Best Visionaries Poems
*Note - I posted this some time ago on PS and it got POTD, resulting in over fifty comments of support. Social media is a fickle animal, sometimes dangerous. We poets like to imagine ourselves artists, dreamers, even visionaries. In fact, we are simply a microcosm reflecting the larger world around us. A world filled with prejudices, biases, animosities and yes, even hate. It is my sincere hope that the poets of Poetry Soup will put aside underlying tensions and hurt feelings to unite as one voice, one heart. It won't be easy, but with effort it can be done. Agape love is the key.
There’s a new sound in the air
Can you hear it?
It’s a song we all can share
Will you sing it?
It’s a lyric full of hope
Words of peace to help us cope
There’s a new sound in the air
Can you hear it?
There’s a new vibe all around
Can you feel it?
If you’re lost you can be found
Will you trust it?
It’s a safe line of defense
from harsh words that cause offense
There’s a new vibe in the air
Can you feel it?
I’m a dreamer can’t you see?
We are poets you and me
Can we sing in unity?
Let the music set us free
There’s a new sun in the sky
Can you see it?
Free your mind and don’t ask why
Just accept it
Let the rainbow guide us home
Life is dull in monochrome
There’s a new sun in the sky
Can’t you see it?
I’m a dreamer can’t you see?
We are poets you and me
Can we sing in unity?
Let the music set us free
We’re all dreamers you and me (yeah)
And we share one family tree (yeah)
Let’s agree to disagree (yeah)
Sing in perfect harmony (yeah)
You Man
-a request by Mam Aiyah
You as a man can fill up this world
With the love of your heart,
Let them flow into your veins
As the oxygen of your spirit
Goes into the lungs of your kindness
You as a man can share the thoughts of your brain,
Even though your memory is not that enough to complete the story
Let your axon abound and connect to the spinal cord of your dreams
You as a man can smile with your lips
Let there be a good quotes for every word
Of your mouth as they slip,
Swallow all the sorrows,
Cut the sadness of your teeth, make them fly away
You as a man can show your eyes with happiness,
Mix this with inspirations
As they blink in with visionaries
You as a man can smell the fragrance of nice posture
Strain the bad from good using your cilia,
As your thumb and index made it concrete
And threw them at a distance
You as a man can hear solutions,
Can fight all the negative pictures
With your muscles in your skeleton,
You can build a problem killer device
Energy is your emotions,
You as a man can face all of your knotty points
You can hold the sky,
As your feet stay on the ground…
Because you as a MAN,
Is H U M A N…
When I was young my mom, like most women, donned a hat when she went out.
Dad said it added to her beauty…of this I had no doubt.
My mom had a collection of hats she stored in boxes under her bed.
So many different kinds of bonnets that sat atop her head.
Moms of today are different they go out with their heads bare
but one thing they share with Moms of the past are the many hats they wear.
If we tried to count the hats they don...we couldn’t...they go on indefinitely
Perhaps one way to approach it...is alphabetically.
Moms are:
Accountants
Babysitters
Chauffeurs...they do what
Doctors and
Electricians do…they are
Farmers
Governors
Housekeepers, and
Ice cream makers too…they are
Janitors
Kitchen and
Laundry workers, and
Maids who clean the floor…they are
Nurses
Optometrists,
Painters
Quality control inspectors and furthermore they are
Receptionists
Seamstresses and
Teachers…they can
Upholster that sofa or that chair…they are
Valets
Washroom Attendants and
X-Ray technicians…ready anytime and anywhere…they are
Yard managers and every Mom I know is also a keeper of the
Zoo
That’s 26 different hats they wear…
26 different jobs that all Moms do.
Moms are the original and still the best multi-taskers the world has ever met.
In fact, I didn’t run out of hats for them...I ran out of alphabet!
I guess it’s a good thing each job doesn’t have a hat that sits atop Moms head
for there wouldn’t be enough room to store the boxes under their beds.
They are visionaries, they are cheerleaders, so much of our existence they adorn
yet they had no experience as a mother until the day when we were born.
Because it was at that miraculous moment, despite their fearfulness and qualms
when they smiled as they looked at us and realized……’I’m a Mom.’
For that is the hat that encompasses the rest...the hat we call motherhood
and I must admit, from where I stand
Moms…you make that hat look good.
