Best Voidness Poems
As I stood in the clouds in perplexy
and looked around me satirically
I shook my head and sadly said
“be it life thus, I may be living not”
standing there, I wished for death.
I was sad because I was lonely,
lonely because I had nobody,
nobody because I have not seen the right one.
the right one was not there for me for comfort
the right ones are always scarce
And so i continued living a life of voidness
in me there was no sweetness
but then never did I lose faith in God helping me
I continued being optimistic
then suddenly it all happened!!!!
walking home from school one noon
this Queen i beheld
she was as beautiful as a goddess
as enticing as an apple
and as sweet as lollipop
just watching her made my heart skip
a tingling sensation left my heart to my toe
I started seeing things in slow motion
as I watched, a soft wind swept my brow
I was so hpnotised
she started featuring in my dreams.
she was voluptous,
and moreover, vivacious,
she was also enticing and tantalising.
my heart started yearning for her.
when insects chirp on moonlit nights,I long for her
when on moonlit nights
the breeze blows leaves in slow motion
I will always think of her
I now have a will to life for eternity
when on snowy nights trees are swaying in snow,
when the dew mix with snow blanket the earth
I will always love her
for love can turn balck to white
The breaking,
the shaking;apace
my king's fall is rise
my land is anon taken.
The antic,
the discholeric;as
albion her age;as
arras on her skin.
The abstract,
the seas;our compact
heartless disease;
let's decoct,
let's not calm
The beaver,
the savior's hand,
she will for aye crave
for her not a bedlam;
she is sane.
The cautel,
the hidden truth;
Cadent ties;fret
channels in her cheeks
frail less chuff.
The voidness,
the lifeless mess;cloy
there wines of death;
there ciphers;there empty,
shut their tomb.
The wall of wails;
the jews.
the rock that never fails
the doors.
The breaking
the making;apace
enough;her surfeit
her swain eternal
remnant of no transgress.
The maker,
her end;Yeshua,
truimph of her;
light in the cautel,
my messiah;so i break.
Welcome new year, welcome prosperity;
tell me, what your journey to me looked like:
the chilling of winter? Scorching summer sun?
When every flower was rainbow in spring ,
how was it new year?
Did you see my prints,my yester year footprints?
The missing points you saw were my voidness,
when I walked alone without God;my nothingness,
when i relied on me for the journey;my darkness;
when i walked alone without light;so i lost my prints,
like perforated currency, i lost my value and dignity.
But now that you have come,i shall hence seek him,
i shall walk with him, under his canopy and in his light;
with you i shall retrace my prints and restore my value,
fill my missing gaps under his light and canopy.
The fading prints you saw,were my deficits to society,
daily she lends me space,from cradle to manhood,
but i have so engaged in me that i have paid her so little;
now that you have come,i wish to pay my debt,
pay attention to society,make her better that i find her;
i wish to put smile on her face and brighten my fading prints.
The beautiful print you saw was my resolution,
my dedication,to walk not in anyone's shadow
but to be me and live a free life, i love it,
i wish to sustain it,even with you, i still want to be me.
Is there really a beautiful heaven?
Is there a red and black hell for sinners?
Basking on this, I told myself that the beautiful heaven is this we see now, argue with the sky and cloud on this.
Father Francis told us that there is no heaven,
Pope Thomas told us that paradise is within our hearts,
and those who fall and fall on the altar of deliverance are miscreants.
We believed him on a platter of Sunday school morning.
He gave us lies and lies of truth about the World Series of lies.
In this pantful world where children wear disgrace,
In this world' voodoo, where sorrow back treasures of preachers,
In this train of earth where girls wear tears,
In this shattered world where our pride are whores,
Nothing is precious under the sun and nothing that the sun has not seen.
Man is home to himself and have choices about himself.
The clergy men that had their skulls littered in the evil graveyard of my village can tell of this.
To this voidness,
To this coldness,
To this yonder of shattered images,
Xylem of mannered eloquence of the devil,
To the world demon's demonstrators,
To the Halloween and the Dejavu,
To the magical cloth verses of the Indian,
To the cries of unholy pages of those holy book tabled before we were born,
I have a way that seems so right to me; and those are the choices I have made.
