Afternoon Poetry

Sometimes
it's a struggle
to think and write
on a warm Nevada afternoon.

When clouds
cover the sky,
birds huddle in their nests,
and the wind blows through palm trees
the poet contemplates the dim sunlight and writes.

 

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Always Time for Poetry

No matter the day,
the month,
or the year
there is always time for poetry.

Take a break,
pour yourself a cup of coffee,
take out a notebook,
or access your smartphone notepad
and write a poem.

It doesn't matter
if we're social distancing,
or stumbling over each others feet
there is always time for poetry.

Take a break,
fix yourself a glass of cold, sweet tea.
search the internet for your favorite poet,
and read your favorite poem--
because there is always time for poetry.

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Poetry Speaks

Poetry speaks
to both mind and soul,
to both reader and poet.

Poetry speaks
in the language of emotions,
whispering to the passions
of both our souls and our minds;
of both the poet and the reader.

What does it say to your mind?
What does it say to your soul?

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Writing Poetry is a Spiritual Experience

For me
writing poetry
is a spiritual experience.

I pray,
intoning the prayers
revealed by Baha'u'llah,
the Bab,
or 'Abdu'l-Baha.

I think,
I meditate,
I contemplate,
and I let min intuition find
the title,
or the first line,
or the rhyme.

I write
allowing my soul's insight
to discover
the rhythm,
the metaphors,
and the similes.


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I Write of My Beloved

I write of my Beloved
Through whom my fingers bend
To pick up my pen!

I write of my salvation
Using ink drawn from my ow2n veins
To document my liberation!

I write of my pain
Caused by my ego's attempt to gain
My soul's allegiance!

I write of my fears
Caused by the disempowering years
In Self's prison!


I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder  Awardicon Items, located in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Writing Poetry

I am compelled to write!
The words come to me as lovers;
As lovers they tantalize and seduce,
Making me their willing slave,
Until I master the art of their seduction.


I also posted this poem in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Will I Be Able To Sleep Tonight

Last night
was a sleepless night.

As the sun sets,
I wonder
if I can sleep tonight.

If I can't sleep,
the next question is
"Do I read
or write poetry?"

I also posted this in the journal Writing in Snow, under the folder Awaridcon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

My Notepad App

Midnight
time to write
phrases and lines,
I don't have to turn on the light
I can compose poetry
using my smartphone's notepad app.


I also posted this in the journal Writing in Snow,  under the folder Awadicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Echoes From The Soul

Poetry is echoes from my soul,
descending through mind's corridors,
Whispering to my animal brain,
melodies of spiritual reality.

Rhyme is the right brain's interpretation,
of music descending from my spirit.
rhythms whose immortal melodies,
transcend physical reality.

Verse is the left brain's translation,
of echoes descending from my soul,
words cannot adequately express,
spiritual reality.


I, also, posted this in the journal Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com port. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Ink of Poetry

Tears of love;
the distilled essence of honeysuckles and lemons;
hemoglobin from the from the heart of existence;
attar of bitter herb;
nectar stomped,
by the bare feet of attachment,
from the blossoms and thorn of the rose of desire;
sap from the Tree of Life;
and the ink of Divine inspiration.

This is the ink of poetry;
this is natural medicine;
it passes through the spirit-mind barrier
to heal the soul's chemistry.

I, also, posted a copy of this in the journal Writing in Snow, located under the folder Awardicon Itmem, in my writing.com port. I am Prosperous Snows.

Poetry Critique

Intertwined
among the wander lines
of interrupted reality

Allusions
indicating a bard's
perspective

This poem is also in today's entry in Writing in Snow, which is under Awardicon Items in my writing.com port. On writing.com I am Prosperous Snow.

The Poet Speaks

In the twilight years of poetry
when the word lovers weep
for lack of rhymes,
when street gestures
and catacomb profanity
hide unexpressed
in the dictionaries
of dead civilizations,
when impoverished odes are painted
on enslaved eyeballs,
the poet speaks.

