Long Analyse Poems
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Uplifting song. Music reaches all our hearts and inspires our minds. Our souls rejoice in the sounds.
Glow in my heart
By Michelle Morris
17/06/2023
Thinking about you today
Taking that flight up North
When will I see you again?
When will we get a chance to talk?
We keep chasing all these tasks
Our "To do" lists that never end
When will we stop and pause?
When will we enjoy the moments?
None of this really matters
In the end it's just superfluous
Our souls move on to greater things
We take our wisdom to the grave
In Heaven we can analyse our victories
Our learnings and experiences
But here on Earth it becomes dust
Only the legacy of the difference we made is left
But remember that none of it matters
Except how we made each other feel
Holding a hand out to a stranger
Hugging loved ones close and real
I'll still be thinking about you tomorrow
You'll always hold a golden glow in my heart
I love and miss you every day
And wish that we weren't apart
© Michelle Morris, 2023
PORTFOLIO CAREER
One could say I’ve had a portfolio career
Starting off researching in pharmacology
Slow solid progress, but make no apology
But no drug found to save mankind, I fear
I dallied with training some clients to drive
I also designed a machine to analyse EEG
Otherwise known as brainwaves, you see
But it was for other goals I had to strive
Then I became part of the computer age
A wondrous time of so much innovation
Application software, fourth generation
Business calculations leaping off the page
Of the financial markets, I heeded the call
Directing projects for banking worldwide
Such an unreal environment, but I tried
Yet city pinstripes never suited me at all
I managed services for the criminally insane
Or at least those with a psychiatric history
But even the medical staff posed a mystery
I left in time, and never worked there again
Then staff recruitment in the public sector
Sourcing talent nationally and also USA
Social workers, both the blue and the grey
Another business where I was the director
But there was just time for more consulting
Social care projects, promoting prevention
And saving public money, a worthy intention
Clients’ reversion to old think, often insulting
Then finally came my decision to walk away
Retirement, with time for travel and writing
Letting out all that poetry inside was inviting
Almost five thousand by the end of the day
IF ONLY I COULD
If only I could revive my bygone days !
At bends of my path those mistakes done
or scheduled works whichever, left undone
might be sought out yet not sure.
To turn back hands of clock If only I could,
so many hurried decisions I had taken
under compulsion, situation to be shaken,
might be rectified , yet not sure.
Hands of Time If only I could turn back
I wished not to let you go ever at any cost.
Nothing could compensate what treasure I had lost.
In sports of life I was thrown out of track.
If I rewind my past to analyse profound
I see, mostly I was victim of circumstances
beyond my capability and competence.
Even going back, I couldn’t change my background.
Even if I could start my life from start,
whatever surroundings were destined to me,
mostly those were beyond my control !
Yet at least fifty percent could be modified .
03/31/23
This or That vol. 17.
Third Place
Contest by Edward Ibeh.
Death, the final frontier?
A nest is round.
Our nest the Earth is round like all the stars and planets.
All things are orbital, even time and space.
Let us analyse life and death like night and day or water and vapour!
But, this time see death as the day and life as the night.
So in our day, we see all things clearly,
and in our night we are blindly stumbling, or lost in a dream.
The water we can see as life this time,
running always downhill subject to the gravitational pull.
The vapour is our spirit free of all Earthly bonds.
But, this too is a cycle continually reverting back and forth.
As the vapour raises towards the sky it is collected by the clouds.
Thus returning to Earth again as rainwater.
One major point to always remember in "life" also is that
you cannot create or destroy energy!
It only transforms.
I am not so-called religious , but sure to be righteous,
Always trying to take right move at every step of my journey.
Righteousness is real pivot of my life to honour .
Whenever any hindrance embowers or blocks my path
I analyse in rational way how to get rid of problem ,
I venture always keeping keen eye pointing righteousness.
I can neither compromise nor forgive obvious crime.
My sense of righteousness always guides me to act ruthless.
Noble kindness fails to deviate me from my strict decision.
My confidence is always associated with righteousness.
To act righteous, courage is the most important factor.
My strict moral principle is the base of righteousness.
I don’t want your standard man; don’t dump your standards on me.
You want your standard man? It’s got nothing to do with me.
You and your standard man got nothing on me, even though you think you are, I’m the one that’s free.
Yes he returned here, tail tween his legs, Told me about his obligations, his pay backs for your years.
Hell no I didn’t buy it I saw through crocodile tears. I said he and I were through he said so were he and you.
Don’t waste your time trying to analyse who you think I am. I got rid of him way back, I did it because I can.
Don’t dump your reflections on me, you got your standard man, its nought to do with me.
You should keep him on a leash and don’t unleash your stuff on me, tighten up your reign, he just keeps you because you’re tame.
You know he’s sniffing right now round all those other dames. Standing by your thrones so sad and all alone, you got your standard man your average man, it’s nought to do with me.
Form:
He enters looking bedraggled, tired and worn out, his skin like Vellum, blank and pale. Lifting his eyes to catch their gaze he gives a slight nod to acknowledge their presence. He scans the room as he would a poem, looking for an Indent that leads to a quiet corner. A half-lit light casts a shadow on the flock wallpaper, (ink stained)! He sits hidden from view, away from plagiaristic eyes. Head in hand scribbling while listening for a new word. A muse sings, emanating an un-heard Beat that guides his rhythm while searching for that elusive vowel. On the floor a scattering of pencil shavings and broken lead... frustration at the loss of an adjective, the Half-Rhyme squeezes like a tourniquet on the brain...
Frustration runs high as Enjambment slips off the stage and gathers in reflective pools. The Lady Pastoral reads an Elegy to the passing of Sir Rondeau Redouble, he lead a very lonely life, ascending and then diminishing becoming less Didactic, the Footle holds a Lantern for the loss, while the Limerick found it quite humorous.
