What’s behind the closed curtains outside
I can see from inside with my eyes shut
If the curtains are closed, or open wide
It makes no big difference of that
It’s the real time plot of the falling star
The stage is set for the play
While I’m not among the extras so far
Am I going to be there someday?
And if I had known that it’s all predetermined
Or it may well appear to be
Would I've been able to change the tale's end
To a distinguishable degree?
Charles Ives knew what to do, when he rearranged
The Unanswered Question piece
This late rearrangement doesn't sound too sage
So the answer is better be missed.
Is there anything you root for in our garden now?
Must I cultivate it to make it grow?
Can't seed so many plots, I know.
Is there anything you savour in our melting pot now?
Seasons changed, and our flavours compound,
True essence to distil.
Blinded by what familiarity steeps
You know our brew only too well, you see.
I taste bitterness, you drink me.
Remember,
The days when cultures were raw,
Just fresh and jubilantly spicy?
Where exactly did that zest go?
Preserved, yes.
Unspoiled, no!
Simmered away as steam from a kettle,
Aromas mingled over.
Vaporous, hardly distinguishable.
Whatever happened to our cultural bouquet?
Trying to bottle it is so hard.
Is there anything you relish in our feast now?
These days our palates just don't know.
We're still simmering.
Taste! Taste!
Ancient
~*~*~*~*~*Beliefs
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Cultivate
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Distinguishable
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Entities
~*~*~*~*~*Fortify
Genuine
~*~*~*~*~*Harmonic
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Ideas
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Justifying
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Kindredship
~*~*~*~*~*Mentoring
Nurturing
~*~*~*~*~*Obliging
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Perseverance
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Qualifies
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Respect
~*~*~*~*~*Strengthening
Transcends
~*~*~*~*~*Ultimate
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Victory
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Wellsprings
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*Xenial
~*~*~*~*~*Yonder
Zeal
it is a simple difference
in science white is the presence of all color
while black is the absence
a prism of white light reveals the spectrum
while in art black is the presence of all color
and white is its' absence
so when I hear an opinion
from the Department of the Philosophy of Science
am i not receiving an oxymoron
when what i am seeking
things clearly defined
having a distinct difference from one another
something clear and easily distinguishable
which is confusing in this morass of opinion
in this gray tempest raging across
this mass of black and white
we call humanity
philosophy, theology, and science
the forest whose roots hide manunkind
Oregon 8/23
** Mother Nature Draws the Dawn **
Already,
Dawn sets off
This longitude’s waking,
Displaying nearby trees
Into their scribbled silhouettes
In shades
Of gray with blasts of black masses —
Points gathered
Fronting the quick brightening over
Yesterday’s leaving darkness,
And bringing forth this day’s white-glazed,
Cloud-faced sky —
Appearing before my sleepy eyes
Without any distinguishable color, and
Simply seen as an unfoldng background —
A lightening
That shows even before the blendings —
With the coming gifts to sight
Of the perception of dimensions
And the aspects of perspective,
To be seen in the expanse beyond my window
In this dawning moment ~
As the world appears quite like
A flattened Earth,
Like a doodled scene
Of blotches and specs — in
Mother Nature’s ink line & wash
Landscape
Created on her personal, unbordered paper.
———————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 8/17/2023
(For Jim. Happy 40th)
Long, long ago in a land that is
now somewhat unhinged!
Was as an award show called,
The Emmiys.
That is now but only with blue
colors fringed?
The Academy Awards, once was
truly talent~based.
Is now full of cussing, with no
distinguishable grace.
People up for the Emmy Awards....
just give me a break!
Just folks who love CNN or The View
who will partake.
Those who love this country well,
Know it is but a propoganda show
from Woke Hell!
Best, that night you mightily pen!
More than one poem, in honor of
America, as it was then!
Many of us too afraid, to write
about the joy on being American,
now and back then.
The WOKIES want the USA over!
In the ground and our values?
Soaking from WOKIE’S dog,freedom
Destroyer....Rover!
7/16/2021
...2,,,,
Is there anything you like about me now
Must I work to make it so?
Can't do that so much, I know.
Is there anything you like about me now?
Time passed, my unconscious dispositions abound,
True self to bear.
Blinded by what familiarity breeds
You know me only to well you see.
I see contempt, you see me.
Remember,
The days when love was pure,
Just fun and jubilantly physical?
Where exactly did it go?
Lost, yes. Forgotten, no!
Etched away as sand on a shore,
Love drifted O're.
Translucent, hardly distinguishable.
What ever happened to love?
