Next Week’s Blog Post

Hey everyone!

I’m looking to take a break next week from posting and I’m looking for bloggers who would like to submit some entries through The Writer’s Corner.

You can do this two ways:

1-  Send me an e-mail at coeurdunpoete@gmail.com with your entry, if you want me to post your poem.

2- Send me an e-mail at the address underlined above, if you want to be next week’s guest poster.

Thank you! 🙂

Juncture

Hi everyone! Please read the note after the poem when you are done reading it!

Thanks!

com-e1474265267660

(Cr: The AIM Network)

__________________________________________
An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.
__________________________________________

Another critical juncture is upon us,
this space between falsehoods and facts.
It’s a cycle repeated through our existence,
the déjà-vus of life, death, and the like.

We are in a constant time of war,
the warfare waged on man by both sides.
There are no countries or ancestries
but only humans harming each other.

We have mastered the nuclear means
to clear our species off the board,
to wipe Planet Earth’s slate clean,
and free itself of the human infestation.

There is an urgency to survive
that no one seems to see or heed,
too caught up in the shouting match
to see the harm that hides in plain sight.

There’s the plight of inhumane puritains,
with no grounded grasp of intricate reality,
and the proactive push of leftist egalitarians,
fanatically protective and restrictive on rights.

In varying degrees, all one and the same,
caught up in man’s tugging of ethics and traits.
These are the times that define the nation,
the notion of what it means to be a human.

Caught in the crossfire of human feebleness
are the young and decent, our future hopes,
and the old & experienced, with wisdom to spare,
who want to come together and save our Earth.

The common citizen, model & exemplary
is made to choose a side in the progressing struggle
to shape the hearts, minds, and futures
of the population now made to fear & hate. 

We are at the critical juncture of humanity,
of our existence and survival in the universe,
where our survival should be paramount
and the needs of many are it’s testament.

What does this say about the human spirit
when words of comfort are lost in manipulation?
When words meant to bring together
are false faith or the consequence of politics?

This is the juncture of warring wills,
where words are lost without being spent,
where weapons are real and wills are weak
and the human fire is tempered, feared & hated.

When does it all end, this warring for want
so that we build for the betterment of all?
When does it start, our common ancestry,
to push our progression beyond pains of old?

____________________________________________________

Writer’s note:

Hi everyone! Family members have always told me that the two things that drag people down are usually always politics and religion. I normally don’t post anything related to Politics or Religion on my blog, but that is changing with this post. Keeping all this in mind, I felt that, given the times we are in, it is important to bring up both in this poem and talk about how best to continue our progress and our march forward. Politics and religion are both an effort on the part of both sides to encourage and generate dialogue. We need to be working together to solve problems, not accusing each other of being the hurdle to these issues.

When you’re at your workplace, your company will usually have a created set of values to guide its’ workers. One common thing that they will say is that communication is key. If you don’t communicate, problems don’t get solved. In the same line of thought, problems don’t get solved if we’re too busy blaming each other for our own problems.

We need to work together to solve our problems, and we need to learn to communicate, to convice each other that we’re working towards a common goal. If we want things to change, we can’t allow ourselves to remain inactive. Shying away from difficult conversations won’t make them go away.

Thanks for reading, and thank you for your continued support of “The Writer’s Corner”!

– Cd’P

___________________________________________________________________

Sunday Evening

Here’s a brand new poem! It’s called Sunday Evening, which is what it is here at the time of posting!

Seriously, though, don’t fight Monday. 🙂

Sunday Evening

________________________________________________________________________

(cr: https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/one-thing-you-can-do-sunday-guarantee-successful-week-karl-mcdonnell)

________________________________________________________________________

An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.
________________________________________________________________________

What is it about Sunday that makes it dreadful?
Is it the sorrow for the short respite now gone,
or stressful anticipation for a work week in full?
Whatever you’re feeling on this day, you’re not alone.

We resist returning to work on the Monday’s eve
out of reverence for the deserved weekend’s rest.
We perceive the weekend lost as a moment’s reprieve
from a taxing and tiring routine of the daily stress.

Weeks are an endless cycle of adjustment,
of discontent and relief constantly relived,
but psychologically placed on abstract moments
we can’t prevent, and make us combative.

Breathe in, let the feeling of stress pass through
and desert you as soon as it came in.
Nothing stalls your enjoyment but you
if you don’t mind the motions within.

I can’t get up on Sunday’s twilight
And keep the coming Monday at bay.
It’s not for me to judge, and relive what is right,
but I keep calm, and prepare for the new day.

It’s in our code, to fight or take flight
in the face of dangers concrete or perceived.
Workweek anticipation is the evolution of our blights
and the chaining restriction of what we don’t acheive.

