Best Self Analysis Poems
Today I seek the sun,
it's gentle painless play-
words of winter warmth
spur me on my way,
away from death wish,
daily things gone wrong.
Today I seek the sky -
empyreal blue bowl
that stretches thoughts so high
above an endless flow
of clouds caught carrying
this season's rain and snow.
Today I seek the earth-
created solid, oh so sure!
each grain linked to birth,
to death, to my clay feet
ferrying everywhere
life's sublime design.
Today, I seek the sight
of eagles and their wings-
let insight be given free flight,
not as instinct, but free will,
And still find a resting place
in conscience, human limits.
Today, I seek wild ways
of nature, just out of grasp.
Human natured though I am,
God's finger binds mind- heart in clasps-
flesh and blood married
to spirit's inclination.
Today I seek creation -
space, earth, created ploys
designed to bring me back on course -
marvellous designer toys -
The Almighty's mind in miniature
creates in me a purpose.
Today I see my self
earthbound, then soaring -
albatross escaping safe
from earth's dust bowl arena,
from humanity's wild roaring
freed, to search for peaceful dreams.
Today, I seek tomorrow -
a hope beheld, faith's make-me-believe
as bone producing marrow
makes vital force live by my blood,
so heart-man, blindly pumping,
can try transcend the dust of death.
Today I sought my self,
living soul, dying past -
yesterdays given up
form mortal man's newfound mast
supporting eager search for truth.
And then I'll live - at last!
23/12/2019. Repost.
Notes: Soul: a human being - "SOS=Save Our Souls." "Old King Cole was a merry old soul..."
"Strong souls live like fire-hearted Sun's, to spend their strength in further striving
action." - George Eliot.
"Soul" ="Self" = The person considered as a unique indvisual.
"The inner chambers of the soul are like the photographer's darkroom.Like a
laboratory. One cannot stay there all the time or it becomes the solitary cell
of the neurotic. Anais Nin.
"Soul Search" = anxious self analysis regarding one's beliefs, motives, moral
qualities, etc.
Train
At the age of 7 I left Georgia as an immigrant to Israel with my parents and two brothers.
We arrived at the train-station with the feeling of a one-way ticket. We travelled until Moscow
and before passing one whole day and night in a magnificent hotel we took another train to
Vienna from there we took a plane to Israel. We landed on another planet. It was mid-
January 1972. Since then from my point of view trains have been symbols of departure. Of
self-analysis. Of new life. Of loss. Not to mention the Jewish DNA that runs on the collective
memory of the train-tracks or vice-versa. There is nothing for me that symbolizes so
strongly the wandering the displacement and human sadness like the train. Even if it's a new
train racing along tracks raised on columns to allow the world's other creatures non-stop
transport. When I want to bring these things to light in my memory everything changes to a
collage of the trains I've seen in my life, in reality as well as in films, documentaries or art-
house. The train has turned into trainness and I don't know to whom I belong.
translated from Hebrew by:
Alexa Christopher-Daniels
in English
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pw16nGcLfHE
in Hebrew (my voice)
http://www.ynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L-3923511,00.html
"SOME FOOLS HAVE ALL THE LUCK"
a year ago, I met a lost but
willing to live adolescent.
problems in school, problems
with siblings, problems with
her mother and a never-ending
self-analysis through the day to day
verbal and physical
abuse at the mouth and hands
of her children’s father. the
opportunities to end it all
have been passed up like
yesterday’s whores. I’ve
talked with her, reasoned
with her, given her every bit
of comparison and analogy to
convince her that she must
end this destructive life-
style or she will be killed.
a pattern to excuse it, her
choice to live inside her
perverted view of love has
continued to take a toll on
her self-worth and physical
shape. I remember a time and
more times after that where I
was accused of such things
and the pigs were called.
into jail I went and it’s
gotten crazier ever since.
I’ve come to love this girl
as if she was my own, telling
her I’d go nowhere even if
her mother and I stopped what
we’ve been fighting over for
a year. however unlikely
keeping me around will be,
the offer has been planted.
the other night her mother
and I went back to her house
and saw two out of shape
fingers, a black eye, hair
out of place, broken
furniture, make-up urinated
on and a wound dripping with
blood. she had gotten her
reality of love once again.
it was her chance to end it
all. “when the police come
are you going to talk to
them?” I asked. “no,” she
said. her mother and I tried
to convince her of the
opportunity but it proved
worthless. I walked
downstairs, ready to go. what
point was there? she’d stay
and set herself up to do it
all over again and again. I
think back to my days, the
days of accusation without
proof only to end up doing
time. now at 33, I sit
separated from my children
while my ex-whores laugh.
there her boy sits free,
laughing while she hates
herself. this is the America
we live in. America, land of
the free but I have to
question the home of the
brave.