Trying is so so hard.
Is there anything you like about me now?
These days I just don't know.
Im still here.
Hello! Hello!
In the winter sky
when the moon is but a crescent
or is it a croissant?
Nevertheless, the twinkling is distinguishable
the random patterns of distant glowing lights
some turning on, others shutting down.
In all the years that pass
the centuries and millennia that exceed our time
the brilliant lights begin to dim and fade.
What we see now came about generations ago
and as the lights begin to slowly burn out
we recognize our time nears an end.
We are remnants of stardust
clustered beyond this revolving sphere
and what remains after us - are
just another star's tears.
for Mark Massey
The Star in my Avatar
2/12/19
It unfurls itself along the x-axis
with a contained passion, fluctuating
between -1 and 1 like a photon
whose brightness is one of an infinite number
of dimensionless values, coherent, distinguishable,
continuous.
It is counterintuitively optimistic; it insists
that half of a pie should be called pi radians.
It confuses to enlighten; it sends our minds rolling
through loops, performing flips and inversions
until we step backward
and see a straight line.
He glued his ear
to the speaker, where
faint, barely distinguishable
voices seemingly distressed
made noise
He was convinced
they were talking to him
in languages he once knew
but had forgotten a long
time ago
He whispered back
with fervor, nodded,
gestured wide gestures
in harmony with music
so vague
He enjoyed them
the company and stories
in a life filled with silence
each sound precious
and welcome
He grinned
hummed with them
their song for each soul
each delusion or dream
skewed reality
***
June 22, 2017
Copyright © Darren White
Words,
Such a wonder,
Words.
Little drawings
Such simple, small paintings
Twenty-six simple forms, so scary, so all
Distinguishable stringable, sequentiable, magical.
My own words float in the air, I can see and hear them
they sing me a song, they call me, they whisper
and menace, they form films and images
without seeing them, the most
intriguing patterns weave.
My poetry a loom.
Words,
Such a hurdle
Words.
My
Fingers and
My hands speak
But they twist my tongue
As long as I stay silent, they stay
pristine in their cellophane crispy state.
So I better not speak or they will be spoiled.
Instead I ask you to craft me a story,
Use those letters to enthrall me.
Make the words disappear.
Make me see images,
Magic and love.
Words,
Give me please,
Words.
***
Originally written for a friend
October 18, 2016
Hillary Perfect President
Remarkable, wherever Hillary may have went
After returning a great message was sent
She had been warmly accepted by a big crowd
Trump supports would say for crying out loud.
Hardly a second went by without more applause
And so much attention she continually draws
Seeming to have ability to say right things
While Trumpster's are a bunch of ding-a-lings.
Did hear her each clear, distinguishable word
By Hillary's mere presence were all allured
Re-assured a perfect President would be
Considerate thinking about you and me.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
They watch her as she sleeps
The little old lady in bed eight.
The pain etches her face
I drop a few more milligrammes of relief.
Into her drip it goes, the easing shows immediately,
Smile on her face.
When it's time for visitors she will be ready
Hair in place.
They don't realize the pain she suffers
the unsaid happenings of her daily struggle.
The pain where gripping a rolled up sheet is her only relief
each wave of pain not distinguishable.
Yet the smile hovers around her face
the look of an angel.
Crying in pain is not losing face
Just showing you she is approachable.
Like a fly on the wall
They watch her from the console, ...as the snow falls,
she loved the snow, said it cleanses all.
Ready to race to her side when her breathing fails.
Penned 19 May 20
Where does this emotion of pain evolve?
Who decided that amongst all
Other feelings
One would signify defeat
Who would wish into existence
A feeling so unbearable
So remotely distinguishable
As agony and numbness
Strong enough to prolong mental instability
an emotion that can devastate the very inner core
of a human being
and wrench the very meaning of life from one’s grasp
leaving in its wake
a sentiment of internal bleeding
We spend our whole lives
trying to be special
As infants we cry for attention and
As teens we cry for no reason at all
Sometimes it feels as though we speak a language
only our minds can understand
We spend years feeling alone
and “misunderstood”
Mirrors become a battleground for the attacking inner voices
Reality becomes less distinguishable
A fear sets in
“Who am I?”
Panicked by uncertainty we hide behind masks
The rebel, the hippy, the jock
Now more lost than before we break
Feeling naked and vulnerable
We stare at our spotted skin through puffy eyes
Then a wave of clarity shocks our senses
A laugh escapes a pair of thin pink lips
Who am I?
Who we are is not the refection in a mirror
But what we choose to see
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.