"significance" poems
So many of us sit, think and still
wonder,
But have we ever gave ourselves the chance to ask?
Well no!
We just rejoice and find oursleves
floating on cloud nine because
"it is just another public holiday"
So many of us have cherished this day,
as a day of drinking, parting
and being in the family way.
Which "Us" am i refering to?
Well it is the youth of South Africa,
That can only sing "Freedom is coming tomorrow" very well
without knowing the significance
of that freedom
and what it took for this freedom
to come
well let me take you back to the
hands of time.
In June 16, 1976
the mongoloid youth of South Africa
marched down the streets of Soweto for this freedom we have today.
BLOOD SHADE,
SCREAMS,
EXPLOIDING SOUNDS
and the cries of faces without races
filled the streets of Soweto.
Parents feared for the lives of their children,
but who knew that adolescents
could be so brave?
They stood together in unity,
the same unity we lack today.
Fought for what was right and that came with their African roots,
which we nolonger honour today,
they fought against the usage af
Afrikaans as the main language of communication at schools.
And look where it left us today.
We have the Right to choice
and the Freedom of association.
And not forgeting that,
they left us with the courage to say "WE ARE PROUDLY SOUTH AFRICANS"
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
#*It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.
Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.
Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.
It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate
fullness and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is
everything we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.*#
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
#*It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.
Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.
Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.
It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate fullness
and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is everything
we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.*#
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Making love,
a sweaty pit stop
between the sheets.
Politicians,
librarians,
directors,
janitors,
authors,
queens,
kings,
moms,
you,
me,
All guilty of this bittersweet act of sticky significance.
All willing to tangle our limbs every night.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
1260
Because that you are going
And never coming back
And I, however absolute,
May overlook your Track—
Because that Death is final,
However first it be,
This instant be suspended
Above Mortality—
Significance that each has lived
The other to detect
Discovery not God himself
Could now annihilate
Eternity, Presumption
The instant I perceive
That you, who were Existence
Yourself forgot to live—
The “Life that is” will then have been
A thing I never knew—
As Paradise fictitious
Until the Realm of you—
The “Life that is to be,” to me,
A Residence too plain
Unless in my Redeemer’s Face
I recognize your own—
Of Immortality who doubts
He may exchange with me
Curtailed by your obscuring Face
Of everything but He—
Of Heaven and Hell I also yield
The Right to reprehend
To whoso would commute this Face
For his less priceless Friend.
If “God is Love” as he admits
We think that me must be
Because he is a “jealous God”
He tells us certainly
If “All is possible with” him
As he besides concedes
He will refund us finally
Our confiscated Gods—
28k
Before I begin, allow me to explain,
I too loved.. once,
so think of me not as some cynic-
nor as a master in the ways of love-
but rather as a keen observer-
now, that may mean I have nothing to offer you-
no insider knowledge-
no secrets of love-
But I do know how to tell a true love story -
Interested?
Fantastic-
So let’s begin,
True love, if there is such a thing at all,
is like the thread that makes the cloth
you can’t tease it out-
you can’t extract meaning-
without ending up deeper in the web-
and it always remains-
hidden under layers -
In the end, that’s all you can really say about any
True love story-
They don’t generalize-
They don’t analyze-
They arent found-
They just… happen.
and that’s what makes them “true.”
But what is this coveted “love” -
the emotion?-
the act?-
the mentality?-
Love, is a constant state of illusionment-
A collective agreement amongst humans-
that it, whatever it may be, can be treated as an excuse
for recklessness, irrationality, and misplaced strife-
A quid pro quo between two individuals-
to agree that they are doing something-
anything-
other than mindlessly drudging through life-
Now that is not to say that what love creates is pointless-
I said before, I have felt the embrace of love
Love festers between individuals for so long
it has no option-
but to mould the physical to itself-
and alter our personalities-
Characterized by spontaneity-
by indulgence-
by risk-
to love is the most dangerous experience in existence-
the act of being fully vulnerable with another-
while promising not to hurt them the same-
Love is characterized by vulnerability-
and the constant fear of being hurt-
So you want to know how to write a true love story?
be honest-
dwell not on the “romantic” blindfolds that keep us irrationally seeking our partners-
dwell not on the on the memories of a love that blossomed-
reveal the core of love -
A true love story comes from gut instinct-
A true love story, comes from experience.
