"fulfilment" poems
The nightsky is alike a mighty mansion of the stars which then
twinkle in elegance, beauty and transience until the dawn outshines them in a graceful manner.
As the night turns away from the sun and from her light, danger
in our imagination could await, from the corners of our very mind.
Yet the stars make up a soft blanket, a cover of the calmest of light,
which could bring peace to a soul which is performing a rampage.
All the constilations, all the names and forms which reveal themselves, are but a heavenly spectra for those who are nocturnal.
Or for those, whom have meet the cruel fate to be allergic to the natural, straight forward, warming and blissful sunlight.
There is no soul with no protector, in the nightsky such would be
a bright,piercing star, standing proud,manifest its location is over you
Holding many wonders, the beauty of the night comes with shooting stars, which at times shortly sweep over the heaven before fading.
Wishes are made upon, hope fills their hearts, for a better future
or a fulfilment of their desires, tangled up within the depth of mind.
Night becomes bright once the moon shines, in its fullest posture.
Becomes dark once the rainclouds drive near, calling in thunder.
But most importantly, it is a time of rest, from all this earth beholds
~ Umi
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
Silicate, emotionless sedimentary,
Darling, it is cold, doesn't care wheter it breaks or if it is swept away in a stream, cut into small pieces by the sharp rush of flowing water,
While it may hold no emotions, it can be the bringer of hope, bliss, happiness, sadness but also spite and envy, or a simple fulfilment,
Look at the wedding-rings, their stones on top to embellish beauty such as the insurance to be with the other through thick and thin,
Some diamonds are rough, but they are stronger than stones, if that is enough, harder and almost unbreakable, sorted in line moliculary,
When the kiss of death puts us to rest, a tombstone is the sad, cruel remembrence of a former life, sprouting blossoming and blooming, before returning to the soil it once had found its origin, its beginning,
I will try to be your wishing one, your shooting star, racing through the glory of the starlit nightsky to catch a moment of your passion,
Burning up within the atmosphere of your warm embrace, dearest.
Drawn by your gravitational impact on me, I will be your comet, returning to you each day without burning away as rapid as a meteor.
Darling, alike a blazing Sun you make me melt.
~ Umi
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
Endless hours of committed effort,
which frequently felt unrecognised and unappreciated.
Deep down in your desireful soul,
you teased yourself with ambitious day dreams.
The incentive of recognition and opportunity,
put wind in your talented sails.
But now you've got the break,
to perform on that mythical stage.
The first chance filled spark has ignited,
and will hopefully burst into a colourful blazing future.
Grasp your chance with your unique determination,
seize the opportunity with grit and pride.
Achievement is fulfilment,
the more you achieve the more you bask in
the blissful sunshine of life.
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
If Success was Happiness
Then achievers would be glad
But look around and you will find
That many of them are sad
Of course, Achievement gives joy
And excitement, oh boy!
But when our need becomes our greed
To misery, this will lead
The whole world is chasing Success
Everyone wants achievement
Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose
There is no Contentment
Why do people want to succeed?
Why is everyone in a race?
The Truth is that we want to win
So that there is a smile on our face
But though we win, we are not glad
We have money, why are we sad?
Happiness is not money, the sages said
It's sleeping soundly when you are in bed
We hear of suicides in the homes of the rich
If they were Happy, then why this glitch?
Although they are achievers, this fact we know
They are not Happy, their face has no glow
If successful, but unhappy, what is the use?
Winning or smiling, what would you choose?
The purpose of Success is for us to be glad
What is the use of winning, if it makes us sad?
Happiness is something different, we learn
Not just money that we earn and burn
Happiness is built on a foundation of peace
Then we are blissful like waves in the seas
Look around at the people who are glad
They live in the moment, they are never sad
They don't swing from the future to the past
They are the ones whose Happiness lasts
Happiness has no price tag, know this my friend
It's a state of mind where nothing can offend
It's being able to smile, and able to laugh
Not just trying to raise our Success graph
We can't measure joy in dollar and pound
Happy is he who peace has found
Though we may fly the world around
We may be miserable on the ground
Success is not Happiness, this Truth we must know
We may have everything, what's the use of this show?
