Best Reincarnate Poems
Frigid, knife-edged winds from the northwest
sweep down like hungry raptors on
pewter gray skies. Feral eyed, keen on destruction.
Late May. Sullen skies discharge sleet and glacial,
stinging rain. Threatening each newly exposed
green leaf and sprout. Frozen rain. Unrepentant.
People, startled by the velocity of a winter-spring
storm put the parka back to work. Vibrant summer
birds topple dead from their refuge or tree limb.
Daffodil, crocus, and lilac suffer the slow suffocation of ice.
Hedgerow and tree leaf are burned by ice' frozen fire.
The sun, moon, and stars hibernate for days.
Frail light and little warmth. Bleak optimism.
Grim moods darken. Wildlife endures.
An emerging cycle of life has been altered.
Days are lived in half-tone and sepia.
The sky makes no act of contrition.
The unseen parallels, the lands, ice and cold
north of the Arctic Circle visit their wrath upon us,
erasing much of a slate-gray board of life.
A new and boundless spring is cast aside.
Souls pray and await warmth and golden light
to renew and reincarnate a missing Spring.
Thank you for the blessings
You have bestowed upon my loves ones and me
We have health, love for each other
And jobs that pay enough for the rent
And basic necessities
Forgive me for the times I’ve cursed you
In the midst of certain lessons
I was ignorant – not contemplating
The greater good,
Then you granted me the gifts of
Knowledge and understanding and
Made me grateful for nearly all the outcomes
“Life is the school” and “Love is the lesson,”
But what is the purpose of our incarnation?
Is it enjoying the simple pleasures,
Growing spiritually to know you better,
And striving to do the right things
That make up the purpose potion?
These are things that aid us in loving
Ourselves enough to adequately love you,
Jesus and our fellow spiritual beings
Who are sharing the earthly experience,
But is that all there is?
Beyond Love, you may not divulge
Any other reasons for existence, as
All things ultimately fall under Love’s umbrella
Besides, when working in harmony,
The Bible, our intellect and intuition
allow us higher Truths and Revelations
That I contend come from You and angels
But, is that all of what we are given?
Shall I simply be content in praying
That you continue to enlighten my inquisitive soul
By feeding me information
On a need to know basis
using the tools you have provided
as I enjoy the simple pleasures,
continue my spiritual growth
and strive for morality over blasphemy?
Do I trust that Life’s Purpose
Is as simple and as complex as
Live, Love, Die and Reincarnate?
Love is the Key.
The rest, only You know the Truth.
If you could talk to God....
Free Verse Contest
*if ya wanna add some sillies, hop on the wagon!
After the feast, Tommy was gone
Hen said, "Don't worry, won't be for long."
"He'll reincarnate,
Just sit and wait."
"He's not just SOME - POET, Tommy's a song."
"He's always a gas, loads of fun,
With plenty of wit and good with a pun."
"If you miss him,
Be sure to kiss 'em,
When he comes again to shine like the sun."
By Jan Allison:
When he struts it engorges his snood
Oh my goodness that really sounds rude
It dangles from his beak
You must go take a peek
See Tom is the king of his brood.
By ilene bauer:
He was missed, though, by all of his group
Who felt bad he was out of the loop
So they jotted some rhymes
Thinking 'bout those good times
Now he's brought back to life on the soup!
By Alexis Y:
Tommy the turkey is not gone
He's hibernating and listening to a song
When he comes back
His strut won't be whack
Maybe this time he'll arrive with loud gong
By rogerPAT Adams:
When he struts it's more of a wobble
No matter if ground, grass or cobble
Though it might seem rude
When he's in the mood
I've heard he loves to gobble!
By Jack Ellison:
Tommy can be very rude at times
But down deep, his star really shines
His heart glows bright
Nothing bad I can write
Like his author, he's a master of rhyme"
WHO WILL FREE MY SOUL?