The poet speaks
vomiting stanzas across
the pristine streets of ignorance,
spreading the bacteria of knowledge
through unthinking populations,
and teaching the unaware
how to ask questions.

I poem is posted in Writing in Snow in my writing.com port under the folder Awardicon Item. I am Prosperous Snow.

Random Thoughts on Poetry

Chocolate fibers;
stanzas of white light;
cantos of dark radiance
rejuvenate
the heart's yearning
for poetic metaphors.

Coffee poured
into mugs of morning laughter,
into cups
of noonday desires,
into memories
of poetic similes.

This poem is also posted in the journal Writing in Snow in my writing.com port under the folder Awardicon Items.

Poetry and Spirituality

Poetry and spirituality
is a circumglobal experience
that simultaneously embraces
sacred passions and worldly wisdom;
tranformative monologues and prayer;
religious history and the Mystery.

Words burn through the veil that separates
God's names into religions and sects;
words forge transcendent links
that unify concepts of divinity;
words merge to forms
astonishing readable translations
of reality.

This poem is also posted in my writing.com port in the journal Writing in Snow.

Poetry Reading

Impaled
on atoms of air
rising into
the upper atmosphere,
poets echo
the full moons love
for the sun.

Reverberating
from the firmament's ebony ceiling,
poets intone
Earth's untitled sonnets
to the expanding universe.

This is posted in my writing.com port in the journal Writing in Snow.

Is Poetry Necessary?

Poetry
is a necessity
to humanity.

Poetry
reflects the beauty
of the universe.

Poetry
reflects history
through the eye of the poet,
rather than the historian.

Poetry
lets the poet
comment on events
in a way that focus
on the subtle components.

Poetry
is necessary
because it whisper
to our souls.

Humanity's Conscience

Humanity's Conscience

I ponder
the quotes of other poets
in my search of meaning?
Or a reason to write?

I need no reason to write because,
even in my dreams,
stanzas and lines,
metaphors and similes
come unbidden into my mind.

Some of the quotes
resonant in my soul:
such as Geoffrey Nash's implication
that poets compose the conscience of humanity.

Now I ask myself,
"What does it mean to be the conscience of humanity?"
"Why do I write poetry?"
"Who do I write for?"

One question I can answer,
but the other two will have to wait
until my soul and body separate,
and my soul ascends into the spiritual realm.

Poetry...
art...
is a gift from the Holy Spirit:
I write for the Glory of God.

Is my blog in a rut?

Yes, because all I'm doing is writing poetry without stating the forms or experimenting with new poetry forms. There are hundreds of forms that I could be using, but the only forms I have worked with, in this blog, are free verse and free style. I define those as different forms. 

Free verse contains no end rhyme, while free style contains end rhyme. Sometime free verse contains internal rhyme, but this is an accident. The rhyme in free style is not random, all though sometimes it appears that way. 

I need to get out of my rut, therefore, I have to take a different approach to my blog entries. My goal for this blog, is to post at least three times a week. I think the best way to do this, while getting out of my rut is to compose the entry a day or two before so that I can research a poetry form. I, also, need to write about other, poetry related subjects. 

Poetry: The Start of Something Wonderful

1 

What was there before the big bang? 

Magnificence reverberations. 

2 

Joy reverberates 

Echoing God's Most Great Name 

Obedience-love. 

3 

Grass changes 

As the seasons progress: 

Spring's new growth foretells 

Death's cold fingers 

Penetrating winter's desolate fields. 

Prayers rise 

Out of the fields of summer 

Generating autumn's harvest. 

4 

The perfect storm 

Washing away everything 

Expect the Beloved. 

My Poetry Goal for the next 127 Days

My poetry goal to write 200 poem dedicated to the Blessed Beauty (Baha'u'llah) by October 22, 2017. According to my calculations (with the help of a calendar and a calculator) that is approximately 127 days from today. I am posting this goal in this blog because I need to hold myself accountable, and I have found the best way to do that is to make my goal public instead of keeping it a secret. This way I can write a blog entry once a week about how I am progressing with this goal.