The truly successful one is he
Who lives with smile, laughter, and glee
If one is Happy, then one has achieved all
One doesn't have to be rich and in fame be tall
One can have little, but if content is he
Then he can live joyously
Achievement gives Happiness, this fact we know
But with Fulfilment and Contentment, does Happiness grow
One who is Happy, doesn't need to win
He has Peace and Joy without committing sin
Joy doesn't need a foundation of cash
One doesn't have to be rich, to enjoy life's bash
Happiness is a simple state of the mind
It comes from being loving, it comes from being Kind
Happiness is Success. It is achieving life's goal
It is being Happy in the heart, Peaceful in the Soul
True Happiness is eternal, not just a moment of joy
It last's forever, it can’t be destroyed
Success is a journey of valleys and peaks
Life is a see-saw, there are laughs and squeaks
Success, unlike Happiness, doesn't last for long
But the truly Happy ones always sing a Happy song
So, Success is not Happiness, Happiness is Success
You may be an achiever, whose heart is not at rest
But though not successful, if Happy you are
Then you are an achiever, you are the very best
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 8:26 AM UTC
All that lead in their bones
Smoke lingering blood
They placed masks on their graves
Unmarked in kitchens
And fields of grain
Washed out and bitterly red
Against a blue white skin
Liberty fell with her rifle
Pointed at her own knees
Crown set a gutter for soldiers to cower and puke in their false beliefs
The only absolute in this ******* war is death
You freedom ******* hypocrites
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
I wish I could be a super-hero.
I wish I could be your super-hero.
But most of all I would want to be your Bee-Man.
Flying over continents and oceans,
over forests and gardens,
until I found you,
my Rose Queen,
my super-powers would detect
your pink petals
from far off.
Down I would fly,
drawn by the fragrance of you
to the exquisite beauty
of your blushing petals
silkily emerging from the heart of you,
unfolding for me,
welcoming me to your secret treasure.
Gently but firmly
my long, loving tongue would press
between those dew-moistened folds,
unable to resist the perfume
overcoming me.
Tugged in
by your intoxicating scent,
your nectar I would sup
until I could drink no more.
Then transforming
the sweet nectar
you had so willingly granted me,
I would create my rich, creamy honey,
especially for you,
so willingly penetrate
between your soft petals,
find your hidden depths,
and to repay you for the delight
your fragrant nectar had given me,
magically inject my honey,
into the essential heart of you,
until my store was empty,
and we could both feel
the most exquisite joy of all.
I hope that you dream of it as I do,
that you wish it also,
and that some day our dreams can come together.
And if you and I could come
together
in ecstasy,
it would be the most perfect fulfilment possible
of my desire.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 2:36 PM UTC
Awaiting the storm
Forming on distant shores.
Preparing myself for
The oceans tidal swell.
Opening my heart
To the rawest of elements.
I ride the anticipation
Of the coming waves.
Conquering the building
Fear as the water leaps high.
A great solid wall
Unfurling its rippling energy.
Through the tube,
Board skimming, skipping.
Flirting with danger,
Risking everything,
Inside a living
Hollow cocoon of
Thundering power.
Controlled fear beats
Inside my pumping heart,
Driving my adrenaline
Through to spiritual fulfilment.
On exiting the beast,
It rolls onward to its death.
Through its existence
We both lived, sharing
A unique oneness.
Children of nature within
A union of creation, so special,
It takes the breath away.
Savouring my exhilaration,
I see another wave being born,
And prepare to surf again.
©Paul M Chafer 2014
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.
The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life
lived undaunted and unsoured with accepted lies
they would ripen like apples, and be scented like pippins
in their old age.
Soothing, old people should be, like apples
when one is tired of love.
Fragrant like yellowing leaves, and dim with the soft
stillness and satisfaction of autumn.
And a girl should say:
It must be wonderful to live and grow old.
Look at my mother, how rich and still she is! -
And a young man should think: By Jove
my father has faced all weathers, but it's been a life!
