Best Revisits Poems


Premium Member The Truth About Truth -

Truth burns at the center of all occurrance,
it is a heat that motivates appettites to enlarge,
truth is a multiplier of quests, 
satisfaction always arrives at the porch of a new path,
truth does not reveal endings, only beginings that behave
like currents pushing towards a shore,
truth demands stamina from the finder as well from the seeker,
it dashes in delight from the tired,
indolence receives no invitation from truth because laziness is a debtor,
a fish with no gills,
credit walks not from the bank steps of truth,
one must exchange, transact with it, as wanting is to worth,

Truth holds strength in one hand and suffering in the other,
He gives quarter and meal to surviving artificers who are organizing
their talents for future enterprise,
to the brigand and beggar He puts on a pewter plate
bland beans representing distance,
disillusionment preceeds the knowledge of utility because
new truth means fallacy is an ancestor,

an anthropologist is truth, observing your traits,
orbiting the ability of your judgement,
some of Truth's revelations are more expensive than others,
sometimes He will take your Past and grin like a haughty antique dealer,
truth will invest in your Future as a gambler revisits old glory
speaking fresh fortunes in cold ears,

He is an opportunist incessantly offering information for spirit,
without the ignorant truth becomes a vagabond in a vineyard of sweet rust,
the secret of truth is that it is ours
if we wish to be honest with ourselves,
truth is the inheritence of the strong who know how to make it,
oppossed to those waiting for it -

J.A.B.
Categories: revisits, sports, future, truth,
Form: Didactic

Premium Member Kissed By the Passing Breeze of Awakening

Kiss by the Passing Breeze of Awakening

Dust of divine whimsy
Flutters softly on unconscious cheeks
With ephemeral dawning
Fleeting like the flash of silver sandals
In moonlight - here then hidden -
Stepping out of the opaque
Soul stirring from oblivious daydreams
Stepping into moments of classical
 Lavender-rose moments.

The leaven of breezes in stardust essence
 Flares in lambent clarity
Caches of chimera, that drain the heartbeat,
Shrivel in bursts of cheeky shooting stars.

Aroused from the depths of sleepwalking,
Grace notes float on rose scents 
Harvested in potpourris for strangled screams
Scrambling through midnight fogs,
Sentience revisits in soft swirls
Awareness, roused by reveille,
Stirs caressed codas in soft preludes,
Awakes in fresh mindful raptures
Nurtured by a passing angel kiss.
Categories: revisits, life, senses, sleep,
Form: Verse

The Hummingbird Cake

"The Hummingbird Cake"




The day started bright -

Bright Eggshell Blue
and ended in percussion
dark and cloudy stormed in
thunder pummelled drums
against a backdrop of 
bruised eggshell dijon yellow
sweating heavy sage green
spitting spoilt the swollen pride of purple,
a wet abrasion against 
Electric Blue 
crackling along her lips
like Lightening

Sizzled on 
her bitumen

her mind 
winked at you...

Splits two
into one
not three

Taken slowly
deliberately 
cake digested 
swallowed like swallows 
nibbling freely on air 
a symphony of do you see me
in a Hummingbird storm

stairs to you she stares 
upwards forever upwards
at lines of ebony tied tight 
words kick and spit
like a cat in heat caught up 
in a hessian sack
words in a puzzle 
shaken and caste
on a playing board 
pure white
not black

She, 
Third person,
always Third person, 
listens to her own heart
and then listens to the 
words you have put on 
and slowly worn warm

Revisits in her evening 
a conversation with an old friend
Lorikeets on the balcony 
Passionfruit cake and their
beaks in honey 
a day in the life of Mosman
Carmen the dancer 
Blueberries and 
Raspberry Banana Bread
and Gold Crested 
Pterodactyl Cockatoos
commandeering her kitchen 
her gangster lovers
dead ends and loose screws

The day started bright blue
Ended in a thunder clap
boiling over onto a glowing hotplate
of flying embers, 
reckless kisses and an unplanned

Storm;

A piece of Hummingbird Cake
was fed through a thread

In dreams while you watched 
a movie in bed

Spoken to you 
through 
mind cerebral 
not Reality read

Poppyseed and Honey
Bees buzzing on swollen
unheard lips 

that silently bled Red

Words 
Meanings

Life
Read 
Red

Sugar ingested,
Honey to Blue Horse Flies.

