Seeking Glory in the wrong places

You are born to die,

in this, there’s nothing to deny.

Your life is too fleeting and filling

to ever wait for fortunes yet to be changing.

Your scope of vision be too small

to see the minutiae masquerading around

and you’ll rise and fall

well before you’re returned to the ground.

 

You cannot spend your days chasing the calls

of greatness and glory found in great halls.

You can’t be grand if glory wasn’t your destiny,

or force your hand on another’s journey.

Let you be you, and history be the judge

of joys and sorrows we ought to begrudge.

Narrow your vision, fill yourself with purpose

and let the world decide what is worse.

 

For far longer after your passing,

will your feats really be getting them talking?

Does your glory really make you that greater

in the scope of the world’s wider matters?

Nations crumble, institutions bound to fall

and their wake leaves little but rubble.

In the impermanence of it all,

how would you choose to stand tall?

 

Would you choose to chase elusive glory,

the gluttenous, yet ugly seed of memory?

Or would you strive in honesty to be the better being

and let others praise the inner greatness you bring?

It is not our place to pick and choose

the kind of life we’re still fated to loose.

Yet, to let ourselves live small and well

is to lead others to the model tale we still tell.

Advertisements

Feed Love, not Fear (Part Two – Poem)

Which wolf are you feeding?

When the dust settles, and the

flesh on your bones fades away,

what will they say about you?

The marginalized, persecuted,

diminished and discriminated?

That you were little more than

feared, hated, and resented?

If you continue to fear the other,

the prosperity they are promised to bring,

claiming to be defending your rights

in the fight against so called “oppressive culture”,

washing and vanishing of majority mastery,

and yet, you act as both oppressor and aggressor

towards the rights of the feared other,

than tell me, what do you become?

Let the truth of your deeds, the shame

of your essence be told,

your name forever forgotten

and shamed on after your passing.

 

Feed love, not the fear of the foreign

that hasn’t been proven to be a threat.

Find knowledge, not ignorance

in the face of these avatars of alterity.

You cannot claim rationality without

the facts that found the basis of reason,

without hearing their first-hand account

or having lived in the other being’s shoes.

You need to understand where they’ve gone,

what it is they’ve done to find the promise

of salvation, through the promised land

of a nation fit and free for all.

Your hate and suspicion creates the situation

radicalising the margins that bordered

the fringes of our social nation

leading to the continuation of your fixations –

thus, feeding the cycle of endless superstitions

about one another’s guiding motivations.

Hate goes both ways, and what the dominant

group reiterates, the other reciprocates.

 

So tell me: which wolf are you feeding?

When the dust settles, and the

flesh on your bones fades away,

what will they say about you?

Will you fight for love, for the dream

of an honest and open human nation,

or propagate the doom of the

unending cycle of hate?

Feeding the Fiction

Absent-minded are the beings

fed with false news and forced advertisement,

always living in a manner consistent to confinement,

who yet believe they’re destined for greater things.

Foolish are those who call their fellows blind,

yet surrender fully to falsehoods and follies of fiction,

who ignore social foundations at the core of cohesion,

and make claims that threaten the fabric of our kind.

They are feeding the closed loop of their fictions,

never to see the wisdom without, through well-known fact.

These are moral-less beings with little love or tact,

forever forgotten in the enclosure of their vision.

Nothing but darkness and despair come from their ambition

to return the world to restrictions of  lesser thinkers.

These people created the world they yet fight and anger

and now they sit in rebellion against the fiction they were feeding.

Hypocrisy of a stagnant society

Another poem based on current news. Take action – don’t just give statements. Politics is an engagement and an active process lived by all – not just words you speak or listen to through a medium.

It sounds so convenient a solution

for comedians in late night shows and the like,

the major media outlets and corporate chiefs

to come out with a statement defending diversity.

All of these white people making a stand

against other white people fearing the diversity brand.

The feeling lingers that these words alone

make a statement loud enough to withstand all.

And yet, they don’t. Diversity’s a flame

fanned out too soon to the tune of white comfort.

It’s an unwritten code in the genes of society

that feeds the marginalized just enough

to make them content, through the short-spanned eyes

of the mainstream that then moves on too quickly.

Still, the problems remain, and nothing changes –

the world’s culture still sings praises solely of the white.

This is the hypocrisy of a stagnant society

so steady with statements, but lazy on the work.

Challenge this discomfort that grips the genes

and put more diversity on our TV screens.

Sicken these sick fringe groups until they give in,

push them to the ledge until there’s nothing left.

Show them we won’t go back to eras of darkness

and that we will fight to maintain this better way of life.

There is more to the world than the colour of our skins,

the kind of love in our hearts or the gender we live.

The world is more than the steady european diet,

forcibly feeding false standards in our minds

since the hollow era of the medieval times

when christian white mattered more than all the world combined.