4.4k
Empowerment is to stop begging you to come home,
self love is realising a soulmate would never leave you alone,
happiness is letting the loneliness fade,
fulfilment is realising the best lives are self made.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC
Why aren't you smiling, while the whole world is smiling?
In this lovely day why aren't you shining?
Obstacles on your way but even fowls are crossing.
Instead of smiling why are always cursing
the world and her natural ways of judgment.
Life is full of jubilance, why the resentment?
Understand that life is the most wonderful element,
Rich and nourishing, each day lived is a divine fulfilment.
Why aren't you smiling when you should be rising?
Why are you still going backwards, forward is where you should be heading,
You should be smiling even when everything seems to be falling,
Smile each day, life is awesome and worth living.
*"Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero"
Live today and worry not about tomorrow.*
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
I live a life collecting pieces.
Pieces of fantasies forever the
realm of
childhood;
Pieces of imaginations turned wild and wonderful.
Pieces of laughter, confusion, delight and tears.
Pieces of melancholy, shards of sorrow;
fragments of regret, portions of jealousy.
Sections of desire, passion, leading us on
blindly to others of
heartache and yearning.
The rough edges of frustration, yet the
smooth curves of contentment, peace.
I live a life collecting pieces;
this is what I’m told makes a life worthy.
Worthy of remembrance, joy; fulfilment.
But only I can see the struggles,
feel my bones bearing more weight;
the aching tiredness I fall into,
when I’m not at work,
collecting the pieces I speak of.
The fright I hastily pick up off the ground,
when I compare my clumsy, ***** array of
pieces to your perfect and bound ones;
when you aren’t looking.
The dread I reach for, because you leave it crushed
beneath your feet.
The nervous tension pulling strings beneath my skin;
leaving me a reckless, vulnerable puppet
collecting the pieces left in your wake.
Torn to scattered, dusty pieces;
Reborn a puzzle of simplicities,
bright and shining pieces woven into form.
No matter where we have been, where we
were taken,
where we were loved,
where we were betrayed,
where we fought bravely,
where we surrendered nobly,
where we were embittered,
where we learnt of strengths and weaknesses;
we are all made of pieces.
We are collections of pieces.
You and I.
Our collection is known as life;
each piece is our experience of something.
Someone.
Somewhere.
And the more we know each other, the more
often our hands can reach for two of the same,
available pieces left before us.
I pen them down, keep them special and fragrant.
I live a life collecting pieces
and often they are of you.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
You long for the sensation of happiness, and try to find it in everything possible.
But never get that real fulfilment you're looking for.
You struggle to find what it is that you need, but you can hope its there.
And just by looking at a new purse in your favourite store, next to some pretty heels; that array of happiness momentarily lies in your presence.
But there are all these things to want in the world.
All these materialistic items that can make you happy for just a few short moments.
But what I personally really want is him.
He gives me that happiness that lasts aeons, and that is what I need
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 7:52 AM UTC
Dance,
an expression of the mind.
Multiple steps in successive movements,
bringing life, love and laughter.
Self-fulfilment and self-worth.
Dance,
an expression of the body.
Creative display of energies,
inducing a seismic shift emotionally.
Self-discovery and self-confidence.
Dance,
an expression of the soul,
communicating in its artistic qualities.
Messages, movements and mystery.
Self-expression and self-realization.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
She said he was to down to earth,
that she could never see the stars
beneath his staring.
"Am I not grounded enough?
do you wish to gaze deeper
than even I can look into..
Would you want to reach the heavens,
to see how many glimmers float deep
within every blinking of my sight.
"She pondered his question,
If you can make me see the universe
entwined within every look
you give me.
I'll be yours forever.
So days past upon his gaze, not at her!
but the fulfilment of her wishes.
And with that, he brought out his gesture
of making her see stars.
"Strap this on yourself!
But is this not just a rocket?
will I not leave your side.
Never would I let us part,
you will only be above my gaze.
my eyes steering you, no longer grounded.
With a twinkle in his eye he gazed at her,
"I see the stars gleaming in your eyes.
"You are no longer grounded to.....
And without a word the rocket shot off.
hearing her faint words.. I was wro…
With that a shower of sparks erupted,
in the heavens and for a second she saw stars..
