Best Reverting Poems
Death, the final frontier?
A nest is round.
Our nest the Earth is round like all the stars and planets.
All things are orbital, even time and space.
Let us analyse life and death like night and day or water and vapour!
But, this time see death as the day and life as the night.
So in our day, we see all things clearly,
and in our night we are blindly stumbling, or lost in a dream.
The water we can see as life this time,
running always downhill subject to the gravitational pull.
The vapour is our spirit free of all Earthly bonds.
But, this too is a cycle continually reverting back and forth.
As the vapour raises towards the sky it is collected by the clouds.
Thus returning to Earth again as rainwater.
One major point to always remember in "life" also is that
you cannot create or destroy energy!
It only transforms.
A bsurd and foolish it might be
B ut it’s my nature, you’ll agree;
C annot ignore what I go through
D espite the help I get from you.
E ach time a stranger comes in sight
F ragile emotions turn to fright
G et me excited at one glance
H opelessly standing in a trance.
I ndeed I tremble, break in sweat
J ittery feelings that I get
K nocking together both my knees
L ord, I go thinking, save me please!
M aybe the problem can be solved
N eeding a pro to get involved
O ut of the groove I have to move
P erhaps in time I will improve.
Q uestions and answers are at hand
R eally I want to understand
S ome of the things that haunt my mind
T he doubts that I have to unwind.
U nless I act before it’s late
V enom of thought will seal my fate.
W ish that the phobia will now end
X eno reverting to a friend.
Y earning to welcome all mankind
Z ealous to foster peace of mind.
-------------------------------------------------
This poetic form is called “Abecedarian”.
This is an Acrostic where all the consecutive
letters of the alphabet are used.
-------------------------------------------------
30th Aug 2014
Contest: Abecedarian
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placing: 1st
.
The last tint of orange sunset faded
into hints of lilacs and blues
trailing the depthless paths
of a promising horizon
On the glistening sand I lay
into the first hours of twilight
My eyes reverting from early stars
to follow soft gentle ripples
of playful waves lapping
onto the silent shore
The scent of salt~ spray
and margeuritas
wafted in the air
'Neath the moonglow
that seperates our lands
...And I thought of you
...Of your last letter
Of every pulse of your heartbeat
pouring crimson in a cup
of rose-petal water
Yes,once more I thought of you
like I always do
And everything was beautiful
and everything went still
till the trickling drops of crystal dew
welcomed dawn.
The wind blows free in my valley
Bending giant trees to her will.
Sometimes from the north, such anger spews forth
That even the sun feels her chill.
Clouds scurry around to obey her
In fear she’ll devour them as well.
In her primal pain, she lures gentle rain
To join in her demonic spell.
In moments, fury abated,
Reverting to sweet-tempered breeze,
So mellow and light she seduces night
And vamps bright daybreak with her tease.
Won no. 3 in contest
We learn to sit and then to crawl
Because our view is just too small.
From crawling next we start to walk;
Confinements only make us balk.
Once we can walk, we learn to run;
Our exploration has begun
And once adulthood is unfurled,
We head on out to see the world.
The years flash by; our running days
Return us to a former phase.
Again we walk, with waning pep,
Reverting to a slower step.
We skip the crawl but soon see fit
To find a cozy place to sit
And once we’re settled in a seat,
We know life’s circle is complete.
encompassed in the womb
through darkness, i felt touch
ethereal strums from fingers
against my unborn flesh
as a melody soothed
in rhythmic pulses
from your heart
...it's the only time i felt loved
you gave me life
taught me to walk
two steps shy of death's door
i crawled in the shadows, afraid
cowering in the algidity of a touch
i ached for in outstretch motions
as tiny fingers reached upward
reverting back with blades
that scribbled scores of depth
while trying to feel anything but anguish
...i wished to be unborn
you fed me
ugliness through affliction
of dispassionate glares
as you made me
unlove myself
starve myself
until i was but an empty shell
of what i could have been
...i will never be good enough
you gave me a house
filled with treasures, untouched
clothed me in ridicule
made me learn to crawl
on weakened knees
while filling buckets
with my tears, my echoes
shuddering down halls
where i curled up
and died, unheard
...you killed me inside
November 12, 2019
Pale Shelter Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
All tidy and neat, smelling apple sweet
Life pranced forward in an amazingly great way
Then there was a hiccup, a screech, a slap
Or something else that changed it into a foggy mean thing
For a second but most did not hold a grudge,
Reverting back to the happy joyful way it used to be
Before the event
Not all
Some held onto the hiccup and screech
Wailing and keening
Tearing their eyes out of their faces
To prove the horribleness of the slap
To retain its power
To stop living
And it all happened
Secretly in a subconscious world
Where no one else could go
No longer tidy or neat on
Stanton Street.
