Best Convergence Poems

I

In a solitude of the sea
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~ Désespoir! Pourquoi? ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
28 March,2010
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~ Sedation Of Salvation ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
4 July,2010
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I

In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
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Masks prose without links


When last I visited India almost a decade ago
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Sitting alone on the river bank
In the fast fading amber light
My eyes glanced across the flowing river
To the other side, on my right
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I want to go back to my origin where I belong
essentially to satiate my soul
one homecoming on a realm where
soil blends a fragrance most like the earth
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'Solitude'-the word despicable
for some,
precludes socializing,
devoid of bond,
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Religion & Atheism are like the two sides of the coin,
Atheism preaches reason & rationale;
Belief & faith are the essence of religion of mine,
Both are adversaries having treasure of reason & morale;
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I can see the sun,
I Can see the moon,
I can see the stars,
I can see the Milky Ways,
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</>stark reality is ripple to flow
though blue to spruces up to hue
dream differs from inevitability
distinctive impulse is no truth of god
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Wicked
Exuberant
Syzygy
Opulent
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Many poets of various races and cultures,
Around the world indulge in variable adventures.
Rich and poor, young and old alike do converge,
Vie for freedom of expression and support in surge.
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i drive to its height
unbuckle my seat belt
walk to the edge and
choose a comfy pose
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wick
ed

tnarebuxe
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Narrow notions of Religious Sovereignty
Not withstanding the universal interests
Freaks minding the distress of generations
Convene the commonwealth of religions
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Oh poor cardinal
Lost its life, highway Fifteen
Hitting my windshield.
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Why are you afraid of deviations?
It’s a natural phenomenon,
When medium is changed light deviates,
And the seven beautiful colors,
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Your dream is existent.
It is a galactic spin;
it is electric, rhythmic,
resonant, and lunar,
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As wide asunder from pole to pole
My Eastern and your Western
in jarring disjuncture I am breaking
laying to rest the yawning divide.
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When darkness struggles to remain dark
And the sun struggles for a little more sleep but is awake
On hearing melody of sweet souls and dews wish to live daylong
Then born a day sublime and young
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I wish I show these Phony clerics,
Spiritual dharm gurus, pastors
Maulanas and Mullanis their place
Give them a tight ear ringing slap
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am floating or falling. I am light
as a feather, or even my thumbprint

fills the sky. The water near shore
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The oracle spilt its parables.
Flung from lips of lucidity,
fragments fell into the aether
and merged with fleeting images
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salvador dali
my heart is too
melting for you
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Among the events occurring
in the universe today, one featured
a convergence of the life patterns
belonging to a salamander and me.
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Darling, do you remember that year's autumn leaves?
Perhaps it was your aura, but they were the prettiest and keenest I've ever seen
Strolling through the park, hand in hand, the foliage crunched lightly under our feet
Such a simple, yet transcendent, treat
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I was a next door neighbour
Of Buddha and we frequently
Talked to each other
But whenever I asked him
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বদ্ধ চৌচির প্রান্তর!

খেচর মন উন্মুক্ত ব্যোমে
ডানা খুঁজে
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The Sonnet of the Lone Guardian Angel

(A lone voice whispers)
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I am the walking city
The breathing collective
The art of day and night
The ideals riding to work
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Heart rejoices rippling over brims of joy abounding
embarking upon buoyancy of blue to float skyline
mellow soft yet serenades over mist fed green
quest seems to ponder deep into velvet woods of wild'
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Call me wild moon, forest etching night's clearing....
glow ghosting silence-wide eyes,
blurring frost fur paths
feralled ancient....
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The Evolution of Love
by Michael R. Burch

Love among the infinitesimal
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Where does Bliss lie?

In tranquillity,
Away from multitudes,
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in our galaxy of humanity
as we float like planets trying to keep
ourselves within
our respective orbits
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Romance draws from response to stimulate,
and span two dreams’ convergence, second state,
meets live with love to spurn Time’s rendezvous,
ignoring jigsaw mind-set’s zigzag gait.
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A convergence has brought us all here
From the talking heads peddling fear
And the deluge of perpetual lies
From pandemics to genocides.
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FINAL CONVERGENCE

In trying to reach the place where both
earth and sky meet,
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Squirm in your seat and grind your teeth,
Rub your hands and set your jaw
Right when it takes you.
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"Jarring disjuncture"by Sofia Kioroglou

As wide asunder from pole to pole
My Eastern and your Western
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ADAMANTIA (LIFe Between Earth And Skies)

This antique brave nation Greece sometimes ago
Gave birth a lovely little girl as many of you know
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Tolerance intolerance

Tolerance intolerance dichotomy
Benevolence violence economy
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Swimming in a lake of pure gold
Doesn't matter when there's no passion to hold.

