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What To Do When You're Confused

What to do, what to do, what to do
When you're confused
You could
Choose to stay
In this new found state
Of confusion
Marinate in it..so to speak
But
That may leave you
With unanswered questions
You could write in your journal
Pour over all the possibilities
The various solutions to your confusion
You could talk to someone who doesn't know you well
Because you'd want some impartial input
Which could leave you even more confused
Because they can only help you according to
Their understanding
Of your situation
You could google some answers

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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~ Ma Mama Ma Mama Ma Maaaa! ~

~ Ma Mama Ma Mama Ma Maaaa! ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
23 November 2010

Into ~ After reading several comments I humbly give backdropp of this poem.

In poetry much experimentation are going on and critiques are categorizing in various ways like Realism Surrealism Modernism Romanticism etc.

To be honest no poetry can be canopied under one canvas and there will be pits where other flavors fill up.

Here I’ve used Satire Rasa [please Google for meaning] in anxious canvas ~ niv

Is Poetry
Frame n’ fill
Or
Fill n’ frame
Or both or none

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poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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Google

When I first heard of this word, I wondered what that was.
I thought that was some types of onomatopoeia such as:
Click clack, pap pap, tap tap, crick crack, pouf puff,
And you get the idea. I thought that was kid’s stuff.
I was very wrong. It is something revolutionary.
It is a miracle; there, you find the whole planetary
Universe and more: the invented and the uninvented
Stuff. There, you can find out about everything,
About what the king ate last night and what happened
To that food; you get the idea. Don’t be a dingue.
I am not going to tell you the meaning of this word,
Go there and do your own search. My dictionary
Is now obsolete. My books are now archaic like the sword
Used to guillotine Joan of Arc. This is really visionary.
I feel like I am the Andy Rooney of poetry,
And I have to write about every imaginary
Feelings, every feather that touches the baby’s booty,
And about every crying infants under the shining sea.
Google is extremely potent and important
It is much more than we can fathom,

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poem by Hebert Logerie
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Technophobia

What has technology done for me?
Well, for one—
It's made me unnecessarily happy,
But I'm very grateful for it.
I mean, my whole life has followed me on the computer,
Transposed to a screen—
The human condition to me, my experience,
Resides more inside a TV than the world
Outside
My window.

When I was a little kid,
I never played any sports and I never had any interest in them
Until I played Madden 2007
With a few of my friends.
I was already an adult at this point,
But, for a moment,
I returned to that feeling,
That kind of feeling that makes me nostalgic now,
And I enjoyed myself,

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poem by Tim Stensloff
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I have come to the conviction that if you cannot translate your thoughts into uneducated language, then your thoughts were confused. Power to translate is the test of having really understood one's own meaning. A passage from some theological work for translation into the vernacular ought to be a compulsory paper in every ordination examination.

C.S. Lewis in The Grand Miracle
Added by Rebeca Bucur
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Charity, caring, loving-kindness

Translators live a life
of great blessing, and of frustration:
they live uniquely in the mind
of the great ones they translate – and yet
are destined never fully to reveal this
in their native language, to their fellows,
countrymen and women;
must leave it to the reader, to restore to life.

We too, translators –
words into deeds, deeds into experience,
experience then taught in words…so -

charity, care, or loving-kindness?

maybe we are old, and we uncared for;
maybe we are young, and we uncared for..

but, caring care – this is so beautiful;
to receive; even just to watch; or best, to give…

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poem by Michael Shepherd
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A poetic thoughts

“Hi, how do the poetic thoughts emerge in mind”?
I was unable to react and reply to the question of its kind
I had to struggle hard for the answer to find
I just kept cool and struggled in mind

I pleaded her for putting good thoughts across
You must have enough of trust in cross
It is not brilliance of an individual
You get it with blessings very casual

it got to be translated into words immediately
It may have no use if done very lately
Its real impact and feelings may go away
You may not have any means to recollect or find the way

It can be great moment of joy for self and family
It has not been forced on you heavily
The family and friends definitely strengthen the line
You exceedingly perform well and feel very fine

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sandys Ghost ; A Proper Ballad on the New Ovid's Metamorphosis

Ye Lords and Commons, Men of Wit,
And Pleasure about Town;
Read this ere you translate one Bit
Of Books of high Renown.

Beware of Latin Authors all!
Nor think your Verses Sterling,
Though with a Golden Pen you scrawl,
And scribble in a Berlin:

For not the Desk with silver Nails,
Nor Bureau of Expense,
Nor standish well japann'd avails,
To writing of good Sense.

Hear how a Ghost in dead of Night,
With saucer Eyes of Fire,
In woeful wise did sore affright
A Wit and courtly 'Squire.

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poem by Alexander Pope
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The Mystery Remains story poem

By my lanthorn dimly burning.
I have trouble in discerning
the faint words scrawled upon the page
By the hand of a long dead sage.

What I study is forbidden
a secret I must keep hidden.
I dare not study it by day
and that is why I hide away.

In the dark hours of the night.
I study by a lanthorns light.
Lest the priesthood should suspect.
For they would kill me to protect

from what they see as wizardry
although it’s only chemistry.
The shaveling priests of Mother Church
have full authority to search.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Symbiotic Symphony

Slim beauty, fair hair sun-bright cloud
about her billows, surface calm
masks deep emotions, soul uncowed,
search newly blessed by soothing balm.
She wandered, lonely, through the crowd,
observing all, yet often seemed
both close and distant, head unbowed,
epitome of dreams she’d dreamed.

Sweet symbiotic symphony
awaiting liberating call,
preparing serendipity,
would nonetheless retain high wall
until discovering within
an infinite capacity
for stretching wings devoid of sin,
freed from former opacity.

Perpetual priority
protecting family until

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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