Best Terminus Poems
Yields of green fields basked in HIS glory are being challenged
Twilight reveals long dreary paths, destination ambiguous
Only the righteous reap great bounty at the terminus.
©Nadiya (29 Jan '15)
*Won Honorable Mention in the contest 'Glorious Sijo Field's by Andrea Dietrich on 07 Feb 2015
Journey
By Ifunanya Anyene
Category B (14 yrs)
Grade 11
As a seedling I start,
Fresh and unharmed by the flaws of nature,
From the grounds I depart,
Top of the beauty chart
A whole new creature.
Now I bloom in the sunset
A queen in the wilderness
And they blow the trumpet
Unlike the sun I do not set
But moan with an unending benevolence.
Now I bear the seeds of tomorrow,
As I merge with my own kind,
Now free from the cells of sorrow,
Not long before my petals furrow,
And the weed of death bind.
And so I bear a curtain of hostility
As I weep against my fallen fortress,
And the moon illuminates my site of photosynthesis,
As thus I reach my final terminus,
As a seedling I came as a yield I digress.
Now comes the end of my prolonged journey,
As the weeds of ancient time overthrow me,
And I return to the ground nobly,
Be think oneself with this,
Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds you plant.
THE THREE CATEGORIES OF PEOPLE
At the zenith great men stood unopposed
Exonerated people of great wisdom and wealth
The earth is their point of arrival and departure
Terminus ad quo and terminus ad quem
Always excelling at the slightest opportunity
Success! Their pinnacle of glory
They make things happen”.
In the middle mediocres squat opposed
Thou they find themselves comfortable where they are
Making no effort to move forward
Always ready to serve the lords of the pinnacle
Yet they feel like waking up at the peak
Imagining the world to be a place of existence
They try to make things happen but lack the will”.
Down are struggling large multitudes of people
Who blame the world for what they are
They are mask men to themselves
Value can never be attached to their life
Surely existing not living in a world of theirs
Inferiority personified, pathetic without vision
Looking and not seeing, hearing and not listening
Ready to embrace whatever comes their way
Pessimistic persons with great dreams they can’t realize.
They watch things happen”.
WHERE DO YOU BELONG?
...Lordvip...
The exit ramp looms large just up ahead,
though still an unknown distance ‘round the bend,
a terminus of sorts.
Perhaps a point from which to send
us out of time constraints, into the now,
the means by which remain unknown, just how
exactly, this all ends.
To fret, a waste, ’tis said, so I shall trust instead.
And yet, this ideation blooms within
my mind, a frequent fascination that
with other thoughts, comports.
If only now, is there no then,
and sequencing of time, thus obsolete,
as all arrive en mass, surprised to meet?
The world I know is flat;
my finitude stretched thin, constrained to trust again.
—————
Another fun one, a Mistress Bradstreet stanza: 10a-10b-6c-8b-10d-10d-6b-12a
This one comes from a notion from reading Matthew 25, in the Last Judgment. All would have died at different times, but on that day, all were surprised, hence the idea of different departures, all arriving at now.
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This will be the third time I've added sponsor info. I do not know what is happening here...
for the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 22 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mark Toney
written on 10/13/22
i wander these winter beaches
where autumn's storms
have removed the footfalls of summer
believing in spring
here i am alone listening
to the waves mellifluously remind
yet never recalling
floating the river Lethe
alone where the frigates soar above
pelicans traversing the waves
the terns work the receding water
i am the intruder
waves erasing my past
placing before me rearranging sands
paths never worn
only the belief in spring
with each step forward
i wonder if the gulls see
my past being removed, the future
dependent upon some wave
fortune or contretemps
i wonder if the gulls feel
this surreal gull glides, turns, drift
upon grateful wings
grateful to those who long ago
gave freedom to thought from hunger
the plight of thought
the flight of thought
freeing this surreal gull to wander in wonder
i wander here keeping the dream alive
faith it will evolve into more
some empyreal dictate
some Newtonian machine
there is a numen to winter beaches
here i can laugh with humanity, smile
the hubris belief this can be destroyed
changed yes, but so may volcanoes, asteroids
none of which has a brain
here i can believe that dreams
will be given to reason, logic
and end to war and peace on earth
that there is nothing fatal
even science cannot deny
these rearranging sands and time
will produce another poet wandering, wondering
i wander these winter beaches
where autumn's storms
have removed the footfalls of summer
knowing sunrise, sunset, and spring returns
i am alone, yet far from alone
i am home
where dreams glide, turn, drift
soaring in the thermals of thought
the flight of belief
terminus ad quem
terminus a quo
Playa Del Rey 91 The Patient Stones
When my short off-ramp leads me out of here yet again
I do not wish to return.
