As religion is discretionary
(not hereditary)
it's like a day at the races
a trip no less and here's a tip
while going through your paces
first check the horses' form
pick your odds-on favourite
as is the norm
from worst to best
(forget the rest)
put money on the nose
and place your bet
for yours to win
not those which show(s)
high-risk is high-reward
on the scoreboard
at the rail(s)
say a prayer take note
it never fails
for a day out big buck
winner's tote payout
and with a little luck
through thick and thin
your horsemanship
will come in
But what about the jockeys?
It's not the stakes, bookies' odds,
or those holding the reins...
it's all in the hands of the Gods.
There once was an old Pope from Rome
who had the Good Book a huge tome
an altar ego and mass appeal
so he made the Vatican home
2015 he addressed the environment
on climate change caused by man
and issued a Catholic Church encyclical
the first-ever since Popes began
let's trust instructing his cardinals
to avoid any more scandals
when pontificating and preaching to the choir
to burn less incense and light fewer candles
altho' it's a slippery slope here's the dope
and no I won't soft-soap
there's not much hope of Pope on a rope
but I can cope so I won't mope
now hear my voice as it's a choice
if I may be quite so bold
religion is discretionary not hereditary
and the herd of sheep in the fold should be told
The road that we all follow, in the pursuit of mankind,
Often leads to more questions, that need to be defined.
It's a journey that we seek, even if it is only to find.
Allowing us to see clearly, not to remain forever blind.
Along the way it can be deafening, by all the noise to hear.
Yet one must listen carefully, with a discretionary ear.
It's a path to be learned from, while some others may ignore.
Where consequences may endure forever, like never before.
Since being imperfect, we often fail to eventually achieve,
To set the bar higher, to a new standard that we can believe.
Within the railings, obstacles exist, between the lines of love and hate.
Testing the burden that we can lift, towards the enormous weight.
In the shadows we must also discern, between the crazy and the sane.
With judgements that are measured against the inhumane.
So then we're left to reason, between what's real and what's fake.
All the while maybe not realizing, what's all that's at stake.
As our judgement tries its best, to know the truth versus a lie.
We'll try to stay within the guidelines given, before we lay down and die.
Whenever we go
Life must go up and running
Whatever we do.
To nature's norms have I complied -
I laughed, I cried, I lived. I tried.
I'd like to think in aftermath
There's more to my existence path.
I paid the procreation dues,
Dear offspring and their offspring too.
My children opened up my eyes
Far beyond me, myself and I.
The grandkids taught me quite a bit -
There's more to golden age than knit.
No shutters to wondering mind,
Just open it and you will find -
In brighter hue the greener grass
Is on our side in front of us.
Power is not how much but how
To stay aboard the flight of now.
Retired bliss converts the course -
Discretionary time to pause.
Smelling the roses is a must
As flower fanfare fading fast.
Hunger for knowledge, free to sate,
But wisdom's pride is heavyweight.
(No known tip-off to neutralize -
To shed the weights and keep the wise).
The all time norm by which I vow -
Not there nor then but here and now.
To nature's norms have I complied -
Once upon a time lived I!
February 27, 2023
The juvenile consent of being fooled
Like the discretionary power was once handed
Blindfolded amist trouble
Shadowed by trust,
Here again I landed
This time the sword of their betrayal
Overpowered the pen
All the education that they had imparted
Within a second came to an end
Ran through the pages of my favorite dictionary
To see if the image of the real man
Had been distorted or was fictionary
Don't question my existence
If your actions were brutally sick
There and then you lost the basic right to live
The respect you gave earth by calling it mother
Was unquestionably impeccable
But MR. Intruder that mother cried today
As it regret giving birth to you
As the hell deserved you.
Early morning blue sunny skies askew
turn to white grays on piggyback
once light breezes that blew
gentle in and out the trees comeback
now race wildly out to the sea renewed.
The colors with their brilliant reflective glow
edge toward a harvest moon and celestial equator
rising, falling, lilting in discretionary phase flow
wavering, clinging to the shortening day curators
lingering on equality of night day summer-winter throws.
An ecliptic sun moving in south-easterly directions
marking time and space and revolution years
inching hurriedly a pause for momentary corrections
not holding back or hesitating regardless of joy or tears
on a chartered course through seasonal deflections.
Returning to the calendar of September days
swiftly moving from month to year and decades
throughout wonderment and marvelings of man at play
history repeated forever on parade
the autumnal equinox marks the years and the days.
