Long Outpourings Poems
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People tell me that I’m now a poet
I've still got a lot to learn and don’t I know it
I like to write with humour and wit
You may like my writes or think they are rubbish
(couldn’t think of suitable rhyming word here)
Some days my ideas just flow and flow
Other days my muse has a long way to go
I hate the days my brain is constipated
When I can’t find the words I get so frustrated
I need a dose of Movicol to get my movement going
Blockage will be cleared and my poems will be flowing
Other times my words gush like verbal diarrhoea
Inspiration flows like a river and I whoop and cheer
Thought I’d share this with you and keep you in the loop
You can read my outpourings here on Poetry Soup
Jan Allison
1st October 2014
In truth we are not and yet our
turbid mind births the sincerest
trance, which somehow stifles laughter
of our heart, not quite aligned with
pulsations of love, until some
quirk of fate, brings to us deep pain,
whence we see clear truth as it is,
whereupon no longer fear fraught,
befriending the void, we free our
soul, imbibing grace of sweetest
outpourings of celestial songs
and thus divine entwined, we are,
as we are, bliss drenched, beyond those
narrow ego spawned desires that
bind and confine, so freed we tell
of our journey within, made of
love and light, exhuming saddest
delusions borne by egoic thought.
Inspired by these lines ~
“Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those
that tell of saddest thought.”
by Percy Bysshe Shelly – To a Skylark
Hemmed in within the boundaries of form,
I looked in wonderment at boundless space
and melding therein felt bliss stirrings warm,
rising from heart as outpourings of grace.
In time dissolved stillness, I stood thus still
and without any doing on my part,
soma nectar flowed; I drank to my fill,
throbbing with rapture, adding love to cart.
Space then God’s womb and body a bubble,
I shifted attention to the vast void,
feeling breath by breath ecstasy double,
no longer thereafter by fears decoyed.
Free and unbound, I’m now one with life’s flow,
transformed as a bliss mist, always aglow.
26-December-2022
Feel Free Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick
Benign bliss burn
Here we go again,
dancing in the rain,
‘twixt dew drops of bliss,
where void and soul kiss.
How may we translate
the way nodes gyrate,
when grazed by love's touch,
without thought form crutch?
Rising from within,
bubbling on our skin,
divine magnetism
ignites body prism.
Rapture heart imbibes
transmits sublime vibes,
holding in embrace,
outpourings of grace.
Layered silence yields
to power love wields,
for none can resist,
touch of God's bliss mist.
As nodes within stir,
all boundaries blur;
we become the all
drenched in this bliss squall.
19-November-2022
[POET’s NOTE : This is the first of five poems on Revolutionary Poet, Bertolt Brecht, who had a profound impact on South African revolutionaries during the transition into a National Democratic state from an Apartheid one. We often read from his works during mass meetings for change.
Brecht worked in hexameters, rhyming quatrains, sonnets, ballads, unrhyming verse in regular meters, as well as shapes, as occasion demanded. For Brecht, technique & form mattered less than content, except that it held content stable. ]
__________________
Bertolt Brecht, his revolutionary vivid poems are etched into spinal nerves deep
his dramatic language caused awakenings from ignorant sleep
poetic outpourings against war flashed bleep bleep
he had to flee home country with human consciousness to sweep
~~~~~~~
Telma
People call me the firstborn
But in the warmth of this cold, I know it was you
The world wasn’t too kind to you
Releasing rivers of tears from father and mother
And so, I dance with sadness in silence
Like someone embracing the echo of a goodbye,
Hoping that in this heavy emptiness
While your silence screams in my chest
I walk alone, carrying you with me
Our future, a broken mirror
In every shard, a joyful smile has left
The past whispers, the present stays silent
Between us, an empty scaffold is built
Banning the outpourings of a beloved brother
That’s how it is, as one flower blooms, another dies,
But in your departure, our love withered
I don’t blame you, I’ll dance in the void you left
With a face flooded with tears in the desert
Our reunion, my tender longing
I walk in this darkness lit by your cold warmth
Telma, evil gifted us a sad feast
But God has reserved for us a banquet of happiness
Voluble, vocal
He didn’t agree
She remained non-committal
He thought, “It’s so dull.”
