#posterity - Hello Poetry

People - so many bodies… Some seem to engage for but a moment, of course, before bustling past on hot sidewalks, with varied smidgens of mind and heart; collections of vibrating chemistry, moving to specific oscillations. How to make sense of it all? We can be drawn to warm embers, avoid icy slaps on our cheeks reddening. Grey shapes pass us by, hardly registering a blip - are they nothing more than the flotsam of flailing limbs echoing our own caustic needs and wants pending? Yet we all want much the same things in life: to be noticed with kindness by the benign, safe from the razor-blade elements, find our slot in life that counts, and leave something good for posterity, if it comes… For dots of humanity of which we are a part, in some fashion or another, keep floating giddily past us… Are they up for what will come with stoic resistance, or neglect? Do they expect some dystopia and the terrors of a dark night? Ask the fretting little children, who can’t sleep for their fright! They too need a river of peace ~ the Promise to be fulfilled made by One wiser than all else… ~~

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Mar 16, 2023

Mar 16, 2023 at 7:58 PM UTC

eleanor-prince

The Promise

People - so many bodies… Some seem to engage for but a moment, of course, before bustling past on hot sidewalks, with varied smidgens of mind and heart; collections of vibrating chemistry, moving to specific oscillations. How to make sense of it all? We can be drawn to warm embers, avoid icy slaps on our cheeks reddening. Grey shapes pass us by, hardly registering a blip - are they nothing more than the flotsam of flailing limbs echoing our own caustic needs and wants pending? Yet we all want much the same things in life: to be noticed with kindness by the benign, safe from the razor-blade elements, find our slot in life that counts, and leave something good for posterity, if it comes… For dots of humanity of which we are a part, in some fashion or another, keep floating giddily past us… Are they up for what will come with stoic resistance, or neglect? Do they expect some dystopia and the terrors of a dark night? Ask the fretting little children, who can’t sleep for their fright! They too need a river of peace ~ the Promise to be fulfilled made by One wiser than all else… ~~

35

Oh my Prosperity, Oh my Serendipity. Oh my Destiny, Oh my Honey, Oh my Austerity, Oh mother of my Posterity, Where are you?

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Feb 23, 2020

Feb 23, 2020 at 5:35 AM UTC

Atul

Where Are You?

Oh my Prosperity, Oh my Serendipity. Oh my Destiny, Oh my Honey, Oh my Austerity, Oh mother of my Posterity, Where are you?

7

To stir from my complacency With the words as my compulsion, Poems feel like a eulogy Of my not-dead-yet emotion. I write to be a memory For either fondness or for ill, With words of perpetuity So that no reader’s heart is still. The solemn thoughts trapped in my head, My fingers type to let them out, So my embarrassment is read By strangers I know not about. Writing with ego’s delusion That when I die my words survive, But my ironic conclusion Is that I write to stay alive.

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Dec 9, 2018

Dec 9, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC

not_thepoet_hewantstobe

Poet’s Irony

To stir from my complacency With the words as my compulsion, Poems feel like a eulogy Of my not-dead-yet emotion. I write to be a memory For either fondness or for ill, With words of perpetuity So that no reader’s heart is still. The solemn thoughts trapped in my head, My fingers type to let them out, So my embarrassment is read By strangers I know not about. Writing with ego’s delusion That when I die my words survive, But my ironic conclusion Is that I write to stay alive.

16

.... I walk down the bay it is full of red roses and fine lilies. The feeling, like a quaint cottage of peace picking sunshine with ease. A hamlet of happiness, a place you find strength gushing through like the home of bees. The joy the heart beats gently to. This beautiful sights and mellifluous sounds of the lovely water birds, i can't, but admire. Right here one builds words the shape of the pyramids and meanings as old as the heavens. But not until I wake from this image that tricks the mortal me. This castles in the air. I sit capturing every wave, every sounds, every passing thing I had seen on a piece of paper and the memories of nature running through my mind. With regrets of what this world could be, I wish for more but for posterity I write- for the love of nature and for the joy of poetry. May these words give strength, I say and may the sun never die to my feet for I have seen love. And so dear reader nature may be God.. Just maybe, we may never know. What do we know? We keep telling ourselves how well we do, yet it hurts us every passing day for we do not want to try the little things to safe earth. Nature could hand us a hand of friendship, we could never tell, for we do not want to see, our vision happily blurred. How much it calls every passing day, silently crying through our eyes and ears. Through our nose and skin. Through the air, the sea. through day, through night. Wake up, wake up, the world is falling apart. Pick me up and clean me for you need me in this journey of time. Yes You need me like a baby needs a mother's tender love and care. But to us what a fiction, to God what a pity. Donald

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Jul 24, 2016

Jul 24, 2016 at 7:31 PM UTC

donald-okon

Of Nature And Posterity

.... I walk down the bay it is full of red roses and fine lilies. The feeling, like a quaint cottage of peace picking sunshine with ease. A hamlet of happiness, a place you find strength gushing through like the home of bees. The joy the heart beats gently to. This beautiful sights and mellifluous sounds of the lovely water birds, i can't, but admire. Right here one builds words the shape of the pyramids and meanings as old as the heavens. But not until I wake from this image that tricks the mortal me. This castles in the air. I sit capturing every wave, every sounds, every passing thing I had seen on a piece of paper and the memories of nature running through my mind. With regrets of what this world could be, I wish for more but for posterity I write- for the love of nature and for the joy of poetry. May these words give strength, I say and may the sun never die to my feet for I have seen love. And so dear reader nature may be God.. Just maybe, we may never know. What do we know? We keep telling ourselves how well we do, yet it hurts us every passing day for we do not want to try the little things to safe earth. Nature could hand us a hand of friendship, we could never tell, for we do not want to see, our vision happily blurred. How much it calls every passing day, silently crying through our eyes and ears. Through our nose and skin. Through the air, the sea. through day, through night. Wake up, wake up, the world is falling apart. Pick me up and clean me for you need me in this journey of time. Yes You need me like a baby needs a mother's tender love and care. But to us what a fiction, to God what a pity. Donald

9

Our lips sealed, a kiss The airport commotion The notion of distance The motions separating The oceans disengaged Impeding progressions Enlightened lightening The fading phone calls Evicted complications Bouncing frequencies I float in dreams a high Sandwiched decisiveness The bubbled head pangs The battered heart hang My littered sight fanged Banged and wrung A declined mass rolling Angling insanity hurts Fighting gyrating posterity

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Jan 13, 2016

Jan 13, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC

SassyJ

Fighting Posterity

Our lips sealed, a kiss The airport commotion The notion of distance The motions separating The oceans disengaged Impeding progressions Enlightened lightening The fading phone calls Evicted complications Bouncing frequencies I float in dreams a high Sandwiched decisiveness The bubbled head pangs The battered heart hang My littered sight fanged Banged and wrung A declined mass rolling Angling insanity hurts Fighting gyrating posterity

19

Sad faces Indiscreet dreams Platitudes and penance. Secluded thoughts Glimpses of posterity Legacies and lotteries. Tributes to the dead Blasphemous flowers Anonymity and indifference.

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Jan 2, 2015

Jan 2, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC

kenneth-walter-simpson

Ingratiating Ways

Sad faces Indiscreet dreams Platitudes and penance. Secluded thoughts Glimpses of posterity Legacies and lotteries. Tributes to the dead Blasphemous flowers Anonymity and indifference.

9