Can you share the deepest poem written by you

Can you share the deepest poem written by you?


Well, I always try to make my poems deep and meaningful… so it’s kinda hard to choose xD
However, if I had to choose one, it would be, this:
‘Woman’
Woman…
Man.
.

You,
Were born of the body of a being strong enough to carry you for nine months.

Imagine being strong enough to decide to grow another person,
A human.
.

`
Imagine all the taunts she took growing up, long before thoughts of having you were in her head,
Laughed at for expressing herself and being different,
Ridiculed for wearing a bra at 10,
Trying her best to be normal and fit in
When she was born as unique as a snowflake,
And no two snowflakes are alike…
`
Then one day, she like, starts feeling things.

She likes boys now; she's 14,
She dates until she's 23,
Finds a guy that says he loves
She
Is
A diamond in the rough,
And he saw that, and he loved her.

And everything's perfect, until she finds out she has cancer…
The same week she was preparing to go into labor.
.

`
She cries.

She doesn't know if she should try to fight,
Or just let the disease take over.

But she has you
Inside her belly,
So can she really
Let go…
No.

She fights
Without therapy, ‘cause radiation could kill the little baby inside her
`
A few weeks pass and she's still waiting
Until she can't wait no more so they have to induce labor,
But that wasn't a favour,
That was a mistake,
To some,
‘Cause she fought, so hard, but she couldn't take the pain.

The woman.
.
she passed away…
But she pushed through enough for you to see the light of day.

`
See, this message is not about glorifying cancer.

It's not saying that women should be like this mother,
It's saying that women are amazing and stronger
Than we give them credit for.

They go through so much, but are able to endure!
`
So to your mother, aunt and sister,
Brother do them a favor,
And learn to appreciate
All the glory that they are.

`


Here is a triptych, three poems that trace a narrative arc.
I don’t know about deep— any poem goes as deep as you want to take it.

Falling Angel
cuddling my beloved
my fingers find
a lump below her ribcage
and I am filled with dread.

Tearful,
I stroke her beautiful face

Useless Knowledge
even knowing that
you’re dead
doesn’t make it any easier
to cover you with earth

how will you breathe in there?
how will I stroke you?
Too Frugal
how often
did I bury my nose
in your soft hair
the you-smelling top of your head
and plant a kiss there?
ten times a day?
that’s 55480 kisses

not often enough!


I hope this poem will touch your heart and force you to think about some deeper truths about life which most of us ignore.
The unique feature of this poem is that it explains profound truth of life in a very simple,lucid and colloquial language, yet expressive and effective.

In the Flux of Eternity
Our ego thinks we are immortal
But, in the flux of eternity
Our existence is just like a
Camphor on fire
Just like one GB four G recharge
Just like dip bottle's oozing drops
Our life is heading towards death
But it is also a fact that
The paintings remain, the painter dies
The Statues remain, the sculptor dies
The songs remain, the singer and the lyricist die
The poems remain, the poet dies
Cinemas remain, the actors and the directors die
Love remains, the lovers die
My writings will remain, I will die
It means the creation remains, the creator dies
But there is one exception
The creator (God) remains, creations (we) die
Life is continuously moving
And change is the law of nature
We change so many things
Our hair-style, dressing sense, cars, places
Jobs, smartphones,friends, interests and what not,
And one day God or nature changes us (our bodies)
Albeit, the soul remains, the body dies
Thus, both God and soul remain, matter die
In the body, we are limited
In the soul, we are beyond time.

In the soul, we are infinite
In the soul, we are eternal
So be in the soul and be eternal
-Lokendra Singh


#106 Constantia
The fog may swell to shroud the sea and land,
the world revolve and darkness quelch the light,
the tides may fall and rise upon the strand,
the lilies ope come day then fold by night,
and wand’ring rocks bar brave Ulysses’ way,
and time and chance both footrace turn and war,
and winter spring, as summer fall, shall chase —
and hearts go cold that hot had burn’d before.