Of course I can be persuaded, but those spiritual reflection
of All That Is
will have to make me a very good deal,
they cannot force me to choose either.
only I have that power, the power of NO.
When my rickety track becomes a terminus
I do not want to return to this beautiful hellish planet.
This place I have made then remade in my own image.
It was no fault of mine
that it all got screwy and scary,
love and light took a while to find me
I was mostly playing hide and seek
with my own supposed darkness,
but I was always pure, always perfect.
I see that clearly now I see this mind-made place
differently, but
I won't come back, I just won't.
I've done many tours of duty
and have been the most slowest of learners
yet now I am done with any transfiguration
that only drops me back into my own or your illusion.
No, i'm not coming back -
and that's that.
He discovered
how to connect and merge,
or such discovered him.
His five senses did not become six,
but a number closer to one.
It came upon him,
that he was one with everything,
all that his mind and eyes perceived,
be they an ant or a mountain,
nothing was separate from him.
All was his mind.
Water drooled over mossy stones,
he smelled the splash of foaming atoms,
the explosive opening of watery buds.
All was an energetic flow of synchronicity.
His body resonated to the mineral dance,
the vibrations within rocks and pebbles,
a living Word of light joining all things.
A swan rose up, wings clattering,
aural ligaments pulling white wingspans,
through a Catherine Wheel of sound.
Senses flew together,
forming waterfalls of reality.
He understood that these imaginative insights,
expanded the creativity of the universal.
Sunlit raindrops bloomed like new-birthed planets.
The instinctive thoughts of voles and frogs,
revealed as a singular cosmos,
of co-terminus existences.
As he looked upon this seamless world
he knew he had the potential.
to leave footprints on the sky and sea!
This revelation
turned his consciousness upon a diamond-sharp laith,
creating the radiance of a holy grail,
one great enough
to hold all the innumerable Sons of God.
"Nothing may hide from the hidden."
- Japanese Proverb
1.
Gulliver's God Goes Silent
Sir Johnathan's Lilliputians assumed
Gulliver's watch to be his personal god,
Observing how seldom he took action
Without first consulting it.
Time has come to be the Tyrant God of our frenzied Age;
The One Who Harries
The mass of us from here to there, and back again
Crying down the faithful to the terrible slippage
The relentless loss of minutes, hours and days,
Unreclaimable all,
Shouting to us from our wrists, our walls and all things electric
The message of incompletion,
Things undone and lost
In the unstoppable flood that sweeps us along
Carrying all we think we know
Towards some great, invisible, communal Terminus.
The acolytes' wishes are served,
In serving one so like ourselves
Serving those unsatisfied by any sacrifice.
The call comes in late September;
A doctor's voice informs me
Of a tale mad cells are telling
Gathering deep within;
An aimless tide of their lives just beginning
To flourish sans form or purpose
Bringing destruction to the temple they occupy
Through sheer abundance.
That was when, for the first time,
My part in the steady move towards the Terminus
Loomed clear and certain in my sight,
Joining the strong knowledge of my heart.
A fluid anxiety filled me,
Running shapeless and invincible
I felt, somehow, like drowning -
So it was as another Summer gathered itself up for its death
I checked into the hospital
To be dropped into chemical oblivion
Laid out like an offering
To the spirits of Blood and Mystery
Reading my organs through greengloved hands,
Interpreting the language of manic cells.
Skin peeled back like pages of a book
I lay captive in the sleep of Lethe
As they read the script writ in red within
Making decisions
Correcting errata.
The god on the wall
Moved his hands in passing across his face,
But not for me.
The Seat by the Toilet - Rob Barratt([email protected])
Yes, the seat by the toilet’s
The best by a mile; it’s
The only seat in which to sit
In the seat by the loo
You’ve a wonderful view
Of the road (and a faint whiff of sh….)