So Moms, here’s to a wonderful Mother’s Day as this poem bids you all adieu
For all the many hats you wear…
our hats are off to you.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY
The Tears of Gaia
Wash down over a silent place,
Washing clean our plastic,
Our Empty cans, our debris,
Tears flowing gently over,
Humanity’s darkest fruits,
A child stands with her arms outstretched,
Waiting for the winds to change,
Waiting for sun light to break through clouds,
For daylight to kiss tired sleeping skins,
For Lost Poets, artists, visionaries, story tellers,
Myth makers, alchemists to awaken from their sleep;
She waits;
She waits for Healers to arise from their shallow graves,
For dreamers to dream us a new place,
For lovers to show us how to kiss again,
For the healed,
To allow the Tears of Gaia
to flow
Freely once again.
John Roberts
Strike!
O strike thy wisdom
and thy freedom;
strike!
While picket signs aren't weapons,
they arouse violent hymns
and bayonet dreams;
o strike!
Where authoritarian presidents,
governors and dictators
all think alike,
strike;
and strike thee common good.
Strike,
O visionaries
with karma on their side,
where echoes fly like angels
and their halos shine so bright;
strike!
Where slavery's not an option
and poverty no life,
no liberty
or happiness;
strike!
Where no act of violence,
aimed at stifling true justice
ever won.
True justice
always voices it's complaints,
always finds some other means,
never ends with the moon
but starts with the sun,
strike!
Fore there's no future otherwise.
Form:
Written November 2, 2015
With my back against the wall
I fall
Down never ending staircases
That spiral down below
To seas where books float downstream
Along open pages reflecting past memories
Spinous leather bound by visionaries
Bookended and upended
I'm nothing but a cog
A pawn in this epilogue
Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are dead
And with them I make my bed
Lost in the littered pages of history
My life is bordering the brink
So does it matter what I think?
You'll miss me if you blink
Writing this book in disappearing ink
Coaxing
Words from limbo
Into life.
Slipping them from
The pocket of
Your muse, onto
Eager paper.
Lovely linen,
Thick with roses.
Or threaded with
Barb-wire.
Altar for the gentle
Blood of visionaries,
Mingled with axle grease
For sturdy wordsmiths
Eager to lay concrete verse
Lasting beyond time.
Some say computers will replace the human brain,
Making it irrelevant, a museum relic, and obsolete.
Nothing in humankind’s experience will be the same.
Even exceptional minds will be unable to compete.
Those who hold that view cite signs now apparent—
Millions put on the street by computer technology.
The trend they say is unstoppable and transparent.
Microchips and cyberspace will trump our biology.
But from whence will computers get their morality?
Which is not to say that humankind’s is flawless.
But there is the issue of the intricacies of legality.
Could computer control be clinical if not lawless?
All of this despoilers decry as the stuff of inanity.
Computers do only what humans code them to do.
But visionaries like Kurzweil have all their sanity,
And computers that rule could one day come true.
Everyone wants the world to change today
Why not, when so many people suffer?
Even in this scientific heyday,
Everyone still thinks they’ve got it rougher
And the visionaries with their grand schemes
I hate to sound like a cynical jerk
Ask before you buy into their daydreams:
How can they truly know how it all works?
I think it’s so far above my pay grade
To assume that I alone can mend it
Do you understand how the changes made
Can cause problems that were not intended?
So, to avoid an unwanted error,
Please first fix the problem in the mirror!
4/10/16
For Contest: If you Could Change the World
Sponsor: Dan Kearley
Bristling yet beguiling winds are
driving snow sheets through the dark,
and, secured by brick and lamp,
I draw a comforter to my breast,
one woven by humanity.
I sense that each quickening gust
is pulling through the loom of time
life's many multi-colored threads.
A hickory brown is borne to me
of ships defying depths and dangers,
carrying dreams and heartaches.
Glistening now--the lucent blue
of fertile, percolating minds
genome maps and software.
I feel the orange of affection,
hearth and smiles and homecomings,
the warmth of song and story.
The blinking silver of fantasy,
visionaries, piercing sterility--
castles, stars, utopias.
Here is a filament of frothy pink
comedies, dances and levity,
play and spontaneity.
The looming strands of swarthy black
necessities, death, and armies,
relentless in their marching.
The golden promise of sacred texts,
altars, candles, hope,
encoded and translated.
Emerging, the green of recent growth,
rites of spring and passage,
learning and inner progress.
