(Immediately after being found "guilty"
of denying that the earth was stationary
and the sun orbited around it, Galileo
said, "Eppur si muove!" [But it moves!])
It's hard to live in Lilliput, I find.
I have to cross my fingers, play their game.
Their billing, filling, drilling daily grind
sits ill with me. They all trot out the same
tired cliches. Passing a painting, never fail
to comment on the squareness of the frame.
Unprofitable, weary, flat and stale.
You can't earn prizes here. These fools prize earning.
No sweets to eat. It's one long dreary tale
of condemnation, disapproval, spurning.
The Sunday supplements determine taste,
all tearing down, forbidding, banning, burning.
They're sealed in heavy metal, concrete-cased
austerity. They put the "die" in "diet".
What will survive of them is nuclear waste.
Denounce, detract, dismiss it and deny it.
Don't look for clover - look for cloven hooves.
Excoriate it, flay it, vilify it.
They'd love to let life lurch along in grooves,
the gauche, perverse, unruly human mind
trapped tidily in aspic. But it moves.
the city hums like a drunk insect,
half asleep, half insane—
and somewhere in a courthouse
a man in a clean shirt
is dreaming up another reason
to lock someone away.
they call it justice,
I call it inventory control.
bodies in orange are the new wheat fields—
they grow them, harvest them,
feed the system its daily bread.
you can’t sell peace,
you can’t profit off mercy,
so they build fear instead—
polish it, legislate it,
print it on letterhead
and call it safety.
meanwhile the cops prowl
like bored dogs looking for bones,
and the judges stack souls
like cordwood behind their eyes.
he has to invent new laws—
petty ones, quiet ones,
ones that sound like rules
for living clean—
but they’re just nets
to catch the poor,
the drunk,
the tired,
the ones who ran out of hope
before morning came.
and me?
I drink to that man,
the great inventor of misery,
because without him
the bars would rust,
the cells would echo with silence,
and the truth—
the raw, unprofitable truth—
might just walk free.
By virtue of its peculiarities
The gaze is at liberty through
chains of fragmentary images
The eternal light captures the attention
At sunset rise, with mystery of increase
Truth is mightier than the shroud of sin
Without confusion and uncertainty,
double-born in eternal love
The shadows of the earth in unprofitable strife
the silence reflects the sinful song
A living beauty all divine
twin tears of gratitude filled with the light of heaven
Another ceasefire
another ceasefire
it won't last long
it'll hold until
weapons are replenished
wounds are patched
the tongues
of the blood puppets
are refreshed
another ceasefire
another ceasefire
it won't last long
neither side thinks
that the other belongs.
If there is a God, then we're all God's children
and we all belong.
If there is no God, then we're all cosmic orphans
and nobody belongs.
Either way, the universe doesn't care.
Make war unprofitable, then it will cease to exist
Disarm Armageddon-Defang religion
Feast peacefully with shining orphans, not crummy kings.
Compelled
David J Walker
The sad part of this obsession is
Knowing how unprofitable it will always be
Language leanings in different directions
Confessions of the soul count for nothing
A mornings reflection in vivid description
Serving only a fraction of lost and forgotten temptations
The torments of love yet unexplained
Colors unnamed
Secrets never revealed
Clouds proudly morphing into forms unformed
And forms of deformed and fearful imaginings
A sincere hope that the unknown is better than today
The poet puts on the hat of a mad vatic
and buries his face in his hands
compelled to see the future
What to do about those under the table?
When those paying them are unable,
And have gone back to their scrabble.
Should we be worried they might become unstable,
When a constable is to us unreachable.
If an amnesty was the solution most suitable,
Would they deem that call trustable?
Doing nothing would runs risks considerable,
As desperate people become unreasonable,
And could make decisions that were once to them unthinkable.
Have we any room in our hearts for those now playing scrabble,
To see their actions as forgivable,
When they made some legitimate businesses unprofitable.
Then there are the businesses who took money under the table,
That is never counted as taxable,
And now can't be counted when loss of income is considerable,
Requiring a handout from those who deem it despicable.
Maybe compassion is the only thing thinkable,
With crumbs no longer falling from the table,
And we can leave accountability,
To a time when the situation is more favourable,
And our actions more reasonable,
With those now playing scrabble,
Or making a living under the table,
More likely to be amiable,
To a life that is sustainable.
We became blind to His love for us
Failing to honor Him in our worship
His choices now offend us
And our offerings now offend Him
Our hearts refuse to take Him in
So, we go through the motions
For the appearance of respectability
We are hypocrites
Asking Him for His blessing
While dishonoring His name
We have turned back from following Him
Our speech becomes ever more sinful
Showing partiality in His instructions
Showing lack of influence by the Spirit
We are disillusioned
Accusing Him of injustice
Because the wicked are prospering
While our own service to Him is unprofitable
So, we withhold from Him
And become more self-assertive
Dealing treacherously with each other
We are lacking spiritual kinship
Yet, it's because of His justice
We still have space to repent
To return to Him and regain His blessing
To avoid the curse and coming judgment
He will send Elijah before that Day
To break the stalemate
In prophecy
we often fixate
on time's unprofitable passage,
on degenerative change
on long-neglected reform
on our need to redeem our time
now past.
Yet this notice of opportunities and risks
for future climates of pathology and health
is surrounded by an implicit right-hemisphere awareness,
a felt prophecy
pre-verbal
erupting from compassionate tenacity
of resilient health-wealth Time re-membered,
Matriarchal womb nurtured,
this prophetic nutrition of communal circles
and resonant spirals,
waxing and waning waves
of emotively implied pre-formation,
primal ZeroZone re-attachment
back through
and to
All Souls Yang-unfolding and Yin-refolding
universal and unitarian
strong-flowing
prophetic TaoTime;
Time tenaciously prophetic,
compassionately redeveloping integrity of health re-connected with wealth
left rationality with right synergy
polypathic thought with polyphonic feeling;
Courageous Either/Or with curious Both/And
ego/eco-logic;
Vulnerable with Transparent
prophetic polyculturing communication.