But unfortunately ungrateful of what she had.
He never saw her again after that.
But he was a man of his word.
Now grounded to terra-firma he gazes
towards the stars and smiles.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
Bittersweet lime-flavoured love
An apparition, a ghost, a face I think of
A mere shadow without definition or name
A hopefulness for the fulfilment of why I came.
Stretching into the ghetto of my mind
Is a body, a shape, a stencil of who may be mine
Reaching against the wicked hands of time
Yet never grasping; a drop of sugar, a cup of lime
Down on my knees with my hands clasped tight in prayer
And my will alone shakes the foundation, yet no one appears
Errant tendrils of loneliness grip at my rotting soul and heart
And the rejection, and the hurt, and the hope tears me apart.
I am now a sinister, cynical shell of who I used to be
And I plead, I beg the monotony to set me free
As I am suffocating on the slimmest sliver of a wish
My head turned upwards, lips waiting for a kiss.
Whether love, or like, or grudging intimacy
So be it, for I need it, and whatever else it may be
Thus, I will wait by the water's edge where the waves are violent
I'll wait at the volcano's peak, before it erupts, when all is quiet.
I'll hang to a fraying rope placed miles above solid ground
I'll stand at the edge of a tall building and dizzy myself looking down
Until someone, or something, arrives from somewhere to extend my time
Until the taste finally fades: a drop of the sweetest sugar, a cup of bitter lime.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
**** me like an alpha,
**** me out of sight,
take me from this wonder,
this blindness in the night.
Anger me in morning
with the refusal of ugly ***
sleep still on our tongues,
whiskey on my breath.
Treat me to your body
when I am true and I am good,
dance me through your questions
until you are finally understood.
I can hear your longing
though I cannot hear your voice,
you know that I choose you,
though, I never really had a choice.
Tease me with your movie scenes,
your folded, anxious legs,
a calf born into the slaughterhouse,
the conveyor-belt, the hatchling, the egg.
I was doomed to your misfit puzzle,
I was sentenced to decay,
skin seared by your magnificence,
by your gratuitous delay.
Delay from a fulfilment,
a delay from inner peace,
the incremental recovery
whilst dreaming of the sea.
Now I'm drowning in the wishing well,
in the steady clamour of home;
the pill-box in the aquifer,
the faded reference to Rome.
I can memorise your breathing
hair fawning over your chest,
there are countless decent lovers,
but you know that I loved you the best.
So **** me like an alpha,
**** me out of sight,
I am tired of words and meaning,
those blind entries
into the night.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
My eyelashes are shooting stars,
least appreciated for their beauty.
Much trusted for their
'Wish fulfilment'.
Jul 30, 2020
Jul 30, 2020 at 3:34 PM UTC
How many millions have you got
I expect you lost count
It's a hellava lot
Not forgetting the splendid yacht
An artist scans a landscape
A comic distills a joke
A shopper looks for a parking space
An addict drags on a smoke
I do what I want one thing at a time
Cumulus nimbus are flying high
Follow my nose with a healthy dose
Of common sense and instinct combined
A vicar rehearses a favourite prayer
A sailor waits on a breeze
A writer sees a story there
A woodsman searches the trees
A rich man still believes he is poor
A lost and lonely is thinking if only
Patting the chair and tapping the floor
We all go chasing a bit of fun
Fulfilment comes in different ways
Like writing a poem every day
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
*
●^● *
*Wishes waiting for fulfilment
of commercial, Family, or
Shining Light. May it
bring Joy, Comfort,
& Peace to each,
You & Yours
this night.
Surrounded
by the warmth
of "Love to all"
beneath a mistletoe
moon, sharing
a candlemas
night*
x
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
Will you be there? my yearning heart has cried:
Ah me, my love, my love, shall I be there,
To sit down in your glory and to share
Your gladness, glowing as a ****** bride?
Or will another dearer, fairer-eyed,
Sit nigher to you in your jubilee;
And mindful one of other will you be
Borne higher and higher on joy's ebbless tide?