Australiana
Fed.

Sleep,
Bed.

(LadyLabyrinth/2019)




"Listen to the Hummingbird" / Leonard Cohen
https://youtu.be/hYIeW8bwlWQ


"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher
https://youtu.be/wHVuW7eOPNI


"Cosmic Dancer" / T.Rex
https://youtu.be/GMfjA4gyEcU













"Meadow" / Liam Gallagher, Lyrics
https://genius.com/Liam-gallagher-meadow-lyrics
Categories: revisits, freedom, psychological, romance,
Form: Free verse

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Premium Member A Cry For Leadership

Who is that brave and noble one I have heard so much about? I saw you standing right next to him in a newspaper report about him. Do you know his agenda, his intentions, and his mission? Where is he, from where did he ascend, and to where is he going? I have heard that he fears neither man nor beast, but has great respect for 'Laws'. Clouds of doom, fear, and gloom hang over our world. So take me to your leader.                                                    

I sense that the quest for unity of the 'citizens of the world' is abolishing 'Soveignties'. May our prayers ascend to heaven and may God free us from so many inequities, boiling pots of greed, overflowing pools of political corruption, debaucheries  that permeate the atmosphere, and human behavior that's becoming too toxic for habitation. One sign of a good man is that he views constitutions and laws as instruments of sacredness. Evil men loathe laws, and perceiving them as restrictive, change or abolish them at will. I would be so honored to meet and dine with a good man or woman. 
So please take me to your leader.     

There is so much I need to know about him. So I hope that you have not been sworn to secrecy. He gives all appearance of a giant of a man who longs to be at peace. I have heard that he believes in freedom, justice, and prosperity for all. I have heard he's a good seed, has no greed, and cannot be bought or sold. I have heard that you are close to him, giving him counsel and godly wisdom. It is said of him that he bravely revisits history without becoming a revisionist. The future shall be paved with those who are unafraid of neither today nor yesterday. It seems our world is spent and spineless, and in such demand for true leadership.  So take me to your leader.                                                                                    

You are a dear friend of mine, kind and true.  So I beg of you, take me to your leader. He need not be grandiose or a wearer of haloes, nor superhuman or unusually charismatic. He need not raise the dead nor walk on water, but perhaps he knows the one who does. Perhaps his ears, eyes, and heart are opened to genuineness and tightly closed to hypocrisy. Perhaps he holds secrets whose revealing time has come, so please take me to your leader.

08042018PSContest, Take Me To Your Leader, Caren Krutsinger, 1stPl.
Categories: revisits, courage, leadership,
Form: Prose Poetry

Premium Member Sad Lonely Girl

She sits by the window with coffee in hand
Watching the raindrops tapping on the glass
Her mind revisits that high school year again
With the same questions she always asks

Those teenage years of chaos and confusion 
Where thoughts and hormones run riot
Just finding her way and wanting to fit in
Kept both her conscience and voice quiet

She remembers so vividly that high school year
It tortures her with sorrow, regret and shame
If she could only she could go back and do it differently 
Perhaps the outcome would have not been the same

She participated in the bullying of the sad lonely girl
Though her heart knew it was completely wrong
So she wouldn’t be their next victim
Safety from the bullies kept her strong

She remembers that day in the school canteen
When the sad lonely girl was again cowardly chosen
She saw the silent tears rolled down her cheek
In that moment her mind and heart were frozen

She saw the pure pain in the sad lonely girls eyes
Sitting sheepishly on her own
She desperately wanted to reach out to her
Comfort her and tell her “Its ok you’re not alone”