To the shrine of Illinois of the Illuminati,
To the pyramid of underworld,
To the coldness of death,
We will escape from this drum of world,
This is darkness!
This is darkness!!
This is darkness!!!
Darkness of the black spirits.
Voidness lies in the bag of red colours.
This gory miseries of the world keep us in the fold of grey.
We don't know death but death knows us,
We don't know life but life speaks of us,
We don't know abstract painting of demons,
We don't know the abstract imageries of sins;
The beauty of sin lies in the consequences that lies aftermath.
We are train of shadows,
We are feathers of spiritualities,
We are blood of feelings, emotions. anger. Carcass. Faded colours. Sadness.
Pains. Revenge. Vengeance. Evil.
Emptiness. Vacant. Void.
We are the opposite of day, synonym of good.
Is there really a beautiful heaven?
Is there a black and red hell for sinners?
Search your soul and answer to its voidness.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
Views of fertile valleys,
Vast blue sky above and
Verdant green fields mark the
Vibrance of my hamlet;
Vacation trip to my
Vivacious village fills
Voidness of my dull soul.
Date: 05/05/2021
Submitted for: Pleiades V Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
When he came to shop
In his shallowness and voidness
Like infant he picked
Daring the cost,ignoring the terms
And when we demand for fulfillment
He says the gods must be crazy
But the gods are by no mean;
Beneath our ware are our terms.
Even when we gave him freely
And decorated him like royal horse
He drew our jewel into the carapace
And when we give him no more
He says the gods must be crazy
But the gods are by no mean;
Of what use is our gold on tortoise’s neck?
The day we washed him clean
And lavished on him our lavender
No sooner we dressed him up
Than the swine returned to the slum
And when we wash him no more
He says the gods must be crazy
But the gods are by no mean ;
We just don‘t flirt with filth.
6 /1 / 16.
The following is my poetic/liturgical translation of the Heart Sutra:
The Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara,
Whilst in profound Prajna Paramita
Saw illume the void of the five skandhas
And prevailed over all pain and peril.
Sariputta, image and void differ not,
Image is void and void is image,
So too sense and thought,
Conduct and consciousness.
Sariputta, the manifold dharmas
Are void and neither arise nor cease,
Are neither defiled nor pure and neither
Swell nor dwindle.
Thus, voidness has no image ; no sense,
Thought, conduct and consciousness.
Without eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body or mind ;
Without sight and sound, or scent, taste,
Feelings of touch, and dharma.
With no realm of vision or realm of awareness,
Neither dullness nor the end of dullness,
Neither decline and demise
Nor the end of decline and demise.
Devoid of pain, its causes, and need to cease it,
Without wisdom or gain
And with nothing to attain.
Bodhisattvas with Prajna Paramita
Have easeful hearts free from fear.
Forfeiting minds of mirage like dreams,
They achieve ultimate Nibbana.
The Buddhas that were, are now, and yet to come
Shall all through Prajna Paramita achieve
Anuttara- samyak- sambodhi.
Hence, know that Prajna Paramita
Is the greatly divine mantra,
The most luminous mantra,
The unsurpassed mantra,
And the peerless mantra.
Able to banish all misery;
Forever true and never false!
Thus, proclaim the Prajna Paramita Mantra,
And chant it so:
Jie dì jie dì
bo luó jie dì
bo luó seng jie dì
pú tí sà pó he
All rights released into public domain, please feel free to share.
It was atlantic beach I went
In search of pearls and cowries
Sad, to voidness I return:
I do not see him, Dave my Lyric Man.
My darling Dave,
Wherever you may be today
Roam not the street when it snows
Lest you soak your feet in it
Snow - yawning hungry morgue-
And coil not like millipede
Nor condense like wintery butter
But remember your warm cafe cup
And that fair lady you used to write about
Drink and bounce and bounce .
20/11/15
deep, deep into the coven
Men gathered in black red
chanting of loom doom to come
Spiritualism shrunk and shrieked
Enchantment of idols of life
Chanting rumbles of voidness and
tempest and hailstones and hell
Devil's advocates gathered in tears
Demons gathered diplomatically
Evils danced here and there
Shakespeare' spirit called out poetic
Lines from the endowment of poetry
And, it went from marrows to veins
Jackson' ghost created more music
that circulated the whole moon
and the stars and hell and heavens
It sold out in millions and trillions.
