Where are we going?

[quietpoet]

Looking over the different headers/topics, I see nothing relating to the path we are choosing (or having others choose for us). All of us opine, or we wouldn't write, so here is a sample of mine, and more will come! Through multiple minds come many answers... I would love to read yours!!



Black and White
*
Talk to me of the ways of man,
history hidden within impacted bowels of time
where light rarely infiltrates.

Show me answers that are complete
in their veracity and honor,
respecting all of those who experienced.

Bring me truth that is unfailing
in its conception, meeting criteria
that passes the test of the whole.

Created by lack of understanding,
fear searches for least resistance,
validation for our preconceptions.

Cloaked in bi-polar vestments,
difficult questions beg not simple answers,
nor answers that always remain the same.

Relentless change captures curiosity,
elusive responses require analysis,
weighing all seemingly intangible effects.

Yet the darkest door entices recklessly.
promising a future of worldly disdain,
where only two paths exist, yours and mine.

Are you going to choose this door,
the one that eliminates our humanness,
our urge to create something uniquely us?

Cold earth always awaits decaying, spent bodies,
while invisible boxes compress the living,
those whose world has chosen... black and white.

 

[quietpoet]

Hard Cocks and Wet Pussies

Got your attention? I know I am new (not really, but kind of!). Maybe this isn't the forum for this kind of stuff! I can get almost as excited over this as blue dolphins! Indulge me! Everyone must have something they have written about how scary this world can be at times. It may not be quite as titillating as some of the great erotic writes on the site, but it can be important to how and when we use them!

 

[bluerains]

hum....ok

here is one of my more fascist fears... tis a bit different though...

cloned in grey

Archaic duty
marks the modern man
in pursuit of his purpose.

Morphic beams
from cosmic streams
generates indoctrination
into power, prestige and profit.

Bell towers toll with adoration
as the shadows slither about
building sterile idols.

Their aeroplane vessels,
are worshiped by a race
of automated champions,
fueling the flames of war.

 

[Angeline]

This is my path

Last of the Tribe

It feels like a museum now,
full of relics, empty of possessions,
Uncle Harry’s painting, dusty,
that ugly plaid recliner, indented
where Daddy’s head would rest.

The hall closet is still full,
rolls of paper towels,
boxes of cereal, bars of soap,
organized, set in neat rows
proclaiming her forever tidy.

Voices echo from nowhere.

A place for everything
and everything in its place.
Daddy laughing at her quest
for domestic perfection,
as if the endless acquisition
of silly kitchen utensils
influenced anything real.

And Mama rolls her eyes.
Look at all this stuff!
He can’t pass up a bargain!

His pale blue eyes,
hers brilliant green,
waver, fade, vanish.

Here lies the life of their love.
Here lies debris of arguments--
checkbooks, a music box that plays
I‘m in love with you, always.

If I listen closely, I hear them,
the sound of her vacuuming,
the clink of his spoon
stirring coffee at dawn
before he left for the factory.

Once he got so mad,
he tore off their bedroom door.
I ran to my bedroom, scared
but laughing at their absurdity,
face shaking in my pillow.

Now I pack gloves and doilies,
I finger cufflinks and sachets,
report cards, diplomas, baby pictures.
Fifty years have crumbled, a family
dropped in boxes and trash bags.

I was the baby once,
but abandoned by the grownups,
I am matriarch, torch bearer.

You watch from above the desk,
long hair thick, black like mine,
but dead ,an artifice of brushstrokes,

and across the chasm of years,
your eyes gaze past me,
blue, enigmatic, vague.

 

[AppleBiter]

Change

Reflections sway and distort with the coming tide.
Eyes that were familiar drown by the moonlight.
Trapped among reality and mirages -- who to trust?
"I know no one" protests the angry soul
As circumstance and lead crystal steal away the last image of self.
Where is my history and blood-born legacy?
Where has my flowing field of poppies gone?
This is the instance of being without . . .
And knowing nothing but the fact that its inevitable.​

 

[quietpoet]

Change...

I love this! One can take this many ways. It paints a great picture of where so many of us are. Thank you!

Change

Reflections sway and distort with the coming tide.
Eyes that were familiar drown by the moonlight.
Trapped among reality and mirages -- who to trust?
"I know no one" protests the angry soul
As circumstance and lead crystal steal away the last image of self.
Where is my history and blood-born legacy?
Where has my flowing field of poppies gone?
This is the instance of being without . . .
And knowing nothing but the fact that its inevitable.​

 

[quietpoet]

I could pick much from this...

BUT(!), I will stick to the beginning. Thanks Angeline, this is a beautiful poem that evokes so much of the aging process, what we are and where we are going. I can visualize the beginning of this so distinctly. To give someone the gift of seeing through your eyes is the artform. I really appreciate your contributing!