With such a large and lustrous blanket
in which to sink, like a new-born babe,
I'll toss some folds to you, as they will
easily stretch from here to there.
We are building castles in the sky
with expectations higher than high!
Those gray clouds above have got to go.
We only choose to see a rainbow.
We’ll have our Camelot before we die.
We are building castles in the sky.
Don’t tell us this is just a crazy dream.
Love’s strength is like the stars above that gleam.
Radiating joy, we are beams of sun.
Happiness we extend to everyone.
We are building castles in the sky.
Join with us; the time of peace is nigh.
We are visionaries and we see
with eyes of magic. We are Poetry.
Imagine it! Free your mind and fly!
We are building castles in the sky.
Written Dec. 24, 2016
Inspired by Steven Henderson's Poetry Contest: Building Castles in the Sky
With a nod to the songs of an era of peace and love: Lennon’s "Imagine", Beatles’ "Here Comes the Sun", Oliver’s "Good Morning Starshine", Louie Armstrong’s "What a Wonderful World", 5th Dimension’s "Aquarius/Let the Sun Shine In", Jackie DaShannon’s "What the World Needs Now", as well as Olivia Newton-John’s "Magic" and the classic oldie" Somewhere Over the Rainbow."
In Neptune’s lair
she rests eternal.
The legacy of failure
chipped into her stone facade.
Plato knew her, as a child and
depicted her visage in words.
Like the south,
she will rise again
or so said Cayce.
From a silvery abyss
she will resurface…
the queen of an ancient Republic.
The story of her children,
will not be forever lost.
From black oil and radiation,
she will belch forth her ancients.
God does not destroy his children;
they destroy themselves quite
sufficiently, along with everything else.
Wisdom, with time and change,
builds its own library.
blueprints secreted away will be revealed;
for now, Neptune is a vigilant librarian.
Human life is finite;
badly flawed.
On point-of-order,
over-fracked earth,
will belch up a lost continent.
Invisible bones…fossils,
by no means, prove fiction.
Secrets are always revealed;
impossible to hide, forever.
Denial is the practice of fools and
it eventually, devours them.
The extinct will resurface,
as do human deeds and mis-deeds.
Philosophers and visionaries will shout warnings
unheard, by the ethically deaf.
Probability freaks
suppress growth and truth,
only for a while.
Science wears its
self-limiting, blinders too proudly.
When we ignore the past,
it returns to haunt us…
how many times must we split the atom,
before Gaia’s obliterated?
A successful Republic, will never properly thrive,
on the ignorance of greed and prides overkill.
They know every word from the Good Book,
but that doesn’t stop them from being hooked
to all kinds of mess.
A driver hits a pedestrian in broad daylight,
and blames it on the chewing of khat.
Students forget their intellectual pioneers,
and take soccer betting as their careers.
Quack doctors unknowingly administer poison,
only to be caught, ending up in prison.
Random men appear right in front of you with Rolex
watches, whose scamming time cannot fix.
Power blackouts are so rampant,
that indoors become similar to night……
Everything seems to be in disarray,
making us to always pray.
Anyone can see there’s no sense of direction;
the books of law sound like fiction.
Our visionaries are either in the graves,
or not yet born.
Time has made us its slaves,
with corruption as our dawn.
Date of Entry: 24/04/2017
Years slip by
and the world continues to turn
changing and progressing
or regressing.
Retrograde evolving
skipping thru history lessons
to venture forth
bold and fool hearty.
Looking backward
visionaries see'
what happened but was never
meant to be.
Prophets, sages and psychics
sense the madness
as it dances
brazen on the horizon.
Peace and war
are now merely words
to allow love and hate
to rise and fall.
Separation of rich and poor
stretch wide the gaps
of haves and have nots
to forever be unsatisfied.
History rewinds
pushes play and repeats
until one day
we are all
out of time.
Written August 22, 2012
When I can squalor victorious
It's when I'll say
That I'm a ruthless young hooligan
Just for today
Here in the bedroom
Crime pours out in the evergreen
Bombarding on the beauty scene
Oh are you with me?
Charisma kills politically
Now and then it comes for me
Visionaries comfort thee
Coast to coast from sea to sea
Here in the bedroom
Colors flow across the morning sky
So beautiful I want to cry
Oh are you with me?
When I claim it in the name of us
It's when I'll say
That I'm as wild as a blunderbuss
Just for today