Criticism and sarcastic words is all i hear,
Nobody ever appreciates my efforts.
Failure and fiasco is all fear,
Inspiration derived doesn’t seem to comfort.
Mask I put won’t conceal my pain.
Favors made, countless I pray.
I’m being controlled like horse’s rein.
To my oppressors, I am a prey.
Torturing my body will not tame,
The deeds done won’t reveal my compassion.
To go down this way will only embrace my name.
But who ought to test my oppression?
My character resembles a fragment,
Nothing to reform to, my incarnation unknown
Broken inside diversify my temperament,
When I die, will I reincarnate and be renowned?
My purpose in this world is incarcerated.
Confiscating my dreams in contempt,
My dilapidated soul is imprisoned.
Who will bail me out? Oh! Dear, who ought to attempt?
An endeavor to convince of my righteousness,
Is like beating a dead horse.
Crystal washing my mistakes won’t justify my fallibleness,
But will craft my conscience till I passenger the hearse!
By Willem Pietersen
Flimsy fig leaf camouflage,
subterfuge reveals montage,
mind games at play everyday,
as conscience to rest we lay.
Enacting oneupmanship,
demons of mind we worship,
anchored in hypnotic trance,
enticed by dark desire’s dance.
Engaging in acts feral,
we find our soul’s in peril,
yet we wear the fig leaf mask,
making weary earth life task.
Naked one day before God,
our lower mind’s overawed,
for the web of deceit spun,
needs by us, to be undone.
By our hand, committed theft,
we find ourselves love bereft,
thus reincarnate again,
to erase our soul’s dark stain.
Harking to the divine call,
seeds of love sown, we stand tall,
same inside out, transparent,
vibrant in the bliss current.
28-March-2022
HMS
This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
I am an evening of scented season,
wondering if you've given me
this stairway with the gold curls.
Who changed her name to Stacy?
Later in my throbbing red heart,
you were forest green and lush apples.
I have learned to pick my apples,
the reddest ones no matter what season.
Then you wormed your way into my heart,
gnawing away the discretion in me.
I wish I had a pretty name like Stacy,
and sunlight in my spiral curls.
A snake who maneuvers in curls,
you savor the tartness of granny apples,
dreaming of girls with names like Stacy,
who are cherries of the spring season,
while courting an old dame like me,
careless about breaking my heart.
I've wondered about the color of your heart.
It has wound its way around me in curls,
so tightly you almost suffocate me.
Now I am just the core of an apple,
tossed to the dirt in a cold season.
Maybe I will reincarnate as Stacy!
My childhood nemesis is named Stacy.
Oh, how she left an ache in my heart,
with blushed cheeks of a peach in season,
and glossy lips in a perpetual curl.
In everyone’s eyes I was the apple,
until that Snow White replaced me.
The whole world has replaced me,
full of young versions of Stacy.
My wrinkled skin is like fermented apples.
Now I tell people, hey, I have a kind heart.
I need no curler to make my lashes curl.
I change with the colors of a new season.
You've handed an apple to the piteous me.
It is love's season, nothing to do with Stacy.
The warm cushion of your heart is where I'll curl.
Kill me
And
Reincarnate
My
Ass
John G. Lawless
©4/26/2018
In between incarnations, the butterflies nurture us.
In between lives, the butterflies uplift us and bring us truth.
At the moment of death, they begin their pilgrimage.
Landing one at a time, showing us a bit of our last life.
It is a gentle lesson, but one that must be done.
Each butterfly brings a glimpse of a sliver of a touch of our last life.
We see things we could have done differently.
This is why the butterflies come, for they are tiny angels.
Sent to help us make the transition from life to heaven.
And sent again when we reincarnate to help us return.
These empathetic messengers accompany us both directions.
From birth to life to life to birth to life to birth to life.
Upon death, they are there, and upon life, they are there.
Life and death, so intertwined, but the butterflies remain intact.
Accompanying us back and forth on our journey
From one realm to the other.