By: Chicano Eddie
09212017
Introspection is an “I care I search” quest-
Needed self-analysis from inside out,
Towards clear reflection of what makes me whole.
Rumination of a deep and thoughtful kind,
Of those feelings that serve well or not.
Self-examination- difficult to do,
Perhaps because the scrutiny brings pain
Especially when I am not aware or
Can't address those things that I must change.
Through contemplation, deeper thoughts will show
Internal weaknesses and strengths that flow.
Observation of myself from deep inside
Nourishes my heart and soul for better life.
Ever came across a situation when your heart and your mind are in a state of conflict?
Your heart speaks one thing but your mind is in stark contrast!
Well!
Yes I have.
And not just once but rather frequently.
To lie is unethical and wrong.
But if your lying saves a life, is it still wrong?
We all say NO.
But then, it is still unethical.
To conform your existence in today's world, you often need to be cunning and get your job done.
But then what was the point of listening to those moral science lectures back in school!!
I guess that was just to establish the difference between what's ethical and what's not.
You lie for your company and justify it by saying that your lie ensures your bread and butter.
You break a rule and justify it by mentioning that well no one cares and that rules are meant to be broken.
You stare a girl and call her sexy and then justify it by telling that it's all cool and she won't mind.
You ill-treat your domestic help just because they are poor and justify it by blaming the trend of our society for it.
All these instances seem so normal to us just because we take them as a given thing.
But do we ever realize that all these might seem right to us on one front but they are wrong on the ethical front.
The cord of our heart always strikes this dilemma but we always suppress it.
Just a note of caution!!!
You might be a righteous person but not an ethical one.
Because ethics are absolute and cannot be tampered with.
And the irony is that for many of us 'All that's right is also ethical'.
Just give it a thought for you have time now for self-analysis.
Happy Reading!!!
My radio antenna
Is getting a brand new song
Every time I think I'm right
I end up, terribly wrong
So now I want to listen
And to tap my feet
To go with the flow
Perhaps the right philosophy?
My brother's intellect
Is truly dazzling
He calls me "a believer"
I'm the moron of the family
Why must I search for land
In an ocean of illusions?
Endorsing a catchy tune
That becomes a boring delusion
Is the fear of being wrong
Simply rooted in laziness?
To think I've come so far
Yet I haven't taken a step
As the old saying goes
It is not the destination
But the thrill of the journey
That makes living a vacation
Do religions and creeds
Simply offer a beautiful escape
Appealing to our laziness
Throwing self analysis away?
Are humans at a crossroads
Between extinction and survival
To finally ask, "Who am I?"
And perhaps to change the channel?
Are you clinically obese?
Is your alcohol intake quite scary?
Do you like to dress up as a woman?
Then eat, drink and be Mary
Self analysis
& motive
imultiple functions
erupt
tradition
chiselled
in reality
distorted
by self perception
folds of skin
furrowed brows
surround
the anatomy of eyes
indentations &
peculiarities
crystallised forever
by self-awareness
in the existential
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand |
Passing up the sunny days.
Wallowing around in the gray.
Banking that a change will come.
And fortune will finally let me have some.
There, that's it, it's all been said.
Just hoping for a little heaven before I'm dead.
Cause I'm afraid I'm gonna drown in my sorrow.
Lost here in today,waiting for tomorrow.
I used to believe in the common man's dream.
But hope and reality aren't all that they seem.
Some hearts don't heal and the sun doesn't shine.
And now someone else has what used to be mine.
Self analysis is the only friend I've got.
I'm tired of the lies and my nerves are just shot.
Pretty maidens see a different view.
They look straight at ya,but they don't see you.
Like a mirror, I see myself in my mothers eyes.
When I feel pain, she's the one who cries.
My truest joy, is to make her dreams come true.
Because for me,there's nothing she wouldn't do.
Howard ...