Although his pockets seem bottomless,
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Existence unfolds—
a fragile bridge suspended
between memory and hope.
Each step hums with the weight
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My poetry is a subtle ploy
In the cold machinery of now.
My love of rich, flowing textures
Subverts all rigid convergence.
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There is no crying
Tears are dazed
the state of
Feeling alone
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written papyrus scrolls scholarly tomes
in classical architecture ancient world libraries;
did not sit unused idle gather dust unread
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Here we all stand weighing with the scale of justice which gravely tips
our limits of tolerance as the Senate becomes a most sensitive jury.
Criticizing his defense, because there is none, DJ heckles like a hyena
waiting for the carnage to roll in laughing without remorse or mercy.
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(in response to two verses by Danaé Écarlate*, with thanks to Karl Kempton for this photo from his "Oceano Dunes" series)
… … … … … … …
The desert sand is a beach facing away from any ocean:
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This corner turned, the past behind,
gone is fear of self;
moment silenced, breath released,
exhaustion lain on shelf;
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Two souls find their way
In dargahs' mystic embrace
Prayers echo today
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风月

请来一个清凉月
敛去几分浮躁风
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急躁閒暇

池靜魚追月
苑幽蝶戀花
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Satanical reemergence...Evangelical convergence
...At conflagration's....precipice....we stand
Our misery our history....our history our misery
....A pattern.....long gotten.....out of hand
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Late 1962, living in San Francisco's Fillmore District at the time, I regularly patronized a neighborhood newsstand and sundry store owned by an elderly Jewish gentleman, Mr. Baum, along with his middle-age daughter. Visiting one day, I observed a Black man, perhaps in his late thirties behind the counter along with the two of them. A new employee, I asked of Mr. Baum, 'no not really, ' he said. This is George Bell, a merchant seaman, by trade, who during periodic sabbaticals to the City always finds time to stop in and help out, allowing my daughter and me some free time away from the business.

One afternoon, shortly thereafter, I encountered Bell seated outside the store reading a book. Curious, I inquired, 'What are you reading? ' 'Mein Kampf, by Adolf Hitler, ' he responded. Continuing, he talked about varied aspects of Nazi Germany. I recall saying to him, 'That could never happen here.' He asked, 'What makes you think that it could never happen here? ' I went on and on with my thoughts, and finally he interrupted - 'I've sailed the world many times over, countries I've lost count, I've travelled extensively throughout the United States, and the bigoted mindsets I've found right here at home are far worse than any I found elsewhere, and that revelation suggest to me that you're fundamentally wrong. It happened in Germany energized with three simple components; an ego maniacal figure, an enraged bigoted populace, and a convergence of circumstance - evil ‘officially elected' to office.'
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Now coagulated, moments
Of haemorrhaging passion
Refrigerated sightings of
Roses on convergence of our eyes
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when you read this
poem, i am letting you know
that i still care,
when you continue reading on
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and then our minds met at a point
of convergence
i waited for you in a room without a number
a place without a name
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i am good at words.
familiar with metaphors, and you stumble
upon an
oxymoron that i offer you and which you by
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i remember the torture room
i thought at first
it is hell where hot fires
and forks
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after dinner
the birthday party of her spinster sister
the usual fried chicken and rice
long noodles for long life
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running water on the river
despite the boulders
it finds itself its way
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well, we can be here
for that formality

