Quotes about subsistence, page 4
The Enigmatic Eddy
Undoing intricate complexities
one feels disoriented and lost
Panaceas past proffered,
now one's sensibilities does accost
A savior amongst sundry,
but himself who needs redeemed
The one indulging in self adversity,
joys for all forever deemed
Subsistence got compartmentalized
With solitude got conferred
Contrary proved the awards,
from what one would have preferred
Glimmer in distance beckons
with some mysterious kind of sign
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poem by Sunny Chopra
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Maple Leaf
I watched a maple leaf’s descent to ground.
It’s downward swaying motion, every now
And then a pirouette without a sound
Until it came to rest so gently down.
I asked myself: A life so brief and yet
So beautiful, is life to be defined
By lasting time and taken for granted?
To go around in circles disinclined
To find profundity-Sad existence!
Ah! But the leaf, its purpose foreordained:
To live a measured life, a subsistence
Profound in many ways and unrestrained.
To waste a lengthy life, so incomplete
I’d sooner live my life a maple leaf.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Commitment
Never is there love,
Unless there is an inner faith
For faith admits our pain
Lessons learned will be our gain
A Reasoned hearts a paradox
Until it reaches anothers equinox
Two equal spheres will influence
A ravishing melody of subsistence
If we feel anguish through our walls
Perhaps it will solidate the long hauls
From this wisdom, that is grace
we know that hope must be embraced
Fore never can the day
Exist without the night
We must hold before the storm,
or become shipwrecked on the mourn
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Barbarians.
As the crinoid star-fish to the sea-base
By his stem fixed draws bare subsistence in
His straitened sphere, as in the sunless ooze
He turns on his long jointed pedicle,
So are half-bruted men, barbarian-brained,
Endued with scarce more power to see and hear
The visions and the rumours of the world,
So poorly apt to think and feel and know,
As each turns on his dark time-pivot in
A universal ignorance, as it were
Far back in the beginning of the world;
Disjointed and dismembered in the mind,
And in the spirit so confused and foul,
With no sign of truth's authenticity,
As nature in their origin had jarred
The primal tone of man.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Dead to the World
I am dead to the world
What I mean to say is i die each day
What I mean to say is i am only clay
As a sun blackened by burning smoke begins to set on the horizon
A laugh at our existence
A laugh at subsistence
For the sun will rise when we are all dead
The sun will rise when mankind is dust
The sun will look out over a volcanic ocean and wonder
'where did you all go? I was just getting warmed up'
I am man. But I am dead to the world. Aren't you?
Willows bow their heads in prayer
As the Sun sets on the horizon
And the bikinied blond frolics in the waves as if nothing matters
And we are all dead to the world
As quick as a wink we will be gone
poem by Beau Golden
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The Delibrated Rove
Coerced sort of subsistence
where your soul doesn't belong
The right that was in earnest
with time has gone awfully wrong
It's just a step in front of the last one
in a melancholic mode
Where each avenue is familiar
with most streets earlier strode
Routine at times is daunting
with a longing for spirit to sway
To ditch comforting environs
and step out in a jumbled array
Whole lot would try and dissuade
for impending sensibilities to deter
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poem by Sunny Chopra
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Service
Service is rendering assistance,
To persons nigh and in a distance.
Service should be in consistence,
And ever in abiding persistence
For peoples vital subsistence,
And for our peaceful co-existence.
Service constitutes us to be dynamic,
It cleanses the mind, and we are not sick.
Service entails ego annihilation,
And our materialism is in destruction.
Service makes us to give others a benefit,
It brings society to a frame-work knit.
Service allows us to do to others a favour,
Which adds to our life full of flavour.
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poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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I Give All To Thee...
I give all to thee...the entire world which I know:
All my hopes and dreams, to and with you, I do bestow!
Without question, nor with a moment's hesitation
I want all for thee...tis my heart's solitary vocation!
Replete is my heart with your very existence,
Lacking you...absent too, my very subsistence!
I, the tender flower, you, dichotomously, both sun and rain!
Ever more enraptured am I...ne'er to wane!
Wanton for nothing, but tot have you near,
In your tender embrace, naught do I possess, to fear!
With you by my side, all else fades to irrelevance,
Humbled each day am I by your love's adamance!
Ever amazed, ever assured by such...with nary above:
I shutter to fathom where I would be...without your love!
Maurice Harris,10 May 2006
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Mighty Have To Fall
Purges are needed in a forest:
The strongest have to fall and com-bust.
In-order for the weakest the poorest
To grow - regenerate their lushness…
We need a whole new subsistence:
A grass blade a head of green corn!
Good footing in the sunlight's clearance.
The world isn't made-up of one 'Acorn'.
Purges are needed in a forest:
The mighty have to fall and crash!
'Burn and sacrifice' the strong the plumpest.
The best growth is made-out of potash.
Strangle like the forest-fig, let chaos...
Rule! As they did, but know, that the sun!
Shall shine that they'll lose their pathos?
And we'll renew our own fortune!
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poem by Mark Heathcote
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An Ordinary Man
I am an ordinary man, humbled by an extraordinary beauty;
To celebrate my exalt with the world-my solemn duty!
A gifting only God's omnipotence could deliver;
A beauty causal to my heart's perpetual quiver-
Lo, my reverence for same doth gladden and inspire,
At long last, my heart and soul's mate-and true admire!
I no longer query its form, nor do I, its existence-
I simply revel and grow stronger, through its subsistence!
I am but a man, yet am witness to a Heavenly Truth-
Its verity is inescapably inspiring, you needn't sleuth;
Indubitably, all the world sings for her, in jubilation,
As they too, bear witness to my soul's celebration!
Mere lyric is bereft of sentiment, proper, but to say
I am a most fortuitous man, and am more so, every day!
Maurice Harris,25 February 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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