I wish I'd known you
But then ... maybe I DID
Choices, tastes, motivations, obsessions, demons
(Ah yes, demons ... with no damned respect for protocol)
Near perfect reflections of my own, finish-to-start
Like fate put flesh on a hanger for tomorrow
Pressed in cellophane with a number tag
Every bit I've learned and heard
Leaves me with a shaking head
For it is as familiar as my own, unsullied
They thought you strange ... hermit, recluse
But that was pain, nothing less or more
The dark revenant that blooms in suffering's shadow
They never wore your shoes, but tongues wagged just the same
I know it all ... the endless thoughts, spinning
No quiet, even in your own head ... even in dreams
The same torturing self-analysis and fault
Nerves afire, aching for relief
The horrid sickness of body and mind that replaces it ... forever
I do not envy you your sorrowful, lonely end in the least
But I DO begrudge you your fate, ultimate
For the spinning has stopped ...
Mine ... goes on.
Where are you?
Where could you be?
I feel all alone
Without you here next to me.
I want you back.
You presence comforts.
Why did you abandon me
Here in this lonely, poor state?
You had to get.
I know why you did.
For your health and well-being.
The doctors will heal you.
I worry for you
In my loneliness.
I can deal with this.
You should not mean so much.
But you do, and I don't understand.
My own heart betrays
My own knowledge.
How can this be?
How can you mean
So much to me?
We have been friends.
We have been sister and brother.
Small things like that
Offer no proof for my
Unsettled self-misgivings.
I am in love, as I feared.
Here I'm bound
By my will.
To you, your love.
I'm sorry to do this to you.
I hate to hurt you.
If I am, please release me.
You are the only one who can.
I no longer have any ability.
No more skill.
No more motive--save one.
You could use my potential,
You could use me.
Use me for gain.
Use me altruistically.
Any use by you
Is good use to me.
I appreciate your kindness.
I truly love you.
Please excuse my humanness,
It really is quite contrived.
My only real self is me,
And I am hard to find.
an
essential focus
self-analysis
of the
instinctive urge
a contrast so stark
explicit
invisible
as
explosive
exploits are portrayed
a mantle
of a perogative
whipped
manipulated
yet so delicate
in self-satisfaction
self-irony
to the fore
sensibility
so friable
lacking solidity
as
fluidity surfaces
the immediacy
pauses &contrasts
as formal
tension
is magnified
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
I have been diligently crafting lyrical verses to thrill internet readers...
Flattering myself there is a legion of literary fans who are my readers...
I remember the thrill and excitement when I first received the earliest comment..
It made me so very welcomed that i shot back immediately a quick word of thanks..
I marvelled in the wide expense of this literary treasure trove that is PoetrySoup...
I fully subscribe to the virtues, hopes and delights found in this beautiful site...
Only I am given to moments of self doubt and sometimes I do wonder...
The writings diligently posted, are they up to expectations or do readers wonder..
Are these ramblings or are these genuine expressions of poetic splendour..
As a writer, I am given to ask myself, in moments of self analysis with candour..
How do readers out there perceive each piece of poetry craftily produced...
How does a poetry piece upon reading, are you attuned and are you pleased...
So, all blessed readers here in this treasured site that is PoetrySoup...
I implore, I beseech, please kindly leave comments for the poets of this soup...
Thank you everyone, all comments are very much appreciated and God bless!
Self Analysis
Miracle man
1/31/2025
I’m like an old book that sits on a shelf,
Dog eared pages reveal things about myself.
my pages are yellowed and worn from my years,
some chapters introduce laughter, some tears.
But just like the book, time’s taken its toll,
life, like the book, has accomplished its goal?
Today few care what either has to say,
you may rest yourself, on some shelf one day.
A milling crowd (aren't they all),
I call my name
then try my real name
then a made-up name.
The crowd separates reluctantly,
A man with an ever changing face steps forward.
I intently recognize myself,
a self of many ages, some even before birth.
I am emotional, this is a cathartic moment
my eyes are pinballs being flipped
in a lit-up cosmic game.
The person is my personal
imago/, amigo, avatar,
my part-time impersonator.
This is no time for self analysis,
I take him by the hand
lead him into my mind, claim him,
show him as I am now
in the eye of a cracked mirror.
His face has stopped fluttering through time,
his eyes are now moth orbs
as golden as an astronauts visor.
I reflect upon them like the sun.
He tells me that all of his personas,
all of his faceted me-ness
revolves around an inner star,
then walks absent mindlessly
back into the crowd.
I turn to look at the rest of the world,
it is a radiant carousel painted upon
an endlessly nocturnal canvas.
The canvas and the painting
were created by an unknown artist,
one still waiting to be discovered.