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"strivings" poems
Mysterious, mist-kissed hills dismiss my dismal disdain For Life’s strivings in the ivy wired mire. Budding blossoms embrace my burgeoning bliss-filled ***** As my soul soars into the seething skies. My wings are beating with breathless wonder, My imagination sends me to a destination Beyond discrimination, defying appellation, But not exclamation, at this elevation. Smooth pools of cool blue hue contrast with cliffs That overhang the huddled houses Of the hillside village On the way to who knows where. The mists are shifting, ever drifting Hiding everything Except the mountain tops. A new dimension might await us Always moving as Our journey never stops. Paul Butters
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Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
Mist
So I hid it Took it like a written confession and swallowed it Decades of genders, females and males screaming, as I melted down the word on my tongue they had fought to keep, that they had killed for and won. As I joined a flock of sheep who wouldn't accept a goat Who didn't want to listen when I wrote down that I believed in the allegedly frown-worthy opinion that equality should exist. That it should be taught right from the yolk of existence. That it's regulation requires persistence. They told me that prejudice was a myth Ironic, they also told me I shouldn't exist Told me I was lesbian, like it was an insult, when I decided to stage a revolt and mark the popular girl in netball and win. self high five Oh dear, what a schoolgirl sin to perpetrate. I was taught to take hate by the masses who yelled that the classes of acceptance were unnecessary Popular girl: small correction, although I cannot say you personally give me a feminine ******** I'm bisexual, get it right. Also examine the fact that you thought I'd only fight because I wanted you. When in fact I both loathe and pity you, you do not understand your worth, and you don't give proper respect to the earth of your elders. Who have handed down shoulder to shoulder something different from the everyday pain. They've handed down the hope that their strivings were not vain, and one day this war will cease. The smoke of a pen, not a gun, calling peace. So, I am a feminist and I call for release.
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Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
The 'F' Word
"Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood" T.S. Eliot (1888 - 1965) ~~~ perhaps. can I communicate what I cannot fully comprehend? my voice poetic keener, age-softened, grows less popular for it no longer reaches for christmas ornament words and creamy cake-in-the-rain imagery leave that to the better ones. cherish simplest: coming home to fresh sheets, plumped pillows, music, tousled hair on pillowed histories, river walks, the lightest hand touch that rouses the fireplace of contentment to glow briefly, from logs that are more embered ash moments than substance capable of more flaming the rumpled strivings of the young poets, creativity of the masters of voice and dancings bodies, shopping lists of life~items that reshape, restore my old~ness, the revelations of the historians, inducements to believe in yet, more. these exteriors are comprehendable. don't forget the orange juice, the first chilled swig from the plastic, confirms I am breath-yet-capable, one more poem-mission ready, the mission objectives still not published. Sun east welcomes me, woman puttering kitchen coffee noises it is neither spring yet or winter gone, in-between like me, in-between naissance and history remnant question thy fiat, Mr. Eliot, cannot frame myself, my who-I-am six decades of myself. can it then ere be said, his poetry communicated or ere contained ever a single genuine word? can I communicate what I cannot fully comprehend?
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Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood
Passers-By, Out of your many faces Flash memories to me Now at the day end Away from the sidewalks Where your shoe soles traveled And your voices rose and blend To form the city's afternoon roar Hindering an old silence. Passers-by, I remember lean ones among you, Throats in the clutch of a hope, Lips written over with strivings, Mouths that kiss only for love. Records of great wishes slept with, Held long And prayed and toiled for. Yes, Written on Your mouths And your throats I read them When you passed by.