Pessimism, I loathe your gloomy effect
Parroting vanity’s vexation in my mind that I’m unprofitable…
God I thank; by His strength* is great achievement as I do my utmost.
Negativism, I vanquish your vehement accusations
Taunting me of my failures, falls, and frustrations…
I praise the Lord for His compassion, pressing me on with optimism!
Skepticism, I conquer your attacking doubts
Robbing me of my sanity’s tranquility; torturing me mentally…
The omniscient Sovereign I trust as I settle myself serenely in His truth!
Criticism, I subdue your undermining, deceitful, hypocritical comments
Treating me as a loser in my service-commitment…
Propped by the Almighty’s power, I can be the best for His glory!
Evil thoughts, I pluck all your poisonous roots from my soul’s ground…
Thru the Scriptures’ exhortations, I can bloom and prosper
Triumphantly living for my Master, reaching others by His love!
*Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
January 21, 2019
1st place, "ULTIMATE JANUARY 2019..." Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 1/30/2019.
(As Galileo left the session of the Inquisition
at which he had been forced to deny his own
discovery that the earth orbited the sun, and
had to "admit" that the earth was static, he
murmured, "eppur si muove" ("but it moves").
It's hard to live in Lilliput, I find.
I have to cross my fingers, play their game.
Their billing, filling, drilling daily grind
sits ill with me. They all trot out the same
tired cliches. Passing a painting, never fail
to comment on the squareness of the frame.
Unprofitable, weary, flat and stale.
You can't earn prizes here. These fools prize earning.
No sweets to eat. It's one long dreary tale
of condemnation, disapproval, spurning.
The Sunday supplements determine taste,
all tearing down, forbidding, banning, burning.
They're sealed in heavy metal, concrete-cased
austerity. They put the "die" in "diet".
What will survive of them is nuclear waste.
Denounce, detract, dismiss it and deny it.
Don't look for clover - look for cloven hooves.
Excoriate it, flay it, vilify it.
They'd love to let life lurch along in grooves,
the gauche, perverse, unruly human mind
trapped tidily in aspic. But it moves.
I have lived a thousand lives
I have fallen but I rise.
I have seen what most cant bare
Many moments brought a scare.
I have swam in unprofitable waters
Watch predators destroy our daughters.
I have endured torrential rains
Filled with the innocence pain
I have walked amongst the dead
Broken from words that were said
I have rolled around in graves
Graves that no one cared to save.
By: Sabina Nicole
I thought of emotion. I thought of desire.
What of that, you say?
Plan as we may for what is to come,
it does not exist, has not, will not.
And there is the only significance
as it rolls like thunder down forever.
Less than the void, there is no returning.
There is only now.
Yes, there are the solemn tears,
some feelings of regret, some crashing
into the sort of history we build
from tiny blocks of homemade clay,
then tear apart like the children we emulate.
There's not much room for me.
I worry. You chuckle.
And no one would blame you, including myself.
If it is based on merit, my place is overgrown
with weeds--not much to offer the world.
My single New Testament talent is quite alone.
I am un unprofitable servant.
Desire is it? No. The dream as well
is crushed. The fragments will
not ever be enough to fill the space.
That does it. I have no place at all.
~
Life is too short for quarrels and fights,
Time passes fast, so do days and nights.
There is never a replay or a rewind,
So don’t leave any opportunities behind.
Time is racing faster than fast,
Soon you’ll reach your last.
So do all that you must,
Before you’re turned to dust.
Don’t waste precious days,
In unprofitable ways.
Do it right while you’re still alive,
Be good, aim high and strive.
There is so much to accomplish,
And not enough time on this land.
So go ahead and fulfill your wish,
Before the chances, slip out of your hand…
Affection and solicitude
rises in my eyes,
shaped into tears
as fresh as dew,
she was first and new,
lays calm and motionless
touch lost, ways parted,
Best of moments passed
as a flash of light,
an absolutely unprofitable life,
Rosy cheeks,
glittery eyes,
knee long silky hair,
tall and perfect thin,
why lay quiet ?
Who provoked you ?
Why been so impulsive
to quit ?
Did I mean a hurt
That you harried?
I drown deep into,
love that's like
suicide in river,
prick of a thorn
to body with no soul,
love is still hung
like a crystal before me,
I can feel fragrance
of your eternal breath,
My beloved sweetheart !
Fire burns in my heart
tranquilize,
flowing emotions
down my cheeks,
pacify,
My love, my inspiration,
how could u take leave of,
and leave me alone
in world to suffer
You ought to reply !
My beloved sweetheart !
written on 3/5/14
sponsor- Amy green
Subtle ineffable feelings of affection and solicitude,
Amorous as like swallow's ,
Ephemeral and unavoidable,
Too much like water of deep stream.
Throwing myself into love like suicide into river,
You entered into my life like a miracle,
Like a misty rain that falls softly but floods the river,
As fresh as dew, it was first and new.
I stand on your grave today heavy at heart,
Love is like a tear that rises in the eyes but falls upon the breast,
It passed between us like a field of light,
Seized me unexpectedly as did your sudden death.
White Lillies your favourite I hold in my hands,
Can feel your eternal breath inhale the fragrance,
Life is unprofitable as a ship without rudder,
Prick of a thorn to the body without a soul.
Love hung still as crystal on my bed,
As fierce as death, I thrive for your affection,
It bursts all over my physical being like sweat,
Kinship, a feeling of endearment and oneness,
Eternal breath !
Written by Dr. Upma Sharma
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.