after all we had those
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The universe waits
in anticipation
of a writer’s heart....
a heart open and ready
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Avicenna after reading the Metaphysics
Of Aristotle, forty times-enough to memorize
By heart. He could not get to the intent;
In the book sellers’ bazaar, he laid hands
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Man is an embroidered paradox;
Filled with poignancy and brutality!
But, to err is human,
And, to learn is better than dead bones.
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My eyes dazzle in a sudden flash from the trendy view mirror
As I stand by my ever companion, aged two wheeler, served me long without error.
The weird sun peeps behind the Raddison fort so dimly
When drenched I in twilight before convergence with my beloved
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The way is part of search as search part of the Way
put another way, both [p]lay convergence free.
Mage, game are writ the same, page gape, as what will be
within one's spirit may fountain forth, fashion clay
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Two's company, three's crowd, or so most say
so here we write forever and a day
upon love and Romance try every angle
to dangle reasons for hearts' interplay.
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All our worlds wars wage,
rewarding winners, sinners are rejected
as flotsam under notice, straws neglected
lost in a hurly-burly turbulence, at sea
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All our worlds wars wage,
rewarding winners, sinners are rejected
as flotsam under notice, straws neglected
lost in a hurly-burly turbulence, at sea
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I should like, good friends, to mention the disaster which befell
Mr. William Perry Peters, of the town of Muscatel,
Whose fate is full of meaning, if correctly understood
Admonition to the haughty, consolation to the good.
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Kumbh Mela
a fiery Kali sitting
on his tongue
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While drinking coffee at 6 a.m. on the front porch...
'Corn Flake's' flock, scratching, pecking...
Grouped under The Oak...
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Magical rhyme tic compositions
always touch the heart and soul
in every sentiment highlights life
so vivid with chromatic imaginary
invokes upon the consciousness
ever innate beauty of existence
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PoemHunter is a convergence of expressions
Of poets who compose poems of varied opinions
Everyone has his or own style of writing his mind
Many have classical, modern or free-stylistic rhyme
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as night descends to tell story of love,
yonder breeze ripples on to touch green,
chord of tangent curves melody to crave,
for wounds of love to heal up in unison.
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Caravan sails through sultry wind to reelthrough
Like murmuring wilderness of sea waving wind.
As I look back the caravan loses its beginning to end
breeze passing through leaves of willow/
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Time: November 14th,1532. Pizarro's ships have just been sighted off the coastal desert of Peru, by a Khipu messenger. (Inca runner of messages, in knotted form)
----------...
This is a prose/poem. First draft only. It is long.
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Hunger driven, battling
late snow for sustenance,
deer converge at forest edge
curious about a lone spectator,
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I want my tea as much as wine,
Happy farm of fascination;
These liqueurs converge as liquids
Scorning the very rituals so blessed by some.
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Every passing moment you grow in heart
You bloom as a flower in garden of my breath
Life becomes a spring, a river of energy
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A beautiful night waits before us for our sweet convergence
What a wonderful full moon, calm and quiet
Nature is liberal and has bestowed its all only on us
Don't let this sweet night pass far from our life.
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Defend to the bitter end
Rights to love
Whenever it feels right to bend
Might on wings of a white dove.
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Brush off busybodies
Pounding other people
Mashing up mellow melodies
Social circle seeks to grow supple.
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She remembers when she was young and would scrape her knee
or when there was a sadness she couldn't contain….
her mother was there with a smile and open arms to soothe her aches and pains.
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Life is a beacon to follow your purpose, be true to
yourself, help others and become what you must.
Delivering finality to an endless universe within
yourself.
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In 'The Convergence of the Twain',
Thomas Hardy says of the sunken Titanic,
'stilly couches she.'
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The exhibition hall was filled with shiny new cars.
Huge crowds thronged to see them.
Standing in a prestigious booth, the Engineer pointed
to a state of the art model and said:
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Being well of soul but ill of body
could be a grim pill for a world-traveler,
who revels in the sacred sights, sounds, tastes and smells,
and in touching the thoughts and dreams of Earth and her cosmos.
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Often-times
Searching for truffles like pigs with their snout
We're wondering what it is all about.
Often-times
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The giant Ant
She opened her jaws
She gnashed her teeth
And sang:
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Verse has wings
Such wings
That even when it sick
And lies face upwards to the pining dusk
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And - nay
Nay from the few
Things of repetition
Multiple things shall differentiate
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Artist you have great powers.
On a pastel you project
Concept to thing
Concept to phenomenon
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To Convergence
Familiarization helps.
Shall Leaps as the Artist
Race blood in veins
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