"discords" poems
The greatest demonstration of freedom in the history of the nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation.
A great beacon light of hope.
Seared in the flames of withering justice.
One hundred years later, the ***** still is not free.
We’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check.
This note was the promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white, men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned.
Now is the time to make real promises of democracy.
Now is the time to make injustice a reality for all of God’s children.
There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the ***** is granted his citizen rights.
In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations.
You have been veterans of creative suffering.
Go back, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
I say to you today, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream.
A deeply rooted american dream.
A dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”
I have a dream where little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the context of their character.
I have a dream today!
That little black boys and girls, will be able to join hands with little white boys and girls as brothers and sisters.
I have a dream today!
The rough places will be plain and the crooked places will be made straight, “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together."
This is our hope.
This is the faith I go back with.
With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.
When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children --- black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics --- will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old ***** spiritual, “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
*The rain pours heavy on my windowpanes; it is only through the darkness that I realize what pain truly means. The sorrow, the lack of luster in everyday that has changed and I fear for those who do not yet know what madness life brings. It is nothing yet everything to understand what suffering brings. The state of darkness looming upon wake, and when the dreams of your subconscious mind come to life and haunt you day by day, I fear for those who do not yet know real pain. The loss of someone you love being ripped away, so abruptly; worse than a Band-Aid on fresh wounds, so terribly worse than seeing someone you love fall deeper and deeper into the chasm of their own demons, like a well you’re drowning and eventually succumb to frightening disdain. One realizes that everything in life isn't truly the same, change is the only constant in this delirious world of contradicting facsimiles.
You have nothing but hope and faith in this world of detriment. And I hope someday you find what you're truly looking for, whether it be love or the meaning to life. But never forget who you truly are, regardless of the pain and the tears that washed away the innocence of your years and fears. I am truly sorry for what you have endured, but I cannot look back anymore, nor ponder upon those heart wrenching fears you called my own, of which I cannot call my own. You must own them like cheap records, and let them die in the night like the decades of musical loss and dying discords. You must find yourself in this beautiful world, never give up on everything wonderful. For you are worth much more than words, much more than anything I could ever endure.
© 2014 Christina Jackson*
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Oh, may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge men's search
To vaster issues. So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing a beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child,
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air,
And all our rarer, better, truer self
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burden of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better, -- saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary,
And shaped it forth before the multitude,
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love, --
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread forever. This is life to come, --
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow. May I reach
That purest heaven, -- be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
4.6k
The soul, O ganders, flies beyond the parks
And far beyond the discords of the wind.
A bronze rain from the sun descending marks
The death of summer, which that time endures
Like one who scrawls a listless testament
Of golden quirks and Paphian caricatures,
Bequeathing your white feathers to the moon
And giving your bland motions to the air.
Behold, already on the long parades
The crows anoint the statues with their dirt.
And the soul, O ganders, being lonely, flies
Beyond your chilly chariots, to the skies.
2.9k
my love
like a garden;
filled with flowers;
find way to them;
my love
Beautiful abandon;
rain them things;
rent these seeds;
should orchids water,
Doldrums.
Discords of Doldrums.
Beautiful. Beautiful.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
*In her cryptic words
a thoughtful owl,
proclaimed aloud
secrets never known;
the horn bill was loud
in registering his objections.
Let it be hidden, he said
like jewels in the folds of rocks,
only ones who searches deserves it.
The forest went still
the next moment;
a harmonious silence resulted,
the tussle, in it was dissolved.
The night--
quickly took over,
spread it's net of noises
inter spaced with silence-
that engulfed all discords,
orchastrated it as music,
then wrapped up everything
in darkness opaque.*
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 10:23 PM UTC
2:30am, felt the hollows hands of death again.
Fingers wrapped like a noose around my neck.
Woke up distress in sweat.
With tongue tied knots made of fear and frustrating attempts.
I called out to mother but
I felt 1,000 pounds of pressure standing upon my chest.
Muting me into speech impediments and sinking me into the depths of what seem to feel like hell for a couple minutes.
Body felt like dancing sharp needles in the air.
As someone's eerie finger
Sailed across the maps of my skin.
Causing frantic earthquakes through out what seemed like my living corpse.
I felt like discords, statics, and lost signal tv channels.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 2:05 AM UTC
The words of the wind whiper 'Come my dear'
Sweep me off my feet
I'm struck by dazzling discords of sharpened breathes becoming beautiful
Galaxies of play swift through your hands
The electricity of communication shoots through your systems
Before the world says 'Hello' you breathe the stories of magic and wisdom
Born storyteller, walking on a different mental plane
Holding the air, letting it go with a blow
Traveling the sky and landing on my heart
But you can only stay for a day
But the words of the wanderer, forever may they stay
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
*Is it really any wonder
That we court the God of war ?