(just an
exaggeration
of
negativity
lyrically, so
dont come
scolding
me):) ;)
They
might
wish me a
'HAPPY
BIRTHDAY'
or even
'many
happy
returns
of the day
My folks
send me
gifts and
greeting
Congratulating
me
on a life
that's
fleeting?
Yeah, so I
happen to
be
pessimistic
on this at
times
who sees
life as an
hourglass
One who
sees the
glass half
empty
rather
than half
full
For I
vision
each
birthday
as a step
closer to
old age
A step
closer to
dreaded
death
Isn't it
hard to
look
forward
to going
gaga and
decrepit?
When
smooth
skin would
end
up
crumpled,
wrinkled
Thus each
birthday
to me
is a step
closer to
the end of
a
lifetime
A step
closer to
that
unwanted
guest-
senility
The
reverting
to child-
like
inability,
debility
The
dwindling
of all
agility
The age of
doddering
limbs
half in the
grave
So I'd
rather not
celebrate
the
nearing of
the time
when
we'd
playback
em' flash-
backs
and in the
mind re-
live our
life
tracks.
When
everything
would
trickle
down to
mere
memories
With
ample time
to linger
upon
life's
souvenirs.
So a
birthday is
a step
forward
but
towards
thy
graveyard
The road
to it may
be longer
or
unfortunately
may end
abruptly
in a short
cut
to heaven
or to hell
bard or no
bard!
Because He Gets Me
I still love him in
spite of,not
because of-- He is
the rare one, who
even though his
arrogance at times
over shadows his
maturity;
He is still
the one who
gives believable
credibility to my
written soul - I
know he gets my
every word
intellectually and
spiritually.
His own wisdom which
mirrors my soul's
expressions,speaks.
I was so drawn to
his intellect and so
impressed by his
depth...that his
moments of shallowness
almost tilted me over.
I still love him in
spite of his temper
tantrums, and his
reverting back to
his childish,selfish
jealousy;
I love him
even when he tries
so hard to invent
ways not to love me.
All because he is
wanting to hold on
to me for hours..
when I only have
seconds to give. So
you see, I cannot
hate him for loving
me.
This is for men, is there anything more painful
Than being hit 'tween the legs, no way to be graceful
You clutch at your groin
Animals do join
Baying at the moon reverting to their instincts prenatal
© Jack Ellison 2016
By and large I sense they're all reverting
back to primitive indulgences of hobbesian violence, the ferocious world in which they dwell.
They throw cornerstones of their belief system at me, blind sighted rocks dig under my skin.
In defense of love I counterattack.
Pointless to fight their undercurrent of anger,
the immense self hatred from which they teach.
I just see their world as very different,
warm detachment serves me as they seethe.
Maybe the truth is they’re hurting.
Maybe a deeper truth, they only hurt themselves.
Yet I must never interfere with their pain, they are not my burden.
My only goal is to step back.
Mindful to watch their devotion to hateful monsters,
these separated souls I someday hope to reach.
Yet a patient loving mind feels no deterrent,
so I only give them space in which to breathe.
When you wake up one day
and you have a feeling that
it is going to be different than any other day
yet, you have no proof why
But it is a feeling that over took in you!..
A moment of hard work
followed by rough times
immediately turns into
a huge heart felt smile
with passion filling me inside
and I wonder why?
It is because someone's smile is finally
lightening up my night..
Amazing days were truly lived,
being filled with Joyful spiritual happiness,
classical dressed up night,
hard work supported days,
joyful words being spoken
but unfortuantely, reverting no actions
leading to the heart being broken..
It is true that good time passes so fast
but I believe that this time
flew away.. or actually, Blown away....
Yet it was and still is.. A BLAST...
Keeping hurtful thoughts engradved on my mind
Painful scar in my heart..
tears started to heavily fall down
and then ...
I woke up from my sleep.. and realized that It was just a dream
that I had it being repeated for couple of days
making me feel it is real..
A dream resulting from my leading mind
with its "fairy tale - realistically taking place" buried thoughts..
yet everytime I dream of it
I end up having an endless smile on my face
As it was the first time
to truly dream of such a thing for a long time..
I guess..
It was the first and the last time
to truly feel such a blessed dream..