Make them sick, make them accept the world,

as we won’t accept a return to dark times.

Progress moves forward, not in rewind,

and not in a circle of holocaust and war crimes.

Put your money where your mouth is

and make the investment for human culture.

All cultures form the fabric of common fables,

and reflect the aspirations renewed in all our generations.

We need a manifesto, not a simple statement,

where NO HATRED is not only said, but shown.

Give me your multi-colored casts, your LGBTQ anchors,

give status natives equal status, and leave none behind.

Stagnant societies don’t survive growing divides

that widen, and gobble fundamental foundations.

One’s essence does not make them the lesser,

only the masses misguided, and conditions carried over

force people to continue living as before, in perpetual disaster

fearing the other, when they should embrace one another.

Speak all you want, but if your words lead to nothing being done,

then you’re no better through inaction than the servants of our night.

Regression V Revolution

Not much needs to be said about this one. If you need a little context, just watch the day’s news.

When fighting oppression,

do you struggle for what’s pure,

or for a world that is just?

The first is no fabric of revolution,

nor is it of the mainstream motive,

but born only of fashioned regression.

Fighting fictive oppression

by using props of proven oppression

does not a pure, nor freed person make.

It is a base instinct of weaker beings

fast on feeling and of filling fictions

ever to toil for nothing, and be the lessers in fear.

Only the most rabid of animals bathes itself in fear, in

the most calloused of irrationalties,

and is unworthy of the mantle of human being.

These are souls that could be put at ease

by simply sharing their hopes and dreams

with those foreign figures, of which they fear.

Hopes and dreams, to live, to work, to prosper

to provide for their family and help fellow denizens –

this is a core value of any nation’s citizens.

Through communication, you’d be amazed

at the amount of problems people could solve

if only they built bridges, not walls.

If only then, how they could find

how deeply they are similar,

they could then wonder: why fuel the hate?

Demons

Depression

(Cr: Recovery Connections).

___________________________________________

We all have our demons –

the ones we take with us,

and the ones we leave behind.

When the dust settles,

and darkness comes and goes,

do we choose to stay in the shade?

Or do we break the shackles

of slaving misery to the demons

that bleaken and blind our sight?

Sow the seeds of the light,

you tired masses yearning to be free,

and bring your demons to burn in daylight.

They can do no harm out in plain sight,

where there are no rivals to fight

and there is no such thing as night.

______________________________________________-

The good that all people do

Here’s a new poem for you ahead of the weekend! Enjoy.

4966868561_3582980166

(Cr: Youknow WhoIam – Flicker)

___________________________________________________

Good is an ideal of grounded grandeur,
an ideal spread through the best of beings.
An abstract idea of practical proportions
in peace and hope, love and all that is fair.
Good is the founding of our aspirations
and the ambitious souls we strive to be.
When unchained by the challenges of culture,
by the rules binding us to falseness and fear,
we go by the hope that what we do is good
and brings out the best in us and others.
Yes, good desires the best from us all,
in a faith that fuels the pureness at our core,
the common cause of faithless and faithful combined,
and the joys of nations strong in body and mind.
There is more to the world than at sole sight,
for the fickle mind’s fright can’t possibly suffice.
Sometimes, good can only be gained
beyond the fingers of fleeting beings’ grasp.
There’s more to good than the limits we’re imposed
or the boundaries we set for us and all.
Good is found in the fabric of each being,
no matter the skin, faith, or reason for living.
We are beings whose existence of broad scope
does not dominate the direction of the cosmos.
Therefore, life is too short for a power struggle
between two sides said too stubborn to be bad.
We are the strength and compassion in our fellow man
and the line without on which our morals tread.
It is the olive branch to end all our bitternesses
and bonds breaking barriers that divide the masses.
Beings come together under banners of peace
and peoples are one through life and in death.
Cohesion is key in a mosaic of cultures diverse
where all understand good as the sole verse.
Through good, we can all accomplish wonders
and be the people with the hearts of all treasures.

The Forest in the mountain, near the Falls

Sorry it took so long to post! Here is a new poem! I was making sure it was a little more presentable.

Hope you enjoy it! 🙂

Luskville Falls

(CR: Facebook – A friend of mine posted this image of when she and I recently made a hiking trip. This is borrowed from her photo album. 🙂 )

_____________________________________________________

The Forest in the mountain, near the Falls
Far away from the foul stench of the bustling city,
from the infighting plaguing left and right,
from meaningless distinctions between foe and friendly,
and the fast-paced footsteps audible still in the night,
the forest in the mountain, near the falls, sits timeless
for the few who dare to slow down and adore
the flora that grows, neither fettered by wasteful indifference
nor festered by the fickle follies of man’s shrines.