Yet so afraid of becoming a victim
She felt cowardly and weak
Intimidated by the bullies unrelenting cruelness 
She laughed, walked passed and to the sad lonely girl she did not speak

That day now is forever seared in her mind 
One of complete horror and doom
An unexpected school assembly was called
Informing students the sad lonely girl was found hanging in her room!
© Deb M   Create an image from this poem.
Categories: revisits, anti bullying, bullying, fear,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Aborted Rights Remain Valid Facts To Speak Up

Attempts to cull the human unborn have caused mass controversy 
despite the widespread damage this can cause to the population 
under stable growth moving forward killing the weaker of our group 

Whom are unable to defend themselves 
from this violent abuse system ever originating 
crushing morals branded as an inferior being 

Devaluing it's space of origin with these loveless acts of aggression 
towards another comes these deeply engraved remarks 
twisting truth turns venom and drinks from the souls of those innocent bodies 

Sacrificed as something rejected unworthy of love 
murdered not being up to standard classified worthless 
challenges the political role as lawless agendas creep 

The wide scale damage this causes on society 
at large it mounts up to an industry with inbuilt uncertainty 
revisits our future as the signs of chaos condemning basic rights to death
Categories: revisits, abortion, abuse, anger, animal,
Form: Terza Rima


Premium Member Creativity

Of course, art is always somewhat
subjective, breaking established rules: the artist
intuitively adding imaginary inches to a canvas;

a work in progress, riding waves, finding depth 
both on and off the easel, creatively flowing – a
vision on the loose – 

(paused, but never finished...a true birth
having voice and life beyond the parent's release,
like a child going out into the world alone...

a must, for the painter to keep fluid a moistening eye: 
that mysterious exorcism by his instruments...a true descriptor
ultimately not bound by the Catechism of Lines nor a Page's 
World-edges;

no mural out of the soul, seeking spectacular release
is ever entirely confined to interior walls nor the sides of buildings~

that is why certain poems are read over and over, as if catching up 
with an old friend~filled-in on what is new, an evolutionary rapport...

or one revisits The Museum of Modern Art – finding aged modern 
in the old modern, the past meeting perhaps a cloudy moment and
today a day of awakening transparency – each vintage, an individualized 
spirit-manifest, 

a motivating shade of scentful-color~of brightness and overcast,

with searchable, unseen dimensions, the spaces science
has yet to fill, 

the private domains of both
experimenting student and seasoned mystic...

the limits of what we
know, transformed by the revelation of what we dream, 

the artist, and not the scientist, life's true conjurer of miracles, 
only bound, when at all, by his own restricted conceptions of 
time transforming space.
© Joe Dimino  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: revisits, art, creation, imagination, international,
Form: Prose Poetry

Premium Member ou l'Optimisme

The name 
mistakenly saintly, 
the other one 
a rite-of-life, 
a gauche passage 
for some, for most
the contract costly,
imprints its meaning 
post firey baptismal dive
to rise again somehow
from each our own
calamities, the personal
cataclysm we confront
or shun in a parallel life 
of optimism, there each one 
observes what was and lingers
to kiss the font of the child 
within every one, each their own
version of the meaning 
of catechism,
forgotten by most, 
yet a lingering malaise 
swims in their waking, 
a sense of de je vu,
these are the incorrigible
pushing the envelope,
the timestamp licked
and mailed off 
to other voices 
that do not speak,
that do not arrive
through lips, yet
open sleeping minds
and hold the eyelids
to peer directly into 
and through to meet
that thing that powers 
the brain within,
to shine its glistening 
luminescence, one 
senses that thing
which is forgotten within,
is commissioned
to win the race of life,
and lose and then, 
win again - 
the losses mailed off 
in worldly corrupted 
creative ways, didactic,
where one revisits
as a dark shadow, 
standing with all
those other 
dark shadows,
frankly contemplating 
conversion, and the
salt-strewn stinging
many paths of logic 
through those
illogical clues
breadcrumbed 
by all those 
other shadows,
the eternal puzzle 
of understanding
the life viewed standing
under lamplight;
in the disillusioned 
poetic world,
we must forever
cultivate our garden,
that never-ending dream;
all is for the best, romantic
cliches and adventures,
falls and risings;
for those who think
they are normal 
and above it all,
above the others - 
all is never normal,
all is as it should be,
all is for the best,
we stumble and we fall,
some stay where they are, 
others get up again and again;
all is as it should be,
all is for the best,
ou l'Optimisme, 
Candide
a muse
amused
Candide,
all is as it should be
all is for the best




