#poeticreflection

[elysianwing]

Climate Change

I remember when the writing first slowed. Reduced from a deluge to a dribble. I'd spent a lot of time then, brooding over how repetitive it felt and how stagnant I believed I had become. I'd read my old works over and over and over and over cringing at the banality... of those tried and overwrote tired and overwrought overthought words. How could I have known? How could I have ever guessed that all of the bodies... these corpses of curiosity and creativity, that I was burying in my mind, would ruin the soil of my imagination and leave my ideas infertile? I let my skies cloud with smog, paved over my rainforests with tar, and hunted my buffalo to extinction. "S'just writer's block" I said as I sang my own elegy. My motivation laid to rest in the family crypt, beside potential, ambition and childhood wonder. Somehow, back then I'd forgotten exactly how much I just fucking love to write. I tripped all over myself trying to drum up interest trying to come up with new ideas trying to figure out how I might monetize.... I fell down and convinced myself I'd died, when in fact I'd only bumped my head. There is nothing we can do in this life that I know of, more fulfilling and worthwhile than taking the time to put your thoughts into words and ramble on repetitively redundantly incessantly about any subject your brain saw fit to muse over for however brief a moment in time. I'd forgotten. Somehow. I remember, now. Written by Alexander Learmont 8/31/2024 9:32pm https://www.patreon.com/Elysianwing

[uncle-keg]

Fall’s Farewell

From the hospital window

on a bleak autumn mourning,

I watch the last leaves fall–

like my hope for our future.

[maveric-works-list]

FIGHT

You are the opponent.

I didn’t know we were fighting.

You don’t need to know you're fighting to be their opponent.

They battle the air, spit into the wind,

Kicking at shadows they’ll never pin.

Who are they,

If the bit cannot be chomped?

Satisfied.

Overall, the poem questions the purpose and identity of someone who thrives on conflict, especially when their efforts are misdirected or self-defeating.

[arscaelestis]

Dystopian Moon: Revelation of a Dream

Upon the farmhouse stoop we stood, beneath the azure gaze, Where Luna's sphere in daylight hung, a celestial maze. With continents and briny deeps, so stark against the blue, A sphere estranged from astral norms, presented in false hue.

"They've aestheticized the moon," he spoke, a statement darkly cast, A tapestry of power's weave, dystopian and vast. A projection in the heavens, where truth once freely roamed, Now an orb of grand deception, in silent sky it domed.

I turned away, a heart awash with anxious, pounding tides, Into the shelter of my abode, where uncertainty abides. "Why dost thou flee?" the shadow asked, a specter in my wake, Yet no solace found in walls that breathe, no refuge there to take.

The world outside, a stage of veils, where puppeteers convene, To drape the stars and script the clouds, to mask what must be seen. And we, but actors in the ruse, with sightless eyes we dance, To tunes composed by hidden hands, in ignorance's trance.

What doctrines sown among the rows of intellect's vast field, Are but the chaff of phantom minds, in gilded falsehoods sealed. The ruling kin, with threads of myth, weave cloaks of night so sheer, To swaddle firm the minds of men, in cradles wrought of fear.

And so we question bedrock truths, foundations turn to mist, As phantoms rule the firmament, by alchemists' own twist. Reality, a whispered dream, that slips through grasping thoughts, While overlords in silence scheme, in cryptic shadows wrought.

The moon, a sentinel of night, now cast in doubting role, Reflects the turmoil of our souls, the chaos of our whole. For what are we, if not but pawns in grand celestial play, Where truth is pawned for pageantry, and night consumes the day?

Our spirits, restless, seek the dawn, where certainty might dwell, Yet find ourselves on checkered grounds, betwixt our heaven and hell. The wool, so thick upon our eyes, obscures the paths we tread, With every step, the ground gives way to more doubt's web instead.

So in the dream, the moon revolved, a symbol of our plight, A globe of artifice so vast, it shunned the natural light. Yet in its counterfeit rotation, a truth begins to cleave, That even in constructed lies, the heart will still believe.

Arouse, arise, O slumbering minds, and cast the veils aside, For in the light of piercing day, no shadows can abide. The dream, though heart to heart may race, a truth within it vies, To question all, to seek, unveil, the truth behind the lies.

