Long Deep seated Poems
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Close your eyes gently. Breathe deeply and slow.
Take a calm, stolen moment to consider what you know.
Open your eyes slowly. On what do they fall?
You see things all around you. They mean nothing at all.
In every instance, you assign the value of each and every piece.
You give them all the meaning that they will ever have.
All are neutral but become symbols of your deep-seated beliefs,
Whether you understand it or are completely naïve.
Each stare back to reflect and remind you of stronghold beliefs.
They accuse you of attachments and meanings you’re unable to show.
Without them, you would not be able to see your hidden thoughts.
It’s easy to see why it’s so hard to release and let them go.
Consciously, you never give your things a second thought.
You just can’t live without them. Without them you chafe.
They make you feel good; make you feel whole.
Gathered all around you, they make you feel safe.
Unhappy with your life? Look at your symbols.
Each is a symbol of who you believe yourself to be.
Each holds the energy that you have projected.
Let go of the attachments to set your mind free.
Chula Fleming © August 13, 2024
I don't see many white NBA players
even fewer white all-stars
I wonder what kind of xenophobic tyrants
the owners and commissioner are
Not one Latino hockey player that I know
has made it to the big-time, to the NHL's show
Demonstrating once more and again
How our deep-seated prejudices continue to grow
As for gay football players, there's only been one
He sat on the sidelines, and he was done
Where's that rainbow of pigskin diversity
Like Colin Kaepernick, it's taken a knee...
There's this old-fashioned idea that 'talent will out'
~ Which is inherently biased, no doubt
"You're not strong enough whispered the Devil to withstand life's
storms and I yelled back to him, thanks to God I am the storm."
Quote by _ Constance
I am that which I am within my mind,
and able to transcend this earthly realm;
have found my true purpose- I am not blind,
though the way to I am can overwhelm.
I will be- create what I will create,
these thoughts are deep-seated within my soul;
God has always taught me my sublime fate,
it is who I am, it is my life goal.
I am who created me, I am me,
two little words that can change a whole life;
I am who I was yet I am guilt free,
free of the strife in life and her sharp knife.
I am and I am- boundless and unique;
immanent, transcendent, not weak or meek.
My words come from an innermost and secret place within me. Hidden feelings
that I have veiled and concealed over the years. Words that bleed with emotion
and speak of deep-seated pain and weep with tears. They spill onto my white
pages. All those inward words that I have held for years come dripping.
And I know that I have mastered my writing, I know my poetry is meaningful.
I realize that some may not like my words but it means nothing to me. For my
poetry is not measured by others or by being acknowledge somehow but by the
words that take my breath away. I have that kind of wonderful inner knowing.
sad words are falling
all the red orange and brown-
a feather floats by
I am absolute and certain that I am meant to write pain and definite death,
and my aboriginal heritage with boundless and unrestrained passion. I give
totally to this path. I am fixed and clear and infallible. Seems I am on a
mission to utterly enlighten others.
And when you read my words you will feel my compassion and empathy, my
love, sorrow and affection. You will glimpse and get an inkling of my journey
to the here and now, the rocky road that I have traveled. But, that road has
left me with feelings of absolute beauty, so I write poems beautifully sad.
and hidden birds sing
a song so melancholy-
calico cat stares
I feel we writers have to be mystical and in touch with our mysterious spirits,
there is a magic when you can connect with that otherworldly place deep inside
of your mind. Some may call this connection their spirit or their muse, or their
soul but when you find it, you will know and it is from that place you write.
For inside of self is your ego, your I and yourself. It is your essence and vital
force, it is your poetic heartbeat, it is where your mournful dwells and your
memories linger to be retold, for me it is my vitality and my journey that I
share, and it is where I keep my HURT.
the rain is falling
as I stand beneath the tree-
my tears fly away
___________________________
June 9, 2018
Written for the contest, An Inner Knowing,
And Absolute Feeling, My Mystical Soul/Self
sponsor, Caren Krutsinger
First Place
It's the gift of song within the heart,
The gift of words that help us impart,
A deep seated feeling within the soul,
That helps us express it, makes us feel whole.
When we are enabled to reach out in verse,
And touch someone else and mayhap coerce,
The bard in another to make itself known,
And touch us in turn and sing us his song;
A poet's heart sings, it flys and it soars,
When we're given words that touch someone's core.
It's a gift like no other to be able to write,
For there's power in words, they have meat, they have might.
We often dont' know how it will turn out.
We just start to write and then it comes about.
It's hard to say when it will begin,
But there's magic at work when we pick up our pen.
"THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD."
You walk through the metal detector
You look at me with a deep seated scorn
You loath that I made you remove your stuff
You had to take off your shoes belt and jewelry
You’re thinking “I’m no criminal or terrorist so why me”
I am only doing the job the government requires of me
I am not the reason you are harassed and had to partially strip
I do empathize with you seeing I have to do the same thing too
No one cares that I am a Screening Officer I am searched when I travel
The government says what’s good for the goose is good for the gander
You want to get mad at someone then look in the right direction
The ones who blatantly took the lives of our families and friends
Who took the choice of traveling to most places away forever
Who took the privilege of carrying most things on board away
The freedom to travel with our liquids and gels peanut butter and jam
Don’t blame me because I am risking my life to keep you safe
Don’t blame me for someone not caring about your fate
Don’t blame me for what Mr. Harper and Mr. Obama says
Or for what the UK says is their Standard Operating Procedures (SOP)
Don’t blame me I am just the messenger that holds many lives in my hand
In the silent garden where the spirit resides,
Grow shadows of ego, where true light hides.
Not soldiers in armor, nor cannons’ loud boom,
But whispers of self-importance fill the room.
They rise from within, a fog in the mind,
Leaving compassion and empathy behind.
The paths are neglected, the flowers don’t bloom,
As the ego-shadows cast a pervasive gloom.
The First Shadow, a monument, tall and grand,
Demands all attention throughout the whole land.
It speaks in the voice of “I am, and I know,”
Ignoring the wisdom that others can show.
Its roots are deep-seated in fear and in pride,
Pushing all kindness and humility aside.
It sees every challenge as a battle to win,
A solitary fortress, where no one gets in.
The Second Shadow, a mirror, polished and bright,
Reflects only the self in its limited light.
It measures its worth by the external gaze,
Lost in a labyrinth of self-centered haze.
It craves admiration, applause, and acclaim,
Feeding a hunger that whispers its name.
It twists every moment to serve its own need,
A garden choked over with a self-serving weed.
The Third Shadow, a mountain, unyielding and steep,
Holds onto its grievances, buried and deep.
It builds up defenses of judgment and blame,
Protecting an image, a delicate flame.
It sees the world through a lens of its own,
A seed of resentment, persistently sown.
It struggles for power, for control, and for might,
Lost in the darkness, avoiding the light.
These shadows entwining, a tangled-up vine,
Choking the growth of the truly divine.
They drain the life force, they wither and fade,
The potential for beauty, a vibrant parade.
They dance in the twilight, unseen and unheard,
Their power diminished by a single kind word.
But notice the sunbeam, a delicate gleam,
Piercing the darkness, a hopeful, soft stream.
For even the deepest of shadows can cease,
When the light of awareness brings solace and peace.
The garden can flourish, the ego can cease its reign,
And the self finds connection, again and again.
Best man, maid of honor,
Father of the bride.
Toss the bouquet and the garter,
Groomsmen on the side.
In-laws, photographers, caterers…
Don’t forget to tip the waiters.
DJ stage, reception hall,
Gold bands, first dance, pillar to post….
And now a toast:
Here’s to prideful selfishness and petty vanities.
Those rocks and shoals can wreck your ship.
Suspicions will harbor resentment
And threaten your future contentment.
Be careful as you navigate your way.
Here’s to unresolved childhood issues
And deep-seated jealousies.
They can sabotage your happiness
And lead to endless miseries.
Beware these hidden dangers every day.
Here’s to poor communication
And a lack of empathy.
Emotional projections
That highlight imperfections…
The disrespect that only leads to tears.
Here’s to blissfulness and diligence,
Tolerance and vigilance,
Wedding rings and lovers’ knots,
Champagne and caveats.
Cheers!
Like a ferocious bull
trapped in a China cabinet,
She suddenly collapses
and in fury she seethes
and she cries and rages
Only in deep prayer
does she find inner peace;
Her turmoil churns,
She's manifesting magic
and manic moon phases.
Deep-seated pain
from a lack of self,
deeply profound
it loudly rings
through every ripple,
of her past and future
Feathered hair
covers a tear-streaked face;
The Gods know of her;
They see her soul scars
and the etheric sutures.
Her sobs quietly fade
as Sorrows of Deep Past
torment her soul
throughout night and day
I walk away in silence
and in my heart
swells Gratitude;
forever relieved
at her absence
Truly elated I am
that her soul scars
are not mine;
And for that Wisdom,
I know that
Unlike her
I was already whole
I told you to be careful, but my words were made of dust,
Blown away by a new face, a shallow, fleeting trust.
I saw the red flags waving, the warnings in his smile,
But you waved them all away and stayed with him a while.
Then a week passed by in silence, a space where we once stood,
Until you dropped the news, as though you thought you should.
"We're together," you declared, and waited for my cheer,
Not understanding why my smile was wiped away by fear.
You asked me, "What's the problem? Why don't you understand?"
As if my heart's deep-seated worry was drawn in the sand.
I tried to explain the reasoning, the things I'd seen before,
But your new world had no room for what I had in store.
Now the laughter's gone to silence, and we walk separate roads,
A heavy weight of history, a sack of sad new loads.
I miss the friend who listened, who felt my every pain,
But I can't forget the way you let him twist the knife again.
But the saddest part of all is how the venom starts to spread,
The whispers to my other friends, the harsh and hurtful things you said.
You've turned your back and started turning others, too,
While I still hold my head up high and never stoop to you.
They say a friend is someone who would never turn their back,
But yours was turned so quickly, and the friendship went to black.
I'm caught between the sadness of the person I have lost,
And the bitter, raw betrayal of the love you threw and tossed.