Candide Diderot. ‘24
Categories: revisits, muse, mystery, word play,
Form: Free verse

Premium Member Never Too Old

When she was young…just a little girl
when life was more innocent and free
she believed in castles in the sky
in fairy tales…and fantasy.

She believed from the sparks of a campfire fireflies were born
She believed in happy endings
in mermaids and unicorns… 

She believed in houses made from gingerbread
that every sentence ended in rhyme
She believed rubbing a lamp could summon a genie
She believed long hair she could climb.

When she was young she believed in Santa Claus.
She believed her grandparents lived in a world of black and white.
She believed in the magic of a kiss.
She believed her blanket would protect her at night.

When she was young she’d play outside for hours.
She’d come home with scraped up knees.
She believed she could see the entire world when she climbed to the top of a tree.

And when she grew up she still believed… 
In happy endings..in fantasy…and play
but the duties and responsibilities of life often got in the way…

Which is why now that she is older
she loves to find moments when her fantasies are reborn…
moments when she revisits her fairy tales…
and finds her unicorn.
© Jim Yerman  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: revisits, age, fantasy, inspirational,
Form: Verse

Fifty Some Years Ago

(Taking headlines from October 1964,
the poem revisits our shared experience ...)

Monday 5: Fifty-Four East Germans Tunnel to Freedom

Back then, it was not in doubt,
(Richard Burton Tony Quinn):
the Wall was there to keep us out?
No – built, in fact, to keep them in.

Thursday 8: Beatles Release “She’s a Woman”

My love don’t give me presents.
East is east and west is west –
Ringo passed his driving test –
Blofeld looks like Donald Pleasence.

Monday 12: The Moog Synthesizer Makes Its Debut

It’s fantastic!  It’s so new!
Music made in outer space!
Now we’ll win the missile race!
How we love you, Doctor … Who?

Wednesday 14: Martin Luther King Awarded Nobel Peace Prize

Hypatia, Gandhi, Jesus Christ
and Socrates … he was that good:
and just like them, he knew he would
so very soon be sacrificed.

Wednesday 14: Khrushchev Deposed

Now, here’s a man who really tried.
It’s thanks to him, that Cuba fright
didn’t end in Nuclear Night.
Reward?  His thugs brush him aside.

Wednesday 21: My Fair Lady Film Premiere

Can a statue have a heart?
Can what’s vulgar morph to art?
Entertainment as idea?
Tin Pan Alley’s Galatea.

Monday 26: Eric Edgar Cooke Executed, Western Australia

Cleft palate, hare lip.
Bullied here, bullied there.
Mumbling moron, bloody crip.
Then they hang him.  Life ain’t fair.

Thursday 29: Audacious Diamond Robbery in New York

Banner headlines in the papers.
Daring crimes, coolest capers.
They’re classy crooks, they’ll fence their loot
in Buenos Aires, or Beirut. 
(In the real world, how'd it go?
Look at 31 below.)

Saturday 31: Lyndon Johnson Proclaims the Great Society

Nothing novel, or unique:
his vision was for Uncle Sam
to help the luckless, tend the weak.
One word destroyed him.  Vietnam.

Saturday 31: New York Diamond Robbers Caught

Tiffany studs?  More Studs L. Terkel.
One rock alone, a hundred grams,
Murph the Surf’s men on the lam:
they didn’t make Columbus Circle.

Saturday 31: Goose Kills Astronaut

Theo Freeman was his name,
test-pilot/astronaut his game.
Ejector seats are not much use
against a full-grown Galveston goose.
Categories: revisits, history, , cute, ,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member One's Own Slipstream

One’s Own Slipstream
                    by Odin Roark

Movement frozen
Knows of risks in waiting.

Three lanes,
Seven lanes,
Life’s autobahn,
Always beckoning,
Seduction to follow.
Isn't that what it's all about?

Starting way back…

A grade school playground,
Force takes power.
To stay on side lines,
Failure.
The longing to steer into the "follow" lane,
Surge to the power's fast lane,
Grab the pull,
The bully in front,
Breaking resistance,
Its girth of momentum unstoppable.
You glimpse for the first time…Free rides,
No risk,
Cocooned safety.

School yards,
I-Hop revisits,
GPA encroachment,
Graduation,
Freedom,
Pedal to the metal.

"The World is a Vampire"
You know not,
Not yet.

The interview
The job
The greater pull,
Fast lane in view,
Entrance ramp available.

Quintessential speed…yes.

Follow the leader,
Rise to the top,
Meet the power,
Meet the future spouse,
Ah,
The speed,
The even greater pull,
The free ride really looks free.

Perpetual hang-overs follow…

The grind,
The history,
The babies,
The promotions,
The divorces,
The...
The...

Finally the peace…

The return,
The dirt roads,
The two wheeled bike,
The ruts,
The flats,
The...
The...

Discovering one’s own slipstream,

Nirvana.
© Odin Roark  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: revisits, innocence, life,
Form: Free verse

History Revisits

It’s here once again
Some will lose fewer will win
A Great Depression

By Robb A. Kopp
Categories: revisits, depression, history, people, social
Form: Senryu

A Low Slow

a haven,gods gift
troy,avenge the layered lust
dad,revisits him
Categories: revisits, art,
Form: Haiku

Throbbing Sentimental Pangs Trigger Nostalgic Memories of Yesteryear Deux

Now at an advanced crotchety age
namely three score plus one Earth
orbitz around the nearest star,
yours truly revisits
poignant episodes foisting
launching snapchatting

one after another crisis
sidelining ability to cope
pursuing life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness
whiz hard by at light speed.

Though just a kid during third industrial revolution,
I remember feeling lost in space (age) and agog
at being on the cusp, when infrastructure
(regarding blueprint describing 
information superhighway,
technological/computer transformation
would when soon after graduating
Methacton high school
(mine alma mater)

quickly usher The Fourth Industrial Revolution
a way of describing the blurring of boundaries
between the physical, digital, and biological worlds,
a fusion of advances in artificial intelligence (AI),
robotics, the Internet of Things (IoT), 3D printing,
genetic engineering, quantum computing,
and other technologies.
Categories: revisits, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Rabid Raven

sheep sleep surreptitiously 

spiders spin shredded silken seances

song birds sulk soporifically 

rabid ravens rave rapturous rhapsodies


capriciously caught in clangour

I die dire deceptive dreams

tepid tears tear through torment

viscous vapours vacate venom

pus pelts my pitiful pillow

oozes omnipotent oblivion


alliterations alight anger

freeze fervent fear

reiterate raucous refusal

ruminate reverberate rancid rile


I wake the wake of weary waste

recycle random rubbish remonstrate

then morning mourns Morpheus 

mocks mountains of morose meanders


day dawns dubious daunting delight

as I tease temptation to take a tally

send syllables into space and shuttle

to morphing metaphors from my mind


until excruciating echoes become echelons

of cumbersome circuits and contempt

when restless rest revisits and revolves 

recoils at respite and the raven raves


20th December 2020
Categories: revisits, sleep,
Form: Alliteration
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Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry

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