Contemplations From A Black Star Citizen.
Saying I’m at my best
Would be nothing short
Of premature,
As it would swiftly translate
To my journey nearing its end.
I leave that way of thinking
For the easily satisfied,
In this world, I’m not an expert
I’m not an under-dog,
I am what I need to be.
– Original-Dante ©2016
Photograph by:Â Trichardsen
Must be fun taking shortcuts
To being who you wish
Society would see you as;
Being highly impressionable
Like a dead fish, swaying where
The strongest current takes you;
Susceptible to societal pitfalls
A slave to peoples’ perceptions.
First line = sarcasm
But I know the addiction
Of wanting to be number one
Feels worth it
When you’re at the “bottom”
But where is the bottom?
There is none
Unless you allow yourself
To believe
That there is one.
There is no-one better
Or worse than you
Unless you’re not sure of yourself
And feel you need to prove
Something to yourself
Or others, but why?
Why exert all that energy
Into proving
Instead of re-directing it all
To living?
– Original-Dante ©2016
Photograph by:Â Northstar76
And then she thought
She would hurt him
By leaving;
But who’s to say
It was not an after-image
Of his underlying intention?
– Original-Dante ©2016
Photograph by:Â MarcoHeisler
Knowing who he was
From the word go,
Was it not clear to her
As much as it was
To everyone else,
That when she gave him the green light,
He would not accept
Nothing short of a “Yes”?
– Original-Dante ©2016
Art by:Â SearchMyHeart
Last year I remember seeing a poem in a newspaper article about young poets (like myself) failing to adopt what poetry stands for and how we are slowly destroying the art. I didn’t take note of the poet’s name, because I thought nothing of it at the time; only the message he was giving.
In context, all he was saying was that this (poetry) is something we’re not good at, since we are so fixated on things like fashion and social media e.t.c.
In essence, he wants us to adopt the style he deems appropriate or we don’t write poetry at all. Â The editor seemed very fascinated by all of it, saying that since the poet is highly renowned his opinion must hold some merit. Felt like a suck up session to me, I don’t know why I remembered the whole thing today but, I decided to respond to the poem regardless…
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Competing for a supposed throne
Through the art form
Has never really been
My kind of scene.
But suppose we WERE to compete
Your chance to belittle me,
Showing the divide between us
The perfect opportunity to show
How you’re up there
And I’m down here,
You’d love that wouldn’t you?
Well, spoiler alert
Because if we compete
What you see as an ordinary,
Lush and Green mind
Will expose your eyes
To ethereal designs,
Taking your mind through
The longest train of thought,
Leaving you out of breath as I
Write tartan track laps around you.
We would start at the same line
And I would be back
Before you decide to begin;
Don’t make me commit a crime
By leaving your mind with a chalk outline
Analogy for the brain dead state
I’ll leave you with
After reality sets in.Â
Tempting as that would be
I realize that it takes a great person
To discover the power hidden within,
But it takes a rare
And special kind of person
To respect everyone regardless
Of that discovery.
– Original-Dante ©2016
Photograph by:Â Aquilapse
There is no right or wrong way to write matters of the heart, the old man should escape from his cocoon.
 DISCOVER CHALLENGE: Designed For You
Have you ever loved something so much, or experienced something so perfect, that you’ve felt it was designed just for you?
I guess for me its writing, but that’s no secret, so I chose the source, my pen. Here’s a poem that expresses my love for the pen and ink.
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Motions with the penÂ
Illustrating at mach 10,
Designing portals to my world,
The pen was, and has always beenÂ
This Star Seed’s instrument,
To make visible, the transition,
Of intergalactic thoughts
All the way to intelligible form.
With this, I have the ability
To break-down how it feels
To moonwalk on ether,
As ideas orbit around me
In abundance, like star-dust
I reap them with a sickle
Better termed my crescent moon.
This instrument, is indeed
A conduit for my thoughts
Flowing at warp speeds,
Straight out of deep space,
On occasion, moving fasterÂ
Than I can make strokes
With the ink.
With this,
I’m a stranger to seeking approval,
With this, I’m always aware
Of my inherent perfection
At ease, as I open black holes
With the suction force necessary
To cleanse my thought palateÂ
Of the negativity projected
By the insecure branches
Of humanity.
– Original-Dante ©2016
Art by:Â SearchMyHeart
Forgive her,
For realizing only too late
That when you wrote her something
You didn’t see lines
Stanzas and the occasional rhymes;
Rather, you only saw yourself
Giving her a piece,
Of your soul.
– Original-Dante ©2016
Photograph by:Â MarcoHeisler
For her,
No amount of embers
Could compare
To the warmth
Of his embrace.
– Original-Dante ©2016
Photograph by:Â FlorentCourty
The second my feet tasted earth
I knew I was different,
As peoples’ eyes mirrored
My light bulb high in the sky
Difficult to miss, as it is
That which you call the sun.
I am not a puzzle
That many “claim” to be
No, For I am that
Which stores the puzzle.
Been clear since day one
That I’m not here
To kiss up to those in power,
But to make them aware
They are specks to who I serve,
I’m not here to endorse war
But to enlighten the walking dead
On humanity’s wrongs,
Those who move, but don’t live
Those who have eyes, but don’t see.
I’m not here to impress
But to tell the truth,
And with that out of the way,
Etch it in stone
That I won’t let petty squabbles
Be what jeopardizes a movement
That is, in the simplest form,
Beyond your understanding.
– Original-Dante ©2016
Photograph by:Â MarcoHeisler
O.D. 