Best Self Directed Poems
After I write something,
to the best of my ability,
not ever putting my name
on a work I am not proud
of – yet, I pause to say,
Thank you...pleased to have
been blessed with a tiny role
in the production. Come
now! You don't actually think
that you stand apart, alone,
unguarded, unprotected,
entirely self-driven and
self-directed? Not a star
could keep its place in the
sky without the support of
its surrounding dark. What
light we have, what light
we show, is a soulful theme
burning in the heart of its
Universe. Miraculous Passion
is where we all began – the
spark of even our dimmest
perspectives.
Now she's here
and now she's there,
flittering and flying
through the hours in a day,
laughing now, then crying.
Her moods are fleeting,
they grasp her in a flash
then just as fast they fizzle
like a firework in the rain.
Would that she were constant
like the moon!
self-directed, self-assured,
without a care,
but she is wayward,
ever flickering,
fluttering,
floundering,
more there than anywhere.
They say confessional poetry is repressed sexuality, I believe it don’t you?
I’m a man who puts sanctions on his mind, and chains around my soul, wall's surrounding my own heart.
It has been so long since my bare skin has felt the bare skin of a girl, so long, that I do not want to even begin to imagine when,
Was the last time I locked lips with a girl, held her hand, or stroked her willing hair with my eager hands,
Oh how long it has been.
I’m an idealistic guy who chooses to shut myself into this sanctuary, my own isolation.
A man who tortures his own heart, with a soul that screams and a mind that is close to falling apart.
Infected by rumination.
Imagination suffocated by expectation.
Lofty goals and desperate attempts to achieve some jaded sense of moral fulfillment.
Any meager milestone that will put this ambition to rest, motivated by stress, obligations, and promises best left repressed.
So hopeful a dreamer who, like a young child I reach to the sky, stand tall for a little while then take an all too familiar slide into depression,
A self-created, self-directed, self-manufactured tragedy.
But self-determined to feed this wild ambition, this reservoir of fire.
An energy so shockingly, so alarmingly evident in everything I do, so competitive, so confrontational, so controversial, all I want is to be conversational.
I don’t blame the world for my troubles, we all have burdens to bear, crosses to carry, thoughts that vary.
We choose to be positive or cynical, an optimist, a motivator or a pessimist, to be inspired, to be admired, to receive respect, to let go of regrets.
To love, and to be loved, to be touched and not resist, to give in but not up our inhibitions, to just be freely in this moment, if only for a moment, to let our bodies dance.
To not be critical of romance, to have peace with this world, if only for a day, then today is the day,
That I need a Girl.
Shackles
Chains
The list of names
Waiting list
The sinners insist
Cuts
Bruises
Blood lines and silent cries
Confession
Redemption
The death that saved lives
Self inflicted scrapes
Self directed hate
Beauty of no debate
Hell is your miserable fate.
Vivacious, practical, self-directed
Mary Bailey, nice body
it makes no sense that just because George
might never have been she suddenly becomes a shy,
homely, lonely librarian without a dog or god.
No, it did not fundamentally matter
whether George was born except to his mother. Potter
might have taken over but why should the morality
of a whole community decline? As for the ship
going down, if a butterfly in China had fluttered
right instead of left 10,000 years ago
the tragedy would have been entirely averted
in fact the whole war would not have happened!
I pleasure in and treasure
my insignificance. If only
I could be overlooked
by the planning board and IRS.
One false note gives the lie
to the whole premise. God died
but was elected posthumously to the Senate
as for the Big Bang theory, when it
supposedly happened what surrounded that
golf ball of matter and now what
occupies the time beyond the farthest edge of space?
My wife over dinner laughs, says Face
it, you'll never know so stop asking questions.
That is how we must make music, mindful of our extreme
limits, our politics, our complete dependence on the theme
of God as feedback, bifurcation and correction.
And so I married you one day
Oh girl what could I say?
You were loving, blithe and never taunting
I was left by you oh so wanting
And so we bought a small little house
And a cheap car too
It wasn't that much
But I was with you girl
And oh, that was enough
We were always meant to be
Me and she
Loving each other
But Never Another
Each night you'd fall asleep in my arms
Your eyes gentle, gazing up at the stars
Our hearts together, our lives self-directed
Each other girl, oh how much we respected
But then one morning you woke me up quick
Told me you felt wrong, like you were some sort of sick
The doctor came by and found you were ill
That nothing could save you, no kiss or no pill
My baby was destined to lie forevermore still
And so I was with you, up 'til the end
And how hard I did try-
For all of my love I could send
Thinking of you, up there in the sky
We were always meant to be
Me and she
Loving each other
But Never Another...
Ignorance is a lie,
A construct of entitlement.
Separation is a lie,
A construct of inflated ego.
Hatred is a lie,
A construct of self-directed loathing.
Powerlessness is a lie,
A construct of apathy.
Racism is a lie,
a construct of ignorance.
Entitlement is a lie,
A construct of degradation.
Death is a lie,
A construct of embedded fear.
Poverty is a lie,
A construct of perverted power.
Dominance is a lie,
A construct of perversion.
Construct: A complex image or idea formed
of a number of simpler images or ideas.
Reconstruct: rebuild from the ground up.
Thoughts are things, and words have power to transform.
A construct of enlightenment.
A written account (that incorporates some
self directed hyperbole) of this veritable stranger
now appears before your screen. Soon
after reading this message, the neighbors
might discern a blood curdling series
of (hyena-like) shrieking screams.
No worry. That would be the mating call
of the hairy Harris mama bear.
Ready! Set! Click!
