Most Commented Allegory Poems (898)

The heart knew,
Before the mind knows,
The soul warns,
Before your faith is harmed.

The eyes shut,
Before your body is hurt,
The love dies,
Before your life is gone.

I notice that my heart is always working,
And I notice all kinds of things reside in my heart,
Sometimes hard things, sometimes easy things,
Sometimes sorrow, sometimes joy,
Sometimes apathy, sometimes great zeal and passion,
Sometimes my heart is at war, sometimes my heart is at peace,
Sometimes I notice love, sometimes I notice hate…

Within me reside all kinds of things,
The love a father has for his children/grandchildren,
The love for a soul-mate,
The love for my fellow human beings,
The love for a sea-gull,
The love for a pet,
The love for a wild, roaring ocean,
The love for beauty in all its infinite forms…

But, also within me, sometimes hard things reside,
Impatience, anger, resentment, fear, judgment, despair, melancholy, lack, pettiness, and wanting…,
Wanting to be somewhere else,
Wanting something to stop,
Wanting something to improve,
Wanting, wanting, wanting…

Also within me I sometimes detect a searching,
A long, deep restless searching for the answer to it all,
A searching for the Infinite,
A longing to be one with it from now on and forevermore,
I touch on it here and there,
But, mostly it is ever so elusive,
Ever so just out of reach, much like the haunting image of a paradise-like mirage you wish you could blend with and never be without again…

For now, though, I keep walking to my destination,
What it is, ‘I wot not’,
But, one day, I may get to the stage where the Divine consciously breathes through me 24/7..., aaahhh, what bliss that would be...

I’ve heard advice in plenitude
I’ve read quotes galore
I’ve been persuaded and I bought
Into dreams in forever-more

I believe my own ignorance
And keep my own score
As I take the joy out of bliss
Piece by piece, more and more

Then a rare moment comes along
When time stands still and I glimpse
The forever illusive obvious
I so often seem to miss.

You wake up each morning
Without a face to look at
Each day a challenge
But patiently you gear up
A block of courage to fight
A solid goal to lock your eyes on
An ounce of faith to trust
A barrel of strength to last
Some nourishment to keep you
Stable and firm in your steps
As you navigate your way
One small step at a time
Determined to climb over
Stonewall, lifeless often cold
In your bid to last another day!

Stonewalled....and alone...

Roses you astound me with beauty
as I smell your wondrous scents
I stare at you blankly
thinking of past events

A rose you gave me
to mark special times
I think back dreamy
Life seems to rhyme

So many special memories
each one so poignant
full of life's bounties
each one so fervent

sometimes in my darkest thoughts Shakespeare plays

would a rose by any other name change

or would it remain in its state the same

I could dispel ignorance who to blame

I searched but could not find no difference

the cover it is the same inside out

Is it because I cannot see I'm blind

Or is it still the makings of its kind

You can cast upon any name you wish

Attach it upon like an albatross

But in the end it will remain the same

Who can our misconceptions really blame

When only in our eyes do we see change

The molecules already are arranged

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As the sun streams through your curtains in the morning,
You’re there to greet it,
As you brew that morning cup, you’re there to enjoy it,
As you drive to work,
Your hands are on the wheel,
When the boss yells at you, you’re always there,
When you’re eating your lunch tacos, you’re there,
When towards the end of the month your wallet is getting lean, you’re there,
When your mate nags you as you reach for that scotch to calm you down, you’re there...

As you pull your baby daughter out of your beloved’s womb, you’re there,
As you watch her smile and the whole world seems a whole lot rosier, you’re there,
As she grows and manifests the myriad different stages of childhood, you, the proud parent, are there...

As you watch the vast valleys below from atop the mountain range you just climbed, you’re there,
As you smell a sweet-smelling blooming flower, you’re there,
As your mouth waters at the fillet mignon you’re enjoying, you’re there...

But,
But,
What if you were not there?
Would the sun’s rays be there?
What about the mountain range, would it be there if you were not there to experience it?
Would there even be a butcher shop if you did not think to go there?

Quantum physics is discovering with a reverberating body of evidence that ‘you’re only there when you’re there’, meaning ‘there’s no out there’ there...
The ancient mystics, of course, have told us that all along...
So, the question is:-
Are you there?

Back in the day - 33's/45's & 78's would play,
upon a heavy plate within the beautiful Victrola.
A true work of art - each hand crafted part,
that composed the whole of the beautiful Victrola.

Exquisite as a fop - that handsome wooden top,
molded of rare Mahogany on the beautiful Victrola.
Crafted handheld parts - used to make it start,
to play recorded tunes upon the beautiful Victrola.

A classic of it's day - wherever it would play,
everyone loved the charm of the beautiful Victrola.
Once new and very modern - an object of stardom,
the world was drawn to that beautiful Victrola.

Over time it's fame - along with familiar name,
became less used or pursued the beautiful Victrola.
New devices came along - bringing limitless song,
reducing need or want for the beautiful Victrola.

Now destroyed or stored - most everyone bored,
with the aging antique of the beautiful Victrola.
Hardly ever seen - that rare Mahogany sheen,
upon that beautiful piece of art called a Victrola.

If given the chance - there's still fun and dance,
to be enjoyed from the beauty of the Victrola.
But like everything else - it's value and wealth,
in time becomes 'worthless' the poor aged Victrola.

At some point in time - thought comes to mind,
that there's still value in the beautiful Victrola.
Then popularity soars - within antique stores,
and everyone wants their own beautiful Victrola.

Now there's few to be had - technology is glad,
there's no power or profit in making a Victrola.
Rarity is their fame, and in reminiscing their name,
smiles form upon faces of those who have experienced...

The Beautiful Victrola

Single a beat
Between brows of tawny
Red of Bengal
White of Snowy
Hooves
Fly
A ground

This tail
Of growth
Stunted
Death

Where East
Melts
Pot of West
Bones
Drier than Bangalore
Rains

This mind suspended
Belief
No breath labeled
Breathe

Flourishing from a parched earth without hope
Plastic red rose fading pink on dark grave
Thrown down an overgown river bank slope
Worthless lifeless object no need to save

A moment once for a sad occassion shared
Arranged so neatly in a styrofoam base
Such as a life where pain was never spared
Or cut bleeding from thorns in any case

Was a life never dried and blown to dust
When many frequent rains had came to pass
Growing tall and straight from the earth's soft crust
As tender as blades of new velvet grass

Life is like light being born so must pass
Stained glass windows through shards of broken glass