Oh, the seat by the lav
Is the seat I must have
I can straighten my legs down the aisle
I’ve got people to smile at
As they queue for the toilet
It’s the seat for a man of my style
Now the toilet’s so clean
It’s a hygienist’s dream
So you don’t need to wait till the terminus
Rest assured that the rest room’s
Not an infested pest room
Or the habitat of something verminous
In the seat at the rear
There is nothing to fear
And your icy cold heart will just melt
There is room there to dance
Or adjust underpants
If it wasn’t for your safety belt
In the seat by the bog
You won’t sleep like a log
But it’s an en suite location, location
‘Cos if you need a poo
It’s just right next to you
And it’s yours all the way to the station
Though the seat by the privy
May get rather whiffy
When the occupants don’t shut the door
As they exit the closet
Where they’ve made their deposit
Just reach out, turn the knob, por favor
The lavatorial seat
Will not always smell sweet
But it’s clearly the one I prefer
I’ll pretend I’m the driver
And I bet you a fiver
That nobody else will sit ther (Liverpudlian pronunciation)
(sing)
Oh I do like to be
By the WC
Oh, I do like to be close beside it …………..
(speak)
I will know where you’re going
With your to-ing and fro-ing
Bowel or bladder, you know you can’t hide it
So ….. On the National Express
If your body is stressed
And you’re feeling the need to uncoil it
Make your journey complete
And head straight for that seat
Just relax and stretch out by the toilet
(sing) Oh dear, what can the matter be
I like the seat right next to the lavatory
It brings me great satisfaction and happily
Nobody else will sit there.
The sun rests in its golden orb, shining bright dazzling the eyes
Meadows green with dew drops fresh, the cattle lazing away cries
The farmhands nap beneath the trees, the breeze caress and dies
(Yields of green fields basked in HIS glory are being challenged)
As the curfew knells folks head home and pray
Thanking the Lord for the rewarding day
Face brimming with sheer bliss and mirth
Content they praise and sing from birth
What true happiness can be witnessed herein
For the Lord blesseth those who seek of him.
(Twilight reveals long dreary paths, destination ambiguous)
Those greedy and selfish , pine more riches
Idle days wasted, in slumber and glitches
While holding contempt for those plebeians
And are never content, contrasting agrarians
No time for Lord, who observe cadence
No more thanks for the blessings immense
Heaven doth beckon those who believe
And the rest he reckon, to try and grieve
(Only the righteous reap bounty at the terminus)
For....
This is the day that God gave to play and he purvey
This is the day that God gave to toil and stop foil
This is the world that God gave, for men to live and pray
This is the world that God gave to care, share and stay.
What a wonderful world!!!
©Nadiya (17 Feb '15)
For the contest '' by Craig Cornish
poems: 'What the Lord Gave'(primary) posted 28 Jan 2015
'Glorious Field-Visual 2'(secondary) posted 29 Jan 2015
the coastal train began to slow
as two tracks merged together
it stopped at the end of a single line
in freezing winter weather.
the arrow on the 'way out' sign
led me through a covered hall
but my ticket proving I had paid
was never checked at all.
I walked downhill towards the sea
and left behind the train
motionless at its terminus
and exposed to driving rain.
a small boutique was “CLOSING DOWN!!”
on its "FINAL BIG SALE" day
but despite saying “OPEN” on its door
it had long closed anyway.
I walked past moving spinning lights
that chased and made a noise
inside a place where grabbing cranes
missed grabbing plastic toys.
a gull perched on a wet sea wall
shrieked out its gull like sound
it never moved as I walked by
but stared and stood its ground.
the mist and sky were grey and one
and rain was teeming hard
as thick wet sheets of 'nothingness'
blanked out the promenade.
a man head bowed against the storm
and dog chasing its tail
were at the mercy on the beach
from rain that morphed to hail.
and all those places I once knew
'were on a different street'
with signs that stated "VACANCIES"
and "BEDROOMS ALL EN-SUITE"
I never found that B & B
recalled through misty eyes
and the park that I remember
over time had shrunk in size.
there were parts of town I recognized
and parts that I’d forgot
the cinema had disappeared
but the beach café had not.
with all its red formica tables
and warm and cosy light
the small café dispelled the cold
and put the rain to right.
there was beauty and some sadness too
jolting memories by the sea
I’d reached out to a time long gone..
..and it half reached back to me.