Yet Hero stood against the narrows’ pitch;
the pole star holds; the pier remains despite
the fickle waves like those hearts come unfix’d
that mayest moor safe ‘gainst dread Neptune’s might.

whilst e’en the brightest Sunshine wax and wane
my love for thee persists: true and unchang’d.

-E.
C.
C.
, 25 Dec 2015

#106 Annotations
A line of thought began while running on a cold & foggy day past the Wind Point lighthouse (located at the north end of Racine Harbor in Wisconsin).
Written for Myckie Sunshine over a period of several weeks – but attributed to Christmas Day 2015.

wand’ring rocks In Greek mythology, the Planctae (Greek Πλαγκταὶ Planktai “Wanderers”) or Wandering Rocks were a group of rocks between which the sea was mercilessly violent.
The only ship to successfully navigate the treacherous waters was the Argo, and then only with the divine aid of the goddess Hera.
In Homer’s Odyssey, the sorceress Circe tells Odysseus how the “Wandering Rocks” –which block one of his two possible routes home to Ithaca– mercilessly destroy ships, leading him to chose the path via Scylla and Charybdis instead.

time & chance “I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong … but time and chance happeneth to them all.
” -Ecclesiastes 9:11
Yet Hero stood against the narrows’ pitch In Greek myth, Hero (Ancient Greek: Ἡρώ) was a priestess of Aphrodite that lived in a high tower in Sestos on the European side of the Hellespont (the narrow Turkish straits that form the border between Europe & Asia, today called the Dardanelles); Leander (Ancient Greek: Λέανδρος) was her love, a young man from Abydos on the opposite side of the strait.
Leander would swim every night across the narrows of the Hellespont to spend time with her.
Hero would light a lamp at the top of her tower to guide his way through the pitch darkness.
But one stormy winter night, the violent winds blew out Hero’s light while Leander was crossing to her – he lost his way & drowned.
When Hero saw his body, she threw herself from her tower to join him in death.


LIFE'S TRAVELS©
Complacent in not my wants or wishes
Though struggle I shall as we all do
Pedestrian I find myself unable to take the easy road
So on the backs of others I will not tread
The lessons in life I learned to bear begrudgingly
By canvassing all but bitter faces on life's pit falls
And not take to heart the tears shed along the way
Or turn from the screams of pain less they be my own
Laughter I shall treat as a long lost friend just found
And loneliness like a cold wind by turning my back to it
I will bleed when cut and dance when consumed with joy
And when I have all life's answers, on me will death be employed
Rickey Gage
FADED DREAMS©
Why must everyone be so hard to understand
And why doesn't things ever workout as I planned
I thought I would grow up and live happily ever after
With a full life of wealth, love and laughter
But the lonely years have dulled and faded my dreams
My emotions now useless, is all that stifle my screams
No need to go on yet I lack the courage to quit
For the madness of my desires have broken my spirit
Depression is the answer for people without hope
But even it is a reason with which I can no longer cope
A good day is when people don't stop and stare at me
A bad day is when my faults and failures is all they see
Rickey Gage
THE MEANING OF LIFE©
The lord giveth and the lord taketh away
And teach me something along the way
A glimmer of hope then a spark of despair
Challenging me to give in to say I don't care
Evoke a nightmare and get lost in the dream
Where love, laughter and reality are not what they seem
But now awake I defeat the dark of night
With no room to run and no time for flight
I am the enemy I must face and fight
Believe in me and feel my might
For now the time is truly right
Stand in my shoes and see what I've seen
It's just an excuse for what life can't mean
Never to be all I can be lost somewhere inside of me
Shadows fade in the light of this new reality
For in my own hands lie the direction of my destine
Rickey Gage


Poem Depressed!
The Dark Cloud has lifted
If only completely
The one that eclipsed my
Every day,yet
Made alive my every night.

……………………………………………………….
.

Sometimes I feel that
I am floating like a ghost
Going thru the motions, simply
Inebriate, drunk of self-pity
Indulging further this selfish symphony
………………………………………………………………………….
.