A true love story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe
So I said I loved once,
allow me to elaborate-
I too have felt the “butterfly stomach”
- where the insides of the lovestruck turn on their host and manifests the emotional significance of meeting “the one”
I too have spent the day daydreaming...
-Lost in the thought of “the one”, seeking brief breaks from reality in my mind between moments of utter normalcy
I too have melted into a puddle of emotion….
-lying next to “the one” as we slowly spill more and more of the secrets that bound us as individuals, joining a spirit much larger than ourselves-
I too have felt... invincible-
-to know that I’ve found something more significant than myself. Something that replaces the fear of the future.. and makes it something to look forward to.
Yes, I too have fallen in love.
and I did just that-
I fell.
..And that is my true love story-
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
The night is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole --
A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus
He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness
Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.
Over and over the old, granular movie
Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days
Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,
Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,
A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.
His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.
Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.
He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue --
How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!
Those sugary planets whose influence won for him
A life baptized in no-life for a while,
And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.
Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.
Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.
His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.
Each gesture flees immediately down an alley
Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance
Drains like water out the hole at the far end.
He lives without privacy in a lidless room,
The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open
On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.
Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats
Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.
Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,
Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.
The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,
And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,
Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.
15.4k
Hello Friends & Happy Holi to all my hello poetry friends ,Writers & Family..
May this holi brings you and your family a very bright, colourful joyful holi, With love of Peace, happiness , prosperity & success in Every ones life..
Today writing this letter by expressing my Feeling for one my favourite Indian festival, I know it is strange but this is what my excitement is all about.. what you like the most express it by Writing or enjoy it!!
Holi is a religious festival of the Hindus. Though, it is most popular in India, it is celebrated in every corner of the world as a Festival of colours.
Today describing you the importance of the different colors(Gulal) of holi festival which significance your face life with a different colorful world!!.
the face behind your colour are followed below:
Auspicious Red Colour bright the love of happiness
Divine Green colour binds you in the life of prosperity
Forever Blue color bleed your soul in a Blissful world
Pretty orange color mild your Elysian mind as a silence peace
Beautiful Pink color scents intriguing personality of life
Sunflame yellow color kisses your beautiful moment of time!!.
Well colour is a beautiful life were you experience the beauty of joy, beauty of passion, beauty of love , beauty of everything that you will experience in this festival !!.come once and get yours new experience of life ....Thank-you..
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
The raindrop
Stands alone
Then escapes the cloud
Like a skydiving soldier on mission
Whose face is proud.
It stands alone
In its descent,
Only to embrace the ground
As if it had a hand to hold.
But the earth is dry
And land is cold.
The rain drop is simple
And cool at heart.
Its thoughts so fickle
To make the foolish smart,
Yet I sometimes wonder
Were it sentient would it ponder
The significance of a lifetime between earth and yonder
And the sentiment of finding a purpose fonder.
For we are all like raindrops solitary
With a finite life span, temporary.
Some stand alone, and some find another
To join together and become stronger.
The lonely raindrop stands alone
But every raindrop makes the planet whole.
Mother Earth awakes, smiles at thunder
And says, “Mr. Lonely Raindrop: you have a home.”
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
I sweat deep warmth
In the grouchy storm
Because my body’s worn
In a cold dress
Captured
In a melting mess
Sized from ignorance
I peel labels
Torn through significance
I reveal the stress
But given this test
All the cut feathers
And opened chests
My instabilities
Cause me to digress
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 6:03 PM UTC
I would have apologized for calling you a little *****
if you stopped acting like one.