The things I've been, the things I have been, the things I am, things I'm to be,
a symbol so dark, a sign so brite, a mark of the heart,
shadow of the soul,
rind of mind,
as the Buddhist meditates on mandalas of rich color,cycles,devas,dangers & devotions
I embrace the world with all my senses, with vigilance,
riled rhapsody,
Christians sewing psalms into the conscious
confounded with temptation, condemnation & damnation,
as Buddhists focused towards an ineffable destination
my terminus is an awareness that explains purpose without pain or pleasure
but with an indomitable patience for being in perfection,
as blue is blue for blue,
Freemasons have their acacia & aprons,
the magic of History, of memory, of Brotherhood,
I shall memorize the wrong & right of my behavior, of my beliefs,
carry the cross of carelessness, rub beads of bemusement,
scratch thy palms upon the rough ashlar,
bleed for the sake of beauty, for the right of recognition,
as a hawk glides and swoops with an exactitude
reminding One not to waste effort, to combine instinct & strategy
into trusted tactics, salvation found in solitude,
intuition aimed at the heavens can demonstrate
there is knowledge in not knowing,
serenity can be secured through suffering, happiness in creative endurance,
a nomad, a monk, mother of a nobody
may teach that freedom is measured as strength through degrees,
chessmen bespeak the value of loyalty & sacrafice,
police have a badge, judges gavels, bankers use notes, psychologists study dreams,
artists utilize shapes & sounds to elicit feelings
evoking meaning for life,
perhaps superstition is ultimate motivation,
subjective & collective interpratations for reality which make it all tolerable,
that special definition making life personal,
when a culture abandons, or forgets the symbols of it's constructs
how can it survive,
continuity can not color & inspire posterity,
a tree without water,
as when a human neglects itself,
disfiguring the ideal into something rueful or baleful,
then the mystic symbol must change with it
as rich soil to mud,
the symbology survives, elastic and plastic like a spider web in the wind,
nature will always reconstruct,
teaching that our lives are inflamed imprints for the future -
J.A.B.
falls raindrops reaching
bitter cold grips my fingers
winter takes my hand
Listen to the school bell
Ring
Distant plaintive
Wail
Beyond anything the mind can
Comprehend
And return to a deserted field
Where spirited girls and boys
Once played
Before
Becoming mature
Women and men
When I hear the laughter
Childish screams
And ghostly
Cheers
I can feel a world at
Peace
Overcoming my
Fears
Of a future without
Love
And the solitude I
Chose
Of a future without
Birth
And the terminus
Imposed
Didn’t I hear a sprightly piano
Plinking through a
Window
Near that faded
School yard?
Reminds me of you
Bright girly radiance
Dressed in
Black
Leotard
Dancing all the time
We were carefree
Back then
Before the days of
Wrinkled
Women
Defeated
Silver
Men
Can I return to that time
With my old soccer ball?
Play with young spirits
Long passed away
Can I redo the errors
Stamped upon my life?
Recapture
Lost hopes
Yesterday
That’s a sharp
School bell
Ring
Distant plaintive wail
Beyond anything the mind can
Comprehend
But there’s no return
To a deserted field
Where spirited girls and boys
Once played
Before
Becoming mature
Women and men
There’s no return to
The beginning
No return
When you’ve
Reached
The
End
(for Michael Jackson and Karen Carpenter)
Dear my other one by the Gemini,
Shadows are a planet.
We live as shadows.
Therefore, we’re a planet. Love,
when striving for stars, it’s what we chose.
Winter charities and harsh summers solve
its problems by fall & spring or enteric
Paul and overcast Penelope. We’re life.
Shadows are life. But all shadows attack
its life source, to seek its meaning’s riff.
But, you leave as a condom or saint,
using this world for your answers, then
departing to hell’s or heaven’s quadrant.
Planets are love because we don’t know. We send.
We receive. We’re confused, but love. We seek.
We’re questions for answers’ birth, not its end.
Such as we lullaby childhoods’ wisdoms, we weep.
But, we should be shadows and planets,
as lovers---beyond God’s lands---Yes…un-asleep!
Why did you desire the omniscient?
Why annul our orbit of many questions?
Paul beheaded and weaving Penelope bent---
not broken. Oh my. Now, guitars are sins.
Violins are no longer constellations, Eve…
Please forgive this Adam’s heart’s terminus.
I dwindle from memories, thinking oversights.
Taking for granted mealtime smells and dance
within our misunderstandings, our blights.
So, I begin as Omega and work backwards.
My coffee swirls as shadows by my spoon’s spin.
The cup is the planet, and I weave forwards
to my life. Beheaded from the past, I leave thin
and thick with grief. This too will pass, here and now.
Shadow is planet; but death does not mean
good grief. It means goodbye as one can know.