An epiphany dawns: practice the pause,
without stifling heart’s spontaneous vibe.
Our void-centric presence seeks no applause,
conditioned patterns choosing to proscribe.
Holding steady sconce of childlike delight,
suffused in mists borne by bliss magnetism,
in cave of heart, simply feeling God’s light,
dwelling in peace is our soul’s chosen ism.
Space in and around, hums with God’s power,
with which we are touched, blessed and unified.
His breath alone is that does empower,
so why should we behind mere symbols hide?
In vibrant stillness, rigidity thaws ~
An epiphany dawns: practice the pause.
Joy’s a vibe we cannot describe
because no sooner we do so,
pulse of magnetism we proscribe,
impeding soma nectar’s flow.
The trick’s of course to bilocate,
making void-centric our soul’s stance,
that with no thought forms to placate,
life’s then an unending romance.
The pathless path we walk upon,
appears step by step by intent,
wherein we’re breath by breath reborn,
delighting in our soul’s ascent.
If I were an animal
I'd elect to be man
Then I could think up
all sorts of great plans
To advance the cause
of my entire tribe
To inspire and delight
-- I'd never proscribe
I'd need to compete
that much I know
But I won't complain ~
that's how my tribe grows
L-ong arm of the law
A-ims to implement justice;
N-ew dawn of twenty-third September
E-nforces the righteousness.
L-ord God Almighty above
Y-earns not man to fret or gnaw;
N-either will He proscribe the long arm of the law.
A B i t c h With Too Many Babies
By Elton Camp
To excess population she keeps adding
Yet with males she’s always gadding
Marriage is a concept to her unknown
It’s just a quickie and then she’s gone
To no moral code does she subscribe
That sexual freedom might proscribe
For her actions, she has no shame
And ignores any attempt to defame
She doesn’t even think it’s rude
To go out in public totally nude
Doctor bills she never has to pay
But keeps giving births anyway
Birth control she never will try
For she sees no good reason why
Her offspring never read or write
To her that is absolutely all right
She abandons them soon as grown
Their future life is to her unknown
“Tut, tut,” there is no need to say
For she will keep doing it anyway
To read this one close, you’d better
The b i t c h in question is an Irish Setter
what are poems in 2012
earth’s population 7 billion
countless self-published online poems
seeming excess
of words
seeming lack
of space
lingering myth
that only the privileged
get a place
but poems
are precious
revelations
of soul
and love
herald the days
try to describe
elicit
exhort
derive
conscribe
proscribe
infer
and reveal.
we poets will write and write!
we will shout from rooftops
or desks
prove to all
that poets are necessary dreamers
in a world struggling
to find its way.
Vaingloriously
reluctant,
in the words
yet
for self the words of wisdom
with a faint shadow
of a guilt hovering across
the cloudy dull sky
as the noisy birds
sings above
the voice i loathe
i proscribe
but they ignore
A subtle ignorance
fighting against my
hefty arrogance
Norman Wisdom, ninety-five, the comic actor dies in his sleep;
That is an exception, making headlines when violent ends have become the norm.
Bobby Sands, an IRA militant, died in prison, on hunger strike,
Baha Mousa, innocent Iraqi, died in custody, tortured, in chains.
Six million Jews of all ages, died in gas chambers - the Nazi Holocaust.
Two world wars of the recent past saw untimely massacre of many millions;
Hiorshima, Nagasaki, A-bombed victims were civilians,
Yet all world religions proscribe taking the lives of fellow human beings.
Death is demeaning to all who succumb, unless from age or natural cause,
Technology advances in geometric progression inflaming mankind's lust to kill;
Today's art and entertainment glorify extremes of violence and crime,
The end of the planet cannot be far off, as collective hatred explodes at will.
Tracing pathways through the day
Circuits closed in time and space
Proscribe the rat and where it runs
Describe the speed, define the place
Beyond, the sun arcs through the sky
While gnomons mark its silent pace
Somewhere in another time
Upon another face.
Inside, the striplight firmament
Gives ordered life its seamly lines
And strange time flows through cyberspace
And into our designs
Machines know all and count the days
And catalogue each tick and tock
We glide across like skaters on
The ice face of the clock
There is no land that can't be mapped
No level up that can't be reached
Converted we embrace the way
Yet are unblessed, unpreached
No grain of sand may hold this world
No human eye may look upon
The mind's eye views horizons held
Within the silicon.
And elsewhere in the shadowed space
Beyond the sun's stark realtime light
We live our lives crepuscular
And spread our wings by night
So morning finds us unprepared
As barbed alarms slice into sleep
Extracting us from morphic fields
And dreams of tamed electric sheep
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.