After the argument...you still continue to be a little *****
but sure, go ahead and turn the tables as if
it's all my fault because you're right and i' am wrong.
You're a little princess walking around with
your high horse and knight in shining armor.
But one thing you don't understand is that if you
didn't carry the possessions you have
then you'd be lost in this world
without a hand.
Little *****
Because you lie then cry for attention,
you seek the pity out of your petty
which has no significance
through the words you speak.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 1:33 AM UTC
I fear thyself
I fear attraction
I fear unfamiliarity
I fear attention
I fear incidence
I fear conversation
I fear interaction
I fear answers
I fear questions
I fear to tell my story
I fear to hear yours
I fear compliance
I fear conflict
I fear benevolence
I fear mutuality
I fear victimisation
I fear change
I fear to love
I fear to hate
I fear significance
I fear insignificance
I fear the lies we tell
I fear the truths we hide
I fear imprisonment
I fear freedom
I fear hope
I fear despair
I fear old age
I fear children
I fear intelligence
I fear ignorance
I fear to take
I fear to give
I fear to borrow
I fear to loan
I fear to exchange
I fear to teach
I fear to learn
I fear to laugh
I fear to cry
I fear to be
I fear not to be
I fear to be afraid
I fear to be brave
I fear to die
I fear to live
I fear discomfort
I fear responsibility
I fear to gain
I fear to lose
I fear victory
I fear defeat
I fear antrophy
I fear hypertrophy
I fear inertia
I fear activity
I fear obedience
I fear disobedience
I fear justice
I fear injustice
I fear totality
I fear poverty
I fear embarrassment
I fear addiction
I fear declamation
I fear guilt
I fear pride
I fear delusion
I fear unfulfillment
I fear my apathy
I fear to be wakeful
I fear to be tired
I fear my capabilities
I fear my incapabilities
I fear my dreams
I fear my nightmares
I fear women
I fear men
I fear being disabled
I fear misinterpretation
I fear misrepresentation
I fear altruism
I fear limitation
I fear to endear
I fear to inspire
I fear to forget
I fear to remember
I fear self doubt
I fear discrimination
I fear starvation
I fear migration
I fear fragility
I fear formality
I fear banality
I fear enticement
I fear cruelty
I fear judgement
I fear to embrace
I endure what I fear
I endure because I must
I endure myself because I fear
Endure thyself
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
I waited...and I waited
But I never got that phone call
The one that I have been waiting for all day
Just to hear your voice
To hear the reason why
Why you chose to end us
Why you chose to stop loving me
Why you chose to throw away something of significance
But instead...I get a text
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
You held me in place with that commanding look
writhing under your gaze
unable to look away from the piercing sight
and afraid to disobey any order
If it was uttered from your lips
my heart would have soared, stretched, and broken
to be praised by your words
or tenderly touched with your rough hands
I could feel your hand on my neck
squeezing slowly until the blood started pounding
my pain was your pleasure
and your pleasure was my purpose
Little did I know that you would be squeezing too strongly
the ropes were too tight around my waist
the collar choking my neck
no amount of clawing would have made you let go
so I went limp with my love
A submissive gives trust
yields to whoever they believe is worthy
submitting more than their body
but their very essence
A dominant is supposed to wield that trust
to protect and realize the significance of it
not squeeze and suffocate it
pretending that lies warrant trust in return
I could not have been enough for your demands
and you broke the trust I gingerly placed in your hands
Take your bonds and pretend to wrap them around someone else
my being can take no more of your bruising
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
1108
A Diamond on the Hand
To Custom Common grown
Subsides from its significance
The Gem were best unknown—
Within a Seller’s Shrine
How many sight and sigh
And cannot, but are mad for fear
That any other buy.
