truth, a specific view of reality
it appears before persons at a given moment
it is not static and cannot be measured
in a laboratory
each individual score is different
as every perceived phenomenon is specific
truth is time bound according
to one mindset frequency within a set framework
truth is always connected
to convenience for wit as best position
based on individuals heeded comfort
convenience and conviction
one scoop can sword another
face can be beautiful or unsavoury
since truth is pliable it is easily
bent by egoic mind as positioning moves
its nature and clarity is not rooted
in material mirrors
moves from waves beyond time-space
ability to touch truth as purity
indicated on spiritual station
being both measurable and unmeasurable
diffused by gospel stories
it can't be captured within single framework
by set groups of labelled individuals
remaining unbound to space
free from human law
individual truth is presence coloured
as fact for material conveniences
________________________
BRONZE PLACEMENT: ALL POETRY CONTEST
MARCH 26
True story, my uncle was a famous safe cracker
Before becoming a soldier in World War I
Known to police in New York City for robbery
The army wanted his skills against the Huns
Employed him to defuse bombs the Germans threw
In the trenches around the front lines
And also to defuse all the mines around them
Till the end of the war was showing signs
Dying in the war he received a medal of honour
Posthumously for his heroic bravery
And his great contribution to the war effort
Made amends for his past so unsavoury
When I came along I was named after him
Quite a hero I always looked up to
Before the war, a criminal known to police
After death got the recognition he was due
An almost dwarf from ukraine'
Who is real fond of warfare and gain
Got to the 'white house to barter'
Yet ended up starters
For calling; out' unsavoury names'
He then went to starmer'
another no charmer'
Causing Britian, much
anger and shame'
I hear daily its people complain!
True story, my uncle was a famous safe cracker
Before becoming a soldier in World War One
Known to police in New York City for robbery
The army wanted his skills against the Huns
Employed him to defuse bombs the Germans threw
In the trenches around the front lines
And also to defuse all the mines around them
Till the end of the war was showing signs
Killed in the war he received a medal of honour
Posthumously for his heroic bravery
In spite of his unsavoury and unruly past
Made amends for his past so unsavoury
When I came along I was named after him
Quite a hero I always looked up to
Before the war, a burglar known to police
After death got the recognition he was due
My official name is Charles Byard Ellison
“Love with its inherent joy is a bait to catch souls. Throw it into the still waters and you can see water rippling with life around it”---- By Poet
Men are on an eternal quest,
To find joy, looking here and there
Not knowing true joy stems from within,
Like the musk deer ignorant
Of the scent emanating from its body.
It is a treasure worth more than any riches
One who has joy within,
Can spread it to others.
Is not this our mission in life?
Giving the gift of joy,
Spreading cheer all around,
Splashing in the clear pools of mirth,
Bobbing up and down in self-abandon!
Like the cool breeze that blows
Like a sweet symphony that flows
It thrills and delights,
And comes to nest,
In hearts, pure and upright!
Joy dissolves,
Like sugar added to tea,
Lending life a new flavour.
Sorrows sink to the bottom,
To be brought to the surface,
With every slight stir,
Like the dreg that settles,
At the bottom of a teacup,
Making it unsavoury to sip.
Know life is not all joy
Joys and sorrows together make life.
True story, my uncle was a famous safe cracker
Before becoming a soldier in World War I
Known to police in New York City for robbery
The army wanted his skills against the Huns
Employed to defuse bombs the Germans threw
In the trenches around the front lines
And also to defuse all the mines around them
Till the end of the war was showing signs
Died in the war, received a medal of honour
Posthumously for his heroic bravery
A sad end to his heroic efforts during the war
Making amends for a past unsavoury
When I was born I was named after him
His exploits made him my hero!
Our life is as evanescent as the
trumpet flower of the morning glory.
The merest chapter in the history
of mankind’s ever compelling story.
Various serendipitous ramblings
ultimately contingent ‘on quarry;
retold to captive audience in tones
melodious as silver-tongued lory.
Redolent of an evening-scented stock,
with a crown of wispy hair as hoary,
we insist to recount all endeavours
in its minute shocking details: gory.
An experience that's unsavoury –
remnants that cross river Styx in dory.
Poetic form: XAXA Sonnet. See my article, Introducing Three New Sonnet Forms, here on PS for more details. Also, a 'Summary of Metres' is depicted.
Old Bones
Now listen while I tell you of a fella that you’ll meet,
Who is older still than even time could be.
His grin is kinda big and kinda straight and kinda white -
Kinda threatening – a mite unsavoury.
When it comes your time to meet him, it’ll only be the once ;
You will never ever get another chance.
He will meet you sorta quickly and there won’t be time to chat -
He’ll go by and won't give you a second glance.
He meets everyone eventually, no matter how they dodge.
There just ain't no evading that old grin.
Prince or pauper, nice or nasty, makes no difference anyhow,
Be you virtuous or live a life of sin.
So if one day you see him and you think his timing's out,
Don't kick up a fuss or sing a sorry song.
It’s a fact that when your time’s up he'll come beckoning to you:
Old Bones is never even slightly wrong.
Trying to express horrifically unsavoury and odious acts of heinousness,
such unspeakable repugnant opprobrium packed with horrendousness
is a test stacked with specific unfavourable hopeless stress,
seen a crying fuzz of the weakened redundant mental mess.