The Dark Passenger, once
companion now a mere visitor
Without him, a profound lightness
Yet every blow, is felt, bare
Isn’t life easier, intoxicated……
.
.
.
.
.
.

……….
…hovering through the shadows!
– Collins Chaos


I Am
I am realm of everything.

You cannot contain me,
for I am no thing ,
neither a he or a she.

I am the sun and the heat,
the ice and the cold.

I am the fragrance so sweet,
I am both the young and the old.

I am wind that blows,
the tree growing tall.

I am the river that flows,
I am both the big and the small.

I am the light and the dark,
the death and the birth.

I am dull and the spark,
I am space and the earth.

I am pawn and the king,
all players are me.

I am the air on the wing,
I am the silence in thee.

I am the eternal in all,
pause and you'll find,
will you answer the call,
We're all one of a kind.

Written by Ray Sinclair on 07/11/13
© Ray Sinclair 2013
Ray Sinclair – poet


English is not my mother tongue so it's really a struggle lol
actually there's nothing "deep".
It's more like a story coming from my dream.

Dear Doctor Watson
Ah dear Doctor Watson, my friend
Save me, please, save me in hand
My tears are drifting like desert
No more cactus rooting in mind
My dear Doctor
Stay close to your stethophone
Listen to this slower gloomier pace
Counting down the last pong
The ravens swing ten thousand miles
Over hills and land on the east coast line
Bats are rumbling in the queer magic middle
Waiting for the ruby rolling around candle
Aye Doctor Watson, time's up
The ravens are spreading wings
Please save me before they come back
Or my throats my thorax will be cracked
Toy your scalpel
Knife my cutis
From my clavicle
To my ankle
Oh wait, wait a mon'
A message comes home
The ravens are dead
The ravens are dead
I'm alive
I'm alive
Doctor Watson, why you still cutting my bones
Why the rice worming into my nose
Ah my eyes are dried-up
My brains are eaten up
Flash light shining in my eyes
Black flowers blossom in my mind
White coat decorated with red
Doctor Watson, I think I see your happy mad


The Unlived
Amidst the busy days, and routine tasks;
Enters a comrade, with a million thoughts.

A breathe of fresh air, or a bewitching charm.

A listening heart, a talking soul;
Unheard words, unfelt thoughts.

An ill fated encounter or a fate bound to last.

Unexplained muse, or a tiny tug at heartstrings;
An ephemeral bond, or a cryptic existence.

An enchanting affinity, beyond the realms of right and wrong.

An incomplete music,an unfinished business;
An unpainted canvas, or an unembellished truth.

An inexplicable facet of life, or a parallel existence.

Fluttering hearts, unfulfilled desires,
A ghost of the past or a drifting path.

All that's incomplete and yet dazzlingly beautiful.

We are the flaw, within the perfections;
A truth, beyond the lies
An angel in a demon;
The pain behind the smile, and
The dead within the living.


I don’t know if this is really the deepest poem I wrote, but I’m sure this is one of the few poems I wrote that hit me hard.

The poem is called “A Morte é a Verdade”, in English, “Death is the Truth”.
I’ll write the original poem here and then, I’ll write in English.

O Sofrimento é eterno
E também é o vazio espiritual.

Se esta vida é um Inferno
Porque vamos depois da Vida para outro igual?
A Vida é uma mentira bonita.

A Morte é uma verdade dolorosa.

Não significa que devemos todos morrer.

Mas sim, aceitar a Morte.

Aspirar é o nosso dever.

Inspirar é o nosso fazer.

Expirar é o nosso falecer.

A Vida só tem sentido
Porque nós damos-lhe um objectivo.

In English now:
The Suffering is Eternal,
And so is the spiritual emptiness.

If this life is a Hell,
Why will we go to after life to one equal?
Life is a beautiful lie,
Death is a painful truth.

Not saying we should all die,
But yes, accepting Death.

Aspiring is our duty.

Inspiring is our deed.

Expiring is our exit.

Life only has a meaning
Because we give it an objective.


Book of Life
Life is a book and I'm an avid reader,
love reading and so, I want to share this feeling and be a good author.