At the bar a Stanza of poets gather, disciples of Villanelle, and regale of their latest triumphs in Womans Quarterly. The Epulaeryu's compare their Diamante while eating their babba ghanoosh. At the pool table the movers and shakers decant opinions on the latest 'form' something to do with A.E.I.O.U...Acrostic looks it up and down looking puzzled, Blank Verse remains silent. They dissect, analyse the entrails, the faint hearted look a little Grook. The atmosphere is tense, Verbs drift like dust in the light, causing confusion, they mop their brows with a tired Senryu, the Haiku has little to say on the matter...
A Quintain of intellectuals quietly sit, the Sicilian sipping slim line Monoku's ( no ice ) hoping for a Couplet before the end of the night. On a stool sits the barfly spilling his Bio over the counter top exposing an Ode-ious life, (Metaphorically speaking). On stage the hottest group in town, Chant Royal and the Syllables...singing their latest Sestina, the notes drift across the room resting on the floor, congealing into a Poet-tree fountain, they feel at home as the last act MC McWhirtle enthrals with his Ballad, the barman Ric Tameter calls time, the evening is a Rap, the club is Epic...
Here’s a twain of siblings so delicate—
The tenor and its weary vehicle,
Similar are, nor yet so disparate
O lady, art not thou so fickle?
In seeming sameness struts lady contrast,
Harmony jars to sing in unsure doubt,
Oxymoron shows a cynical pout,
Obscure ironies whilst little light cast.
Gambol ling as proxies, some sign-symbols,
Try hard to match ‘sleep, a shadow of death',
But fail to break down bulwarks of old walls,
From whereso might fount the poetic faith.
The whole hinting of part, part of the whole;
And few know O lady Metonymy,
What sets apart ye from Synecdoche,
Yet, neat-picking does rob poem her soul.
A poet’s not a spring, shocks to absorb,
Nor yet a punster he is out to shock,
A planter of paradox in vague orb,
Nor yet one, pundits often put in dock.
Beware, poets might few metaphors pick,
But zero in on befitting apt word,
The Muse at high O happens when to hick!
Ye’d better stay as art, O thou rare bird.
O ye poem, by nature art thou fickle,
Fains if forced metaphors can ever tickle,
So, lady, let my Muse, a freer hand,
E’en if she were to lead to arid land.
_______________________________________
Some critiques and academics analyse poems in the manner doctors diagnose patients— on faults that ail, focussing little on patient as a whole. ‘Life is but a walking shadow', (Macbeth). Here, ‘life' is the tenor, and ‘walking shadow' the vehicle of the metaphor. But metaphors can also be used without knowing their precise grammar and definitions. ‘Sleep as an adumbration of death', said Robert Frost, but one can use the signs and symbols without knowing them accurately. Symbolism comes natural to a good poet. The poetic devices like paradox, understatement, hyperbole, and irony can come to the poet's command without him knowing their technical names. Further, there are people fond of ‘paraphrasing' a poem. Now, this is something beyond me. Why need one do so and put a piece of verse (and a thing of beauty) unto prose, and kill it in the process?
Ode | 04.08.2008 |
I was just reflecting if I truly love you..
You know as far as you can analyse these things.. or do I just like you intensely (different words for the same thing probably) and there was a moment, I can't quite pin it down in my mind. Or maybe lots of little realisations; when we walked together that time, or a hug that made me feel like I had arrived somewhere safe. Perhaps just sitting in silence and watching you, being drawn to absorb the shape of you.. that was a powerful moment. Longing to have you hold my hand. Human connection at it's most basic but so intensive and beautiful. I think there were lots of little moments after that. In your absence the ache of bereavement, for that was how I felt.. like the bear returned to the toy shop for a refund after years of dusty longing, then the hope of appreciation. Even then in the pain of loss, my love for you extended it's awareness as the Winter allows invisible growth underground..
So many profound moments where love climbed, and stretched, and expanded.
Every conversation, every breath, every message, every attentive word every considered pause, has strengthened and confirmed that I was always meant to love you for reasons as yet unclear. Maybe just to let you know you are so lovable, across your full spectrum of versions, moods, chapters and seasons of you. No 'don't love you' days. Just, 'now I will always carry you in my heart' days. I even love you more than when I started writing this and there is nothing either of us can do to stop this love tsunami.
I've been struggling to write this. When the emotions and feelings are too much, it can be difficult to share. But, my discomfort is nothing compared to that of my dear friend who has 2 weeks to live.
Know that I love and care for you and although I'm still hoping for a miracle, I know that whatever happens, you will always be remembered fondly. Big hugs and love.
Preparation for Death
By Michelle Morris
28/12/2022
I couldn't sleep last night
Once I received your message
Two weeks left to live
Is a lot of emotion to process
Of course, this is nothing at all
Compared to what you're going through
I just wish I'd known sooner
So that I could've helped you on this journey
I completely understand
The need to keep low key
When there is suffering at hand
We often choose to retreat
I respect your need for solitude
To handle things your way
But know that you are loved
And cared for come what may
We are all here for you
Friends and family care
We hope that you'll be fine
When Heaven's time is near
Preparation for Death
Seems like such an enormous task
But ultimately, it's important
To be at peace when it's your last
Don't be afraid of Death
I assure you there's no need
He will be kind to you
Once it's your time to leave
The last breath that you take
Needs to be one of absolute peace
Don't worry about how we'll miss you
Don't worry about mortal things
'Cos when you analyse it deeply
And connect with your soul's light
Your angels will remind you
That you brought nothing into this life
You are an everlasting soul
And your light will shine on forever
And one day when it's our time
We'll see you again in Heaven
© Michelle Morris, 2022