Silence
All I ever heard is silence
Nature is always and forever a beauty
Their reflection are crystal clear to my surface
Humans walk here and there
Just to enjoy the clarity and the creations inside
My soothing sound can make a mind be in peace
People found it amusing and will sit there quietly
Fishes loves to swim in me
Insects will breed on me
Within me I'm pure
I cleanse all dirt inside and out
One day the heat evaporates part of me
I'll reincarnate to become the atmosphere
I am a part of paradise
I am the universal liquid
I am Water
Kissed by the rebel mouth of Dionysus
set tight against their fulsome lips;
lapped into shapes by intoxicant tongues,
arms fused in a chain of swaying hips.
Tiptoe this sisterhood of Athena,
this trio in bright synchrony;
blown back on Acropolis stilettos,
risen skirts above the stockinged knee.
Aphrodite waged love at closest quarters,
hair and smiles in abandonment;
cocked ears unto the night owl's dreaming cry,
dancing rings on cracked cement.
And in their gentle, giddy transit
do these Three graces reincarnate;
resurrected in neon and nicotine apparel,
a vodka cocktail triumvirate.
With clicks of glitzy, glittery nails,
Beauty, Love and Pleasure burn the midnight oil;
the winds of Olympus ply their skin,
bled as one with each other on urban soil.
A graffiti collision of sensual ephemera
sprayed on a backdrop of brick and grime,
Three graces raised up by the ancient gods
from the mists and depths of mythic time.
Oh to see the marriage of their personas
bared in a nocturne, driven weeping,
only one lone gaze imbibes the miracle
for the world and his wife lie blind and sleeping...
The Convicted
For Haiti
I am the Niobic victim
Turned to stone
At the cry of the earth
And my hopes, lost in
The cleft, captured by
A wayward earthquake
Why me? Mother Nature
Why do I deserve
This sheer massacre?
Wait a minute!
Are you just angry at me?
Am I in the conspicuous shoe?
As Dothan, Koram, and Abiram
Against you
I am the convicted land
Of ravenous earthquake
Of De-nutrient hope
And flickering future
Whose smile received the
Malignant woe
And my happiness now garnered
For entombment in a national grave
Mother Nature, Mother Nature
Why have you cruelly decided
To leave me in this wanton debris
Of strangled status?
Why so angry at me?
That my green hope slipped
Now you’re satisfied at my wreckage
Aren’t you?
Hark now, o ye victimized
For tomorrow, the eclipsed moon
Will shine to reincarnate the
Captured hope
And the entombed happiness shall blossom
Shining and glowing as the ginger embrace
Of the morning sun
On your De-nutrient hope
Ablaze I stay,
Amidst the bruise,
Churned with grace,
Assimilating feline spirit,
And fuming with ceaseless pace,
When thou trample my hardcore
Submerge my conscience
And look! Yet my stumps rouse
Rumbling with fumbling roars,
Just as the phoenix resurrects,
However may thy malign
Weaving my overcast dreams
With the last glow of sunshine
Yes, I reign
Traverse the course
As the divine grace pours,
When you oust me,
Perforating my silhouette as ‘SHE’,
Rolls out of her throne.
And yet, beg to her
Putting your prejudice behind ‘her’ bar,
To tantalize your carnal desire!
But Ahem! You recreate that mite..
As you throttle her,
Enjoying the core of her plight.
You ‘exhibit’ her sins!
Not the malefactors
Who pumped injustice into her veins!
You rupture her ‘bodily’ core
And seek solace, pleasure
In the atoms of this ‘whore’!
I shudder at this inequality
Moaning to Thy tribunal,
And He grins at my oblivion
Resonating His voice
Reviving me on,
“Because thou form the melody
Of this timeless empire..
As thou reincarnate yourself
From that funeral pyre!
Seize Life in thy hands,
Weaving life with My wand…
And hence being the saviour
When My Creation goes bland!!”