When a man offends in innocence
With imprudent comments poor,
When the slightest altercation
Leads to seeking of red blood,
And grudges borne with vehemence
Paste protagonists with mud.
Why is it that we tip toe
Through the fragileness of life ?
How is it that you rage
When he glances at your wife ?
What generates the jealousy
Of competitive bright flame
And activates the trigger
In the deadly baiting game ?
Why should we seek redemption
When the way is set in stone,
When antagonistic temperament
Is the customary way home,
When the flare of angry attitude
Leads the bearer to abyss
And inevitable conflict
Throws all reasoned thought amiss ?.
Reflect on how protracted
Is the winding road to love,
How long to place the building blocks
Of friendships’ hand in glove,
How gradual the process
Of steady cultivating trust
To the wondrous actuality
Of a brother bond that must.
Why does the God of war surmount
Mans best and dearest quest
To find a peace and harmony
Despite discords’ very best,
To live his days in certitude
Sidestepping risk of harm
To work toward tomorrows’ dawn,
And evening’s soothing charm.
Shatter prides absurdity
To dare to breach the norm,
To reach aloft for courage
And scale the unknown’s form.
To rail against mans’ enmity
To flail against his foe
To conquer human natures‘ worst
This beast of war must go!
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
21 June 2010*
Jun 20, 2010
Jun 20, 2010 at 5:21 PM UTC
Who are you? Who are you?
i think i know you i think i’ve met you
That i’ve seen you before and known you inside out
and been with you touched your dreams, felt your scars
spent some meaningful times shown you mine too, under the stars
shared some laughs and shared some sorrows we’ve discussed commonalities and discords
i know you
you know me
and yet it seems
we’ve never met
and odd as it may seem
i don’t recognize you
it makes me want to
pick your brain
pych you out
sift through your secrets
need to figure you out to know
where we’ve met before
***i want to dissect your heart
and find my place in it
i know i’ve been there before***
-Vijayalakshmi Harish
01.10.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
i.
i'm choleric and that's nothing new
ii.
wrapped in a quilt, i toil and sully our sarsaparilla love
iii.
in the frosty morning
an ancient beast rears its head
iv.
it implodes quietly at the bottom of the mekong
v.
this isn't language; it's pornographic license
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
I have heard a perfect moment
recorded
in
beautiful discord.
I have seen lifetimes
astutely
distilled
in a single sentence.
I have heard a summer's day
in a soul filled chord.
I have described heartbreak as
a sculptural variation on a fence.
All these moments frozen,
waiting to be owned
by a collector of crystallized humanity.
But to take the beauty of one crystal,
held against the sun,
is to stumble aimlessly to insanity,
as the stitched links in your necklace
come undone.
Chords, discords and lyrical life sentences,
a collection of crystals held up to the sun.
Thoughts, deep thoughts, that meditate before it's late,
A collection of crystals will see you undone.
Without rhythm we can see a perfect moment frozen,
But without rhythm we can't see it chosen.
You'll never find perfection waiting for an explosion.
Timeless perfection comes from perfection of timing,
Two bodies beating 'til the beats are combining,
continue to beat 'til the blood pressure's rising,
And as the beats resonate to a perfect explosion,
All of a sudden it isn't surprising.
Aug 25, 2011
Aug 25, 2011 at 5:22 PM UTC
From nothingness I fell
into the world of substance,
into the world of becoming:
and became, a toddler, a teenager,
a soldier, a husband, a father,
a professor, an old poet.
Sixty-four orbits of the sun;
over 37 trillion miles so far.
It should feel longer than it does.
Thirty-seven trillion miles of
Reality, Maya, Monkey Mind,
the inevitable, unceasing chatter
we call existence; all the pieces
of this enormous jigsaw puzzle
I have given up try to solve.
You cannot solve life
as if it were just a calculus problem.
Too many variables.
Instead, I try to compose
a kind of music I cannot understand,
only enjoy and share with strangers;
an often futile attempt to harmonize
the discords of living while
getting a little peek of insight.
Poetry: an attempt to part
the reeds and see what there is
swimming behind the behind,
before the orbits finally end.