Last of the Tribe

It feels like a museum now,
full of relics, empty of possessions,
Uncle Harry’s painting, dusty,
that ugly plaid recliner, indented
where Daddy’s head would rest.

The hall closet is still full,
rolls of paper towels,
boxes of cereal, bars of soap,
organized, set in neat rows
proclaiming her forever tidy.

Voices echo from nowhere.

 

[Du Lac]

Thank you Quiet Poet for Posting this..

QP ty this is a great thread ...funny ... I am on a writing merry go round and changing my style again. The Zen one I wrote has much to do with the change...

I want to say I loved the poems listed here... blue, angeline.. two of my favorite poets here on the site...nice to see new blood jumping in!

here is a very very old poem I wrote when I was just learning but it holds much of that ???? about life/faith and all there is..........

Where Do You Go?
by Du Lac ©

Where do you go?
Where do you go, when truth does so show,
That all you believe in, is false and a lie?
Your soul is empty, hope no longer to flow,
So I ask again, where do you go?

Down on your knees
All to appease,
Raping and stealing,
They give nothing, no feeling.

Where do you go, when the light is so dim?
Greedily they rip your soul from limb to limb,
Your faith starts to fade, nothing is true,
All that you believe, slipping from you.

How do you find, your way to the path?
Forgetting the pain, echoes of their laugh!
Giving in love, expectations are dashed,
They line up before you, debts to be cashed.

Why do people, turn and destroy,
Hope of the day, One moment of joy.
Where do you go, when the faith lies so low?
Tell me please, within I must go.


Du~

 

[quietpoet]

ty Du Lac

ty Lady of the Lake! Love the rhyme in this... On a personal note, much of my poetry is rhymed as well, and I love it! The end of this poem esp., where I quoted here is so easy to relate to. You are an awesome writer! Seems that those of us who can feel, are the ones who get sat on the most. Thank you!

QP

Where do you go, when the light is so dim?
Greedily they rip your soul from limb to limb,
Your faith starts to fade, nothing is true,
All that you believe, slipping from you.

How do you find, your way to the path?
Forgetting the pain, echoes of their laugh!
Giving in love, expectations are dashed,
They line up before you, debts to be cashed.

Why do people, turn and destroy,
Hope of the day, One moment of joy.
Where do you go, when the faith lies so low?
Tell me please, within I must go.


Du~

 

[quietpoet]

Cloned in Grey... reminds me of...

a song by the Kinks in the early 70's " Here come the people in grey" (to take me away). This fits my perception of our world today very nicely. This is a great poem! Thank you for sharing our world in words!

QP

here is one of my more fascist fears... tis a bit different though...

cloned in grey

Archaic duty
marks the modern man
in pursuit of his purpose.

Morphic beams
from cosmic streams
generates indoctrination
into power, prestige and profit.

Bell towers toll with adoration
as the shadows slither about
building sterile idols.

Their aeroplane vessels,
are worshiped by a race
of automated champions,
fueling the flames of war.

 

[Guest]

"Walls" (thanking Luv2 for the title)

Don't come so close and don't try to win my trust
or befriend me. I don't wanna love you to get
burned in the end. I have faced my fears;
all the worry of becoming hurt and the horrid
nightmares came true; losses from death,
friends turning their back, father's of my children
died or left, and my flesh and blood deserted me.

Who's to trust when family has betrayed you?
I've never been good enough, and I know.
To them, money is love, and I don't have
what they do, therefore, I'm lower than dirt
and should rot six feet under, yet, I've forgiven
when asked, came back again, lost count of the times
I was belittled and degraded, and pushed out the door.

It reminds me when I went to church in '99
and wore a clean tee with shorts to my knees
to only get gawked at. I was there to hear
the word of God; not compete with other women
in expensive clothes, and high heels. Maybe
it was forgotten that Jesus died in his underwear.

I'll stay alone. It's better that way. There's no one
to trust when you've lost your flesh and blood,
but I'm fortunate enough to raise my children
who know their loved, and I'll bring them up to
appreciate the little things, most important in life;
food, water, shelter, a shoulder to cry and rely on,
and my kisses goodnight; a mother and father all-in-one.

 

[quietpoet]

Sadness permeates

this write... There are always times in everyone's life when we can't seem to win the affections of someone else. I can relate to alot of this, especially the money/love equation. This section below has been part of my rallying cry for the last few years, after several attempts at "group religious fulfillment" that ended up with me riding the hypocrisy bandwagon. Thanks so much for sharing!!!!

QP

"Walls" (thanking Luv2 for the title)


It reminds me when I went to church in '99
and wore a clean tee with shorts to my knees
to only get gawked at. I was there to hear
the word of God; not compete with other women
in expensive clothes, and high heels. Maybe
it was forgotten that Jesus died in his underwear.

