Take no heed of your television screen because it bleeds
with schedules of silent denial . . . instead listen
to the raindrops singing at the window, hear
the weeping of the cicada and the delicate moan
inherent in the elder’s voice.
Pay no attention to magazines of glorified glamour
because the siren of youthfulness will eventually
wither and die, fall to the edge of mortality,
crumpled and shocked at the rapid paced dream
it just passed through.
And oh the sons and daughters of blindfolded
peacocks . . . they wander upon the empty streets
of commerce, recognize the restless pulsation inside
their minds and embrace the future with a heavy
burden behind their rib cage.
The poet with his stuttering pen, his ink drying upon
the inner ear of the general populace, scratchings
of truth cast aside like mouldy newspaper . . . for
the eye of humanity is thirsty for the latest gossip
on sports heros and skeletal models, not the
warnings of linguistic sentinels raging against
the insipid lobotomy of today’s super market
and boxed in minds.
Oh where be the cherry blossom that bursts forth
beneath the bridge of the homeless and is every
snow leopard in Tibet imprisoned?
Must the ramshackled rooster continue to awaken us
to mornings painted by a sour sun of political
stupidity while the dew on the rosebud of the heart
offers no form of nourishment?
I say no to such a wayward compulsion, hell bent
to destroy the very fibres that allow us to breathe
and think and procreate.
Oh winds of change blow forth from the mothballed
closet of these decadent days, blow with the force
of a fast approaching hurricane, beat your magpie
wings inside this cave of opulent desecration
and fly beyond the entrance, unknowing, yet fully
expectant of the possibilities hinted at in
the farthest reaches of the soul.
Blow rain swept across this planetary orchard, cleanse
the turbulent fields of the heart, the weary
and ignored limbs on the tree of wisdom,
the poisoned sacred garden that has only been half
realized in every holy book scribed by the hands
of humanity.
Oh become a tempest of unrecognized fury, render
every border dissolvable, eradicate the rusty hinges
of closed portals, burn textbooks of separation
in a bonfire lit by the tungsten of Creation’s
metaphysical finger.
Blow out across the Ganges river decorated by dis-eased
funeral pyres, down through the harrowing heroin
infested streets of global megatropolis, down
and through the blood stained windows of every
political office and jurisdiction, out into the
hollowed bones of the never ending graveyard
and let those bones sing with an ethereal flute’s
voice.
Oh resonate from the mystic waters of Xanadu,
of Nirvana, of Heaven, of Valhalla, of the other side
of the Apocalypse, create a crescendo of hopefulness
and deep trust in the ancient lesson given to us
when we first came to instigate the misnomers
of time and space and before we accepted the false
prophecies of an imperialistic sage.
Blow down and with healing breath cauterize
the wounds of Peru and Croatia, the wounds
of Iraq and Afghanistan, the wounds of Korea
and Pakistan, the wounds of Israel and Africa,
the wounds of mankind’s broken in shame cradle
where weeps an infant bathed in a massive
and perpetual historical teardrop.
A contest entry
- Exercise your Want by ErrantHeart.
900 points, ended April 15, 2008, 15 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Ghost Writes by BabyBun.
380 points, ended August 18, 2008, 28 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 15 of 15
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Great entry - thanks and best of luck.
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Superb
Wow, I hardly know what to say. This is absolutely marvelous. It has elements from the great Sages of our times and the ancient ones as well. Reminds me of Gibran, Rumi, Emerson, Thoreau, John Stuart Mill, Marcus Aurelius and others as well. Once again, exceptionally well done.
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Percy Shelly wrote in a critical essay, "A Defence of Poetry," published in 1840, that claims poets are the "unacknowledged legislators of the world."
I do believe you have captured that essence here.
These words are like an old, familiar sweater that shows up in the back of my closet, a closet peppered by the smell of mothballs.
Thank you.
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Thank you so much for your kind words . . . as a great admirer of Shelley to be even mentioned in any way to the Romantic Master is humbling to say the least . . . Marc
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Sometimes more importantly than the words is how we form our poem. You did that beautifuly here. Both your choice of words, rythm, metaphors, etc. were all put together wonderful and I'm glad you got a gold trophy on this because it was well deserved. Keep up the great work!
--Tim
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Oh. My. Gosh.
Speechless.
That was insanely powerful and...and...wow. You did an AMAZING job here, no joke. I loved it...amazing. Such...power, and such a strong message...I'm...I'm in awe.
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Wow. Totally blown away, this was a very very powerful piece. You really know how to get a message across, and you are absolutely wonderful at making that message beautiful and artistic, as ugly as the truth may be. Brava!
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Great images shared in these lines; can certainly see why it took gold in this contest - congrats on doing that. Liked the form you used here - very prose looking, yet poetic in nature.
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Some weighty wordplay and a powerful commentary, well-thought-out and infused with many complicated turns.
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wow, this poem is incredible!!!!!! "Take no heed of your television screen because it bleeds
with schedules of silent denial . . . instead listen
to the raindrops singing at the window, hear
the weeping of the cicada and the delicate moan
inherent in the elder’s voice."
that's sooo detailed and all in all it reminded me of a story i read i beleive it was a Tall tell heart by: poe.... amazing poem!
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Great Rhythm
Thats tight man. The free versed rhythm fits perfectly to Asheru's Mood Swing. I too hope for the winds of change to blow from mothballed closets and bring a new scent upon the world. Does it complicate your hope to consider that winds have been held back for so long that the lock on the closet door is unlikely to fail? -
It is a different want to the want I wanted. It is a noble want and far outstretches reaches feels these miserable eyes of mine.
Wonderful. And read out loud and sounded searches out it's own appeal. To languid hearts.
And to this want I shout out, May it yet be!
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This is, quite naturally for you, very beautifully written. It is an important piece. It's absolutely alive with meaning. Here I see you coloring truth so it stands out from the fallacies. You've forged an appearance from the difficult, elusive realm of honesty and understanding. very lovely.
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The imagery is wonderful. I completely agree. Society and media are plaguing us. What is this world coming to? This is meaningful, but it's long and my attention span only lasts so long. This is really good though, but long
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So much here to say "yes" to, Marc. Your poetry always takes me to that place deep within, make me realize how beautiful our world is without televison, politics, war, artificial things, etc. I rarely watch television.... yes, I'd rather listen to the rain and and read the gentle words cherry blossoms write upon the sky... Simply beautiful!
~ Nicolette
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