A scary reflection greets me whenever
I summon up enough steely courage to take
a sneak peek into the mirror. Before
spider lines start to appear across the
shiny surface and subsequent cracks
and fissures dissolve the glassy surface
these deux hazel colored, myopic be
spectacled eyes quickly absorb a most
frightful countenance and visage.
That near legendary and trademark feature
of longish, wavy and brown straggly hair
seems to fill the entire view. Hidden among
avant garde rhapsodic bohemian, Cro-Magnon,
Neolithic, non-every-man style of un-styled
non dread full locks (interspersed with silver follicles
indicative of acquired worry fighting off
garden variety prehistoric creature) can be discerned
a brutish, nasty and short proto-human with
high forehead, which allows, enables and provides
more skin surface to bang against wall when frustrated.
Being a highly self-directed person
Knowing how to speak and reason
Today’s woman is alive to the sense
Of her dignity and the importance
Of her private functions straight
And domestic domain ultimate
Her talent is superb I state
In the public domain great
Being rational in approach
She is cool with no reproach
Want to do things best possible
And in a manner commendable
Let’s emphasize woman’s role
In all fields of society I dole
Thus she has a pivotal role
In eradicating poverty whole
She can mend social fabric
If taken out of daily afflict
Let all womenfolk enjoy their
Rights and opportunities fare
Major reason is the illiteracy
All we need to change policy
Education is a weapon at large
Narrows down odds at barge
Being significant is their role
For better life in future whole
Let’s educate our girls umpteen
So as to take HDI in teem
Want to see society progress
Then enhance the women status
Let’s honour the women folk all
Stopping restrictions on the girl
Let’s stop early marriage
To gift the women much tutelage
Women’s Reservation Bill is the call
Please fight for it my comrades all..!!
Now she's here
and now she's there,
flittering and flying
through the hours in a day,
laughing now, then crying.
Her moods are fleeting,
they grasp her in a flash
then just as fast they fizzle
like a firework in the rain.
Would that she were constant
like the moon!
self-directed, self-assured,
without a care,
but she is wayward,
ever flickering,
fluttering,
floundering,
more there than anywhere.
Ok, there’s no jailbreak.
Make room for my innocent alter ego,
because there’s nothing to rebel against.
There are zero classes in my nascent,
year-long, Harvard master’s degree.
They call it ‘self directed study’
and like rockets have stages,
I’ll have ‘self paced modules.’
Am I suddenly at Oxford University?
They’re quite famous for that (no formal classes).
Or am I suddenly grown up and trusted?
I obviously don’t have it all figured out yet,
so I’ll just trust the process.
When I started that other school
(that shall not be named), my advisor
handed me a computer printout - a list
with something like 40 courses on it.
I thought, “Oh, my God,” but one by one,
year over year, I checked-off those courses
and walla! They handed me a diploma.
It was a process.
I understand, if you’re disappointed about the jailbreak, but there’ll
be coffee breaks, lunch breaks, study breaks, bathroom breaks
and more than a few self-directed dance breaks. So stick around.
“You know,” my therapist said, so very seriously, a few years ago,
“you keep laughing,”
.
.
I've Got the World on a String by Robin McKelle
Stoned Soul Picnic by Ledisi & Billy Childs
Children's minds, a shower of light,
Pouring down understanding, love's nurturing sight.
A bridge of sensory exploration, within the play,
Tiny ships of knowledge, gliding through the joy's way.
The seed of learning, sprouting tall,
Self-directed clues, the quest for knowledge's call.
The vast library of knowledge lies within their souls,
Clearing confusion, in quiet, self-discovery's bowls.
Through exploration, a journey of discovery,
Learning's path, independent, filling minds with knowledge, true.
In the continuous growth of knowledge, light,
The bridge of learning, open to all, together, taking flight.
Have not we all made our acquaintance with struggles, troubles, and trials?
When we met them, we did not say, "Happy to make your acquaintance". Nay,
When we encountered them, we sought to avoid them like the plague or other
Painstaking fellows of ill repute. On many occasions, we have found ourselves in hard places of blooded eyes, rendering void our abilities to discern heaven's good graces. Some of these places were instituted by God, and others were created by us to our own perils and sorrows. Hard places, troubled faces, slowed races, misleading traces, untouched bases, shoes without laces, empty unflowered vases. Unresolved cases, too few resorts and oasies, too many loses and
too much waste. So here and now, I do cease and desist. I pause my cause and slow my pace. I resist and refuse to persist in this my self-directed rat race
Here and now, no matter the strain, I stop and get off this runaway train.
Here and now, I still my restless heart and halt this my senselessness.
051809;posted 091419
This poem was started in May 2009 and completed Sept 14, 2019
Now she's here
and now she's there,
flittering and flying
through the hours in a day,
laughing now, then crying.
Her moods are fleeting,
they grasp her in a flash
then just as fast they fizzle
like a firework in the rain.
Would that she were constant
like the moon,
self-directed, self-assured,
without a care,
but she is wayward,
ever flickering,
fluttering,
floundering,
more there than anywhere.
Ignorance is a lie;
A construct of entitlement.
Separation is a lie;
A construct of inflated ego.
Hatred is a lie;
A construct of self-directed loathing.
Powerlessness is a lie;
A construct of apathy.
Racism is a lie;
a construct of ignorance.
Entitlement is a lie
A construct of degradation.
Death is a lie;
A construct of embedded fear.
Poverty is a lie;
A construct of perverted power.
Dominance is a lie;
A construct of perversion.
Construct: A complex image or idea formed
of a number of simpler images or ideas.
Reconstruct: rebuild from the ground up.
Thoughts are things, and words have power to transform;
A construct of enlightenment.
Chula Fleming© 11/16/2017