I'll walk along with you and whenever you fall, I'll push you up the ladder
I'll help you shape the story as to write someone else's life story, I don't ever bother.

The rough patches may seem bad at first, but are essential for glory
They teach a lot and specially they teach you to be strong, be the real you
They may make a sad chapter but they won't make it a sad story
Because the sad part is there to make you aware of how much you can do
The happy parts make the good chapters and also, about the ending, they give a clue
And only you can decide what you want the book to be about.

It can be about smartness, courage, bravery or hatred, or even simply blue
If you do it well, it can become the illuminating sun otherwise it will be hidden behind the cloud.

Live it thinking you'll help others to live, highlight whatever you've learned
Always live your life, considering it an open book, forming a cluster,
Help others especially those in need, and you'll always get what you've earned
Shape your life and make the book of your life worth being a blockbuster.

-Ishani Singh


I can not say it as deepest, but I tried writing this.

Titled as WHO DOESN'T LIKE ?
Who doesn't like the innocence hidden in a child's smile,
Who doesn't like the words spoken with full of love and warmth,
Who doesn't like the trees dancing softly to wind,
Who doesn't like the aroma that accompanies the rain,
Who doesn't like the dew drops that fell on grass,
Who doesn't like the rainbow which joins two other ends,
Who doesn't like all these?


Not sure about ‘deepest’; but the following poem emerged from the grim prospects of humankind, the beauty that reason and creativity are capable of, being draggled by the greed and utilitarianism of our self-destructive time.

There’s so much that has been achieved, and it’s absurd to witness how it’s being wasted.

Development
(2013)
When I will learn how to walk on two legs,
Speak to me
When I will learn how to use a stick to pursue a fixed star
Which grows too high
The more upright I'll stand,
The darker will be the imperceptible that surrounds me,
The indiscernible
That only the words of our language can conjure into the dells of my brain
There comes Death,
One that is more than just adrenaline and pain
There comes the carnivorous plant of nonexistence
I will turn to you when I will learn the sentences in which the sounds
Are interlaced as predicates, subjects, ornamental attributes
When I will grow beyond my flat world, through the canopy of which
Life percolates avariciously
When I will learn how to invoke
The nucleus of an atom, the invisible hand
To pierce the planet with the blade of the sun
To tune up the clock
To chop the crumbling time
To sit opposite to myself like humans tend to do,
Insisting on how I'm doing,
Waiting for a bot to answer
Then I will turn to you, with the hope that you would
Give me the beams
Of your high forehead


Can’t believe anyone would truly care to read it, but okay:
Taking Birds Apart
Here an article suggests
that if one takes various birds apart
an owl’s eardrum is bigger than all the rest.

This celebration imports to our kids cartloads
of bird parts, bird feet, bird beaks.
Lungs, livers, hearts.

Across the nation boys—and girls!—American nerds
slicing and dicing the American aviary
for the sake of Curiosity, Inquiry, and Measurement: Herds
of thought that, taken apart, feed
us our quidnunc of nourishment,
our two teaspoons of dalliance, shove a beak
to ours, lurching for our lunch, the nourishment
of the moment leading to the doorstep of sleep.

We step in; face the music, the poetry and the supplements
to minds annexed, superposed, used as sheep
to the owl’s eye, a part played out,
a story read, a song sung with nary a peep.


Sure.
I wrote a few ~ and put them in a book.
You can find them, here → Amazon.
com: If Poems Were Fleurs: The Little Black Book of Musings from the Heart (Volume 1) (9781470041076): Ms.
M.
Amelia Jermano: Books


First Mother Nature filled this blessed Earth,
with beauty all around, but I see you,
in winter's depths I found my own rebirth,
a love that bloomed amid the spring's debut.

And doubts like morbid crows tear me apart,
they make me ask if love is ever real,
or just a way to break a damaged heart,
and yet I know you’re worth the pain I feel.

In love, I want to find my destined light,
as sun-kissed roses now reveal your touch,
and in the summer breeze my heart takes flight,
despite the angst of loving you too much.

