat the hot pink neon paint that was not there a moment before.
What if?
Written 10-3-2018 Poetry Contest: The Paint Movers
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
PRICELESS Me
Satan, Im priceless you cant put that price on me
This beautiful structure GOD has created simply does not have a fee
So all that you proclaim to offer theres no need you see
I can send up all my requests and receive them by getting down on bended knees
As I reflect back on my past when everything about me was a fee
And my entire mentality was driven by nothing but currency
I rendered you my soul
And just then my whole life had took its toll
I started chasing and lusting wealth
Which had become so detrimental to my health
I lost all my sense of reasoning my direction, visions and goals I was no longer seeing
I was brought with a pricetag on my head
But realistically I was living as the dead
When my sole purpose was to benefit the family I once led
Eventually you would place a huge dent in me
Incarceration has found me and grief surrounds me
As your merchandise and due to your purchase I allowed you to depreciate my value
You were persistently attracting, while consistently attacking
But know I landed back in my original owners hands, who initially gave me life
With instructions for no strife
New birth, My worth
Recognizing all that he created me to be without a price or a fee
Your wicked ramifications that had once followed
Mournfully, tormented me my family and friends suffering is what we had swallowed
And as your merchandise
I still had to pay my own price
While your plans were to dismantle, distract and corrupt
Here I sit stuck in the prison system on my but
Satan, I have just a few more words “IM PRICELESS”
I cant be bought thats the lesson that I was taught
No longer am I living in hell because my soul is not for sell
No longer a commodity my merchant is now GOD
And he is who embodies me.
PRICELESS ME
(Mark 8:36) And how does a man benefit if he gains the whole world and loses his soul in the process?
Days until ‘Pride’ fast approaching,
On the phone with mom, she said;
Not to make myself a target by going,
That she doesn’t wish her daughter dead.
Better yet, stay home, she insists,
Everyone that goes is at risk.
As if I should hide who I am inside…
Truly, I understand her warranted concerns,
All the same; the event, for me, isn’t ruined,
Realistically, the fact makes some people spurn,
Gay, perhaps no different, I’m invariably human,
Eventually, everyone will understand and discern,
Then I won’t have to live a suppressing illusion.
Honestly, I didn’t take moment to decide,
Only the one answer buzzed in my ear,
No, I won’t sit by with anxiety and hide,
Especially so, I won’t give my all to this fear,
You can take my life, but you can’t take my pride.
——————
May 4, 2019
Poem Type: Acrostic
Creative with passion
Hot and steamy
Artful in scribe
Realistically dreamy
Loving lines flow
Eternal bliss
Natures bonding
Everlasting kiss
Bared and ready
Infusioned hearts race
Romantic meeting
Determines the pace
" For Charlene Bird "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love2.php
With pen in hand I sat, clearly I could visualize
the graphic scene I intended my readers to see.
Each detail was so vivid when I closed my eyes;
a child, happily singing beneath a dogwood tree.
Trying to write the words, my breath was shallow.
How could I describe the curled edges of a leaf.
or the color of soil in the field beyond, left fallow?
How was I to aptly convey Spring in poetic motif?
My pulse quickened as I filled my pen with ink
Images were copied from my mind to stationery.
Blue skies came alive; leaves were fringed in pink
Verses flowed freely; I dared not dawdle or tarry.
There was nothing ambiguous in what I had penned
Expressed realistically, the child's voice could be heard.
Through imagery, a poet has the ability to transcend
readers into each verse when the imagination is spurred.
GREEDY POACHING
Rhino poachers often hunt at night
When the Rhino has poor eye sight.
These prehistoric creatures
Cannot distinguish human features.
But with a well-developed sense of smell
Fortunately they can always tell
When danger or a poacher is close,
Thanks to their sensitive nose.
Every horn that they take back,
And Rhino body that they hack,
Is yet more money in their belt,
To which no sentiment is felt.
Subsistence Poachers who randomly
Kill, fit a less important role,
Their profit cannot compare,
To syndicates with international flair!
These professionals are sourced
From a military career,
Using weapons and tactics that
Inflict unimaginable pain and fear.
Rhinos are darted from the air,
Without hesitation or human care.
Some Rhinos are found still half alive,
And veterinary surgeons rush to help
Them survive,
But could these same people perhaps
Be involved and accept,
These horrific acts, could they in fact,
Be suspect?
Will Rhinos become extinct,
This is a worrying fear,
Statistics do indicate that this scenario,
Is realistically near!
N Naturally caring.
U Understanding and Kind.
R Realistically diagnoses
S Sees things others miss
E Enthusiastic about helping people
I’ve come across the phrase
“If a tree falls when there’s no one there to hear it does it make a sound?”
Even if the trunk thuds to the ground, the echoes travel around to surround the remaining trees far into the woods.
Is it really any good?
Was there any point at all if there wasn’t anyone there to see its fall?
But if this is what makes sense in your head, then realistically, the same could be said about people.
Maybe people just wither away without cause to be missed.
If a person is born and lives their life as they wish, but does nothing to get remembered, have we really made them exist?
If there were only a few people who kept their memories alive till the day they died, their existence didn’t really survive for too long.
Perhaps there was never anywhere for them to truly belong.
So if you never do anything that catches a few strange looks or may end up in the history books, then you’ll soon be gone from the family’s narration in the next few generations, just another lost soul, one more forgotten face who never managed to find their place in this world.
Find somebody who will keep you at the top of their minds, who will get in a few stories about you sometimes, whether they be a new creation, a strange fascination, some kind words or your own eccentric spin on life, strive to be remembered by those that you loved.
Your friends,
Your family,
Your kin.
Die knowing that you always fought for what you believed in.