Category Archives: Poetry – Poems

An Ode Of Utopia

The world is inhabited by lots of peoples, all humans, which does not have to mean they are humane.

Those who say they honour Allah, the Most High Divine Creator Who made man in His own image, should make sure that they are worth to bear that image. Living according to the Laws of the Elohim Hashem Jehovah it is up to those lovers of God to work at the improvement of the living environment.

Many may call those callers for peace utopians, but the world shall have to come to know our world is not an unreachable Utopia.

ishambhavirhyming.wordpress.blog

Clouds are deep dark,
And sun is devoid of spark.
Earth is soaked in crimson hue,
And humans are many but humane are few.

So, I shook my slumbering soul,
As wide awake…
screams of gored humanity pierced into core
I wondered…
Isn’t Civilization taking a huge toll?!
Thus, I limned a utopian goal.

At the horizon a world is shimmering…
A world where we recognize all the differences and yet don’t discriminate,
Where we are encouraged to accommodate but not coerced to assimilate.

A world where black is valued for depth and white is valued for peace,
Where brethren isn’t swayed by shade cards and fraternity doesn’t cease.

A world where territorial boundaries do not matter,
Where compassion pours out for whosoever walking in tatter.
A world where amity exceeds the constructed limits,
Where from cosmos love spills and hope is all that sun emits.

A world where bonds…

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When you hear the rain

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Too Insignificant

Obscured from the universe,
I’m holding up my fears,
Letting out cries
That no one will hear

My tear, just a drop
In the big, boundless sea
Flowing where it takes it
Until it’s unseen

Nobody can feel
What I feel deep down
Even the loudest of screams
Don’t seem to make a sound

They travel their way
Into the empty air
Till they go unheard,
Landing somewhere

Waking each day
Feeling all the same
Was the world this terrifying
Even before I came?

Would it even matter
If I faded away
The sun would still shine
To start off yet another day

In a cold infinite world
My tiny world is unseen
Where my quivering pain
Is only for me to feel…

This poem deals with existential dread- the fear that you are too small and too insignificant in an empty, cold and vast universe to be able to…

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The Enchanted Forest

In these days of lockdown having so much less traffic that even the animals do not know any more where to find it, whilst more people having to stay at home or around their house went walking and perhaps (re)discovering nature.

*

 

Not far from sight,
Lies a forest I’ve never seen
The trees and the bushes
Glimmeringly green

I take tiny steps
As I walk into the mist
To a world of enchantment
That I never knew could exist

The day has begun
With the sun wide awake
The endearing tweeting of birds
The dawn chorus they create

Sweet-scented berries
Giving a delectable forest scent
Squirrels scampering down trees
To try some of them

Cheerful rabbits
With their fur, snow white
With their tiny pink noses
They frolic in delight

I pick up a flower
With a silky white petal
It’s alluring fragrance
Leaves me in an Elysian fettle

Behind a lush tree
Of a juicy blue berry
Lies a jewel-clear river,
A world of faery

Not a speck of dust
Seen in the pristine blue tint
The scintillating sun kissed water
Giving out its gorgeous golden glint

It burbles all…

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Safety Net

The 50 year old poet

Out in this world without the aid

of a safety net,

the fear of failure has me

in a cold sweat.

I am taking baby steps in case

I might fall,

there are too many obstacles

always on call.

My breathing is unsteady

and brisk,

I don’t know whether I am ready

to take this risk.

I have lost count of the times

I’ve tried to break free

only to fail and end up

back on my knees.

But maybe this is the time

I will survive,

to venture out into the sunshine

and feel like I am alive.

man doing hand stand on mountain Photo by Sam Kolder on Pexels.com

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Spirituality

For many of the older generation, it looks so weird. We regretting not having had such social media as there is today. We, thinking we still would have had contacts with so many whom we liked very much in the past.

At the same time we notice how so many of the new generation are glued to their smartphone and boast about their many friends on Facebook, but in a way are even more lonely than we, who saw already so many of our peers being carried to the grave.

Also, so many of those youngsters seem to have the spirit of life, because the spiritual does not exist in them.

The 50 year old poet

I was born in the Sixties

grew up in the Seventies

fell in love in the Eighties

got married in the Nineties

had a family in the Noughties,

then things got strange,

made friends I never met

over a thing called the Internet,

lost touch with reality

and became another fatality

in a world void of spirituality.

pine trees under cloudy sky Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

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April 2020

The 50 year old poet

Flowers are still growing,

birds are still singing

but a darkness has come

which will mean the end for some.

In just a short while

the world has lost its smile,

people forced into isolation

with the hope it may save their nation.

Politicians try to offer hope

to those finding it hard to cope,

mankind can be changed for good,

but only if the reality is understood.

yellow daffodil flower in tilt shift lens photography Photo by David Cole on Pexels.com

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Isolation Blues

drycrikjournal

To ease the pain of living.
Everything else, drunken dumbshow.

- Allen Ginsberg (“Memory Gardens”)

Chill in the dark,
the day before forever—
before eternity slips
into twinkling space.

Alone with ourselves,
we have no secrets left
to bury, only seeds to sow
for summer fruit.

Two owls are talking
across the yard:
emphatic hoots,
promises of spring.

Dogs bark at the scent
of coyotes near—
neither know, neither care
about tomorrow.

It is our moment
to find diversions
in search of awe,
the small and the majestic—

to do the work
to ease the pain of living.
All the rest
drunken dumbshow.

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The wave of rain has passed

Once more the wave of rain has passed,
and yonder the hills appear; these are but uplands.
The nearest and highest has a green rampart,
visible for a moment against the dark sky,
and then again wrapped in a toga of misty cloud.
… Wee-ah-wee!
Some chance movement has been noticed by the nearest bird [lapwing],
and away they go at once as if with the same wings,
sweeping overhead, then to the right, then to the left, and then back again,
till at last lost in the coming shower. …
~ seasonal1 haiku inspired by the essays of Richard Jefferies 
From: Sweeping the Sky

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Leonard Cohen – Take This Waltz (Live in London)

Now in Vienna there’s ten pretty women
There’s a shoulder where Death comes to cry
There’s a lobby with nine hundred windows
There’s a tree where the doves go to die
There’s a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the Gallery of Frost

Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on it’s jaws

Oh I want you, I want you, I want you
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lily
In some hallway where love’s never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand

Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With it’s very own breath of brandy and Death
Dragging it’s tail in the sea

There’s a concert hall in Vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
There’s a bar where the boys have stopped talking
They’ve been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?

Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz it’s been dying for years

There’s an attic where children are playing
Where I’ve got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of Hungarian lanterns
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And I’ll see what you’ve chained to your sorrow
All your sheep and your lilies of snow

Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its “I’ll never forget you, you know!”

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz …
With its very own breath of brandy and death
Dragging its tail in the sea

And I’ll dance with you in Vienna
I’ll be wearing a river’s disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook
With the photographs there, and the moss
And I’ll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And you’ll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist

Oh my love, Oh my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It’s yours now. It’s all that there is

{Instrumental}

(Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay)

~ Leonard Cohen

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