The joys and relief from relaxed routines
Are much indulged on the waning hours of the workweek
And quickly lost in the busy motion of weekend scenes
That they are fickle and few come the new week.

So what is it about Sunday that we dread?
Is it Monday’s workload or the week’s perceived length?
But why the stress? Should it not be spread?
Seriously, though, waking up won’t lead to death.

The more we fight, the worse the week gets.
Weekend joys are many, coming and passing.
For stress is the foster of all our heart’s regrets
that worsen the experiences we ought be enjoying.

Fret not for the work week approaching,
just soak in the moment that’s coming and going.
These are the moments both so joyful and fleeting
that are soon lost, but we know will soon be returning.

___________________________________________________________________

Sunday Evening_1

cr: Live Life Happy
___________________________________________________________________

Motorized Freedom

Here is a brand new poem for this weekend. For all of you motorcycle lovers out there!

Motorbike and City

(cr: Stern Law, LLC)

_________________________________________

An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.

_________________________________________

I can remember the feeling,
riding on my dad’s former motorbike,
feeling the wind blowing by,
as we sped on past motorists alike.

The physical danger, outweighed by freedom,
is drowned in the moments and scenery
that shared with me their wisdom
thanks to this piece of machinery.

The journey on a bike is long
but lasting, and filled with fair lands,
a beautiful nature to which we belong
accessible through the gears at our hands.

I hear the motor, what a nuisance,
the continuous rumble and tussle,
but it’s the tool of acceptance
of a journey long, but wholly enjoyable.

(For my uncle).

Spring forth, into renewal

We’re back! Here is a brand new poem on what it means to experience Spring. I hope you enjoy it and experience your own sense of renewal.

Spring

(Cr: http://www.thevillagegrocer.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/Spring.jpeg)
____________________________________

An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.
____________________________________

This is the season of renewal,
to remove all of the old
and welcome what is new.
Winter came and reigned;
snow that covered constructed landscapes
landed, then melted just as fast.

All the while, living in a cycle
we humans complained in our bubble
of events of impermanence beyond control.
Snow stressed impermanent thoughts
when truly, that is a non-issue
feeding the figments of feeble minds.

Spring, the season to spring into action,
to abandon the uncertain for decision
and feel the freshness of new perspectives.
So goes the season, gives what was taken,
inspiring the prospects of wonderous ambitions
in the cradle of a cycle that’s yet to be sprung.

Life’s but a cycle, far from any permanence
or man’s ability to assert it’s own sense,
fictive dominance of a passing sense of control.
Follow the cycle, live and let it go,
let the freedom flow.
Follow the cycle of the ends and renewals.

Soup & Chai

Here’s a new poem for your enjoyment! Nice and simple observational poem.

cup-tea-bag-standing-window-sill-near-window-rays-bright-sunshine-beautiful-two-cups-table-87536119

(credited to: Dreamstime)

______________________________________

(An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.)

______________________________________

I’m sitting here, waiting,
Downing soup and chai tea
while revisiting the joint
I loved to visit while on campus.

I struggle to reminisce
in a moment of sun-snow bliss
about the course and choices
of my path with promising voices.

I see myself in these stressed students
solemnly rushing through points on campus.
I envy the naivety of not knowing
what’s coming past the path that’s winding.

The stresses of learning pressing on minds,
crippling thoughts of joys and others to find;
these are stresses of the modern western student
who struggles to thive by limiting what’s spent.

All the misfortunes past pale to what’s to come
in the cold beyond of a course capital world.
Sink or swim, you need the martial skills
to survive and navigate the cruel sea of our world.

I’m downing soup and chai tea,
fully conscious of the melancholy beyond me
that marches along, beyond these walls that I see
and through these streets so travelled by many.

The students that sit on the tables nearby
sip their teas while staring at their sheets
filled with the deadlines that tend to rush on by –
those stresses of classes that are hard to keep.

The couple that sits on their lunch date
talks the time away from vocational hates.
But the world of education is a solitary meditation
that challenges the notion of loving conciliation.

Feeling the fortunes of lingering fate,
I wondered on the state of old loving passions.
In the days that were, many could have been
but never shared the hearts they had been given.

These are the thoughts that occupy my mind
here, in the nexus of the learning nation.
The journeys that are and can be for all
aren’t bleak, should we will to stand tall

I sit in anticipation of the emancipation
of the youthful nation, and proclamation
of belief by us all, of these blissful possibilities –
a hope flowing endlessly, for you and for me.

Here, in this territory consecrated to higher learning
am I sitting calmly, on a quiet afternoon.
Along, I’m waiting, downing soup and chai tea,
while silently contemplating the hopes that will be.

Hope

Admittedly, this isn’t one of my best poems, but it’s more upfront than most. If you’re down on hard times, I hope that you’ll appreciate this message of hope.

