Best The Eye Of The Beholder Poems
"Crumbling is not an instant act..."
Emily Dickinson
Why do we find old buildings beautiful,
books, whose pages are crumbling to dust;
weatherworn wooden doors once dutiful,
old cars' magnificent sheen turned to rust?
What calls us to treasure the ruins of life?
Is it memories we hope we might find?
We search on steadily with sieve and knife,
as centuries slowly sift through our minds.
Yet we find no beauty in aging man:
wrinkles, balding head, the hesitant step.
Forgetting the youth that once was at hand
before battles of life, tears that were wept.
Beauty is wisdom verdant in aged minds.
Beauty a desk made from long-ago pines.
UNTIDY HOUSE
Untidy house!
Round and round
Racing ‘round like headless fowl
Cleaning, cleaning frenzy is the go,
Guests are arriving nearing so
House of daily living though
Is not what they want to see?
All spic-n-span is not of daily grind.
So your visiting folk
Are introduced into a world
Of a falsehood here
But for them all they want to see
Is You!
The person of the house,
The rellie,
Or the one they call friend
And the one they’ve come to know.
Untidy house!
Tis equally same
As some wearing tattoo,
Ring nose piercing,
Being wheel chair bound mobility,
Speaking with a lisp,
Walking with aide of stick,
For those same souls
Maybe disfigurement
And if it’s that
Then over time
Magically a disappearing act
Therefore all the world to see
The real person in the skin within.
Untidy house no more......
Francis Cooper - Mac © 22-Jun-20
We See What We Want To See
White lines carelessly scribbled oblique
For those who believe, a crucifix unique
Amidst this domain, beauty fills empty space
Wings of an angel, profile of a face
A bold, immense mammoth, a fierce dinosaur
Their presence once solid, but now metaphors
A heart, though misshapen, its meaning quite clear
One’s lover must now be the omniscient seer
Mountains so broad, clustered together as one
Shift slightly; a thin crevice welcomes the sun
Light through the crevice emerges, then fades
As the mountains float on in the sky parade
While drifting and dancing, these shapes may transmute
New chance for imagination to take root
The massive, dark storm clouds set my visions free
For the beauty in life is what we choose to see…
June 4, 2021
Some people say you're black or white
But all i see is a wonderful human being
Some people say you're too skinny or too fat
But all i see is a perfect body
Some people say you have crooked teeth
But all i see is a beautiful smile
Some people say i'm blind not to see all these
But i let them know beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Beauty In The Eye Of The Beholder
Just finished a most fantastic episode of The Twilight Zone…
The fictitious story is rather captivating, out of this world…
Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder , what an intriguing title..
Makes me hanker for more of such creative stories and titles…
The opening scene captures the anguish of a troubled patient…
Heavily bandaged in the face and head, apprehensive and afraid…
The pleading questions from the patient to the nurse in attendance…
Seeking assurances after the latest operation for the umpteenth time..
The spectre of another medical failure weighed heavily on the patient…
The measured tones of the attending doctor reminding the patient….
Of his vast experiences and the possibility of less than desired results…
Served only to dramatize the import of the success when the bandages come off…
Dire was the consequence if the unravelling of these bandages should reveal…
The latest medical procedure is yet another failure, banishment will be the ordeal..
There is no hope for further constructive operations to remedy her situation…
This patient should face stark reality and accept banishment as the best solution…
Makes me wonder how this marvellous episode of The Twilight Zone…
Though a rerun, it captures the soul and the essence of the dilemma faced alone…
When an individual is born different and suffers our unfair and prejudicial society…
For one walks alone , shunned by fellow humans when one is born different….
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFhKp-xi2DY&list=PLbxdxEWxTqX81L3NnAU3nEwvPhkT7FuRm&index=4
Quote --The ugly girl cries in front of the mirror,
She does not want to adorn herself as no one cares,
Till her blind lover tells her how beautiful she looks,
She hugs him, kisses him and finds her beauty in him. -- unknown
An old sweater, stitched long ago
by my wife’s loving hands,
might feel old to some eyes—but to me
it’s warmth and faith that still withstands.
My novice painting endeavors,
Laughed as worthy of hanging in the garage or a closet,
The time and excitement I had working on them,
Reflects my passion and an artwork of my dreams.
Grandparent's face lined deep with time and laughter
is scorned by those who only see scars;
to me it’s a sky of constellations,
each wrinkle a roadmap to the heart.
The hillside shows its wounds to others—
ash-choked ferns, a world burnt away.
I see wild soul among the ruin—
a story that the storm can’t fray.
That old book, pages dog-eared and worn,
might look shabby to a passer-by.
But to me it glitters in amber light—
a whispered memory that will never die.