We began our journey bourne of mind and self-discovery,
seeking the breath of fresh air amidst the trees’ breeze
searching for the silence that was elusive in the city
and finding our inner peace out among the trees.
Hills up and down, beyond the base, await at the dawn,
at the floor of the pathway that awaited our entrance.
Climbing up the first set of steps, we felt the cold wind
so soothing and refreshing, pushing us farther ahead. 

Open trails through trees newborn and old alike
led us through a jungle of foliage so old, yet new.
Here we were, on a simple, beautiful day for a hike
and all that we’d lost, we found it there, renewed.
Wonder in nature, from the water to the rocks’ posture
took the time away from our finite minds to stop and view
the things taken for granted, yet given by the outer nature,
and we continued the length of this journey fit only for two.

One-third of the way, we stopped in our tracks and sat still
on a rock over a hill, overlooking the greater city’s valley.
Quite the view that it was, so majestic in its’ plains and hills
and the perfect spot to soak in all that aesthetic beauty.
I sat, I meditated at the third, absorbing the eclectic feeling
of the connection I made and mastered between mind and matter.
I felt my skin soak in the shining sun and the calming current
of cleansing that was sweping through this mountain out near the falls.

Continue walking thereout, and you’d hear the water flowing,
the falls dripping down to the mountain’s filling basin.
Tis a consistent sound that continues along, drowning,
that outlives even us, the fleeting beings living and passing.
We walk along the forest in the mountain with the falls
only sentient of how small we stand in the larger world,
and our true heritage, hollowed in city life’s highs and lows,
we’d yearned and reclaimed, yet never more forgotten.

Two-thirds to the fire tower, and we took in the territory
that exists and lies in wait for those who venture to see,
who dare to press on and peel the substance from the surface,
the intangible, indomitable feeling that nurtures and suffices.
Small hills are abundant with formations of rocks timelessly waiting
as we sat, and silently saw the wondrous path slowly unravelling.
Others would have turned and faltered at this point of the song,
but we chose to forge our own path, where none would have gone

Nearing the summit screamed of endurance through stress,
but I found purity through these sessions of prosperity.
Through the land of bugs and trees, foliage and fauna,
we found ourselves where we thought we weren’t lost.
We reached the summit, this vast and open space
overlooking miles of land, and the mainland beyond.
Finally, our journey was over, our destination reached,
through the fires of the forest, we were forged once more. 

We arrived at the end, but gained much in between,
reconnecting with the thing that evaded us before.
I arrived troubled, yet trouble could find me no more
as I sat at the spot that became my favourite scene.
In the vastness of nature, we found renewal of our souls
and our place in this world was made clear once more.
Slowly, at the end, we made our way down and back home,
back to our lives, but never again lived like before.

Rebirth

Hey everyone! Here is a new short poem after being away for over a month. Life gets busy – you all know this! I’m a little rusty – please be patient as I get back up to speed. 🙂

Witness the wake, the return and rise
of the wise and wilful, fulfilled from a journey
that jogged the mind and justly mustered the suprise
arising in the reinvention of aspiring rediscovery.
Priorities have restored their primacy
in guiding the growth of one towards their objectives
and pushed fortunes from poor to plenty,
guiding the gallant reborn through a new perspective.

Ashes become ashes, and are ashes once again,
until the final form forces the masses in shape.
Seven cycles of failiure do not a failiure maintain
if the eighth finds success, and shatters its’ fate.
The Phoenix forms from the fires of pain,
and fills the being from a vacuum of nothing.
From the void, the being has but much to gain
if it breaks the chains of struggle and lacking.

Seeing Red

Unfortunately, I have to do a little bit of cross-posting as I don’t have anything original ready for you. But I hope you enjoy this poem I wrote on Wednesday for WWP!

seeing_red

______________________________________________________________

(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète)
Originally posted on Weekly Writing Prompts on June 14th.

______________________________________________________________

Hate. The heat of hurt.
Feel it force through to the heart,
feel it coarse and clog the veins,
feel the fury force on darkened sight.
Without a notion of reason or ration,
the rush so wild and wholly provocating,
it’s the kind of moment so brutally binding,
an experience sure to be regretting.

Unmastered are the minute’s motions
where mystery has mutilated the moment.
Mind is no master of the body’s motions
when murderous impulses have mustered.
The callous purity of this precipitous pounding
pushes the line restraining light from night,
absorbing the belligerents of the arena
in the event to smother them in embarrassment.

Seeing red is the demon in us all,
the drowning feeling that darkens the soul.
Deepen the anger, and you deepen the whole
you dig for yourself at the end of the barrel.
Breathe, let the air take up it’s minute,
your anger isn’t worth the pain unmerited. 
The darkness isn’t worth the moment
soon, when you’ll live to regret it.

Cut the hollow flow to the heart,
let the veins cleanse the clogging,
let the calm mind clear the fury
and for reason to return your sanity.
Moments of rage never make the masters
of the most miserable of men.
Let the fear fade from the system,
repatriating love so natural within.