As he wanted everything
In black and white
Too suddenly
Too quickly
His watch words
Transparency and openness
No roundabouts, no guess
Scared to offend
She tried to mend
Willy-nilly toed the line
Bringing a sparkle
And a shine
To the relationship
Which now seemed
To take off
After the initial blip
Resulting in gushings
And outpourings
Too much
Too soon
Suspense killed
Mystery resolved
Thrill evaporated
Excitement got jaded
Relationship meandered
Before coming to a halt
He wondered
But could not pin the fault
Eventually asked
‘Who messed?’
She replied,
“Things would have been better
If unexpressed”
But for these two things,
My head would stop its imaginings,
And the chance of a good nights sleep would not go begging.
To my views I am sticking,
In believing there may be a final reckoning
For those who were snoring,
When Pandora's box someone was opening,
With no understanding,
What Euthanasia might be bringing,
To those not clear in their thinking,
Or those who wish for the population to be shrinking.
Yet it is the lack of understanding,
By mainstream media who are now directing,
Instead of informing,
Who keep me tossing and turning,
As calls to check their moral compass they are no longer taking,
With all articles weather depending,
And their view on freedom unlimited, impairing their thinking,
As to their role in what is happening
To those who on them are depending,
And they are not listening,
To the sound of a our outpourings,
As we struggle to find reasons not to take away their means of
making a living,
When words of hope and comfort are no longer forthcoming.
Do they not understand that keys to the city are slowly rusting?
And with few in them now trusting,
The time may come when opportunities for free thinking,
Will depend on weather permitting,
For fair reporting,
On the storm that is gathering,
Before an even bigger gathering of the human kind starts forming,
And getting a good nights sleep will be the less worrying.
From Latin and ancient Greek, English derived three words:
poesy is the creation, the art work of poetic composition.
poem is the created, with beauty of language and expression.
poet is the creator or maker, with the gift of poetic thought, imagination,
and eloquence of expression.
A poet is born with a troubled and jangled spirit within,
forced to express what is seen, imagined and dreamed in words
for themselves and for anyone who hears or reads their works.
A poet is a miserly wordsmith, in love with words, their meanings, sound and strangeness.
A poet is an artist, painting with words and expression, but not constrained by form or method.
A poet is a skilled craft person, creating and making works and compositions,
but is not restricted by tools nor craft rules or disciplines.
A poet is a skilled musician using rhyme, meter and rhythm to create word scores,
but can also use line breaks, punctuation and the words themselves to create sounds.
Often the sounds made are jarring and discordant to create an effect or evoke a response,
but not all poetry is for a performance.
A poet is a peddler of emotions and feelings evoked in the writer and reader,
eliminating from deep within and as reactions to what is happening or not happening.
Poets are free to use whatever verse and form they choose.
There is no right way to eloquently express their art and craft; it is the poet's choice.
The best description of a poet is a person with an eternal fountain of jangles.
The jangles of emotions, feelings and life's journey within must be expressed, written or spoken about.
Nature and the world about triggers jangles, metaphors, memories, responses and associations to be expressed.
The poet writes to be read and have their thoughts and mind outpourings jangle response in their audience.
Artistically rendering words, much loved and cherished, in ways to evoke intense emotion in the hearer and listener.
The poet seeks jam sessions of free improvised jangling with self or with anyone who reads or listens.
The poet a lover of words, a wordsmith, peddling jangles.
Love beckons, let’s take the plunge
but first dark desires expunge,
lest cravings lead us astray
and our soul, we so betray.
If pure joy we wish to find,
we must first rest lower mind,
rushing forward to embrace,
outpourings of divine grace.
Know love does not hesitate,
so why for then, do we wait?
Oh worthy monk, take the leap,
feeling bliss mists seep in deep.
Resting habit of thinking,
head and heart, with love linking,
no sooner we come undone,
our soul with God becomes one.
28-March-2023
____________
Writing Challenge - 'P' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France