If ever voices deride what you hold dear,
simply—gently—remember:
The rose that blooms in midnight’s hush,
The song known only by your mind,
And the face that loves you best in this world—
imperfect, true, and defined
By the gaze that cherishes it.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Murder is in the eye of the beholder
Heard it said, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”
My eyes see much beauty, start to lose my composure
Go all wiggly
It's a conspiracy
To trap us guys, it easily can cause overexposure
Poem by Jorn Boor '' In the eye of the beholder ''
The path of life I will walk, slowly I will grow old
Along this road I stumble, throughout the years in which I unfold
Insecurity's hold me, only strong tough.. in my past before
Skill & faith... I use my tool set, to build my fundamental inner core
Passing phases of moving progression, through my moments of thought
Life's happiness I treasure in full, it's the ingredient for which I fought
I mature through life element's, painful encounters bring hard challenges for sure
My mind is set on self realization, which is destined to hold ones cure.
I like to run, I love to play, fight through all of my dislikes.
As long as I am still aging, I stay determinate to gain insights
Triggers, traps, challenges.. I won't give in, I will not be afraid.
Life's disadvantages I need to handle, so in the end I can set them straight
I let my inner soul control my destiny, I focus, I pay attention
I'll grow responsible, I create happiness within this true intention.
Birth intended I feel blessed to live, I must shine each single day
I hold in mind to respect my life, I choose to live it in my own way.
I stand up for all of my choices, of which I am allowed to make.
Otherwise I am not able to die in peace, I can't allow that my soul is fake.
Frustration towards Human Race, I feel the truth is loosing ground
One day I trigger the alarm, to your convenience I will let it sound
I'll be my own friend, the bond I create within will set me free
Maybe it doesn't mean to you that much for now, but in the end you'll agree
Hiding is the key for failure, in the end I will regret
I enjoy thunder, the lightings and rain, cleansed air is the result which I expect.
Faith is creating a gift we handout ourselves, it leads us towards alignment
My environment is a product of me, accomplished... so i can die in contentment.
Jorn Boor, Johannesburg SA
Date: 26-10-11
spider’s web shimmers
as weaver spins fine threads -
admire or recoil?
Those eyes that can reflect heavens on earth,
turning earth expression into constant birth.
Pilgrimages to You from within as servant,
sacred dwellings of worship and its current.
Compassionate visions radiate in true ideal,
provided natures phenomena and eternal.
Seeing flower footprints as godly dancing steps,
veneration of space as formless love effects.
Immensity of celestial majestic display,
presence without doubt from Your heart at bay.
The soul as compass pointing towards that behold,
crossing the ocean of life facing the storm so bold.
The eye of intuition never deceived,
hidden mysteries given liberty received.
The domain of every soul in its own sphere,
multidimensional observer reflecting to take care.
The magical glance poured into every child exist,
starving kisses enfold that no one can resist.
Beauty is
We moved to a new house
I carefully removed the uglies
And left the pretties in the small garden plots
Under the windows
Mom came over for a visit
And asked why I had such well-tended
Weeds out front
Who knew?
Queen Anne’s Lace was once
Prized
And brought over to the New World
Still pretty,
I guess she’s now considered
A pest
Who knew?
Same goes for rabbits in Australia
Puritans in the Americas
People on this planet
Who knew?
Somebody somewhere
Must have thought it was a good idea
At the time
Some relate their lives to us in pictures
I prefer to tell my life in words
Most draw upon the visions the images display
I draw upon the verses I have heard
The eloquence that floats among the verses
transcending me through endless time and space
in subtle imagery I can see a far off distant land
without ever having left my current place
I smile when I ponder this elation
and contemplate the world in which I dwell
If beauty’s in the eye of the beholder
In poetry I see it very well
There is beauty
to dirt and blood
to broken
fingernails
and loneliness
to a wheelbarrow in
rain
and ripe, purple
plums
to the hazy scent of
a life less lived
by a surrendered
book
and a left over
glove.
© Gry W Christensen
I sat on the train
travelling to my nine-to- five office job
passengers on Melbourne trains
read or sleep
meditate….
or stare vacantly…..
avoiding other people’s eyes
avoiding conversation
avoiding confrontation
I sat on the train
travelling to my nine-to-five office job
a passenger on a Melbourne train
and glanced at the blonde opposite
homely, plump, jaded, faded
a shapeless dress covering her full figure
she sat, staring vacantly
not reading, not sleeping,
not meditating
avoiding conversation
avoiding confrontation
through darker eyes
she was a beauty, porcelain-fleshed
her face suffused with light
luminous waxen-white
a moon shining
a lamp, candlelit, glowing
above a floral-garden-garment
……..a living Renoir
a worthy prize