a disc of bliss is implanted in our spine
at a point which is parallel to our heart
wherefrom magnetism spikes making us divine
and so in this way as God search we jump start
in time dissolved stillness epiphanies dawn
here now in body urn where we are reborn
as pure living light pulsating with delight
as is-ness of being-ness by day and night
body ache commingled with bliss
makes for a strange and heady mix
wherein we adroitly sidestep ego’s tricks
comforted by Divine Mother’s sublime kiss
See how she dreamed...
See how she smiled...
The man in the moon beamed
She is a night child
With stars in her eyes
Moonlight in her hair,
A neon glow that never dies
In her heart is always there
Was not born to midnight
She came to it one day,
Something there just felt right
And the dark stole her away...
Is it really any wonder
the world's the way it is today
when according to the Bible
wherein it does say
not in so many words
but reading between the lines
we're descendants of incestuous bastards
and the shape we're in shows all the signs
not a lot we can do to change history
altho' the future's ours to frame
'Peace, Love and Understanding'
is the name of the game
A skull
A cup
A mug
A house of ribs,
No heart
No lungs.
Crooked serifs,
Fall like teeth.
No name that fits,
And no room to breathe.
Fingers,
Pinch the tongue—
That couldn't speak.
As every word runs away,
Scampering on little feet.
Oh.....
Look there goes my ghost.
Out here on the street.
~Kynsie~
Myriad souls wander, lost and confused,
so whilst respecting the journey of each,
of that they are bemused, we’re not amused,
so share with those who pair but do not teach,
knowing God’s light in time, all hearts will reach.
Flickers in space reveal God is so close,
breathing us gently whilst we’re in repose.
Thanks for being you
Thank you for the joy you bring
Thanks for being true
Thank you for wearing my ring
I thank you for everything
from the vantage point of stillness
we see the world going around
we view this dream with nonchalance
to no illusion are we bound
bliss drum beats with our heart gong
we are both this form and the sky
there then is nothing to be done
as are that who can never die
It is dark in here
and I really fear
I’ve run out of things to say.
Sameness taunts me,
shameness haunts me,
I have lost the will to pray.
I am off the track,
my pen is slack,
I have nothing to relay.
Nobody has,
nobody does,
it’s all been said before.
Steal an idea,
make it appear
it stepped out of your front door.
They’ll think that it’s yours
and as sky-ward it soars
they’ll even come for more.
But don’t talk of doom,
of despair and gloom
and how your soul slowly dies.
They don’t wish to know
your personal inferno,
instead, just feed them lies.
Lies they’ll understand;
stories of dreamland,
alibis and lullabies.
Give them at any cost
the hope that you’ve lost
and the love you no longer feel.
Make believe it is spring,
praise everything,
let them think your verse is real.
Your sorrow don’t share,
beware, oh, beware,
nothing to reveal.
accepting the unexpected
without our heart skipping a beat
in mood and mode embrace-release
is enabled by cool bliss heat
continuum of now-moments
leaving behind no residue
is the canvas we paint upon
wherein each rapture hue is new
each point in space is the centre
wherefrom we feel the potent pull
of magnetism divine sublime
heart is empty and yet feels full
On a more personal note,
seeing the shackles,
self-imposed or by others
always raises the hackles,
yet, with only one oar
in the water,
neither doing their remit,
nor what they oughta,
as a means of avoidance
wherever they go,
catching crabs
whenever they row,
while blindly engaged
in endless negotiations,
with lobbyists, politicos
and their associations,
but, are they remunerated
for mere speech,
as opposed to action,
do they fail to grasp the truth,
or, is reality out of reach?
A bittersweet taste of isolation grips
while ambling into our unlit attic,
escorted by a window's glassy beam ...
And I notice a disarray
of your keepsakes...history books,
stale cigars, antiques In fluted trunk
all muddily undone:
Somehow, clouds turn deep violet
where I uncover a file of private notes
intimate as your very skin, your breath
marking our years' affectionate episodes--
Till my dire soliloquy, my ached calls
hide beneath an ocean of black stars ,
recalling now, your gentle caresses
that I wake within the rose wilderness
of your arms...forlorn:
Tonight, I fetch a Sauvignon
warming a rainy October dusk --
yet a mirage of sirens greets me
deafened by Fate's ending I cannot hold,
this room swallowing me
In total vaqueness as my lungs pine
for your name I can only hear...
I beseech the sun to undress
the stars, but could my plea
be more strong than theiving time?
How midnight groans like a widow for this loss.
Form, a mirror in which we see our face,
reflection of living light drenched in bliss,
Cupid’s caress, gripping us in embrace,
as nodes within freely mingle and kiss.
Vibrance of innocence does not rehearse,
since God as our guide dwells in heart inside,
that we as He, one with the universe,
plunge into the void, where we wingless glide.
Empowered with gift of bilocation,
poised in a bliss squall, we become the all,
playful flirtation as our vocation,
a pillar of light always standing tall.
As we so metamorphose in repose ~
Divine love and light from our aura glows
A pilot attacked;
People pushed onto tracks.
A Central Park murder
And ICE men attacks.
Mistreatment of animals;
Internet scams.
Collapsing of bridges
And traffic-caused jams.
Polar ice melting
And water-drained lakes.
Deaths from narcotics,
Tornados and quakes.
Voting laws challenged
And prices that rise.
Wars being fought
For a leader who lies.
Turn on the news
And you’ll wish you had not.
Hope fizzles out
But it’s all that we’ve got.
Soon we’ll be facing
The reign of A.I.
Yet still, I write poems,
Though I’m wondering why.
And I'm still in Love -
(I) don't ask with whom
maybe there is someone
~ maybe not ~.
Clairvoyance being prepared, still
Moving, we are moving on, bathing --
--> in bliss, that blissful waltz
Flowers blooming, spelling out the
end of the I.
Dreams of union, marriage, the
heart rejoices - You and I, we fly high
Above the cluds, the waves,
Hearing the bells ringing
We dance like embers, floating in the sky.
Alive, every face beloved, the soul
is free.
How I Feel Categories
Definition | What is How I Feel in Poetry?
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.