---------- Backstory:

I had a dream last night, wherein I found myself on the porch of a quaint house nestled in the heart of the countryside, with verdant fields stretching into the horizon. Beside me stood a figure whose identity remained shrouded in mystery. Together, we gazed upwards, our eyes drawn to the moon that hung in the broad daylight sky. This was no ordinary moon though, it boasted distinct continents and vast oceans, mimicking the Earth's surface, complete with delineated national borders akin to those on a terrestrial globe. Unnaturally, it rotated, offering a panoramic view of its transformed facade.

I remarked to my companion, perplexed, "That's impossible. We only ever see the same side of the moon." His reply was cryptic yet revealing, "They've aestheticized the moon." The implication was clear, what we beheld was nothing more than an elaborate facade, a mere projection in the celestial dome.

A wave of unease washed over me, compelling me to retreat into the sanctuary of my home. The man inquired about my sudden disquiet, but before I could respond, the dream dissolved, and I awoke. My heart raced, the anxiety from the dream lingering like a shadow, refusing to depart even as I returned to the waking world.

[amaranthmagazine]

Summary: Celebrating Resilience Through Poetry: A Timeless Tribute

“Poetic Tribute: Everlasting Face of Resiliency” is a heartfelt exploration of human strength and perseverance, beautifully expressed through the art of poetry. This evocative piece captures the essence of enduring hardship with grace and determination, offering a profound reflection on what it means to be resilient.

For more inspiring narratives and literary works, visit the Narrative Journeys section at Amaranth Magazine, where stories of courage and creativity come to life.

This poetic tribute also highlights the universal appeal of resilience, encouraging readers to find their strength in moments of adversity. Discover more on personal growth and mindfulness in the Mind Matters section, where inner resilience takes center stage.

Explore Amaranth Magazine:

Amaranth Magazine is your destination for uplifting stories, insightful poetry, and creative expression. Visit Amaranth Magazine to explore a rich collection of articles that inspire and empower.

To receive regular updates on articles like this, sign up on the Subscription page. For those with a story or poem to share, contribute your voice through the Contribute Your Content page.

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[astramari1212]

Rediscovering Her

For the Woman at 40

When she was young, she danced in the light, full of dreams spun in colors bright. Hope hummed like a song in her veins, and laughter broke as a gentle rain.

But as years wrapped their weight around, the brightness sank, her laughter drowned. Memories blurred, energy dimmed, and life’s harsh edge grew ever-trimmed.

She wondered—was this a price to pay for being flawed in some nameless way? Had she been so wrong, so undeserving that love itself turned cold and unnerving? Must she serve with unthanked hands, forever unseen, across unseen sands?

Yet, 40 is a fine number, strong, a quiet anthem, an older song. In that number, she found grace, a wisdom no one could replace. For what she lost, she gained anew and suffering taught her what strength could do.

The harder they pushed, the stronger she grew, each wound a seed that bloomed and knew that doubts, like shadows, fade with dawn, for strength is born when all seems gone.

She has her days of distrust, it’s true, twenty years left scars that grew— yet, somewhere beneath, that little girl hides, with dreams and hope that refuse to die.

She whispers, “One day, I’ll dance once more, I’ll shake off shadows, lift from the floor.” For she is both warrior and child within, and she fights, in silence, to rise again.

[adriftpoetry]

Whispers of Resilience

In shadows cast by fleeting years, I danced a waltz with grown-up fears. A childhood lost, a heavy toll, In whispers of a wounded soul.

While friends frolicked in youth's embrace, I bore the weight of life's swift race. Responsibilities draped in gray, Innocence lost, dreams put away.

Through corridors of fleeting time, I walked the path, a paradigm. Family struggles, finance woes, In the garden, a lone flower grows.

Childhood's laughter, a distant sound, As I navigated life unbound. Maturity forced its early bloom, In the twilight of a borrowed room.

Yet strength emerged from depths unknown, A resilience in seeds I'd sown. The sunsets painted on my face, A canvas etched with quiet grace.

Oh, how I longed for carefree days, To chase the sun in playful ways. But duty called, and I replied, A grown-up heart in a child's stride.

In dreams, I sought a lighter flight, Yet anchored by the struggles, tight. For every tear that marked the night, A star was born, a guiding light.

So here I stand, a soul mature, With tales to tell, hardships endure. Though youth slipped by with fleeting grace, I found my strength in life's embrace.