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1.6k
Passers-By
i this parody of life beyond a roaring loom of time like an embrace momentous through the battled equinox of chance the stirrings and strivings born of earth and sky toil, whine, whimper, moan wait and tremble, hope and pray then the clear shining after rain we sail the lifetide on leaky bottoms never to sight dry land again                    ii behind         the shards and wrecks        of innocent vagaries        of wayward plunges        that flee the point beside        unobserved but observing        a sentient mould of slime        raddled        at break-neck hurry before        is wrinkled wisdom        mellow laughter        a hand-made unborn       of a callow womb hereafter is ever now is gone by past is prelude                   iii snowwhite or pitchblack        lowly or lofty        free-born or fettered        yearling or aging       worms shall feast       upon thy flesh         to elements irreducible       and in thy nakedness       come face to face       with thy maker
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May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
variations on life
Staring into the void all thoughts asunder Where heart meets soul to create its wonder Where fears run rampant and visions plunder Where lies lay bare and fold strivings under Where night terrors roam and find their place Where stones collapse and dreams debase Where none can hide or seek life’s embrace Where one’s own soul reaches its solace Where life forms dust and lessons chide Where cracks run deep, spread far and wide In this obsidian plane, none can abide
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Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 11:59 AM UTC
The Obsidian Plane
This magic hat, a crown of thorns sometimes Hard pressed and poignant, we blessedly wear Till death recumbent stills the joys the care The strivings found in all sentient forms. We walk upon this globe each day without Wonder nor concernment for monolith Thoughts arisen, seemingly threaded with Threads still hidden though faithfully throughout History named and imagined. The full Ever-vescent multitude, a flash, the Portion illumined, then grasped as all in all. This cause repeats repeatedly, a breath Of mind cognate and fleeting that does swell Our conscious state to mortal width and breadth.
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Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 3:10 AM UTC
This Magic Hat
@---\\--------- Rainbow rose Grows in my heart It's roots & blossoms Are pure art They are silver Solid gold By their colors I am whole The purple petals Are my pain Emotions I cannot restrain Passionate, I rise above To my King, The One I love! The light then shifts To indigo Knowledge of the Things You show It lies within All wisdom's womb Bringing lilac to its bloom When flowering blue It brings me peace That is when All strivings cease No turmoil in A mind so worn Proving You Can calm the storm The rose is green When in the wild God's creation - His own child It calls to mind Meadows of grass All of nature comes to pass The crystal spectrum Shifts once more Brightest yellow Is in store! Inspiration! It shimmers... shines! Showing depth of His great Mind Orange for a sunset phase Completion of the Passing days The color of the Harvest moon Low to the foothills Waning soon It shines then a scarlet red For the blood Which Jesus shed Death couldn't Keep Him in the grave! He bled for me - and I am saved! Within my heart... Within my SOUL It is made of purest gold! Lying in the Stream which flows *He's my Savior... RAINBOW ROSE!* SøułSurvivør (C) 9/28/2017
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Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
Rainbow Rose
You are azure, like the sky and, at one point, I thought that I could fly, up into the wide expanse of your embrace, but alas, my feathers are not yet grown, I am a fledgling still too weak to try, and you, are unreachable And all my efforts, all my attempts, have been in vain. And many others have caught your grace, and felt the shining of your eyes. While I remain, grounded here, in youth and innocence. Perhaps that is my place. Down here, I watch you from afar, broad and beautiful... and not for me. Unequal; that is what we are. And so my strivings cease - I'll leave some time to grow - make peace with stunted feathers, dreams unrealized. Maybe later, I will find my wings.
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Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Still Young
You're nothing but a piece of **** You can't deny it, nor savor it You're not a savior by the conventional sense And all these strivings to be high and mighty Makes you look like a fraud nonetheless You take advantage of others Breathe out toxic waste Fumes of **** coming from every pore So I don't want to be bothered by you no more I hope you get what you deserve Karma has a better way of finding you Then do these words
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Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 4:29 AM UTC
Toxic Waste
Our actions are the prayer, unceasing, Of love’s creation which is sought- New things arising every moment, From the past and future wrought. Midst all those, in good and evil, We must avoid being caught- Imprisoned by our own mind’s children, All our strivings come to naught. When our attention sharp and true is, Unwavering hours of peace are bought- Be careful when you once un-sheathe it, The terrible, swift sword of thought.