~mce
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
Writers are like gods,
While singers are angels;
Writers can be both,
If we fit in both angles;
Writers are creators
And the preservers of history,
Keeping accurate records,
From century to century;
Writers are prophets,
And oracles too,
We speak of the future,
Most of which comes through;
Writers are artists,
We create drawings in words,
And nothing's been more beautiful,
Than our gallery of words;
Writers are warriors
Winning wars with words-
Bullets and machine guns in our letters,
Have ended numerous discords;
Writers can be good lovers,
With strong emotions too,
A heart that is very fragile,
willing to share a love that's true.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 3:27 PM UTC
A tiny stone creates
a lot of ripples
on calm waters
as a word of spate
causes turbulent
emotions
in the heart
of a pure man
A drop of poison
spoils the bowl
of manna
like a wrong note
discords the symphony
of an enthralling orchestra
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 3:42 AM UTC
Beneath your vast oceans of sky
i trembled in wonder
And the veil was torn asunder
And for a time, standing still
I could see: oh, all my blindness to reality
The gears clanged together, shifting again
I was in the world of other men
And everything seemed so pretend
And even then
just when
I felt crushed to the crumbling, time would flow
Your oceans of time move fast, then slow
The currents in our minds that drift and blow
Listless so
Like our ego and spirit kaleidoscopes
Today we’re high, tomorrow
Low
And time, and time just seems to go,
And all the while we know
We know
That when we bid our loves farewell
Time can be our only hell
Time, on which our minds will dwell
Wasted years, and love grown pale
Life is never our story to tell
I don’t want to end this not so well
These lines are not my story to tell
They rush from under your waves who swell
And creatures beneath the deep who dwell
My spirit is stretched in the wind, my sail
Walk between worlds I know so well
Knew so well, unfamiliar now
Revolving doors to worlds abound
And feet never can stay on the ground
Not forever
Nothing is
Nothing could have been, or could ever be
Nothing at all, no, nothing should be
How could anything ever be? I shake my head in agony
Discarding others’ philosophy
That’s the glory!
Nothing compels to tell this story
Nothing, the natural state of things
From which something pure and holy sings
From which life and love and beauty spring
From which all this sorrow and suffering
From which come these broken and holy rhymes
And discords, and tempos
And faltering times
And wars and egos the size of dimes
That yet tread down the earth
Like Jehovas, endless lines
I cannot
My ego press on
My spirit stretched thin
I cannot
I cannot begin again
I can’t begin to make you see
I can’t begin, for even me
I can’t
I can’t
Not I
Not I
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 1:22 AM UTC
History of the before teaches nothing
Civilization is mere normalization adorned
they are the self-appointed Olympians demigods
the pigment-less errants who ran down albino way
to learn from the rebellious Angel his innovative styles
Anointed souls who stayed in the Kingdom of Truth
blessed and sheltered under the light of the True Living King
imbued piously with messages of love unity and salvation for all
are mere weakened fools seeking peace denying heady excitement
for there's power, lust, riches, fame fortune and control to be found
Hence they divided and assigned varying colours
In rebellious mischief call the devoted black in my honour
ordains the leader of Rebels intoxicated in banishment and sin
my fellow ****** followers adorned yourselves as white doves
you will learn great evil, wickedness, bloodlust and utter destruction
We are the masters, the Controllers, there is no God
go forth and populate, ravage and plunder take as you please
subjugate and deceive, lie and **** and drink their blood in victory
fallen from Grace let's go befall woe, pestilence, miseries destruction
In God's made Kingdom we and our children will rule with no mercy
The spawns who know more than God take control
all four corners of the earth sowing fear discontent and discords
hatred, injustices, bloodshed, sorrow, pain abominations galore
thieves and cut-throats merchants in white masks they shower terror
History of the before teaches nothing, the demigods rules
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 4:52 AM UTC
Music is the elixir to my soul
Lyrics make it feel better, after the world has taken its toll
Songs written it seems about me and my life
They make me smile and sing, while others cut like a knife
These sounds may change as quick as a guitar riff
If it's rap, acoustic, or punk rock it makes no big diff
For me everyday I sprinkle in some Tony Sly
Lyrically one of the best, why'd he have to die
“ I need a beat, the sounds to calm me down
Lyrics that are deep that keep me a float while I drown
This world's so ****** it needs a cure, some type of mixture
Everyone needs to slow down, I've got the elixir”
A few of them even use a catchy metaphor
About, how their ex walked all over them like a linoleum floor
These songs bring out the suffering and joy of the people
They all flock to concerts like churchgoers to a steeple
Only a few actually take the time to actually decipher
And once injected with knowledge of a song they become a convicted lifer
So turn up the sound and flip over the records
Let the music dispense with all of life’s discords
“ I need a beat, sounds to calm me down
Lyrics that are deep that keep me a float while I drown
This world's so ****** it needs a cure, some type of mixture
Everyone needs to slow down, I've got the elixir”
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
Arch your fingers, clasp your palm,
touch the keys as if pulling
at the heartstrings of a lover;
back in the looming financial crash of 2007
when a family bought a piano
and a new house,
and a young girl ached Chopin.