 

[Guest]

<snip> Looking over the different headers/topics, I see nothing relating to the path we are choosing (or having others choose for us) </snip>

I did not chose this path
but simply had to follow
or more accurately
stop because the path turned
out to be a cu-de-sac
I wonder so many
"What Ifs" but never
question "Why Me?"
this dead end street
has many reasons now
to be my chosen path
and I accept the choice.
happily.

 

[Guest]

this write... There are always times in everyone's life when we can't seem to win the affections of someone else. I can relate to alot of this, especially the money/love equation. This section below has been part of my rallying cry for the last few years, after several attempts at "group religious fulfillment" that ended up with me riding the hypocrisy bandwagon. Thanks so much for sharing!!!!

QP

It's sad to know that anyone can relate to this pain. As I always say, "There always hope."

Thank you for sharing as well, and starting this thread. We all know there is much more to life than doing the horizontal twist. There is love.

Peace to you and yours

 

[bluerains]

thanks QP!

although as much kinks as you collect its no wonder...o))

what is where we are going without a little Whitman...

To the Garden, the World

To the garden, the world, anew ascending,
Potent mates, daughters, sons, preluding,
The love, the life of their bodies, meaning and being,
Curious, here behold my resurrection, after slumber;
The revolving cycles, in their wide sweep, have brought me again,
Amorous, mature—all beautiful to me—all wondrous;
My limbs, and the quivering fire that ever plays through them, for reasons, most wondrous;

Existing, I peer and penetrate still,
Content with the present—content with the past,
By my side, or back of me, Eve following,
Or in front, and I following her just the same.


Walt Whitman

 

[quietpoet]

Battle

as much kinks as you collect its no wonder...o))

OOOh! I do like kinks! Thanks Blue for reviving me (wink-wink)!

Here is another that sometimes fits those difficult times on a more personal level...




Battle

Everyday I awaken to the war,
not with fields of soldiers and guns,
but the battle within my mind,
where pain and fear rule hidden trenches.

Opening my heart to love's possibilities
warmth spreads like a furnace,
chakras tingle and inner peace flows
vibrantly through all extremities.

A buzzing starts low, a crack in the shield
and doubts rise to take aim again.
I recoil and try to hide
but the weapons mercilessly find their target.

'Breathe' I must remember,
take in God's gift of the breath.
Deeply inhaling life's essence
the enemy slowly recedes to the trenches.

Peace, for a moment or seven
while my essence rejuvenates,
until smoke again obscures reality.
'Breathe John'...

 

[ruminator]

Lush undergrowth now victorious
concealing the well worn path
bequeatehd by thoughtfull others

Sight unseen I always felt the presence
of a path, a way, deliberate direction
that seemed to be avoiding me.

Why could I not be water
instead of being me?

A miniscule droplet standing alone
among the millions has direction in
it's apparent motionless state

Shimmering oscillations waver
but do so without doubt.
The shimmers know the lengths to go.

Ambivalence might catch the restless
ripples unaware but not for long.
Their direction changes on demand

Do I try to defy the direction of the deluge?
The flood it can be carries all in it's path
to some definite if unknown destination.

Sometimes I think I might hear
the path calling for discovery
in the silence between the drops.

 

[Angeline]

Glossolalia

My voice is speaking
in tongues you cannot hear,
or will not listen
to voices crying over and over.

This is not glory.
This false hubris

is dead faces in gas masks
or bodies falling from boats
and filling the Atlantic,

where daddy was a medic in the
Third Wave.

There was no glory,
he said to me
or the night sky.

There was no honor.
Just death and surf,
and death and sand,
and death and death.

Innocence ripped
from exhausted boys,
knee deep in malaria
in north Africa and Bataan.

In Mei Lai the flames of children
screaming in Treblinka
or vaporized flash gone
in Nagasaki.

Children rolling over deserts
rife with land mines,
the legless ones who never walked,
hollow eyes in camps,
hordes hungering in mountain passes.

And even senseless children firing
the last of their innocence
at children sprawled
on the thorns of death
over art history and
organic chemistry books
on a warm spring morning.

We march into the unknown
only to discover
what mothers always know:

It’s just someone else’s child.

It’s all the same in the end,
all this marching
and cheering and waving
goes on and on and on,
but nobody ever owns
the world.

 

[quietpoet]

Thanks Rumi! You hit me right where I needed...

And do I often feel the tug of this unknown direction... I can relate so much to this! Your poem jumps right into that place that we know exists but can't quite define.

Sight unseen I always felt the presence
of a path, a way, deliberate direction
that seemed to be avoiding me.

I look forward to reading more of your insightful writing. Thanks for sharing!
John

 

[bluerains]

ouy

and yet do i pull the very thread of self and unwind the many....great words...rumi...

Lush undergrowth now victorious
concealing the well worn path
bequeatehd by thoughtfull others

Sight unseen I always felt the presence
of a path, a way, deliberate direction
that seemed to be avoiding me.

