Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Man Jun 25
Where is the break in our dark,
Where is illumination?
Vis-à-vis, a rational light.
For the contrast is stark
Between those who laze
And those who fight

Real values, and genuine ideals
Beliefs, not steeped, in a false virtue
And causes and movements, the same.
Do they still remain?
In the classes, in the fields,
At home? Never feeling near.

Where is the change?
Bhavani Apr 24
feelings role-playing
sunny day, depressing night
food, water and sleep.
Nat Lipstadt Feb 19
Compare and Contrast (the foliage of the heart)


My work is loving the world.
 Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird - 
equal seekers of sweetness.
 Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
 Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
 Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me
 keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work, which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
 The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
 Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,
Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
 a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
 to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
 telling them all, over and over,
how it is
 that we live forever.

This is the first poem in Mary Oliver's collection Thirst, titled,
“The Messenger."


Ruler of the Universe, grant me the ability to be alone; may it be my custom to go outdoors each day among the trees and grass among all growing things - and there may I be alone, and enter into prayer, to talk with the One to whom I belong.

May I express there everything in my heart, and may all the foliage of the field - all grasses, trees, and plants - awake at my coming, to send the powers of their life into the words of my prayer so that my prayer and speech are made whole through the life and spirit of all growing things, which are made as one by their transcendent Source. May I then pour out the words of my heart before Your presence like water, O L-rd, and lift up my hands to You in worship, on my behalf, and that of my children!

-Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav


too early on a Sunday morning for a trick or treat question,
still bed-bound @ Nine AM, browsing the internet state of the world,
it’s pre-my-walk on First Ave., in my Manhattan
concrete habitat pasture, where it’s gray and grayer
reveals of raggedy grass, certainly no sheep, and the only flowers
arrayed will be those with price tags fronting the bodegas
that are busy preparing breakfast for thousands of New Yorkers

trick question?

indeed! there is NO contrast, save the compare the kinetic similitude
of three kinfolk prayers, amidst frightfully unchanging headlines of
the dreary state of the world - weather report prototypical,
war, death & destruction, whiny celebrities and sports “heroes,”
editorials preaching, a vast quietude of no one’s mind changed,

but, always the but…

my work is loving the world, the grimy solitary blades of grass, true survivors, hosted & sprouting in dirt cracks miraculously,
letting the foliage of my heart blossoming in early morn warmth within my body’s extremities, clothed coverings of wintery wool,
confess my facts (“no longer young and still not half perfect?”),
filling the styrofoam cups of begging, wretched yearning refuse,
planting sprigs of mint green dollars in blanched froze hands,
wondering to myself, which one is
the masked messiah?

these are the growing things in my fields, 70 years familiar,
the fruits and flowers of my life, are street crated>corners,
a panoply of vest corner garden-parks,
and the people!
people of every color and shade, what variety hath man wrought?

my eyes lack
not for anything, plenty the stimuli joyous within the astonishing spirit and life of all things blooming in hostile soil and you
may yet see the mark of
Abel joy upon my forehead, in my eyes, and see lips whispering this prayer~poem while being birthed, but in a word, a single word,
a pouring, best summarizing of a rebbe’s blessing
shouting out, anointing, appointing:


Sun Feb 19 2023 9:15 AM
there are songs
in the anger
of the waves
upon the rocks
and the tearing
of the wind
through the long grass
in the plotting
of the clouds
gathering low
in the sky
in the droplets
upon the page
Johnson Oyeniran Mar 2022
-Odd personalities.

We are
As the
Summer Heat
Is from the
Winter Snow.
Carlo C Gomez May 2021
Come rhyme with me
In a bit of
But suppose
We juxtapose:

Lemon drop
Tear drop
A­ little heaven on earth
Before all hell breaks
TomDoubty Apr 2021
Cow on grass
Settling rooks
Cross sky
All around
Sound playing
On wind
Gold leafing
The horizon
Veiling arc
And furrow
And shadow
Poplar lined
Fields below
Quiet here
A moment
Contrast sharpens
Trees recede
Into darkness
Sun bleeds
Into Earth
thejeanjacket Mar 2021
From the golden pearls placed on its doors,
my breath got cut short.
Its sliver coloring shook me to my core.
I saw it’d started to widen ,
thought I would see the world’s most beautiful garden...
but instead : stood, before me
a pit of fire and hell that could **** me,
and melt the life I have inside of me ,
I saw flames that spoke to me
I like the contrast between the meaning of the name Ryan in different cultures ( gates to heaven  hints the title ;) ) and hell .
Next page