I’m beauty born of breaking,
a rootless wanderer now~
rolling light through open lands,
teaching you to yield
Revealing strength
Ready to face storms
Without fear.
Unwavering
Refuses to bend
Before injustice
Enduring odds
Chooses to rise
After a fall.
Yielding not
Voices the truth
Until the very end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gray hair
whispers secrets
to the wind. Each strand remembers
storms weathered—
how roots hold deeper
with time.
Lines map
the face like rivers
carving truth through softest stone.
Patience flows
where youth rushed blindly—
still pools.
Hands tremble
not from weakness, no—
they measure weight of moments
held lightly.
Old eyes see clearer
in dusk.
Regret?
Folded like letters
in a drawer. Wisdom keeps them
unread, yet
knows each crease by heart—
peace blooms.
The oak
stands tall not by force,
but knowing when to bend. Age
teaches this:
strength lives in yielding—
soft ground.
Bent reed in the wind,
Or a shadow to its form,
Duty's silent pull.
©bfa030225
It's not a matter of confrontations face to face.
Like most things, it's all about time and space.
Highways and roadways are designed for travelers.
The motorists may be workers or vacationers.
Lanes have their basic function and purpose,
And it's very vital that we learn to focus.
Your lane is mine; My lane is your lane.
Yielding is often the key to avoiding pain.
031624PS
acorns doff their caps
and bow to winter's approach ~
spring will see them rise
09.11.20
Any New Nature Inspired Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
syllable count by ear
I yield
my self-conceit
…disguised…
as sheer meekness;
false humility
radiating
deceit,
needing God
for His pardon.
Here am I
surrendered
to Christ's love and might
ready to be transformed
through His divine nature*...
Albeit a snake
tamed am I graciously
by the Sovereign Charmer...
Grateful, my heart praises Him!
*2Peter 1:4 Whereby are given unto us exceeding great and precious promises: that by these ye might be partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust.
September 6, 2018
Edited on May 19, 2022
13th place, "Shapeshifters and Shapeshifting" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco; judged on 7/4/2022.
A Poets Dream
A piece of paper, a pen to write
Waiting for that illuminating light
Searching our inward heart's core
Addiction's power of wanting more
Words now coming with fluent bliss
Pen on paper like that very first kiss
Overwhelming love to share this thrill
Words expression, the awe we feel
Thoughts entangled with senses aflair
Emotions aroused with passionate care
Oh that others would hear our plea
With a bursting thunder of words, we feed
Touching souls with this powerful stream
With our pin and paper, fulfilling a dream
when this endless anchal of dhanekhali sari
continues to make dip-swimming
in the bottomless water of the paddy
and if into the colour of her fore-finger
enters repeatedly some whole-noons of the chot-boshekh
and from the more depth of the ceiling-fan
comes out the ordour of the open-hair of the village-orange
then with that lac-saliva wouldn’t an easy pandel
be constructed on the roof
its water will be made begin as well
that white cloud … that life of this concrete …
beforehand to it … with a garland of flowers of the sun-plant
around her neck… let her be seated on this branch of peepul branch… for once
taking the warmth of the kites flown after having a thread-cut
let the cows of man be productive by a few inch more
Time sets upon the arcane taboos
you wear the unknown fear
like cowries around your neck,
a bulletproof jacket did not work,
the fish in the brain
was the religion.
Whom do you trust now
in the caveful of seekers ? They were demanding
every drop of your blood from a waning relic.
Climbing Mt Everest was a raw deal,
dismantling the heights
like plasma, as naked as the ice on unmarked grave.
Hyper-sided, the priest was confused
in repetition of a prayer,
and the floor trembled in uplifting the god.
SATISH VERMA
Harvest yielding
The orange flesh of
The tubular yams
Blushing cherry-red
The blue oxen
Pulling the
Farmer's plow
When we spotted
The early bend
In the road and
The quiet noise
Listening to
Something else
Bound for home
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.