I can resolve to turn and face my fear,
when in the darkness I can feel you near.


Choosing to Dream
I dreamt I was a knight in armor
riding over fields of crimson wheat.

And with each step, recalled the farmer
lying, vanquished, in the furrows at my feet.

Who was this man who’d sacrificed his life?
What agency stepped in to lift my hand?
Did he have livestock? Children? Wife?
For whom he’d vivified once-barren land?
I dreamt I was a man of courage,
striving to accomplish noble deeds.

The road ahead all-but discouraged
cultivating any sort of seed.

Yet, looking down, I saw a man
who’d put aside all pretenses of fame,
and working quietly with plow and hand
ensured that not a soul would know his name.

What good had all his effort brought to pass?
How full had been the life that he had led?
Was he resigned? Content? Steadfast?
I’ll never know — I left him lying dead.

I dreamt my fate would carry me afar,
but, waking, I am left with bitter dread.

For was I truly meant to catch a shooting star?
Or has my future’s joy already fled?
If so, oh well.

I guess it’s back to bed.


Darsh,
Then and Now
If I could hear the water running

through the rocks and the stones
under my 
feet rumbling, I could behold
your voice 
again and feel my surprise
wherever I go.

You crack a smile
somewhere far away.

I confer the warmth
of a kiss 
onto the most solitary star
in the night sky.

Coming here has always
been my wish, and now 
it is my reason.

From pulp to legal tender, 
the truest reason
is made from wishing, 
and the first sign
of spring is that which awakens 
within me
rather than what I awaken to.


My first intention is an impulse budding,

not sunned by any need I know.


I have another day on my mind I must overcome 

to forget.
Old hurdle, I have jumped it

a million different ways.
I had a place in mind

before I came to this breezy garden, a maze
full of yellow 
roses and ivy.
How can I break
this unending 
splendor to myself, this actual solace
of Japanese 
maples in the first fog, that so exceeds
the flowers 
I had thought I would find?
The world I listen to 
is the private enterprise
of learning.

I grow older in what I hear
than in who I am.

The years that approach me
come to me 
in the strictest silence
and the starkest light, 
and your voice
is the clean break I make 
with indifference,
when you tell me how your father

cannot find himself among his many 
waking hours.

There is no alarm for us.

I keep what you said
when you stood 
behind me at the party last winter.


I part my lips to receive your breath.

Joel Fry


There was a philosopher named Kant
Whose erudition he tended to flaunt,
When told that it's imperative
That you limit your narrative,
He replied, "Categorically, I can't!"


It’s funny,
The duality of life.

It’s sweet as honey
Yet it stabs you with a knife.

Right in the heart and thought.

You can try and stop it
But it can’t be fought,
The dualitys plot.

You try to ease the pain
But it all drips down the drain.

There is nothing to gain,
Sanity you have to obtain.

Remains still remain
Dead we walk from the moment we are born
And from the start our life is torn.

Even as babies in our heart lies a thorn
As time passes it splits our heart in half.

Oh insanity, all you do is laugh
At our sane selves.

In the deepest corners insanity delves
To search for what you love most
and break it until you’re lost.

In your mind and in your soul
It all becomes dark as coal.

I say: If you may,
On the graves of the living you pray
For we were dead
Before our first steps ahead.

I have more stuff on various sites but I just made a blog and I’d really appreciate it if you guys would check it out: Niki The Hobbit Writes


Not bound by time and space
To Red is what it brings grace
Stronger than the syrupiest adhesive
Become two beings so unconditionally immersive
Mightiest of the pens it has muddled
Thou shalt try too
Only to be puzzled too
Brings Symmetry to life
Finds you your wife
Completes you; they say
Gods, Titans and Devil
Can beat them all
Cause Peace, Cause War
Mean nothing if it were not
I ask Aladdin and Jasmine, Moon and the Sun
Oh Juliet and Romeo
Did you fall or did you become it?
Lying naked on top of him she asked
Is it love that you speak of my love?
He Smiled

Updated: 10.06.2019 — 4:10 pm

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