5.8k
The moon is out
At her usual time
Only the sky is bright
Blended in white clouds
A blue background
Kissed by the sun's rays
on the other side
As the moon enjoys
Her unexplored view
She is blown away
By all the natural colors
Vibrant and alive
I am,
Fascinated by this image
The sun and moon
Share the sky
In the spring
The love that radiates
In contrast
As they beam in unison
In circular beauty
A moment in the universe
That proves us
We are all connected
In some way
Our very own
yin-yang
On display to teach us
Significance of our existence
Jl 2016
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
Centered around your neck, the prettiness of the stainless steel shines locked in to place, your Daddy loves you more this day.
On bended knees, you wait, as I approach with it in my hand, tilt your head back as I place it around, and snap the lock down.
Let it dangle, feel the weight, feel the love, the symbolism of you and I, is more then a piece of metal, it is pure love I say.
Little One, you are the first, truly are to be offered this gift, No one before you, no not even her, your loved removed a frown.
Ask yourself, are you worthy to be my submissive? Worthy to be my baby girl? Worthy to love me forever? Worthy to be mine.
Remember this, remember it clearly, the answer to those questions is simple, the answer is yes, forever you will be.
Only you will forever be my property, the stainless around your neck is the significance of this, missing with no shine.
Never, forget my love, forget that I own you, please show the world in our own little way, that you are owned, not free.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC
white man says
make america great again
white man says it
like he ever knew America bad
like he ever knew anything but privilege
white man says
take us back
to better times and
I wonder which he means
maybe genocide
or slavery
or Jim Crow
or woman only knows kitchen
or woman doesn't get vote
or back of the bus
or don't ask don't tell
or all that war and all that death
white man says
make America great again
like it ever was to begin with
other white man says
make America Christian again
like this country wasn't founded
on freedom of religion
like you’re only free to have it
if you love Jesus
white man says
conservative with fear between his own teeth
says the word
like it's a dying breed
like it'd be a bad thing if it did
says it like he knows a **** thing
about what it means to be a minority
white man says
**** political correctness
as if kindness requires too much effort
as if it's a mistake to be considerate
as if words don’t have significance
white man says
Mexican
Mexican
Muslim
says go back
says you're not wanted here
sounds a lot like 1941 Germany
sounds a lot like ******
Mexican
Muslim
brown person
doesn't know how much survival it takes to be one in this country
white man
says legal
like it only means good
like these men who look just like him don't walk into movie theatres and shoot
into schools and shoot
into churches and shoot
into mosques and shoot
into human and shoot
tell me again what it means to be legal
to belong here
to have the right to be alive without chains
say we'd rather have guns walk free than citizens
say we'd rather save money than lives
say this country's got too many problems
say you know how to fix it
white man says
make America great again but
doesn’t know that progress
doesn’t work in reverse
tell me again
how going backward
will make the future any brighter
when our past is a reflection
of all the light
we never really had
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
Albert Camus
Kept an Emu
Tied to a potted,
Portable wisteria
To keep him company
Whilst he kept goal
For the University of Algeria.
As Albert was fishing
The ball out
From the back of the net
The Emu mused
On the conversations they'd had
About The Oprah Winfrey Show,
The significance of suffragettes,
Adam Smith's Wealth Of Nations
And the ****** orientation
Of Sir Galahad.
Whilst discussing the plots of
The Plague and The Outsider
Warm feelings would suddenly
Well up inside her.
Why should such intellect
Elicit so much love
And even more pain?
My thoughts for this man
Aren't getting any vaguer.
Then Utrecht University
Scored again.
There are no happy endings
With Albert Camus -
Decades later he dies
In his publisher's Facel Vega.
When she heard of Albert's demise
Her initial reaction
Was hysteria
And it comes as no surprise
That a few weeks later
She died of diphtheria
Which is so much easier to do
When you're an existential emu.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
I wrote endlessly but in place of these adverbs and subjective pronouns I leave an empty line for you to
place that significance that I can't hold onto.
I wrote this song for you to hear but the chorus never repeats.
I wrote this post for you to see that my words askew your self perceptions.