Achebe ghost stood for Africanism
Lincoln's soul envoked outwardly
Okigbo walked against fire of lost
Senghor spirit was seen excited
Flora's ghost gist of womanhood
Emecheta' soul was seen around
Enchantment of life arouse from within
Echoes of doom circulated the air
The wind roared calling on the ancestral
bodies of Plato and Socrates and
mysterious thought of Nancy Mitford
Zeus, Ares, Hades, Artemis, Diana
and Anthena's were all present.
I saw freedom from Mandela' eyes
The world was at a slower pace
Her orbit went sluggishly and men
cried in front of religious faith.
More public holes and bars were created for men to kill spiritually.
The kerdecism dined looking through the heart of men.
then, I came back from my trance
with a bleeding eyes.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
The phantom who hides within my shadows
Speaking on occasion as if we’re brothers
In whispers the ghosts utters futures
Leaving truths and unanswered mysteries
Hence the messages given haunts
Forever traveling in times
Within the masks
Of my lives
In clouds vague, I transend
Through vapors and sparkling dew
Under layers of ancient art
Reading to understand the clues
Turning through the doors in which I knew
And the answers remained within the stones
Foreverthere
In another season
To view
And in a dream I awoke
Seeing humanity without lovers
Mumbling with no purpose
Screaming without sounds
Writing without inspiration
There was no illumination
Just eternal voidness and no love
And I prayed for a thousand cheers
Bringing back the fragrant years
And wiping away all rusted tears
With the hope of a redeemer
He who arose from the damned fires
He who lit the eternal dark shadows
And cast the phantoms
Far from the whispers
And the red demons screamed aloud,
miseries and gories of a black scary death hurried by in the middle of the night.
My father's shrine quaked in pity,
My mother's excited wrapper loosed.
Cain hurried by for the blood and skull of his brother.
The Israelites defeated by Nigerians!
How could it be their bones scattered in the midst of Nigerian greens?
Drought. Hunger. Defeat. Death. Evil.
Death brought all eyes to the feasting table of mediocres.
Yet another feast for the deadly vultures,
Yet another testimony for the pit of hell.
For every righteous man labelled 666,
For the indigenous heaven' occupants.
Every children eyes shot horribly,
Mothers, basking their fears in the hands of death, madly.
The owls howled terribly torturing the sirenity of the cloud.
The lions tamed and goats wilder.
Darkened wind roared by,
Thick gummy substances of the lurking embryo of the night cried.
The wind stood, the stars wept.
The moon hallucinated.
Another destruction!
Another destruction!!
Christ watched at the corner of hell,
Satan seen standing at the gate of heaven.
Hell loosed! Demons freed!
Angels captivated mockingly in the
Voidness vodka of the horrored emptiness.
The minted red evil spirits shriek of laughter echoed in the bottomless pit, dark.void. gloomy. Saddened.
empty survivor's of royal Oak of vivid imagination darkened the unqualified agony lurking the painted firmament, advocating the peace of the world.
Blood shattered all around, skulls littered yonder.
The ant' eyes bugged with a lonely fierce myth along hell.
They sounded the trumpet without the knowledge of Christ.
They have tortured silence in heaven,
They have made war and war among nature, and humans will bear the consequences.
And every pillars are set loosed and the earth will wail soonest.
Woe, woe to the world for the dragon is set free.
The punctured silence flew into the world and humans groaned in fear.
Terrible strange agonies gripped humans.
And the angels waited on and on for the set time of another trumpet.
Darkness filled the earth and Christ is come.
And I raised my head to a new world from my nightmare,
These words are broken, I lost my mind scripting them.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
When dark days and evil nights lurk and strike,
Without regards for what's yours or mine; When high tides of cruelty strike
The good who's done no crime;
In troubling times like these,
We are open to being deceived.
When confronted by fears that bind,
A very powerful song comes to mind,
Speaking of anchors for troubled times,
For lives turned and tossed way out of line,
For people beaten, buffeted, and intertwined.
A way out of their wilderness, they cannot find.
Each day is a grind, falling further and further behind.
Life makes no sense, having neither rhythm nor rhyme.
They feel voidness and feebleness, a life without design.
