Best İmpermanence Poems
Am no poet, so I may sound trifle prosaic.
Had lessons in classical music, oh, so archaic
She stood with her slender hands on her slim hips,
Smoldering eyes, a smirk on her lightly painted lips.
...
Who can resist the strangulating grip of time?
That which exists today is not there tomorrow
Like shooting stars which vanish in the flicker of an eye
Life comes and goes quicker than a speeding arrow
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I read the poems of Tagore for you
I read the poems of Tagore for you
to calm the fevers and the chills,
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Here is the height of land:
The watershed on either hand
Goes down to Hudson Bay
Or Lake Superior;
...
S P A C E
is a problem unlike your never-ending
paper or the maddening blankness of
your word processor where you can go on
and on in anguish or insanity or boredom
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No seed that's on the earth ground
It's tree now, offering the shadow
And life of sound
...
LESBIA'S daughter, I shall tell no lie,
Here's no fit amber for such a dainty fly.
Let them embalm your beauty whoso can
...
Goddess, I come to you
my neck wreathed with rosebuds,
my head filled with visions of infants,
...
Time a continuous dream-
Watch its workings in every being.
Eons back
...
The dilapidated atheist sat
Self-proclaimed rationalist
Fondling his smoky beard
Eyes myopic, looks haggard
...
I.
One Life, one Fate, one Love…
That one-time, ravishing, sudden love,
peeling the layers of years lived
...
Again and again
I am reminded
of that word
the buddhists love,
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The Mother earth is a symbol of
Patience and tolerance
The wind is a symbol of
...
The impermanence
Of life is tempered by love
By its constancy
By its eternality
...
I've visited a paradise or two,
or made them, with a few brave, kindred souls.
But something always seemed to go askew;
each house of Vision's brick was pocked with holes.
...
Isn't it funny how light changes our perception?
How dull rust leaves transform into crystal claret
When a beam of light finds its way to them -
Catching our eye as they seem to come alive?
...
Some things
strike a chord in us
and stay with us
even if we don't know why.
...
I'm typing on a 'tablet', so Bri may soon be shouting.
If 'it' acts as it does at times, I also may be pouting!
April's showcase I hope.....found one or two new friends.
My goal: 'To allow you access, with few twists and bends'.
...
Be it an act, or a thing, or a being,
the beginning of what ever that matters
finds way forward, towards the end, destined.
...
I bought it, for me, out of my money
And it is mine; no one else can claim rights
Except my own-self.
...
Love's ashes blown
By the wind of time;
Consumed in flames,
Now, —chastity her senses.
...
Scattered memories
from broken times, collected:
Nosegay of dry, lifeless life to bury
like corpses in tombs, slowly, decaying:
...
Encounter the Past
(After visiting my Native village)
The deep green field
...
Koh-I-Babu
Grandfather Mountain
casts its gentle shadow
...
An almost imperceptible sigh
Escaping from throats of tormented souls,
Rising to some Omnipresence,
Witnessing the Agony of Existence:
...
All of creation is groaning
Very much convinced am I
that the sufferings of this
...
Life flashes by in a moment of time.
Late twilight's rose fades, the sweet songbirds leave.
Though we strive to remain in reasoned rhyme,
All living will die, the joyful will grieve.
...
Vain is this world, vacuous as deployed—
The scriptures say for long years in this land,
But man feels, world is of no virtue void,
He's happy to come, play the given hand.
...
When moments that prompt me,
to mark life as a priceless
treasure worth holding on to,
are stolen away by merchants
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Confusion(Waka)
The waka is:
a cinquain, written in 5 lines.
...
Often our perceptions
Of people, concepts and world
Are adulterated or skewed
So we see things
...
even the stones in your
garden
we do not know really
shifted places
...
1.Wild Mentors
When a bird is hurt
It cries in half - notes
...
The permanence of things and the impermanence
of people neither is surprising nor a paradox;
every planet has a star and firmaments,
and thinks that it finds balance in the equinox,
...
leo tolstoy is being alive, looking at post-pop street arts flying in universe of poem.
war and peace in mind war and peace in ocean war and peace in paddybfield war andbpeace in skin-deep tatoos war and peace in songs war and peace in cinema war and peace in theatre war and peace in zen drawing war and peace in human condition war and peace in paintings war and peace in abstract words war and peace in deconstrctive concepts of reality war and peace in layered identities war and peace in identity loss war and peace in identity crisis war and peace in no identity war and peace in lovers war amd peace in thought of truth condition war and peace in smiles war and peace in cries war and peace in screams war and peace in rats in darkness war andbpeace in spelling mistakes war and peace in birth, aging, diseases and deaths war and peace in nature war and oeace in civilizational seismics war and peace in psychgeological moves war and peace in impermanence of life war and peace in nothingness war and peace in having meals war and peace in silent monologue war and peace in leo tolstoy's novel.
war and peace in ant 's dream.
leo tolstoy is in silence of thnightingale's. cool-littlel eyes.