You’re not alone! 🙂

depressiongirldownalleyway_large

(Credit: The Irish Examiner)
___________________________________________
An original poem by 
Coeur d’un Poète.
_________________________________________

These are the moments treasured that are gone by;
thine are the years somber that unsobered your soul.
You can’t let the darkness take hold ‘til you grow old,
for the world hasn’t seen you fly and soar high.
From your darkest corners, in the pitch black cold,
you’ve surrendered your soul to the depths of your fear.
Rise from your darkness, and banish the shame of old;
you’ll never be stranded, nor will you die here, alone.

Take my outstretched hand, come join me out here,
rise from the ground that bound you to your fear.
Show me your true self, to stand and face the noise;
rising together, we’ll find your one true voice.
There is nothing so evil, no pit that is ever too dark
no too damning temptation or dishonour so stark.
You are not alone on the path toward redemption,
So let loose the unearthing of prospective aspirations.

Open your binding prisons, end the blinding night
let the widening light shine on all that is right.
This is thine evolution, your ever joyous return, shown
through all the passed lessons that you’ve finally learned.
Soak in the hope that renews, and awakens like warm water
The clean slate that guarantees your own starting over.
Let life, in all its’ light, return to your existence
and make living certain, ingrained through persistence.

Whether faith is science-set or filled with the spirit,
whether strength is within or that of higher beings,
You must give yourself both love and some credit,
and see through your heart the height of your ceiling.
Don’t let the darkness steal far more than taken before,
Don’t let your blackest demons be the standard at your core.
You are stronger than the sum of the darkest you can be,
so fight for your life, and see the greater person within thee.

On Being

Suprise! Here’s a more existential poem. How’s this for poetic diversity? 🙂

project-AGORA

(Credit: indiannerve.com)
_____________________________________

An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.
_____________________________________
What does it mean, really, to live,
and to be alive?
I’ve pondered this question forever
and still can’t find an answer.

We struggle for resources against each other,
seeking to shape the fittest fighter.
We live to work until the day we grow older
and seldom aspire for stories far grander.

The material feels matterless
when living matters the most.
Where money rules, hollow is happiness
in the cradle of the cold, human host.

To be or not to be, he said,
this is the single, heaviest question.
The struggle of pondering, as weighty as lead,
short of brooding in such depressing fasion.

Why do we exist, if only to labour?
Surely, there is meaning beyond crunching numbers?
We live and struggle, only to return as specks of dust;
It’s a funny world in which we were thrust.

Bow and Arrow

Surprise! Here’s another poem on bows and arrows! It’s a short one! Enjoy. 🙂

An original poem by Coeur d’un Poète.
Originally posted on Weekly Writing Prompts on March 12th, 2017.
_________________________________________
He pulled a bow, arrow on the string,
following a target he’d been chasing for many weeks.
He almost lost it, for his losing often stings,
and this one’s a runner, elusive at it’s peaks.

His obsession goes beyond purest passion;
he relishes the hunt, the game that’s been played.
Accounting for the wind that thwarts his arrow’s blade,
he considers the distance that’s further than he fashions.

It was a singular chance to end his endless dance,
one that our man took, he who shot and missed.
The arrows bounced off, and never stood a chance
and the target glanced back, fully able to resist.

Therein, our archer failed, his target had escaped.
No measure of arms could ever ensure his hopes.
Any other would feel low, have surrendered to this fate,
but he stood tall, and knew he had it on the ropes.

What “Woman” means to me.

Suprise! Here’s a new poem in honor of International Women’s Day!

In case this wasn’t clear, this blog is pro-feminism and pro-choice. I hope this poem emulates this properly.

IWD
(credit: Summit Kids [summitkids.ca])
__________________________________
An original poem by 
Coeur d’un poète.
Author’s noteHappy International Women’s Day! I hope you stand in solidarity with women across the world! Cherish them and defend their rights, because they are a big chunk of the world’s population, and we do need both genders of humanity to be strong to ensure global prosperity!”
________________________________

A woman is not weak; she is strong.
She is the symbol of strength in endurance,
in the face of perpetual misogeny and patriarchy;
she is the present, and future, face of humanity.

So what does the word “woman” mean to me?
Absolutely not the absolution of a sexual essence,
but a being of choice whose voice carries weight
beyond the slander and sexism that sounds an imposition.

Beyond her skin, she’s a nation of personal choice,
that chooses when and where to lend her voice,
whose freedom is the key to common prosperity,
who defines her own self, and finds her own way.

She is the mother of life, the essence of wisdom,
that endures strife and spite to shine in her freedom.
For the world would be much less the greater
without her conviction that the world will be better.

________________________________

Happy-Womens-Day
(credit: Yoga Goddess).