You will find,
when telling of the mad,
you're unkind,
and seemingly bad.
People will treat you insanely s*it,
but insanity is you when you tell of it,
in short: if the stories are mad
and the people in them are mad
but nobody knows they are mad
when telling others you look mad
*because sometimes the simple words
better the poetry
with regards to simple minded herds,
that's what life is showing me
A plate of hunger unsavoury to taste
My belly groans,worms meander in haste
once upon a dream packed with love and care a meal I wish
Unfair a reality of a belly inflated not with a dish
Too much of too little have I had,malnourishment have become my niche
Posterity they call me yet I'm ailed with deficiency
How do I lead a future plagued with insufficiency?
Basic necessities I lack
Bones so weak to play,shacking like I carry a hump on my back
Grateful for the next scrap,absurd is the word "snack"
Secure me a future as you build me a present deliciously prepared like a good meal
Nurture my soul,nourish my brain,protect my innocence I appeal
An epicure I'm not simply school me in the six food classes
Austerity I will bear just never let me miss my classes
Yearning for a world of abundance,good food and fruits are my caprices.
Our Own Heroes
**********
"We,
Birthed by parents;
Without prior planning
For a proper alignment
of their kids destiny,
yet,
Here we are,
Our own very selves,
Our own heroes!"
We Are,
Our Own Heroes
We've come this far;
gods in human form.
We've visited the very eye of the storm of life;
Waded through the jungle of life's harsh reality...
Bathed in its gore and ruthlessness.
We've seen it all;
Yet still standing,
lording over our eventful conquest in our own little way...savouring the pleasure of a victory earned through combat...a combat of will.
Though, without a grand ceremony to honor our presence among mortals;
Yet, we will lay claim to our divine trumpets,
We will horn our praise till the rest of the celestials join in our unsavoury dance...
The dance of the Immortals.
With it, we will build an atmosphere of gaiety and galore... an atmosphere of a distinct piety.
Then, we shall boldly say, facing the mortal world:
We Are Our Own Heroes!
Peter Ekhator Godwin Iyendoe (pegi)
ghops
Copyright © Speare Earth Poetry | Year Posted 2019
A CRISIS AT POETRY SOUP
Poetry Soup what have you done and are doing to us all,
Sutting out your members with a server down wall,
I feel so isolated, cut off and not happy, just want to bawl
Please do your best, it has been a 24 hour haul!
Most of us addicted members to this poetry site,
Have had to suffer this unexpected, insufferable blight,
For we are all in contact with one another daily,
Maybe not a black day, certainly looked at as unsavoury!
Could mention lots of names but there are many who dread,
Another Black Sunday, might as well go back to bed,
Afraid of nightmares about losing my precious poetic work,
Many poets not contactable, is thers a virus that doth lurk?
My gut feel, is that the website will be over this crisis soon,
We hope that it won’t take longer than today, at noon,
So Poetry Soup do whatever you can, more than your best,
And put all your thousands of members minds at rest!
Hey children! Listen, I miss your zeal.
The world inside your mobile is surreal.
Look up!
See, I have fixed stronger glasses on my windows,
Get hold of your cricket kit, come back on the street,
I miss watching your games.
I won’t mind, smash all my window panes.
Hackneyed messages,
Dollops of unalloyed twaddle
Tides of trifling emotions!
Baby! You are locked inside your mobile.
Look up!
See, the stadium looks so barren!
Without your mischiefs and fun,
Your irritating jibber- jabber and nonstop run.
I won’t mind, come on burst my eardrum.
Your friends, your pictures, games, tweets and stories
You live in a fantasy world, that’s absolutely unsavoury.
Step back into this beautiful life, create beautiful memories.
Look up!
Don’t waste your time and energy.
Live for a cause, get up and push back your lethargy.
Open the notebook of your life,
Fill it with love, fame and prosperity.
No matter what! You shall thrive.
Don’t be a slave to mobile,
Life isn’t a game!
Dear! You have to survive, mobiles exists just to give a little respite!
11/04/2019
Loves Needs
Yield not your favours maiden mine,
At least not until the end of time,
It is important that you keep
Your body pure so you can sleep.
Unfortunately my tenure here,
will not support so long a fast, l fear,
So with a heavy heart l must pursue,
others less principled in their view than you.
I doubt I would enjoy such trivial liaisons ,
But physical needs create unsavoury occasions,
My heart and needs respect your zealous grace,,
But conscience is dumb in passions strong embrace.
Of course I would eschew all thoughts of tawdry bliss,
If from your honeyed lips I could draw one kiss,
In gloried celibate State, for a while I would repine,
But not of Course forever or until the end of time.
An UNRIPEN SUN
Such a brightened day
without a sweetened sun
Bringing an unsavoury end
to a fastened hope
Sitting on wheels
thus beating the wind
With a vision from the west
We doubted the mirage
Hoping for a reflection
without a diversion
the clouds became spotted
with dark patches
Giving shorten light
to a beaten path
Beclouded by the darkened life
Casting waking Shadows
from every seeping life
With a welcoming darkness
edging away the light
Giving an unwillingly nod
to the revealing wind
We merge into the evolving darkness
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.