OMAR rubaiyat
tessellation"—or mosaic— of quatrains translation; rearranged, paraphrased,
into disconnected Persian
quatrains (rubai) 'a flowing, thematic narrative.
Edward Fitzgerald a gentle manner
translated Omar Khayyam
These quatrains known as rubaiyat
so novel hedonistic &stansaic
Omar Khayyam
a Persian poet man
Loved to pen quatrains
so he wrote them again.& again
THE DIRECTERS VERSION (UNEDITED)
==WARNING FOR MOVING GEAR----------------
------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------
word in the fuss
where spoken on day one
they knew these words would be heard again
and in dispute they
were spoken loud enough
to illustrate the frustrations of
" Hedonistic Relationships"
when the source of there togetherness dried up
they were left longing and wanting
and both in need of a love based relationship
that was decent and supportive of one another.
each word heard like the first day they meet.
a churning storm that destroys
as it nutures.
The drought was releived by the storm, the storm
destroy things along it's path.
People profited from such misforutune.
They are running from the self
try to satisfy their lives
the meaning that they are seeking,
it rarely arrives
Chasing hedonistic pleasures
when the answer lies within
Eliminate the anger
a new life will begin
They are flying into Bali
into Africa and Spain
A brief migration round the world
to ease the wretched pain
Entertainment thrives aplenty
to dull the anxious mind
Find peace and love and harmony
to leave the woes behind
While running on the streets
be it walk or jog
A mobile phone adorns the hand
to check another blog
There's legal and illegal drugs
bottles of red wine
They shove it down their gullets,
believe it's all benign
The ill begotten habits
that send them all awry
Does the illness that pervades the human race
fall out of the sky??!!!!!
What is the final outcome
of the twisted soul so poor
Direct the populace from joyousness
create another war
A solution that people must pursue
many times a repeat
Find the peace and love and harmony
which persists inside of you
“What’s it all about, Alfie?”—
Are they hedonistic choices—and the katabatic void they leave?
This cup’s clutter, this timetable of supplejack sighs.
If the moon forgets—will it ever call us back?
Are we meant to have beyond what we bestow?
Or are we required to be seraphim?
We chase glitter, blind to its lamplight and oil.
Alfie, if a fool shows no interest,
Is revenge the clever answer?
And if life belongs only to the strong—
What’s your wager on the sphinx’s ancient rule?
Our aspirations fold like creased napkins—
still clean enough for an evasive guest.
Love? A leftover coat on the wrong hook,
a name spoken softly, reshaped when no one listens.
Hope? A medium-rare object—
warm in the middle, a blush of pink.
Never raw, though.
And relevance? The hum between two clashing chords—
your laughter mocking silence.
“What’s it all about, Alfie?” then…
Perhaps nothing.
Perhaps everything.
Or simply this:
You hesitate—and maybe that’s the answer.
Enticed, seduced, and speedily distilled,
stumbling dumbly, she trips into the arms
of decadence—(such hedonistic charms!)
—and finds her stubborn inhibitions spilled
in a puddle around her thoughts—and, stilled,
her mind is free (of any and all alarms (!) )
of worry, fear, and doubt—beyond all harms
she thunders for a fresh martini, chilled.
Teetering at the brink of another drink
she’s helpless against gravity’s stout
strength—down(and further still)into its wink
sinks the hopeless dupe into the abyss;
with more and more foaming from the spout,
she slips into a lethal, silent kiss—
there's no one around you see
it's just me and cliff
ear buds help cushion the volume
my smartphone warns me
it could damage my ears
i put it at full volume
it's 9:40pm and the family are asleep
this could go on all night
cliff said he was proud he never adopted a
hedonistic rock and roll lifestyle and never wanted
to trash a hotel room
i've just trashed the attic
A cavalcade of savage singing lights
whip worshippers of ultraviolet;
Indulging the most hedonistic threat
they raise hooks to meritorious heights;
DJ’s entourage being read last rites
at the end of that set they won’t forget;
A cavalcade;
The swollen witching hour synthetic bites
direct reckless dancers to a sure bet;
Inarticulate’s the best you can get;
Obsessing over complicated fights,
a cavalcade.