...
Then it feels alright: the stars in their cathedral
And the night coming down through its curtains
Loving what it does,
Becoming married again across the deserts
...
1. An Inside Job (1)
‘And only click the switch, when you hear sound'
The audiologist said.
...
An aged man’s a paltry thing
(John Butler Yeats, of course) ,
his legacy divided, king
like Lear, bereft of force,
...
You say you’re glad that now we’ve reconnected:
Introspectively, “I think anymore, takers”
Then a dullards-thought: Doesn’t the sea play cupid.
Crashing too surfs, falling into breakers...
...
Poems about Fathers and Grandfathers
I translated the first six Native American poems for my father, Paul Ray Burch Jr., when he chose to enter hospice and end his life by not taking dialysis …
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EARLY POEMS: JUVENILIA
by Michael R. Burch
These are early poems, most of them written between the ages of 11-18 and some published in my high school literary journal, THE LANTERN. Other poems were written later and several of those were published in my college literary journal, HOMESPUN.
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Freedom; liberation of mind
Our perceptions of people and world
Often adulterated or skewed,
...
Leaves on my maples are on fire
I behold in awed fascination
Countless colors
Crimson, burgundy, purple
...
When your friend is restless
you love him and wish him the best,
you know his unease
and his looking
...
I live with a wild god
Of no face
Of no voice
Of no intent
...
For some, the grief
over the loss of
a loved one prevails,
for others a feeling
...
Death - mischievously, cheekily, asked—Life-
For the hand betroth to be his beloved wife.
I'll render her beauty, forever eternal,
Worry not' bride or a mother maternal
...
There is no hint of end in the air
Nothing to suggest the impermanence
The alluring sky azure and brightly fair
Only a few dropped leaves making little sense!
...
entering into conscious free fall knowing I worried too much
I drift.
Are youawake? she asks in italics
...
The King had sent captains of the army...
Their sins and their lawlessness, I'll remember
No more. I have blotted out, like a thick cloud,
Your transgressions, and like a cloud, your sins.
...
S P A C E
is a problem unlike your never-ending
paper or the maddening blankness of
your word processor where you can go on
and on in anguish or insanity or boredom
on one-hundred-and-seven degree Fahrenheit afternoons.
(To write the next lines you need to take
the green&goldbrown duster to rub off these eight)
Colour is another confusion you want
to wish away. At sixteen you wouldn't write
OneSingleWord unless it was forty percent
gray letters on a plum background and your
monitor looked like a high class youknowwho.
The font then was Footlight MT Light, 13 pt.
Now, at twenty one, it is Verdana, eight point.
(I have erased again)
NOTHING SEDUCES LIKE YOUR OWN HANDWRITING.
THE WHITE CHALK DANCING ACROSS GLASS GREEN.
Creepers on W's & R's, hats on S, hearts on I's & J's.
(I have erased again)
I don't grudge the colours too. Instead of two hundred
and fifty six fantasies there is the catholic bridal white.
Sometimes, there is yellow, blue, green, purple, red and
orange and the opportunity of giving them names—
Flaky Fullmoon. Bleached & Faded Captain Haddock Suit.
Temple-tank Algae. Crushed Lilac Under Flashlight.
Sherbet Stain. Sawdust Chillidust Cream.
(I have erased again)
There is considerable exertion (let me hazard a guess:
writing takes two hundred calories per hour, erasing
with the duster five hundred, and walking across must
be say, around eighty). Then, there is chalk-dust allergy
that compels me to sneeze. And the chemical after-effect
that spoils the moody brown skin of any glowing goddess.
And the unbearable sounds
of chalk squeak. . .
(I have erased again.
The fifth time now.)
But, a poet loves
writing blackboard poems.
(So easy, to imagine, an audience)
Yet, how much she dreads
Impermanence. . .
...
After all it is a drama
Motherhood and family:
Past, present and future
Enchanted by divine magic -
...
Death leaves me wanting
the past or the future
of the dearly departed
...
Sitting in the shade of the tree
I looks on you every day evening
Remembering, relaxing, and analysing
The changes on your flow, and water ways
...
Fear is the anxiety of future and sufferings
By the way it acts and makes mental strains
It causes to upsetting the total system of men
Keep away the fear and fill the mind with love
...
I will try not to cry
When death comes nearby
I know it is not the proper way
It is only a journey after a long walk
...
Tides boasts the powerful movements
That they makes with heavy noise
The fear it makes to all nearby
Still the sea in distance keeps the calm
...
I walked along the suspension bridge
In the morning just the sun awoke
Showing his presence to the moon to leave
From the scene of vicinity for his noble appearance
...
At dawn sitting in the Garden of Mystery
Meditating on the tasty fruits of the forbidden tree
The imperious Iblis refusing to accept...