--Yea, if I love I will not grudge you this:
I too shall float upon that heavenly sea
And sing my joyful praises without ache;
Your overflow of joy shall gladden me,
My whole heart shall sing praises for your sake
And find its own fulfilment in your bliss.
2.2k
In excitement,
What's been said is said.
Unspoken whispers which hide so deep,
Plague the mind.
Diseases included in imaginary tales,
Wishes which shall never become true,
Fade into the shadows.
Turn back time,
Relive the moment,
Make changes.
**** distances,
Make miles seem like metres.
Spaces should be filled,
Shadow of love shimmers,
Behind the one who waits,
Dreams offer fulfilment.
That never comes.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 4:00 AM UTC
Killing all reasoning at once, he fell in love with a distant star
to merge with him,by any means, she too started a suicidal fall,
as they swung,in space, light years raced alarmingly between them
their hope eternal( tragic, thought others) became,the light they are.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 9:29 PM UTC
Having never sought fulfilment
in the pursuit of being mother
my body is my temple
for use of no-one other
than my own indulged desires
of aesthetics, pleasure, fun,
so, yes, I fret the stretch marks,
the odd pimple on my ***
I obsess, in terms of thread veins,
for they make me feel unpretty,
so vain, if that doth make me,
I accept in all its gritty,
ugly notions – for us gals are meant to be
vessels of life-giving, all procreation’ry.
“Oh! I know my body’s purpose”!
the new mother’s apt to cry.
I shall not regret my choices
biologics tick… ticking by.
Does that mean our sad mechanics
are bereft of serving purpose?
It is no hard done-by chore,
our childlessness not cursed us.
When I stand, unclothed and natural
my body has a story
I don’t need the marks of childbirth
to feel a sense of glory.
All this talk of ‘battle scars’
babies sure sound painful,
but, forgive me, all you mothers
should I dare to sound disdainful.
It’s just I feel no less a woman
for not having given birth,
and there is no singular purpose
for this body on this earth.
Like living in a desert
enduring shifting sands,
the bits I’ve never really liked
I cover up with clothes and hands.
I’ve no need to ‘love my body’, thanks
I’m just fine with friendly banter.
Angles, poise and lighting
three small words – a mighty mantra.
Self-love is overrated
when costume is the thing,
and my body wears it well, you see,
and the pleasure that it brings
is proof enough that any scars
may be healed to nothing
without the need for motherhood
and its pushy, panting, puffing.
So curse my sour dismissives!
I’m all said and done,
the female form has every purpose
babies ain’t the only one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
Disturbed sleep leads me to a
Neurotic daytime, to
Chaotic thoughts
of
****** nightmares, me and a being
Exotic sights, reality disturbed
Hypnotic states
of
Scintillating salacious
Wanton ness, night after night
a heavy weight upon my chest
of
rough hands and
Growls of need
Ruttish, sluttish behaviour
descending into
Lustful need of fulfilment.
This hypnotic state is not as
Wonderful as it sounds
The fear is overridden by
the orgiastic events,
but the knowing of its return
night after night
descends into madness and fear.
How do you escape the unseen ?
How do you stop wanting the feelings it provokes?
How do you stop you? and your stormy need?
Your base desires are feeding this demon
This demon is feeding you.
To break free, the route is simple
Don't be there when he comes.
Go to the river, wash the sin clean,
Sleep in the river's depth.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
rocking the metal pan
side to side, agitate
the sand so swirling
water
lets gravity push the
worthless sediment
over the edges into the
pool
gravel-dust gathers
momentum
swarming in a circular current
allowing the golden
nuggets to sink to the
base
fingers as feet through
quicksand
explore the grey salt-swamp
cold makes them slow and dumb
soft skin complains as grains
scratch skin a thousand times
toy fingernails clawing
catch a lump, hold it
between
thumb and finger, bulge with
fulfilment as your gobbet
glints beneath its caked mud
set the pan upon rocks
clasping tightly, pull the
stone through the pool,
freeing
it from the clinging dust
release it from the depths
of the crocodile water
and the ugly mound of
chalky mud submerged will
be caterpillar to
butterfly, a solid
gold nugget lying fat
on the face of your
soggy outstretched palm.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 9:29 AM UTC