Long Dignity Poems
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If the writer in me wanted to pen a poem to honor you dear Mystic,
would I write a poem about a wolf, an eagle, or flowers. Perhaps a
fairytale with magic. I think you would like a poem about the wind or
ocean waves crashing. Oh, for sure you love roses and butterflies and
love. Maybe I could write about your beautiful soul, your quiet dignity,
your grace and kindness ...
she has a sweet way
a gentleness in her words ...
paths sublime to stroll
The writer in me wants you to know, how much you inspire me in many
ways, not just as a poet, but as a person. Now, getting back to writing.
Would I pen this poem in a long Narrative, in a creative Free Verse, or
perhaps a divine Rhyme. Maybe a simple Haiku, or a wonderful Quatrain
sequence, or maybe a Haibun. Yes, that is it dear Mystic! I will pen you
a poem in Haibun ...
I see in her eyes
her soul and her words falling ...
could we stroll in snow
______________________
August 9, 2021
Poetry/Haibun/The Writer In Me Wants You To Know
Copyright Protected, ID 08-1379-716-09
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest,
The Writer In Me Wants You To Know
sponsor, Mystic Rose Rose, Judged 08/14/2021
Fourth Place
A spider spreads its web of silken threads
shimmering all silvery white by the lake
waiting guileless for preys to find their breads
Its way is not to tear victims to shreds
a kind of dignity is here at stake
a spider spreads its web of silken threads
To ensnare gently unwary flies' heads
showing a slow death dance they will partake
waiting guileless for preys to find their breads.
Self-respecting spiders are thoroughbreds
no tangled webs they weave for spinning sake
a spider spreads its web of silken threads.
widow spider catches the fly it weds
unlucky ones just follow in their wake
waiting guileless for preys to find their breads
wet tendrils of fog become beaded heads
a string of tiny diamonds they make
A spider spreads its web of silken threads
waiting guileless for preys to find their breads.
@jjote posted 06/09/16
And you walked with me
in drear-nighted February
through the smell of petrol
in the farmer's yard.
Your song is a piece
of global clay
and clay grows wild
magnetic Gael roses.
The splendour of colour in this life
is as rare as holding a symphony
midst the siren's wail
and shockheaded metal violence.
Light of my eye
hazel and sallow flower
You were imprisoned by a bit part
in history--
granted a proletarian choice
by dawn gryphons--
denounced what you loved
with dignity.
Victims and riots
in so many parts--
Peace may yet be possible
in this moment,
as you lead me up the creaking stairs,
gently by the hand.
ANY AI LEARNING USE PROHIBITED. All rights reserved
They wear the name
before they wear the heart.
Their mouths speak mercy,
But their hands throw stones.
They laugh at the poor,
and call it wisdom.
They look at weakness
as entertainment.
They help you--
then ask for payment
in silence broken by shame,
in rumors louder than truth.
They tell you to pray
while they tighten the circle around you,
a group that claims holiness
while making your life feel like exile.
Their words are weapons…
never medicine,
cutting deeply
while claiming to correct.
They pray not for light,
but for your fall,
and when it comes,
they turn away as if innocent.
They post your pain without permission,
turning your wounds into content,
and your dignity into a joke.
They offer no break, no mercy,
not even in holy time!
Christmas absorbs their Bitterness,
the New Year begins without mercy.
The leader hides in shadow.
A proxy takes the seat beside you,
cups your words,
and spreads them around.
They shame you openly,
circulate your image,
and when you break your silence,
they call you Broken, Unstable, Unreal.
They judge how you spend;
the way you get by day to day,
as if belief gives them the right
to decide for you.
They Welcome you warmly
their decision is already fixed.
When you see behind the curtain,
they erase you
by turning people against you.
So tell me…
Is a good reputation always good?
Is a bad one always deserved?
Evil moves quietly,
often in prayer circles,
often behind clean images
and loud hallelujahs.
But TRUTH - does not need Noise.
The Bald Eagle is a bird of prey with spectacular aerial displays,
They soar and swoop and dive and glide ever so gracefully;
Dashing predators in silent pursuit,
Their brown plumage is beautiful.
They swirl and glide above jagged rocks majestic in the sun,
A particular place is their nest that they will defend till death;
Dedicated to their mates and protector of their chicks,
A bird to be admired for courage.
And how I love those mighty wings,
And those feathered legs and claws;
Such strength in every wing beat,
Once a familiar sight in North America.
Endangered due to persecution and pesticides,
Now they are thriving again and out of danger in America;
A national symbol for their majesty, power, courage and resilience,
So for me the Bald Eagle will always be the bird of choice;
So spiritual and full of dignity, a symbol to represent people,
Oh never could it be any other bird, although there are some beauties to behold.
________________________________
October 21, 2015
Free Verse
Submitted to the contest, Another Bite Of the Cherry
sponsor, Charlotte Puddifoot
Did not place in contest.
Nothing can make up for the hurt you get
When you're humiliated or in debt.
It certainly stirs a sour feeling of bitterness and regret
When realizing that trusting people is never a safe bet.
But the solution is not being indignant or upset.
Don't let people injure your vanity.
Or accept their deceit and abuse with alacrity.
What's life without dignity?
It's just a poor, useless soil
That crops nothing however hard you toil.
Don't let despair overwhelm your soul
And lead you to strange impressions.
Your spirit yearns for freedom not control.
So there is no need for concessions.
Just keep dignity as your lifelong goal.
