Quotes about impetus, page 6
My luck was going first
My luck was going first
Your face is a token of impiety for heavens' realms
And your form, a drosometer, counts my open arms
Ccorpus of the other worlds a false-key, to paradisos
decline of up-streams instinctive priorities to abyssos
An deep inhale of perfume, inspired my auto-aesthesy
it was a God to expire me upon your spirit's ecstasy.
Non bearing my uppish stand, forever strange of you
Supercilious, albeit absurd, expedite my morning dew
My souls convection transmits on winds' caressing
languages of strange forms, expire years of sensing
Excursions of my altered souls, latent worlds inside
Unequal destinies of, I refused, describing of Hades
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Not exact
Shadows are not exact but real
You can’t force it or conceal
It may be even longer than size
You must think it wise
It may accompany where you go and turn
You stand, sleep or even run
It has same strength and reflection
Think over it and base your action
A tree’s shadow proves it is standing.
A bird follows its shadow and knows it is flying.
My shadow proved that I have existence
I am living in present tense
What has it do with my being on earth?
I cease to exist upon natural death
I follow on every step and prove
That I am real and follow or move
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Limitations (Revised)
Being intellectually challenged my limitations
are unlimited, never mastered the art of clear
thinking, at times a part of my brain is able to
rhyme while the rest is out of action
The little alien in my head rages about being
confined in a cage, my neck reacts in spasm
and pain, the fact of the matter is I'm stupid
cannot gain by working myself to death
Headache grows worse, guilt-feeling in failing
my duty not have enough impetus to get me
reading texts I can't comprehend, all I offer
offer with half a brain is my presence
Pratchett says it is all one can do, be present
at an event, nothing more, at my desk, nerves
ready to explode, can't work, dreams of
document completion going up in flames
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poem by Margaret Alice Second
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A beautiful home
It is my beautiful home
All friends visit and we welcome
We have lived here from the beginning
We have some sense of belonging
All the homes may have same set up
Some sort of attachment is built up
It is not confined to four walls alone
To own a home means half battle is won
You may have all sweet memories
It is possible that you have lived with miseries
You have little some satisfaction or solace
It may be tiny but still not less than a palace
It is lovely and beautiful home
You may have lovely feeling from
Windows and surroundings always offer
You feel some sort of satisfaction and never suffer
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Open Heart
I thought of beautiful heart
Only one and single peace of an art
What a pity to feel at little impetus
Cry in corner at breach of trust
Why it feels for whole of universe?
Skips a beat at somebody's remorse
Weeps in corner at terrible shock
Tears run short or sometimes out of stock
Heart need not be big or large
It need not be away or at large
It needs to be carefully confined
In purest of pure form and refined
Look at mother's heart
With slight worry it starts
Melting for son
Without any particular reason
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A birth of poet
Has any one thought over?
Almighty has given gift to him or her
How does the ideas emanate from void mind?
Music in action and feelings very kind
The ideas to role out for vicious world
Happiness and joy for all to hold
Can poetry exist without impetus?
The writer can exist by his status
God might have given special third sense
Free flow of thoughts even without being tense
This is how the journey has begun with birth of poet
Love to all in his imagery world and keep quiet
He does nothing special for performance
He certainly weighs facts at once
Leaving all worries for the common cause
Forgetting for self and think what he was?
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Truth To Tell
When your heart melts
The depth of sea is felt
All unknown kind of treasure tries to come out
The mighty pen tries to speak it all about
It is felt by others and appreciated
As it has something to be related
So far not done by anybody else
Joy, happiness pain including curse
Ideas flow like river water
But any times they may alter
If find with stiff resistance
It will change course without any insistence
You need not think about plot
It is already with the poet
Only needs little impetus
Pure innovation with ample thrust
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Poem: Called to Worship (IV)
Do you know what you're doing?
Search your heart's motivation.
What is it, that keeps you going?
Are there… corresponding actions?
Refrain from frenetic, frantic busyness,
for now is the time for quiet waiting;
stop the phony acts of supposed holiness;
discontinue the false, religious debating.
Endeavors taken are still your choice.
Can your actions stand before God's pop quiz?
Are you listening solely to His voice?
Is the plan you're executing… yours or His?
The underlying impetus will be revealed
according to God's perfect timing.
Is it The Word of God you wield?
Has your life been given to His consigning?
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poem by Joseph James Breunig 3rd
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A word imagery
It is nice to translate imagery
It is fine blend of summary
It may come In the form of words
It may be fine flow to take it forward
Is it pure means to praise some one?
Or simple oratory or words for none?
It is likely to bring some one to the core
To draw the inference and come closer
It is likely to raise the status
There is great feeling and new impetus
Some one has occupied your mind
You are trying to woo but no means to find
It may ease the life for all times to come
The change is all of sudden and welcome
It is regarding the holy union for future
The words fulfill it and make doubly sure
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Death Tolls Imperceptibly
I could feign a brazen smile contorted from corruption
Or paint my face with a grotesque façade so you envisage
A one man band of harlequinade unstained of demarcation
Better yet, I will reduce into a glassine veneer and divulge
The eczemas sweltering inside the mechanism of affectation
But what good will it be when the heart is an autumn garage?
I, in solitude, could vie for vindication in blithe and blinded hope
And sublimate this loneliness to become my woebegone impetus
But in between the torsion of times of my harried sleep, a slope
Of pervading veracity swoons for my capitulation and unloose
The wisp of the evanescence of my feint of blasé and mope
Whilst, loneliness itself remained immortally acrimonious
Farcically, I veer to shun the promenading circus and impose
Satisfaction and wrangle to outrun the pawned pangs of solitude
Shorn between two opposing pillars I have lost my sole repose
In my silence, I holler and wail in unfathomable magnitude
To stranger's bolted ears and to haul me out and keep me close
Before I thaw in this havoc amidst despondence and incertitude
poem by Norman Santos
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