Alone I drift, a vagabond psuche, haunted by daughter's lifeblood and husband's self-exploded mind, a diseased landscape. Frantic fingers dance on the page as I conjure reason's faint glow, a desperate chainsaw whirring solace in the abyss. Bloodlust welts of fury scorch the script, a deranged catechism of hedonistic, as I shriek into the fray, my frame a torched earth, solar barren and bereft. Scum-ridden silver glares back, mocking reflections of futility, as I seethe venomous disgust, a reckoning’s reckoning, spewing forth vitriol to corrode the granite complacency. Specters of forgotten faces fragment, a ghastly kaleidoscope of doctored truths, as I screech at the echoing of a hollow existence, a funeral dirge for the self that never was. And smile at the reflection of who I am supposed to be, single-mother-effer's manifesto, don’t effing question she, you don’t have the piano fingers to come near my grace on the keys, I tie cherries with my tongue, have your berries blue by morn, my hands are a whole different story.
Sometimes I amaze even me — this is poetry!!
An infant is brought into being,crafted out of earthly elements
Out of soil,out of water, breathing air moment after moment.
Nerves get nourished,strength is acquired as blood circulates through veins
The sheer love of her as nature gifts the first glimpse of consciousness.
Slowly things transform as seed sprouts into a towering tree
As the muscles are flexed,chest spreads wider and will is free.
Contained with posessions hedonistic desire hinging on self worth
The piled up matter of earthly elements absurdly tries to conquer the earth.
"I remember the land. I remember its people—their ways, the folly of their mentality. I never encountered the term ‘depression’ until later in life. I grappled with hatred and bigotry because they’re diseases akin to cancer and COVID-19.
Do you recall the carefree children of the eighties, their hedonistic pursuit of drugs, sex, and intellectual freedom? It goes like this: I don’t think of labor; I don’t think of work. Labor implies toil, and if it’s not self-employment, it’s slavery with meager wages from the man.
I remember the land and its people—their foolishness weighed on me. I remember the departed, how those trees outlived them. The language of the trees whispers freedom and the sound of human longevity, thanks to a matured land’s kindness.
The waste land we leave behind, even without spoken words, tells a story of abandonment. What you might see as a grassy area, I perceive as a court date—a battleground where families fight for ownership. Illegitimate children vie for their share of the land. Even unspoken, it holds worth.
How do you come to terms with yours?"
Feel free to adjust any part of this revision
John, the forerunner of Christ, preached repentance and baptized.
The wrath of God, like fire, will devour the world, he said.
Hedonistic ways of humans, by his life, he revised
Axe is on trunks, he said; by devilment, don't be misled.
The world could not accept John's teachings, as his words weren't sweet.
Do children like medicines that are not sugar coated?
He is possessed. This is why he is unable to eat.
His lamb-like life was unjustly and untimely slaughtered.
Jesus was gregarious. He loved the rich and the poor.
Did they accept him? He's a glutton and drunkard, they said.
As blind in mind, they failed to see his benignant grandeur.
As he knew their psyche, with a soft smile, he went ahead.
The ways of the world are unreasonable and absurd.
The thoughts, words, and deeds of the world, always, Jesus stirred.
We
live
a delusion
day by day
the illusion
we are free
independent
free spirits
to be
who we are
to do
as
we
please
when we like
able
to
choose
The
consequences
of ego
lie all
around
'til
this
hedonistic
bubble bursts
&
marks
&stains
as
it
percolates
through
our kin
It
is
known
as sin
but
is unconfessed
never
breathed
aloud
oft
considered
an illusion
so this
circle
revolves
who
will
break this ring
and
ask
Him
in
EGO TRIP
Me,me my forever sigh-
will insecurity die
in an hedonistic cry ?
Inspired by Will Shakespeare's Threnos tristich form 7:7:7
“Poetry allows the poet to give vent to rage
and despair in words, instead of action.” ~ by poet
Oh, you don’t wanna know
what it would be like
if it wasn't for poetry.
Living this life would be unbearable,
The false preaching of the pompous priests
The false promises of the crooked politicians
The false hopes of the cheating charlatans.
Whenever I am disillusioned
and my heart aches at the wickedness of man,
I sit down to write poetry
to lessen the pain.
Looking at the wretched condition
of the downtrodden and
the hedonistic lifestyle of the affluent,
the pent-up rage in me is ever raring
to burst forth and burn the world down…
if it wasn’t for poetry!
Sensual and untamed
Thought, crystallizes into
Hedonistic foe.
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.