Gone into exile
To be out of sight
Not because of crime
But base on devine
The plan is to win
Not to be seen always.
Gone into exile
Just to revive
Fighting to survive
Energy is contagious
Some people are draining
They leave when it's raining
Comes around when it becomes sunny.
Gone to exile
Not to hide
But to abide by the light
Delighted for self awareness
To be yourself
You have to master yourself
Self mastery is a power to endowed.
I said a lot to myself
Without spitting any words.
I created the world where
Talking is a waist
But thinking is a curse.
No body heard me talking
But I said a lot to myself.
I traveled over mountains
Even the skies were beneath my fit
But soul and flesh was there with
Everyone.
I've seen a lot and I kept talking
But no one heard me, until I was quite.
I felt craziness in me
But I realized that I'm not
Alone in this curse.
Most people failed on this subject
And end up in a ward with high walls
but I've mastered the art of soul
Searching.
Continued with the conversation
In my mind.
Laughing is norm
And silent cries filled with hope.
Questions asked but
Answers are minimal.
All I can do is to overcome
Overthinking be normal
Like everyone and every body else.
Overthinking is a curse...
Once is never quite enough,
Once again feels more like trust.
Once more, close to sure—
Eat, has eaten, ate, will eat—
Breath itself repeats,
A ritual done compulsively,
Yet never fully satisfied.
Like tasting twice, the second time charms,
Knowledge grows through shifting views,
Education’s pulse is repetition’s arms.
Sometimes, a new truth breaks through,
But the next generation—
History rewritten, old made new.
To learn just once is perilous, my friend,
To keep vital truths alive,
Stay curious, hungry—for what you think you know,
It’s not fresh facts, but the rhythm that thrives.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse—
Not enough, I seek a retake,
To still the mind’s restless whispering.
At its core, the brain’s a tireless gossip,
Finding joy in repetition’s simple act,
Without it, a vacuum swells with doubt,
So we repeat—to anchor, to trust, to act.
It's a game, that in order to play it well,
Requires strength, and precision with touch.
Where no one would claim to be born with it,
But it's acquired by long hours and such.
While it's mentored and played mostly socially,
The lengthy practice is a solitary pursuit.
When one learns of themselves and their limits,
As they search for the perfect shot to execute.
So these players swing and stroke to oblivion,
Since that's required to perform and display.
With countless hours bearing all the expense forwarded,
To achieve levels of greatness along the way.
No matter when one begins in this journey,
It's soon realized that this is a lifelong exam.
Even as technology tries to improve one's every effort,
The basics remain, all the rest is a scam.
Now history would grant the Scots with its origins,
Yet the world now possesses all the blame.
Though it seems to disallow for any favor,
Towards any unwilling to improve their golf game.
God made man in His own image
to rule over His creation.
Not according to his own whim,
but following God’s dictation.
God’s dominion is based on love,
it’s how He rules heaven above.
Man was to mimic his maker,
not to become a lawbreaker.
Sin ruined the nature of man
and put him at odds with God’s plan.
Man succumbed to the evil force,
whose goal is to keep him off course.
Since man no longer rules himself,
he behaves like an evil elf.
To advance, some scheme, scam, and con
treating their fellowmen as pawns,
God made man to be a caretaker,
but man became an exploiter.
Instead of caring for nature,
mankind became its destroyer.
Instead of being God-centered,
mankind has become self-centered.
Man, who was made for mastery,
finds himself trapped in slavery.
Enslaved by greed’s grueling gore,
to vices sore, man’s made a whore.
The intense craving for pleasure
tortures his soul beyond measure.
The ruin that man’s ruling causes
can only in one way find pause.
If man yields to his Maker’s rule
and ceases behaving like a mule.
With halo gleaming at horizon's edge
neath sky of gold,
God's sunrise
gifts new
day.
His
grandeur
fires blessing
o'er earth and life,
casting the brilliance of His mastery.
Darkness
Fills the cocoon
Forming transformation
Designing a sleeping-beauty
Rebirth.
Uncloaking nature's mastery
From crawly wooly worm
Glides butterfly
Brilliance.
April 28, 2020
~2nd Place~
Contest: Let the Pens Flow - Butterfly Cinquain
Sponsor: Jenish Somadas
Judged: 05/14/2020
How mysterious a force is intrigue - a poet's plight and salvation, a magnet of unyielding supernatural bliss to our muse. Captivating and drawing us to our mastery of mystery, impetuously impelling us as we patronize our exquisite enigma. We hold our breath to unique and incredible realities as its momentum baits and beckons in a spontaneous burst of exuberant fixation to navigate our tangible senses and eager heart - compelling our revelation to travel through our portal of questions to superimpose our being with magical poetic discourse.
mastery of mystery
beckons enigma
follow your chosen star
Dedicated to the musing of John Hamilton
February 5, 2020
Strand Select E any form, any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
I loved her, and O! How I meant not to!
To be my dead wife's husband, and a friend
Respectful of her sister, humble, too,
And now, respect and friendship're at an end.
I thought that I could keep my feelings out
Of any interaction that we had,
I thought that I had bound them, with ropes stout
And just for feeling, now, I feel so bad!
I thought the perfect gentleman could say
'I love you', without burdening my friend
But that was not the way Reality lay,
I tried, desire, to admiration, to bend.
O! You eternal fool, who could not be
Nor silent witness, nor a still, calm sea!
Death goes a-begging, once we pluck his sting!
(Christ did it first, but we must do’t again!)
In Imitation of Christ, laugh and sing!
Though Christ has shot the arrow through the ring,
Still we must live out parables, now and then,
Death goes a-begging, once we pluck his sting!
Though we fear passing, falcons on the wing…
We dive, and bring the rabbit to our den,
In Imitation of Christ, laugh and sing!
Without fear, Death becomes but sound sleeping!
Unfeared, Death holds in hand, no sword, nor pen,
Death goes a-begging, once we pluck his sting!
Bright day! We feel the bullet, our helmet, ping!
And know, the Moment was postponed, again,
In Imitation of Christ, laugh and sing!
Be gentle, Pilgrim! Unto each one bring…
At their last breath, the kind hand of a Friend,
Death goes a-begging, once we pluck his sting!
In Imitation of Christ, laugh and sing!
Simon Hardy.
Simon Hardy.
Resilience is his hidden name...
STRENGTH in his softness,
Never misses a chance to speak a kind word,
Even though he is most often in terrible pain.
He has found a kind of fairness in his serenity.
Most of us never get there --
We just can't get our heads to believe,
That there is no injustice in the Universe...
But our hearts know, it's true!
But Simon Hardy has 'found the zone', even though
His parents lost ALL their family in the Holocaust.
He has honored me by showing me the picture of all of them,
Before they were taken, every one.
And he always has time for ME.
Amazing, isn't it?
And he looks like Santa Claus!
That's Simon Hardy.
Messy house
Messy floor
Messy porch
Messy door
Messy mania
Alive and well
Chaos is where
I like to dwell
Chaos is my usual norm
Without chaos, I am forlorn
Messy is what makes me think
Messy makes me feel pink
Messy chaos
Messy me
This is how
I like to be.
One of the smallest,
most powerful words
in the English language
is “Yet”
the next is
“Will”.
Kale Brereton
Oct 6/2018
You want to set goal
Big enough that in the process of achieving it
You become someone worth becoming
How convenient it is too see
thanks to Thomas Edison's scientific mastery.
What do you suppose he would think of us,
visiting some place like Las Vegas?
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