Why could I not be water
instead of being me?

A miniscule droplet standing alone
among the millions has direction in
it's apparent motionless state

Shimmering oscillations waver
but do so without doubt.
The shimmers know the lengths to go.

Ambivalence might catch the restless
ripples unaware but not for long.
Their direction changes on demand

Do I try to defy the direction of the deluge?
The flood it can be carries all in it's path
to some definite if unknown destination.

Sometimes I think I might hear
the path calling for discovery
in the silence between the drops.

 

[quietpoet]

Angeline, your poem reminds me

of things I have read (and written) in the past... there is no victory in war, only carnage, dreams wiped out and lots of money made by someone that we will never be. You have eloquently poised your pen over the truth, and your Dad was so right on target. This is an inspiring write, one that many more should read. We all want to achieve, but what? And where will it all end up? Thank you for sharing this piece of your heart...

John

 

[ruminator]

And do I often feel the tug of this unknown direction... I can relate so much to this! Your poem jumps right into that place that we know exists but can't quite define.

I look forward to reading more of your insightful writing. Thanks for sharing!
John

Thanks for the words of support. It's good to meet you. The odd thing about that is I was doing a search for something vastly different when I happened on this thread. I read it and jumped to a political soapbox and those words came out instead.

It's great when that happens.

Thought provoking thread, all.

 

[quietpoet]

Collateral Damage

I wrote this a while ago, right before a demonstration against the war. When we look at plans for the future, there are no changes forecasted. I think this poem is still apropos to today...

Collateral Damage

A moments reflection
as we wait for imminent war,
to draw on vast knowledge
of what WE will cause.

Who really is the enemy,
the one we all hate
enough to want them
to never share breath again.

Is it the taxi driver,
if he is lucky, his job will most
certainly be lost,
on bombed out, broken roadways?

Is it the student,
whose ruminations will be trapped
inside the walls of his mind
until whenever?

Is it the wife of a holy man,
whose meditative voice,
will be completely
silenced, forever?

We put in our battle scarred raft,
at the headwater of a river,
upon which there is no calm,
no place to stop and change course.

What is collateral damage
and does CNN report it?
Is it our brave soldier
who loses his life for the cause?

Is it the material destruction
of inspired man's physical creations,
buildings and art poured forth
in torrents of creativity?

Is it the babies that won't be born
because innocent parents are dead,
or the ones that shouldn't be,
parents exposed to radioactive dust?

Is it the higher oil prices
that will burden already reeling
economies in every country,
from the United States to Japan?

We push ahead daily,
desiring to better our own world,
the one that we live every day,
and share with those close to us.

They are us, across the world,
their dreams and fears so similar.
What is this deep, heartfelt trepidation?
Our conscience dying... collateral damage.

 

[bluerains]

I wrote this a while ago, right before a demonstration against the war. When we look at plans for the future, there are no changes forecasted. I think this poem is still apropos to today...

Collateral Damage

A moments reflection
as we wait for imminent war,
to draw on vast knowledge
of what WE will cause.

Who really is the enemy,
the one we all hate
enough to want them
to never share breath again.

Is it the taxi driver,
if he is lucky, his job will most
certainly be lost,
on bombed out, broken roadways?

Is it the student,
whose ruminations will be trapped
inside the walls of his mind
until whenever?

Is it the wife of a holy man,
whose meditative voice,
will be completely
silenced, forever?

We put in our battle scarred raft,
at the headwater of a river,
upon which there is no calm,
no place to stop and change course.

What is collateral damage
and does CNN report it?
Is it our brave soldier
who loses his life for the cause?

Is it the material destruction
of inspired man's physical creations,
buildings and art poured forth
in torrents of creativity?

Is it the babies that won't be born
because innocent parents are dead,
or the ones that shouldn't be,
parents exposed to radioactive dust?

Is it the higher oil prices
that will burden already reeling
economies in every country,
from the United States to Japan?

We push ahead daily,
desiring to better our own world,
the one that we live every day,
and share with those close to us.

They are us, across the world,
their dreams and fears so similar.
What is this deep, heartfelt trepidation?
Our conscience dying... collateral damage.

we are moving into a point of no return and te rewind begins as we end..so sad really

we did not wake up...so sad ..we just chose to decay in this our finest hour

 

[Angeline]

of things I have read (and written) in the past... there is no victory in war, only carnage, dreams wiped out and lots of money made by someone that we will never be. You have eloquently poised your pen over the truth, and your Dad was so right on target. This is an inspiring write, one that many more should read. We all want to achieve, but what? And where will it all end up? Thank you for sharing this piece of your heart...

John

Thank you, J. It is one of my favorite poems ever that I wrote. It won an award at Poets Against The War, which means a lot to me. I have a child who will be old enough to be drafted in December. I wish more people understood the way my father did.