Storms have destroyed their fruit, now rotting on the vine.
They need hugs, smiles, and touches from loving humankind.
May God give us all an anchor that holds tightly to The Devine.
050520PSCtest, In Times Like These, Silent One. 2P
If we begin this tale from the left,
many will see the sons and daughters of tomorrow emerged.
Did God really said "let there be light"?
Or was it a planted falsehood in hearts?
Are we really wet in the image of God
or in the complexities of the devil?
Who are you by the way?
When was the last time you check the complexion of your life?
Wildness pulls the trouser of sanity
For Wild has power, water has rocked humanity to succumb.
I have counted the number of my days on earth and carved it on the pumpkin leaves.
I have nothing to worry about even if death comes today.
I have started cackling again in the forest.
This light will bear me witness that I came,
I warned them of hazard of falsehood,
I held a tilted peace among men,
I graced the World Series of pains;
Yes, this light will bear me witness.
The fire place is made for lost dreams when they are found in your eyes.
No one knows where the wind blows.
Let this note play in your blood stream,
Let it bear the names of the streets in hell,
Let's number the Huts of Sluts in heaven before dawn;
Let us read from the casket of a dead man a written elegy of his sins.
Even if the readers of my stanzas fail to realize that boyhood is a sin,
I will apologize for being an adult.
Many will see this through the music playing in the head of a mad man.
Others will see it and cry out blood about the city built in the bosom of emptiness;
Whilst others, will see Azrael at feet of men clamouring for redemption,
But, I will see voidness in your eyes.
I will stop shooting at mid sky of stars
The orthodox of this lexical freedom is lost,
Tell your mother of this periodical pains of the world.
Man is water and dust.
The wild is imaginations of this waters and nature.
We are work over in the Skimpy world, Frail. Fragile. rainbows, fireflies.
A cracking world depicting lossness, drifting slowly through the mouth of the wind while smile prey on revival, on loss taste.
Subjective to this sunshine beauty,
Of this waters and wild, we're naive
We are the world itself reviving metallic tissues.
God has hope and hopes of getting through the eyes of men.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
In the darkest hour of the night…
A bright idea was born….
Writing my way out of the Depression!!!!
Depression that was nourished by unforgiven hurts…
Emotion that had grasped the mind….
And crippled every aspects of life…
In the darkest hour of the night…
A bright idea was born…
Sitting in a closed room staring at the blank walls….
Wondering at the voidness that was growing…
Just stumbled on a thought called” One life”…
A single chance to live….
In the darkest hour of the night…
A bright idea was born…
An urge to find that was lost…
Faith to rebuild stood strong….
Desire subtly replaced Depression!!!
Desire is the drug to life…I discovered….
VOIDITY
Who told the sun where to position
and the moon at night to light up the ocean?
Who told the seas to set boundaries
between land, regions and continents?
Ask yourself if anything existed before creation.
This truth isn't just a story neither is it a fiction.
Void: the philosophical concept of nothingness manifested.
Spheroid of space & emptiness isn't man-invested.
The notion of voidity is relevant to several realms of metaphysics,
in voids, theories state there are no or few galaxies.
Voidness is the man born blind, without eyes
but a mixture of clay filled the void with eyes.
Impossibility is the iota missing in the void.
Voidness through heaven's finesse turns solid,
the mystery is like a child faith is able to groom.
How's there a baby in her belly if there is no womb?
To know the answer, you have to first find out
and decipher the power domicile in our mouth.
Where is heaven hanging when there are no pillars?
Faith is the substance taken because the pill last
as long as there's continuous filling till eternity.
You always believe in voidity of the gravity,
how the aircraft is suspended in the air
and the aerofoil (wings) enjoys airspace funfair
without it feets touching earth, seems exemplary.
Electromagnetism propounds a scientific theory:
which says "Without hands to draw each other,
two magnetic poles attract & come together".
You believe in the law of magnetic force
but discredit heaven's mystery for us
and debunk the fact that Earth in the Genesis
was without form and reveals voidness.
But The Spirit hover on the face of the deep,
this was while the earth and nature fell asleep.
Who would imagine words can initiate
continuous chain of creations while nature depreciates?
None of us did until now, so we continue to create.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhyme/Metaphysical
Copyright©April 2023.