With your hand out of the window
and the car on the motorway,
talon hands, poised,
feel the air as a shotput;
smooth, round, permanent - oxygen bubbles
puppeteering pale fingertips
until the window goes up
and the radio is heard again.
Speaking three languages,
la mort, la mort, la mort;
D – E – A – D
the keys cannot spell ‘childhood’,
but her fingers reach
more than an octave now
(her thumb still ******
Chopin welcomes her
to her final decomposition;
her piano, dusty
and blooming with flowers
through each key,
plays discords
that don’t quite make
a funeral march.
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 7:52 AM UTC
Cut through to the left ventricle,
Like hot knife through butter,
Spreads through life,
Like internal bleeding.
Open hand incision,
Like a drunk surgeon. Having fun.
Burst through the door,
Like riot police.
Get scared,
Like the man hiding squat in the middle.
Chest heaving,
Like the aorta closing.
Wrap my arms around myself,
Like I could stop the world from rocking.
Scream through the crowd at the stage,
Like my words could pierce the veil.
Stand silent under a streetlight,
Like the only light of the world shines
And I am bewildered- dumbfounded; and helpless and hapless.
Like a moth, staring with brevity into the sun until extinguished.
Wide eyed.
Like stepping on a snail.
Digging into supple skin,
Like nails cling to desperate skin
Sinking with the mess we're in.
Like a razor blade,
Held to the edge of your life,
Like playing games with Lucifer,
Who dances to discords of every defeat; every loss of a smile,
Like a wretch-
Writhing in the dark.
Like the smell and taste of dirt
Can't be confined to the ground.
'Like' is a word ready to topple and roll away;
The truth grasps the scruff of your shirt
Like innocent white cotton clings to your heaving lapel;
Holds your hand long after you're in bed.
Like cheap cologne
On a sailor's neck at port.
Like playing-
Alleviates-
Like elevates-
Above the line of filth,
Like a shaky grab-hand trembling under weight,
While your partner looks on in despair,
Like you are fading away
In your fight with misanthropy,
Like a child shouting into a well:
The words come back, but denser,
Like they scabbed over
In the process of burning away...
Like lightning bursting;
Illuminating Magenta sky.
Like the universe creates itself
To fight death,
Like blue flame fights crimson,
Shades begin to run,
Like creating,
A new colour,
Like conjuring,
From air.
Like God.
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
*"Amidst the pleasantries and the cups of wine,
lies a desire for an ending; clement and bold."*
Paths paved and discords leveled,
street lights dimmed as worries heaved;
in between moments; the air relentless.
I see a table prepared at dusk's end.
*"As wishful as it is painful; only restful wished I be,
as I perched unattended; joy amiss with a cup of tea."*
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC
I miss our kisses in the park, in the dark,
Where we used to take cover and hover.
We stole moments, your hands over my body, caressing the soft parts.
Whispering love.
You touched my inner rhapsody,
And it turned into a melody so profound,
I became a Clarinet.
We talked about things only movie characters would know.
I brought my own script to your stage, and we had our heuristic drama.
There we were, embraced in the discords of the world, laughing at the jokes no one told,
Like the despicable way things generally are...
Like the woman who swallowed all her golds,
Or the man who killed for love. Love enabled people to **** these days and it made us think, how?
We always had known otherwise:
Love made us more human.
Now we ended that sentence with a question!
We kept kissing in the dark anyway,
Tasting your tongue,
Smelling the cheap smoke you could afford, dreaming about things we could not...
Forgetting about the people who died, while keeping things in order.
I wrote vague poems for you, that you read and ceased to remember.
Like old towns that had homes with letter boxes.
I opened one of those, on that yellow house with ancient moss gathered on its establishment...
It was empty,
So you promised to write a letter to me, promised to address it to that letter box, so I could find it one day.
I went there yesterday,
But the house wasn't there somehow.
It lost all the promises.
Yours too.
It lost me.
About you, I couldn't tell anymore.
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 1:03 PM UTC
Sing me a song of now
to hear what it sounds like
Broken rhythms and discords
or a bitter battled harmony?
I have my feet to stomp
and will whistle and holler free
To reach ears, hidden and open
all shaped the same
Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 11:50 AM UTC
The
Smell of
Fallen angels
Betrayals
And
Discords
While
The
Scent of war
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 8:07 AM UTC