Even though it did not last long
but in my heart it felt so strong
and on my mind
it is drawn and shall be always re-drawn back
from the memories archiving it with time
knowing that this is the dream of my own life
shared with my... "true life"
It is so true that
The world could mean everything to one person,
but one person could mean
the whole world to you..
At the end, I can confidently say
I am so lucky I dreamt this way
Yet hope is filling me that
one day it will come so
or so I truly hope for..
.
The wind blows free in my valley
bending giant trees to her will.
Sometimes from the North
such anger spews forth
that even the sun feels her chill.
Clouds scurry around to obey her,
in fear she'll devour them as well.
In her primal pain
she lures gentle rain
to join in her demonic spell.
In moments, fury abated,
reverting to sweet tempered breeze,
so mellow and light
she seduces night
and vamps the daybreak with her tease.
By: Joyce
Entered for Christies Wind contest. won hm
A manic man sits, evenly, confined, conscious, in his four cornered room. His cell phone
rings and violently vibrates! The terrible tone slashed and sliced the serene silence he had
been anticipating all afternoon. It was her! The one he was trying to ignore. He could feel
her presence, penetrating, trying to get through phone. “Why is she calling—why now?” He
pondered and mused. He began to curse the moment and what it had become. He felt his
body burst in to two and a ritualistic battle ensued, between two beings deep within his core.
One beseeches him to pick up the phone, while the other tells him no.
Then it rang again, even louder than before!! It made his temperature soar, his body
burned, and his hands began to sweat. He rubbed them on his khaki pants so hard, that his
legs nearly went numb. Not before long, his whole body was wet, with sweat, saturating his
clothes so he tore them off. Soaking wet, he reluctantly reached for the phone. It rang
again, even louder than the two before!!! He created a fist and put it through a wall.
His mind, stalled. He looked at her number, emblazoned on his phone, flashing like a
billboard—advertising lies, the same ones he’s seen and bought, over and over, a hundred
thousand times. He knew if he talked, his hell would remain the same, so he tried to stay
dry, and remain somewhat sane. As he waited for his vigilant voicemail to save the day, it
rang once again, much…much louder than before!!!! He covered his ears only to feel the
drums of war, beating, pounding, profoundly in his chest. The battle was long and his insides
raged on. He started to feel himself finally losing grip, of a stronger, sturdier, “A brand new
self!” But as the milliseconds ticked on, he found himself reverting back, to a weaker, worn-
out, “I can’t stand myself.” He had agreed that no matter how much he groaned—he was not
to pick up the phone! So he shouted, and then he screamed! Then another vicious ring
brought the man cascading to his knees.
All hope—gone, the battle—lost. With the white flag waved, he gave one last huff, and one
last puff and politely said “hello…”
Submitted for Rambling's "Act I, SceneI" contest.
The 1AC is a shot in the dark.
When we use interrogative strategies
we create zones of visibility and possibility.
The potentiality for deliberation
towards a new politic.
The study of bare life signals
radical transformations;
The constitutive ambiguity of theory
is never clear-- is always double
Thinking of thinking;
A reflection that interrogates
the link between life and politics.
The relation between power
is complicated to consider.
The most authentic paradigm:
Sovereignty corresponds to ability
And ability not to be: a state of exception.
An act is sovereign when it realizes itself.
Bodies are made intelligible
through visibility and value.
When these components
are removed, what is left?
Operating in the shadows,
the truth often stays hidden
Fights break out like
“walking on minefields.”
Silently governed interests
implement policy which
silently neglect populations
further into the margins.
The bodies of the victims
emphasize this state of
exception making it more difficult
to identify, articulate and critique.
There are rare but significant attempts
to conceive the indistinguishably
between law and life.
Debate helps curtail individual power:
to shape behaviors and attitudes,
to be made visible and speak to the
systemic character of American injustice.
The possibility to fill the void
and mitigate impact of fighting.
Education can have a
dramatic impact. Mental
stimulation and meaningful
human interaction cause
social connection,
Zones of indistinction
regain the meaning they lost.
The key is to create alternative
conceptualizations of self
in relationship to others.
With broad political and social
movements standing behind,
uniting the call on the part of
democratic transformations.
Any radical change will be
more than cosmetic.
Young people now carry the banner
of struggle. Of democratic life.
A variety of discourses developed
to avert stemming the flow--
reverting to secrets we do not know.
Claiming that debaters can “solve”
by repeatedly rejecting and interrogating
the tradition is a key strategy in creating
new modes of being the secret to every exception.
How it unfolds remains to be seen.