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Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 4:57 AM UTC
Prayer Unceasing
Come to me I’ll decode the meandering streams on your palm I’ll take you on a time travel to know what are yet to come Though heavens have determined what path your life will take The ups and downs all upheavals happiness and heartbreak! Lend your palm if you trust it for the planets there have etched If you sign off your life in sunshine or end up feeling wretched For all your grinding endeavors may close on you all doors Your strivings may go in vain leaving you with no recourse! Sit with me a session see what future holds in store Love marriage family friendship finance and much more For each hurdle is a remedy each hindrance an overcome For misfortune a ward off for bad time a curing balm! Come have your dreams come true your fortune take right turn I’ll get you blessings of Jupiter keep out conspiring Saturn Protect you from all evils offer you the right stone I wish I knew my fortune too if only could read my own!
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Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
Palm Reader
Am I able to say I would like to carry you to that oblique lake overseas, where we can still imagine “the early 19th Century twilight,” and from the trestle see how a self-determining logic in the form of rationally organized matter—the luster of metal, a vanishing glimpse of the moon or the sun, a smile—becomes conscious, self-conscious, through us; a freedom emptied out into that time we were rambling to and fro like the rivers, and the dust blanketed inscriptions on pulp condoned from trees planted with the depths and heights of the human heart as such? Yet how can we picture abstractions that we can not live in alone, but perhaps to imagine, with this, a criss-cross movement of subjective expressions, views, and attitudes where I sacrifice myselfs and my topics alike to a faith we know is unwarranted, a slant illustration of what we’ve agreed to call truth; the shimmer of a bunch of grapes by candlelight, its joys and sorrows, its strivings, deeds, and fates. * * * And when I say “this” I mean this, philosophy, or pottery, or e-mails and short tweets between us. And when I say “us” I don’t just mean the two of us, you and me, but humanity. Of course, the abstract is always felt through the concrete, as, when our   arms were touching, I felt what I am unable to say.
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May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 12:40 AM UTC
With Him Hegel I Can Discuss, But Not How I Love
Rest in sunshine's gaze upon you For truly then and only then will all other strivings to be disappear As you breathe in and know you are truly beloved, clothed in lilies of the field that the Image created for you A never ending romance of anchored assurance- every effort to become will be but a faint memory of a life you once familiarized with as you behold and know Christ fully renews you, forevermore.
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Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
Identity.
His promises are true for you Earthly strivings, they can cease Mere mention of His name is peace bid those lies adieu, You have life in His name, too! As His presence in my life increase, He puts broken parts together, piece by piece If in Him, you are a creation - new Live in the words of the Resurrection empowered to live by faith think and believe are contradictory Jesus loves you, no exception! "His promises are true," I saith In Him, we have victory!
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Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
third day musings
I put my head on the pillow and drift off…. But in the night, someone from somewhere Hits the reset button on my mind. My emotions, strivings, fight from the day before Deleted in one action. Shiva sweeps aside the remnants of yesterday: Gains, strivings, losses and ambitions Clearing the table for tonight’s game Flanked by greater and lesser angels and demons. I’m lost in dreams while a silver ball spins against the roulette wheel of my soul. Each number an affection, a state of being randomly selected for the next day. The silver blur slows Jumps, flicks and rattles from one bay to the next: Happy, blue, angry, drained, joy, sorrow, hope… Each have an even chance. The crowd around the table leans in Waiting to see it fall, to claim possession. The fate of the following day rests on this outcome. A day of peace or another of battle? But they wont know, I wont know Until my head lifts and my eyes open And I feel it saturate my body and soul Ready for another day of starting again.
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Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 4:20 PM UTC
A Game Of Chance
Is it better To live In the machine of nature Or Mans machine? Authenticity. Genuineness. Truth. Are these Subjective strivings Intangible feelings The keys to one's souls release? Or can man, Or has man With their creations, Do the same? Futile. What is there but Flashes of happiness While surviving An ever approaching Annihilation. Man. Nature. Both ways Of Going about it. If the iridescent light Of your iPhone Brings you the same joy The suns rays Or the moons glow does, What's the difference? Who's to judge? Who's cares? I, being a romantic, Side with my origins. I like dirt. I like rock. I like the way Bark is both Brittle and hard. Like our ribs, It protects something It cannot Save. That's why I prefer Mother Nature's machine: Her singular gift of life Is really two. Life & Death. And she's always been on Wifi, though Only a select few Have the password.
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Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 3:07 AM UTC
Choices