The first Magna Carta initiated and asserted,
The people-centred philosophy which was budding:
‘Cos if the law is not a moral prescription of human rights,
Then it's just an ego-trip for a any monarchy’s plights.
After life’s origin with the big-bang,
Came matter, plants and animals;
And then apes preceded neanderthals,
When *****neanderthalensis were a gang.
*****sapiens then hit the scene,
Began to practice agriculture in 10000 BC,
And after that a process of civilisation ignited,
The law and order in the land in which we all can be.
And of course with law and order,
Comes creativity, art and industry;
An innate ability to express ourselves,
For greater relativity.
But the original political system,
Just consisted of a king with a crown,
Who was worshipped and adored:
Until his problem was this renown.
The people were disgruntled,
So rebelled against King John,
Who signed the Magna Carta,
Which said that he too was the law under.
So the law then began to pertain to moral values,
And humanism and atheism were for the first time aired,
Because John’s sins were no longer judged by God,
After his life and death, but by people who cared.
Philosophy has burgeoned from that point on,
From Albert the Great’s theory of justice and natural law,
To Descarte’s Heliocentrism and dualistic rationalism,
Which developed into individualism and existentialism.
Ideology matters to the evolutionary process of law,
As the law is either against people, or for them;
And before 1215 it never was the people’s abstract security,
But was rather their daily unhappiness and misery.
Humanity is so much better off for the Magna Carta,
Ourselves, America, Australia and all the world,
‘Cos each individual has human rights, worth and dignity,
As it wrought a change of diplomacy and philosophy.
Aliza Kashmala Kiran - I am Aliza Kashmala Kiran.Donot Miss my poems to read,to comment and to do kind fantastic real prayers for me and my all family members. Aliza Kashmala Kiran,She is the best social writer and English International Voluntary Poetess of Pakistan.MashAAllah.She works on too many serious issues which only protect dignity,pride,honour and self-respect of our beloved country pakistan.Always have patriotic approach.she wants to protect pakistan from danger & evil negative bad eyes.so Always Trust in Allah Almighty,Always do the right deeds.Never involve in such matters,whom you donot know what are the real benefits and drawbacks of that matters. Always have positive attitude about life stuffs .Even if you belong to needy poor helpless underdeveloped
country.Always show yourself a contented well off person.Never loose your dignity,pride,honour and self-respect for any one even for your rich friend or rich enemy or rich country. Stay Blessed.God Always help those who help themselves.so its better to die with dignity,pride and honour even your head is under atricous king weapon.one more thing never think gold or any pearl or diamond as wealth symbol.All the glitters is not gold.The 2 rupee which you get after hard work is too much precious than 80 Billion Dilloars which you get after too much acts against humanity and evil negative bad unhumanity tasks.you are best and best and remain best.even you are poor.Never change your identity for any one. God Bless you all.
Best Regards
Aliza Kashmala Kiran
https://youtu.be/sjWXsrFMmTk
In the twilight of a restless world, where minds are chained to glowing screens,
The machine-like hum of existence drowns the whispers of the soul,
People move like automatons, their essence eroded by the electronic tide,
A slow degradation of well-being, a quiet erosion of dignity, intolerable in the end.
In this programmed environment, where the air grows thick with indolence,
Eyes, once bright with wonder, now reflect only the cold, indifferent light,
Hearts, once fierce with passion, now beat slow and hollow,
Minds, once sharp and curious, now dulled by the narcotic glow of the screen.
The political tapestry unravels, threads of self-governance fray,
For in this digital haze, people cease to govern themselves,
They demand to be managed, to be told, to be led,
The spark of autonomy dims, replaced by the flicker of dependency.
Yet, even within this mechanized labyrinth, a glimmer of recognition remains,
Humans possess the profound ability to see themselves, to carve out sanctuaries of thought,
In the cool, verdant garden of personal growth, away from the machine's relentless grip,
We cultivate sweet fruit, a testament to our resilience, sufficient for our sustenance.
In this garden, the soul finds solace, the mind finds clarity,
Every thought a blossom, every idea a ripe fruit,
We nurture our essence, we reclaim our dignity,
And in this quiet haven, we gather enough fruit to share with others.
The machine hums outside, but here, in this sacred space,
We breathe deeply, we think freely, we exist fully,
For in the act of personal cultivation, we defy the mechanical mandate,
We reclaim our humanity, we restore our spirit.
So let the world outside buzz with its electronic cadence,
Within our garden, we find the rhythm of life,
A rhythm that nourishes, that sustains, that connects,
A rhythm that reminds us of who we are, beyond the machine's cold embrace.
In the twilight of a restless world, we find our sanctuary,
A place where the soul can breathe, where the mind can wander,
Where the heart can beat strong and true,
In this garden of personal growth, we find our magic, our melancholy,
And in the sharing of our sweet fruit, we find our purpose, our connection, our humanity.
I stare at the moonlight of the river,
Even it inflicts the suffering, I shiver.
A broken image, devoid of all human desire,
As if a vampire drained him and even wants higher.
Condemned to be powerless for rest of his life,
Every rescue path leads him to rope, gun or even knife.
I’m terrified of living like a fragile, fruitless tree,
Whoever loves me, wants me to not be free.
You know it’s not love, it’s selfishness and hate,
Forcing someone to live and accept his grim fate.
Let us defeat this restless and eager vampire,
By the sun of freedom, and his spreading fire.
I want to breathe as long as I’m a determined being,
Not a wretched hostage, locked up to bed, voiceless weeping.