...Adam's authority over him
...
O empires rise and empires fall. Youth turns to age.
Everything passes into the stream of Time.
All possessions are fleeting; only Love remains.
Distractions give way to profound symbols and signs.
...
Only when ephemeral does time
embody its true essence,
with impermanence its paradigm,
evoking evanescence.
...
Precipitously balanced on the crux
of change, I sometimes long for flatter land
away from the tumult and the flux,
a niche where I can stand.
...
The morning air was angry
so I closed my front window
to block the '37th homicide'
seeping under the wooden sill
...
Civilizations carry no guilt of that pointed
Oblivious memory, a hairs-breadth of devastation
Spreading inside the beam of sun's impermanence
My cellular epiphany, of distinctly visible creed:
...
Impermanence threatens-
It's thoughts in our head;
A certain disconsonance
Of feet on our bed.
...
The High Energy Magic Building at
Unseen University where fluxes in
the morphic nature of the universe
show the impermanence of seeming-
...
Where do I touch
you in dark? You don't have
the skin, like water.
...
The unspoken words
had the unborn quality.
That homliness sitting around the fire pits
writhed in predatory hopelessness.
...
A rapt moon was listening
a tale of two murders.
Across the caste, fingernails
were digging in to give -
...
He said creating a will
to become whole Being,
was more important. Spacing of thoughts
can wait. Fear was there
...
The search was absolute,
truth was not.
The shades of impermanence
and flowing emotions merged.
...
Dignity of knife in hope or fright
cuts the outer edge of desire.Huddled
anxiety oversees the fringe bites
...
what we carefully build
for years and years
like a mandala sand painting
of the monks
...
like the colored sands of the
Buddhist monks of Mandala
the facts of our lives
that took
...
once more
you have written
a group of lines
without a vortex
...
1.Last Supper
That Monday, swallows
Scissored the threads of evening
The sun lay warm on the wall.
...
1.The Moo Bar, Buccleuch Street, Edinburgh
Fin wud bands roar oot reggae, hip-hop, techno
A bull fair suits this barry Embro boozer
...
Father, mother rich and poor
Sister, brother, none endure
Children of the Winds of Chance
Join hands with Death and let us dance
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1. Museum of Failed Products: A List Poem
The Japanese call it, mono no aware, the pathos of things. The sadness of life's impermanence.
Fortune Snookies, (fortune cookies for dogs)
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1.The Camel's Nose
I set up a tent in a park.
The meen raise. Ootbye it wis derk
Syne I heard a snocher, a spit an a pyocher
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Wincher's Stance: A Statue by John Clinchin Glasgow Bus Station
He'd a broo like Andy Stewart
He'd a Rab C. Nesbitt sark
Wi his bovver buits an jeans on
...
The Temple Bell is rung
calling the Sangha
Murmuring.
Tinkling piano in the Honda,
...
High expressions of spirit from a Nature poet is coming
Like the deep mystical experiences of a seer or sage...;
That is philosophical poetry expressing great ideas of
Spiritualism in Nature providing great feast of bliss!
...
An appreciation on Savitri-
Book Nine: The Book of Eternal Night
Canto Two: The Journey in Eternal Night
and the Voice of the Darkness
...
Dharma will become Yema to erring kings;
Great men would adore a repute chaste lady;
Destiny will manifest itself and be fulfilled;
These truths centre round an anklet story.
...
Death is an enigma, a mystery.
Death is not an event which one does not live
To experience and yet death looms high.
Death looks mysterious as it limits life.
...
Cause and effect theory is at work,
By which one event leads to another.
Cause gives effect and effect turns a cause.
Impermanence is inevitable.
...
What wonderfully warm suppliant:
Now that I am drunk, and probably shouldn’t
Be writing anything. Yes, I should shut up,
And look at pictures of you, down the well
...
In this night the subtle stabs impermanence:
Her lips down open,
They wear blue foreboding:
In the morning, they may speak whispers to inspectors:
...
Now here is another thing for you,
Imperfectly fleeting:
Words which would have stayed as if in stone,
If they knew their older brother’s wiser crafts:
...
Another impermanence for the early tomb:
Nothing else to do,
But to see you as you lay for him,
A near perfect psalm,
...
Kelly wrote a poem to her mother I did not
Read;
But at night I guess I ejaculate the same way,
But to the girl and her friends,
...
Impermanence of stone butterflies,
This another night puts its reasons to my lips,
And there are relatives in their graves:
I don’t know where grandfather is buried,
...
And this day has brought another bouquet
Of nowhere:
There it is as the night wins out,
And the rest of that defeated sense goes home
...
Of life, there is nothing lasting in flesh
Of the greatest passions, of childhood games
The energy, acuity in which we delighted
Yield to the years and abandon us.
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12/13/2023 1:59:05 AM # 1.0.0.1119