For in the crucible of strife, I forged a deeper, truer life. And as I gaze at the stars above, I thank the trials that shaped my love.

-adriftpoetry

[topherpikebooks]

Let this poem challenge your perspective on desire, fulfillment, and the true cost of excess.

#ConsumedByDesire #PoeticReflection #MaterialismAwareness #InnerVoid #ChasingMore #SoulfulPoetry #ExcessAndLoss #ConsciousLiving #AwakeningThroughPoetry #DeepReflection

[normally0]

The Devil's Crossing: A Bridge of Envy and Ingenuity

 

The Devil's Bridge, a path of tooth and bone, 

In jagged lines it calls, yet stands alone.  

An angel pauses, wings half-spread, unsure,  

The cage ahead, a prison that endures.

 

For Daedalus, it echoes ancient crime, 

A saw once born from fish, a gift of time.  

His nephew’s mind, so sharp it drew blood's ire,  

A bridge between them, forged in cruel desire.

 

The sawtooth bridge is envy’s frozen crest, 

A path of genius twisted, never blessed. 

For Daedalus could not, would not, abide,

Another’s brilliance walking by his side.

 

And so, the angel hesitates to tread,  

This bridge where envy’s ghostly hands have bled.

To cross might mean to cage one's soaring flight,

To stay, perhaps, is to remain in light.

 

Yet in this bridge, a lesson carved in stone,

That grasping for too much leaves one alone.  

The cage, a warning, sharp as any blade,

To treasure what’s in hand, and not to trade.

 

For in the devil’s crossing, peril lies,  

Where genius falls, and only envy flies.

 

#DevilsBridge #Daedalus #ArchitecturalMetaphor #EnvyAndIngenuity #MythAndArchitecture #PoeticReflection #AncientWisdom #MythologyInArt #BridgeOfPride #CautionaryTale

[interesting-music]

"Challenge the notion that 'Greed Is Good' with this satirical poem that playfully mocks the mantra of excessive avarice. Join me in a poetic journey that unravels the folly of relentless pursuit, as we explore the comical side of insatiable desire. Let the verses tickle your conscience and provoke a thought or two about the true essence of prosperity. Share a laugh and a moment of reflection on the absurdity of unbridled greed. 🤑📜 #SatiricalPoetry #GreedIsNotGood #PoeticReflection"

[journey2womanhood]

Inspiration is everywhere , look again. What is your gift to the world? Can u guess which one I wrote. #poeticreflection #instaquote #blackexcellence #humpday https://www.instagram.com/p/BrBoKHdBVVO/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1df4nwxsutspn

[littledaisylove]

What a yummy little sweet I could give myself a treat-

No!

Stop that right there

Oh, right.

They say if eat too much, I will be fat fat fat and nobody would like like like that

Because girls who have rolls rolls rolls are supposed to die forever alone.

You see what I just did?

I just let it be

And did my own thing

Because liars liars liars end with their pants on FIRE

.

.

[uncle-keg]

Left Unread

For every Helmet for my Pillow–

How many memoirs go unpublished?

Their poems left unrecited.

The words long written down

never to be bound by our cultural consciousness;

left to rot–       in their pockets,

slowly washed away with crimson blood

or blown to shreds from falling rockets.

Their silent echoes hushed by the battlefield;

the shadows of their memories

never illuminated nor revealed.

The writings of the dead;

their remains forever left unread.

[topherpikebooks]

Reflect on the strength and courage needed to confront and heal from past experiences.

#Poetry #Healing #Trauma #OvercomingTrauma #EmotionalHealing #PersonalGrowth #Resilience #HealingJourney #PoeticReflection #InnerStrength #SelfLove #MentalHealth

[topherpikebooks]

An honest reflection of the weight of sadness, the yearning for light, and the search for meaning amidst the darkness

#Poetry #Depression #MentalHealth #Despair #LifeStruggles #EmotionalJourney #FindingLight #MentalHealthAwareness #PoeticReflection #SharedExperiences

[journey2womanhood]

Proud member of @blackorganizingproject. Thank you for appreciation award for my leadership on Arts, Culture, political education committee and may we continue to organize and find common ground. #BOP #poeticambassador #Justwrite #poeticreflection (at Black Organizing Project) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bs1YswghF84/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=10u93zz98tr69