¦¦¦¦ the wonders I ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ have seen:
the sun, ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the feathery gold of evening ¦¦¦¦¦¦
the ocean ¦¦¦¦ its vastness, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
mysterious, ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ what will be, ¦¦¦ what has been.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ I write,
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ from ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ night,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ half-discovered ¦¦¦¦¦¦ keeping.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ the ¦¦¦¦¦¦ thought of thee,
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the wonders ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of To My Brother George by John Keats)
TRUTH BE TOLD: SIMPLE, YET PROFOUND
It’s not about peace;
It’s about evil power:
That is what war is:-
For some, time creeps along
as they wait to say, ‘So long’
For others it’s in a hurry
their grave to dig and them to bury
Outside Death Row, a vigil some keep
some cheer; others weep
Is life profound… Is it deep
Is life dirt cheap
PROFOUND AND PRACTICAL
proliferating
synthetic
properties
beyond
perceptual
examination
detailed
nuanced
complementary
spatial
simultaneously
vividly
overlaid
with
elaborate
symbolic
connotations
stimulated
exploited
with
experimental
preferences
saturated
&
nourished
by
focused
instinct
&
awareness
in
a
sustained
if
divided
touch
saturating
individual
consciousness
small boisterous bloom
defying frosty weather
red round whole profound
In the volcano of time, my mind melts in profound silences,
Our game of weeping, a melody on hidden strings,
Watching mimics that birth tears in downpour, inverting reality,
Eyes closed, like gates to another world, another life.
Conceptual death interweaves with the strange thread of existence,
Eyelids are sewn with invisible threads, keeping essences hidden,
Beyond them, the people within us are fanatic heroes, mad,
Hearts locked in cages of ribs, as in a trap of destiny.
Our beings stretch lazily through the green fields of dreams,
Love wears ornaments of mist, perfumed with shadows of longings,
My words are sculptures of thoughts, in graveyards of minds,
Emptying themselves in advance, they rise, as in a waltz of untouched worlds.
In this secret dance, we lose ourselves among echoes of stars,
On the wings of time, we seek meanings in fragments of chimeras,
We are prisoners of our own endless eternity,
Wandering among metaphors, searching for the hidden truth.
Watching the clock tick
I am surrounding myself with walls
unable to find a value
of life or matter
Its unfortunate really,
when the sun is shinning
and the wind is blowing.
The air that fills my lungs with life
is left outside.
Where am I going
When will I be found
There is sanity
In my madness,
If only it
Could be found,
For you’ll find
My ravings
If unravelled,
Are actually
Quite profound!
Under the Tree of Life, I slept in profound and secret shade,
when the Holy Lord took pity and opened a window within,
with a deep wound that pierced my dream and slumber,
and in that moment, I lost you, my love, my blue light akin.
With my wounded eye, I gazed at you and knew you as a stranger,
holy as the Lord, far from me, far from all known lore,
now only in dreams and sleep, you are my source of light's wager,
now only in sleep and dreams, you arise as an unborn longing's core.
Source of harsh thoughts, now only in dreams do you abide,
now only in slumber do I find you, in secret, without end,
stranger and holy, like the Lord, in celestial abysses you reside,
now only in dreams and sleep, you are my unceasing yearning's trend.
You are the echo of a time that knows no boundary between dream and real,
a shadow dancing on the edge of a lost thought's seam,
and in deep slumber, I find you, an astral symbol surreal,
now, only in dream and sleep, my love, a silent yearning's theme.
Preferential treatment does hurt.
Jealousy swept under bedskirt.
She pinches the harp in background.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
The eldest withdraws with lone words,
Tends to the notion of firebirds.
Flames of wind, harassing, unbound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Not love, nonetheless - of first things.
Very little under her wings.
Harping and lost, in tears she drowned.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Carried on military style,
Untucked blouse, fell in love meanwhile.
Innocence of strumming, compound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Existence - inky endeavor;
Playing this life of whenever.
An angel’s heartbreak is profound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Speak me your songs
and I'll reply with your bone's deepest chills,
your blood's chilling boiling point,
and your hearts shrilling aches
Within every writer's soul
is an untold role,
rolling along the shadows,
secretly, desperately seeking
the glow above the darkness
that gave it life in the first place
I watched a man play with a spider
On the end of it's own web the other day
Curious
How what keeps one safe
Can be another's play toy -
Playing you like a puppet,
Moving to its masters every whim
The question is
Who is the puppet and who is the master?
I am that presence which cannot be named,
walking without a broken stride
no place for me to run or hide
faced all that tried to hinder me
now my voice make the devil flee
I always loved from a place of truth
releasing the pain my soul full of youth
loving and accepting myself as a whole
feeding and nourishing my hungry soul
fasting praying learning a new way in life
has set me apart from those of spiritual strife
lies manipulations deceptions fooled them all
on the path trusting myself answering the call
awakening to see me with their unveiled eyes
wondering how I did it now they become spies
distorted reputation or image will never stop me
healed from trauma and pain is the reason I'm free
the yoke we bear in time is space, the domain in which we view,
all that's done comes back again, because we chose it to.
when we look even deeper then, again we look some more,
what we thought the weight of the world is really its only door ...
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.