Drifted along with vicious tides
A soul in distress, lost, astray
No reason to reincarnate life
A lifeless burden, here, I lay
In caress of the finest, a desired reverie
My dwelling, a fantasy of idyllic presence
Behind the facade, a spirit yearns to be free
My world, as hollow as its glitter, in essence
Forsaken by all, yet I thrive to exist
Holding on to a beacon near end
At the verge of sanity, I strive to resist
For a glimpse of your smile gives me life my friend
I refer back to my descendants with ativistic charcteristics,
Hit the beat with a punchline and regurtitate on it's existance,
Where did Skitzo arrive from, is he a miracle from the Heavens?
Through the mist and the fog, Skitzo traveled to Earth in seconds
But he's not a person, he's a person's soul, and the person's release
Through all betrayal and agony, he walked through Gethsemane
Skitzo's a prodigy, a walking wolf in sheeps unwearable clothing,
Reverse the metaphors, like sitting in the bath while the tub is soaking
The majority of the cuts, didn't bleed blood, they inked lead,
Never scarred up just kept inking until this was no bloodflow in his head
Living brain dead, flowing rhymes more than he flows thoughts,
the Mixed Metaphorical Artist, poetry is the fight that he fought
Indescribable talent beyond unimaginable heights,
Over the rainbow Skitzo rests, while his voices tell him what to write,
Multiple personalaties speak from all different directions,
As an infant he was injected with ink, now he hands out metaphorical infections
Through rhymes I let the fury loose, like a pyroclastic flow
The type of mayhem that turns entire villages to cold stone,
Skitzo lives through me, lives recycled as I bathe in the fountain of youth
I'll live my life, then like a computer Skitzo will reincarnate and reboot
Indeed it's true, the code to his knowledge is undecipherable to the blind,
He's got a magnetic mind, trigger it and watch the Earth and the sun collide
Blinded by schools "education system" what does pulchritude mean to a kid?
Pulchritude is the beautiful techniques he picked up when he hid
Through chain reactions, making transactions with his sight and his mind,
What he writes down on paper proves he's the only one of his kind,
But what kind is that? A poverty struck poetic skate rat?
With a pen as a bat, poetry strikes as hard as a fully loaded gat
Skitzo's cerebrum functions, beyond scientific belief,
The way the I speak, you would think some one is talking directly through my teeth,
Cautious to think, always wary but paranoid at the least,
So through the metaphors, get to know me, learn the language I speak
Just In Headliners:
A sinister come-back
Falsity applies, a genuine bible hack
In a Dracon stratosphere, a reincarnate
Harsh is a nice word, worst of the worst
Anticipating being heard, spitting at the herd
You don’t understand how good you’re at it
What awaits us lonely hobbit
Acute awareness behind lips whistle
Missiles of angst, killer of bloody killer’s
Boasting and blasting warns of crucifixion
Shaking a finger, shaming on us
And nothing for the souls, they’ve had it
The riff raff became a bore, as he is more
Swinger raising quite a few eyebrows
Mad cow, bird brain, fluish mind bestows
Astral parasites, bloody vampire bites
Make space stagnant, a dangerous empire
Hate beast the top crow eats crow
Painfully punitive now disappear
An emperor naked to the world
Take my eyes for they see the truth
I see the people who live in fear, gone by
Mutilator of words they are lost in the gallows
Take my ears they tire of lies hard to swallow
Stringent ideas, antis’—shït show theatre
Clique-Nik's tough trumpeter’s end is closer
Brutalist codefest a poser nauseates
Hope feels buried in alabaster quick sands
Tears shall drip for years in western pools
Take my breath for I can’t live with fascist fools
In tyrannical hell where opaque deeds dwell
It's uncertainty smells of rotting flesh
Not a time for the timid of heart
Not a time for summer soldiers
nor quasi part-time patriots
Perhaps the end of time
or just another existential design
in a warped world