Outside the pearly gates
a billionaire is refused entry by St Peter
Why am I not allowed in
You already had a lifetime of heaven
whilst others lived in hell
Yes I did have a fantastic heavenly life
what difference does that make
Just how many times can you be in heaven
Only once it’s a permanent state of bliss
So what’s the problem
Hmm I see your point, ok go ahead
it’s all discretionary anyway
Penthouse suite do
is it overlooked
Next!
Poor wretch behind was listening
St Peter says so you’ve had a life of hell
Actually no wasn’t quite as bad as hell!
By
David Kavanagh
Discretionary Indiscretions
Written: by Tom Wright
11/25/00
Pray tell
how can this be;
That one
might opt to blunder,
Electing folly and improprieties,
Ultimately
casting soul asunder.
No matter
is the heart's intent,
The inevitable results,
are one and same.
If time in unrepented sin is spent,
twill be found rowed
neatly neath each name.
What is love?
A visual reverence of well-intended discretionary words,
some ritualistic veneration of the beat of heart and soul,
a manufactured display of hunger and amourousness
an embattled vehemence in thirst quenching lust,
the renderings of innate ensuing warmth and trust,
the disquietude of hope-filled dreams and fantasies surfacing,
a fervidness burning the skin, blushing the face, pounding throbs,
that perpetual effervescence that draws one to another
lost in the eye of the unspoken word of love simply being all it is.
For Lu Loo's contest, free verse on love, using the following words:
reverence veneration hunger
amourousness vehemence thirst
disquietude fervidnness
perpetual effervescence
2/7/19
Celebrating Independence
Servitude
Subordinate, Contingent
Humbling, Depending, Condemning
Unknown, Uncertainty, Independence, Autonomy
Freeing, Reigning, Decision-making
Discretionary, Sovereignty
Liberty
Sunshine Williams
depression, it seems to be discretionary
is it ever really necessary?
to kick yourself while you're down?
slap your head and knock off your crown?
is it really sadness or an excuse to feel
do you put yourself there just to prove you're real?
snapping back and forth like a case of bi-polar
like when you've finally felt love and then somebody stole her
it's all in these hills and valleys
when you hit your low your positivity rallies
but these rallies just don't last long
so you put your sad words into another sad song
and you never really know whats wrong
where you can go for help, or where you really belong
and your anger grows the more you lose control
when you're already slippin and it slows your roll
and when the sadness pushes you below
the feeling then begins to slowly dull your glow
and inside it really hurts your heart
you're trying not explode as your falling apart
and then, just like a sprint or a dart
you run as fast as you can, just to end up at the start.
Etatsemaj Poems are shaped like an hourglass. The top and bottom halves are seven lines each, linked by a narrow constriction, allowing the sands of verse to run through, giving a total of 15 lines. It may be on any subject and rhyming is optional. Discretionary spaces may be inserted to maintain the hourglass form.
The poem style is named after its inventor, James Tate (spelled backwards).
What is a poem that we should boast?
What poem styles do we like most?
Is it the meter or the rhythm?
Must it bear big thoughts?
Or the sound of music?
Must it rhyme?
All the time?
What?
Imagery.
Metaphors.
Allusion, similes.
Some like free verse.
For good verse first rehearse.
A good beginning holds the reader;
A superb ending will never be forgotten.
Etatsemaj Poems are shaped like an hourglass. The top and bottom halves are seven lines each, linked by a narrow constriction, allowing the sands of verse to run through, giving a total of 15 lines. It may be on any subject and rhyming is optional. Discretionary spaces may be inserted to maintain the hourglass form.
The poem style is named after its inventor, James Tate (spelled backwards).
What is a poem that we should boast?
What poem styles do we like most?
Is it the meter or the rhythm?
Must it bear big thoughts?
Or the sound of music?
Must it rhyme?
All the time?
What?
Imagery.
Metaphors.
Allusion, similes.
Some like free verse.
For good verse first rehearse.
A good beginning holds the reader;
A superb ending will never be forgotten.
Our doings by night and day,
Are recollections on the morrow.
Though we've neatly tucked away,
They emerge, bringing joy or sorrow.
To retain them in our store,
Would require considerable skill.
Albeit we may try to ignore,
We review each vivid particular, still.
Could we suppose them as asleep,
They would become, as one, blind.
But from our psyche they creep,
Doting that we won't mind.
So be vigilant in your affairs,
Their memories oft bring sadness.
Conveying to you inordinate cares,
For your discretionary madness.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.