poet

Unintelligible Existence


Never ending it seems

The dance of life 
That we hold so sacred 

But who are we to sway into this mortal realm 

Labeling ourselves to some means of importance
Yet always looking to the sky for a glimmer of hope 
That our significance has some manner of substance 

For we are nothing more than lost children 
Always pretending that we have a grip on this reality

But at our core we shake at the unknown
And pray that the belief that we have chosen does not lead us astray 

What is the worth of the unintelligible existence 
That we so eagerly live
And what will we see when we awake after it all ends
 
~ Tony Paradise's Poet ~
 
My Blog - http://rarityofparadise.blogspot.com/
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The Black Rose Of Hell

Tell me 

If I was born a demon 

Would I be damn to a life of sin 


Would the bloodline that I bear 

Condemn me to a world

Full of regret and a false sense of joy

 

And if I knew this truth. 


That I was bound to the lowest levels of hell 

Tell me 

Why would I hesitate to spread the devil's dogma


You see 

Not all that are born of a dark nature are evil

Some souls are just curse with a malevolent outlook 


But I believe  that If an angel can fall from the grace of God

Then a demon can raise above his own eternal damnation.


For a black rose that blooms in the pits hell is still a flower unto God 


~ Tony Paradise's Poet ~


My Blog - http://rarityofparadise.blogspot.com/

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WALT WHITMAN

Sage of words, to read.

Counting every heart beat.

One that looked upon life.

Tears hidden from strife.

Wanting all to read.

His words like flowering seeds.

His anchor was mankind.

The war he knew, unkind.

When one hears the WHITMAN name.

A POET OF KINGLY FAME


3/5/2014 JOE POEWHIT



JESUS SAVES

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A Breeze of Memory

A graveyard of dead trees

Fallen leaves of vast red and orange seas

Squirrels scurry before winter strikes

As children play while others pass on bikes

 

harmony of the trees an the wind come together and sing

As a bird chirps then stops to clean it's wing

Children shrieking and screaming as they play

Angry armies of cars roar past, then fly away

 

Memories start of when I was a kid

Only broken away by time an what it did

Sitting still only in question

Of who I am and to what is my impression

 

I laughed . . . I played here

I was happy unknown of fear

But then reality again breaks memory's connection

Only to be lost again, still unknown of my reflection

 
Like
 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

annnd, here you have yet another class assignment that I did way back.

 

A Poet Lived Here

Do you know 'my friend'?

This is the very house,

A famous poet used to live in,

Like Gibran so different were his thoughts, so grand!

 

Right there he would sit and spread light,

Two beloveds used to accompany him,

One was the pen and the other being the paper,

He just loved to write.

 

Time didn’t have the courage,

To defeat his confidence and willpower,

So polite he was, so generous,

Wrote on and on fighting against his age.

 

Yes 'my friend' this is the street that was and is blessed,

With the touch of the poet’s feet,

Each time he would take a walk,

People used to look at him being marvelled and enchanted.

 

Handsome like Apollo was he,

Blessed with heavenly talent and charm,

Ever eager to help others,

May we see what he wanted all of us to see!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Dedicated to all the poets [dead or alive] in the world.

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Humankind

HUMANKIND

I want to speak one more Language
That everybody can easily speak
Same as our food or as beverage
If not, it means, we are weak

I wish I could deal with people
In everywhere, whatever they are
I hope I can once be able
To become a friend to those are aware

Serious or peaceful situations
Should not affect our hearts
The poverty or luxury nations
Are only our world' parts

 

Poesy

 

 

...........

 

and this thing called poetry, 


plucked from a pocket 


of space and time.


*


a blindly adorned subtlety


flowing from the wings 


of angels' thoughts unthought,


but with sultry desire.


*


a rhythmic taste 


of word salad


that fumbles all 


too easily and too often


from the lips of poets that choke 


on the salty aftertaste of


frivolous candor,


with a raucous brouhaha


likened to a howl 


from the maw 


of a wild banshee.


*

 

untamed and yet,


so wildly untainted


in the heat 


of  it's innocent discourse


that one can only 


breathe deeply,


the sensation of the moment,


and know how it feels to 


wear the cloak of truth.

 

*

 

4:03 AM 8/11/2013 ©


.................


Invincible Mimes

 

 

.............

 

Filed away in poem and prose,

So many things that no one knows,

The poetess and poet's rhyme,

Changing and turning the hands of time,

If our friend Thoreau had ever known,

He might have not shared his very own.

 

07/14/2013 ©

 

..................

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Journey of the Dissident

Pour poison on the brain,

Losing my self-control again;

I’ve been away too long,

I don’t recognise these shores,

Yet I was born and baptised in them.

 

Now I’m drowning in Aquarius eyes,

And choking on pearl tears,

Building something out of nothing,

Erecting an obelisk of all my thoughts and fears,

A spiralling story, shrouded by the clouds,

Threating to crush me at the beginning of a storm,

Knowing the beginning, but the rest is never-ending.

 

I’m a stranger in my body, reaching for control,

My mind was once my nemesis,

A place to refuge,

My body is now a vessel,

To champion my greatest glory,

A tapestry that changes from perspective,

To stitch and sow into flesh: ever so permanent.

 

Dissident marches on a limp foot,

Sheltering from electric thoughts;

Carved imperfections, a beauty to behold,

Freedom is a conquest with consequence,

Imprisonment for truths yet spoken,

True victory is to know that there is belief in oneself,

A catalyst for rebellion: the message is sewn. 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This may seem dijointed, but I think it's came together nicely... I'm on a new path in life, so tried to convey that.