I wrote a poem for you that had no title, no rhyme, no meter, but in place I leave behind everything that you were to me.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 10:35 PM UTC
I am excellent.
Not because I conform
To someone else's standards,
Beliefs, or expectations of me,
But because I choose to live with integrity.
I strive to be the best I can be
Without expecting perfection.
As I am also human.
I falter and fail.
But failure is not the absence of excellence,
It is simply the cataracts that cloud my eyes
And prevent me from seeing
My own arete.
For when I look in the mirror,
All I see is dark spots, blemishes.
And no matter the angle from which I view,
I am inferior, a mistake.
I must first accept my perfect imperfection
And ask for help,
Before the flawed lenses with which I was born
Can be replaced,
And I can finally see with unwavering clarity
That I am a person of worth.
I have significance.
And though I may not always trust
What I know to be true,
It is my intrinsic value as a being,
And not a doing,
That makes me excellent.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
Your shrill, yet oddly pleasant sound, echoes loudly down the long corridor.
I try to ignore you as the jaunty sound clashes with my melancholy mood,
Yet I find the notes and melodies cling to my mind like tissue stuck to a shoe,
Hanging on for it's own amusement,
Ignorant of my desire not to be teased nor humoured at this anxious time.
I feel I shouldn't like your racket,
My naïve ears and young years sense, not only an inappropriate comedy in your sound,
But also a daunting undertone,
Adding to my sense of having been plunged into deep icy waters.
Perhaps your music soothes those who are leaving,
Your high happy notes providing optimism and assurance of recovery,
Or of a restful sleep enveloping dear ones.
For me, however, at the point of no-return in my pilgrimage,
I hear only the low notes,
Out of time with my quickened pulse,
And lending a foreboding soundtrack to my slow deliberate steps.
But you play for no pay,
Busking in this hospital,
Doing good both night and day.
Yes, you are well known in this place,
Admired for the hours you commit to this space where lives can hang in the balance,
And where your instrument by day is a sharp sleek scalpel,
Invasive in its desire to alleviate suffering,
Your steady, practiced hand rehearsed and well versed in the methodically planned procedure of a surgical concerto.
But out of hours your instrument of choice lends you a voice,
Allowing flourishes and improvisations.
But were you aware that for visitors like me who visited repeatedly,
The clarinet would take on a significance beyond other instruments,
Taking me instantly back to bittersweet memories of visiting my family,
As, in turn, they aged and became unwell and recovered and became unwell again.
Now I am older and a little wiser,
I reflect and ruminate on this period;
My memories of family are more than just hospital visits,
And I wonder if I could ask one thing of you?
Why no Rhapsody in Blue?!
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
I touched a flower in my pocket..
Picked it up, and promptly dropped it.
It's bulbous, squishy, and it's sopping.
I was afraid of what it was.
I took a closer look at its mutant colors;
Squinted at it for a second 'nother.
It felt like death, it felt like butter;
'Twas merely the head of a rose.
I sighed out the panic that had rushed inside me.
While sadness-stricken, serendipity survived thee.
The mere smell of that rose, nostalgic and lively
Wrapped around me and extracted my pain
Such a simple notion made such a difference.
I shall thank the friend by whom it was given;
He'll never understand the powerful significance.
That flower saved my night.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 12:59 PM UTC
I turned seventeen today.
It's nothing special.
But I turned seventeen today,
And that's something.
There's a difference between
Seventeen and 17.
They have the same value,
But have a different meaning.
Seventeen is
Your teen years
Coming to an end
But just starting all the same
Seventeen is
Your last year as a child;
The ability to be free
With little responsibility
Seventeen is
Maturity
Adolescents
Personality
But 17 is
Just a number.
It has no real significance.
It's not special.
17 is
Just an age
That's not as important
As 18 and 21.
17 is
Small
Irrelevant
Numerical.
But I turned seventeen today
I turned 17 today
Mature.
Irrelevant.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC