Best Rumination Poems
Bless the deviled eggs and the preacher’s children.
Grab a piece of fried-to-perfection chicken.
Coca-cola cake or banana pudding?
~ Prodigals welcomed
January 29, 2019
Sapphic Stanza with a JUX Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish, Sponsor
Rumination on the ruination of water
A pleasant clearing with lots of grains
but only a touch of water,
the trickle trailed through transparently
and so the migrating chickens stayed,
but as the flock expanded there emerged
the problem of the water flow
both quantity and quality
To waste means want, to change or to clamber on
the chickens debated cluck-ed and scold-ed.
Two sided and entrenched they were,
what option did they have, to move was foolish,
would cost resources the time invested to purify
much more worth a look, but studies said
categorically, that nothing was amiss,
while the trickle trailed through translucently.
They washed and scraped and pooed some more
and the trickle it did change, it now trailed through turgidly
and the chickens scolded and sickened.
Desperation enforced decision and debate resulted in action.
Powder was bought to make clean water but, there was no mixer
…and the costing was extorting… time for emergency measures!
Hang the cost and go for broke, debt for future generations.
Dig and scrape and make a lake! …well at least a puny pool or pond…
providing clean and clear; crystal and ethereal,
surley this would be achieved.
But before the water could reach the middle it passed
through mire deep and dense, there was no clause
in the contract to clean it and so;
the crystal water became a beautiful emerald. That it was a
pulchritude, a positive feature the chickens were assured
by all of economic sense and ability. No one wanted to argue
because they weren’t quite sure what it was they were told.
But still more scolding and sickening.
entrepreneurs began to stock their medicines and cures
the chickens bought them and rather than shift stayed in their rift.
That place downstream that plants had cleaned, lay green
and fresh and forsaken. When this was raised they were horrified!
¨We would die!¨, the chickens did cry,
rather than drink downstream of this mess.
So they did.
Except for the rooster who retired downstream, still visits above
to scrape and to scratch. The grains grow huge with their liquid food
and, with a mist in his eye, he transcends the loss of his friends.
©T.Arnold
We claim to love
but foolish pride swallows apologies
wrecks reconciliation and forgoes forgiveness
rendering sweetness bitter
it is an emotional hoarder
an insatiable sin
incessantly collecting resentment
commoditizing the priceless
bankrupting unity and burning optimism to ashes
it is an assassin’s bullet shattering the windows to the soul
it is a death kiss
pernicious and ubiquitous
convinced of its infallibility and yet
the ego is a manifold deception
a blindfold masquerading an x-ray
high octane recklessness eviscerating progress
it is arrogance mimicking affirmation
lending mystery to the vacuous
self-centered gibberish
rippling into infinity
and stripping love of its gist
it is delusions of grandeur
parading naked through town square
and fooling the fool alone
Profundity
It is not the size of the brain that constitutes high intelligence
It is the profundity of the essence within that exudes radiance
Are we those sprinklers on in the rain?
trying to convince ourselves we're not insane
maybe we were born to hug the shore
yet as the days pass we would bore
for we are meant to last, no more
than a majestic sand castle, or
the stash of bills under your floor,
some poor schmuck kicking in my door,
they always need a little more
Can't you see I've done my calculations?
Every scenario for all possible situations?
Yet, still you'd rather embrace the nation
And, I can't blame you
For we, all need something to latch onto
For me, that something was you
Clearly, we all will pull through
still, not every dream can come true
Are we those sprinklers on in the rain?
trying to hide from all the pain?
for which we simply have no cure
never could unlock that door
i can say
they are unwelcome
yet secretly
i invite them in
ask them to stay
tell me a story
as if it is not the story of me
the meaning of me
teach me something
new or old
false unreal at best ephemeral
a truth a lie no matter
it dies in the light of reason
returns in the flow of time
leaves me now
returning to that shadow self
the truer self
the wild violent self
they will find me when i need them
the lie that dwells within
is never far away
Trials, persecutions
It's unbearable sadness,
Makes the heart numbness.
RUMINATION OF A ROSEBUD
Spring imagines
the thorns in her stem
why provoke far season
6/5/2017
Buddha teaches the value of meditation
and that intuition is renown to creation.
For we are all but reflection’s notation,
some Yin and Yang without segregation.
Be free in your muse with consideration,
allow your soul to encompass rumination.
Be a constant reverie of deep contemplation
and you shall release your imagination.
Hypnotize your essence with pure expression.
You may find release in your past regression.
For beauty is found in a day’s decompression
with emotions liberated from inner repression.
It is innate sometimes to drown in depression,
but try to be emancipated without aggression.
Live a Zen lifestyle with balanced progression…
and free your soul from fear’s possession.
ZEN Poetry Contest
Line Gauthier
November 9, 2018
one
one goes
one goes gently
one goes gently into
one goes gently into clouds
one goes gently into clouds of
one goes gently into clouds of rumination
ruminating clouds grow gently in one
ruminating clouds grow gently in
ruminating clouds grow gently
ruminating clouds grow
ruminating clouds
ruminating
-(who)-
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{{where%@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@%what}}
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[[[am i?]]]
Of all relationships, both ill and good,
In life, none are so deep as motherhood.
Some will say it’s simply procreation
Which needs no further interpretation;
As some point out, although it seems widespread,
Some species do not need it to be bred;
Or else that motherhood is only worth
Gestation’s term itself and giving birth.
Yet mother-love is more than urge to breed
Or gratifying some deep-seated need—
In danger, she will often choose to die
To save her child from harm, and that is why
Of all relationships, both ill and good,
In life, none are so deep as motherhood.
July 2, 2019
Sitting in a dark room meditating
Sitting ruminating and contemplating
About myself and my life
When out of the dark a voice spoke out
'content yourself with who you are
With who you discover as you meditate
Rather than concern yourself with who and what others think you are
For that is a perception based on their flaws
This perceived being is not you'.
I sat still in mind absorbing these words
Not surprised to hear this voice.
As I ruminate longer the voice spoke again
'you are free, you can fly, you be be anything that you choose to be
But others will put you in a cage and clip your wings
They will restrict your ambition and full your passion
And tell you to settle for less.
This is because they wish you not to fly, to soar to achieve
Because their wings have been clipped'.
Once again I sat and absorbed this wisdom.
Finally while contemplating the voice spoke again
There is no happiness in greed but all you need is yours
You just have to manifest it by asking for it and working for it
You have a creative mind and soul as well as eyes that see beauty
You have discovered light by going through darkness
You found love after being subjected to hate
You resonate kindness and compassion
Now share that and put it out to all and you will know wealth
The wealth of wellbeing, of light, love, happiness and inner peace
That is true wealth, true riches, real treasure'.
I sat still absorbed this last piece of omniscient wonder
And stood up, walked to the door
And when I looked out, the light was brighter
The colours much richer, the details much sharper
And everything was more beautiful
And love coursed through my veins like a tsunami wave.
This was a new begining
And I was going to seize this moment.
Rumination
Pain !, what a depressing situation !
Gain !, is what one derives, with creation.
If life’s story were only written by the hand
of us alone, we would surely be a different man !
Oh !, how great our lives would be
if we, but could or would see
that the resonance of hate
is the sound that will destroy.
The sonifications of love can deploy
waves that can, harmony create !
This I must state,
“ we can not leave it up to fate ! ”
B. J. "A" 2
June 21st 2013
Drawn recollections
think for yourself cocktails
mercy bills of sale