Evil has no substance of its own, but is only the defect, excess, perversion, or corruption of that which has substance.
quote by John Henry Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Just Haven't Discovered That Yet
'Mommie?
What is substance and quality?
We've been given an assigment,
To describe what it is in an essay.'
Substance is something one wishes to have,
When a missing of a quality has been overpriced.
'I see.
So...
In other words,
You're telling me...
You have no clue either.'
What did your father say about it?
'He said,
Substance is something sacrificed...
When the quality of it has been diminished,
To the getting of it only lasting for two minutes.'
Go tell your father,
He need not worry about the quality of the substance,
Any longer.
'Why is it,
When I ask you two a question...
The answers have nothing to do,
With my assignment.'
They do.
And they will.
You just haven't discovered that yet.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Empty As The Air
A life of substance, is always one that is desired.
But what of the substance you speak of?
How do you define it?
For ones man's junk is another man's treasure.
Substance is what we make of it.
Leading an interesting life in the gallows, could be considered a life of substance if that is what he desires.
Are you trying say he is saying pity me I have not lived an interesting life, one full of life changing, learning, and ever different experiences?
Do go on, as we investigate the brain.
Put it under some light.
What is really their?
Hmm, I can only wonder.
Maybe it is something empty as the air.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Papulation Control- A Cinquian Form
Rubber
substance with some substance
no thorough fare for liquids
clean slate makes some sense
eraser
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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A cruel beast
Corruption,
A vice so loved.
The voiceless,
Suffer in its hands.
The powerful,
Feast its fruits,
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
Land,
From it emanate.
Mansions,
Like mushroom they sprout.
Cars,
Like bees they swarm.
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
Poverty,
A son to it has become,
Who,
A by-product is,
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
Mercy,
To it is rubbish,
Prosperity,
In its mind constantly dwells.
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
poem by Michael Wamalwa
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Style vs Substance
As a TV show...
The first episode,
Will always overflow with style.
A longevity is promised.
And to heighten intensity,
Hype will always succeed.
But as far as substance goes...
Those who oppose style,
Have already been sold...
On a substance shown.
Since one excellent performance,
Does not guarantee a supportive audience.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Opaque But Real
as opaque as a dream
the white shell of an egg
against the light
of the flickering oil lamp
a circle within a circle
substance within substance
content upon content
sure reality concealed
behind a mountain
where a thick fog still hangs
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Found poem 3
I enquired into the nature of Evil,
and found no substance there.
(St Augustine, around 400 CE/AD)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I listen to the silence
I Listen To The Silence
Darkness about me
In the somnolent silence
The silence has substance
As thick as can be
silence about me
as loud as a scream
In a nightmarish dream
It can terrify me
Silence has a feel
Of darkness in velvet cloaked
As a desperate cry being choked
Phantasmic, yet real
As Quiet surrounds me
The silence has substance
The absence of presence
is deafening to me
Sounds whispery as paper
Things scurry about me
Sounds, soft, sad and scaly
Like venom and vapour
Silence is sound incomplete
Silence whirs, silence hums
Silence throbs, silence thrums
Silence has it’s own heartbeat
Quiet has movement,
Tho’ever so slow
Quiet has substance
and how do I know?
I listen to the silence...
as you do also
poem by David Whalen
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I Suppose I Could Hoax
With a splattering of spoofs,
I suppose I could hoax...
If that was what I chose to do.
So many folks,
Seem caught up...
In the promotion of pretense.
And with a hollowed puffed up chest,
I would strut like a Rooster...
Or a Peacock doing that as my best.
But I enjoy a peacefulness...
Undisturbed by a prioritized nonsense.
Since I've chosen to be true,
With a detesting done by those who fool...
As a way to identify themselves with substance!
And substance is difficult to fake and present,
To those who know the difference between content and waste.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Describing In Words
How does inserting a substance feel
When it is describing us in words?
Jolliness made a remark, when compounds
Are produced from brain and head.
The merry, merry world collides,
And what you say is recorded.
The revelry has communicated a joy
That seizes your throat when shaken.
It is beyond doubt, the obvious one,
It is the substance of religion I feel
And we afflict a diseased man already.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Caricatures
Bad mouthing others,
Seems to be always done by those...
Who believe they are on the rise,
Of some social circuit acceptance.
Until they realize,
They have become caricatures...
In an environment of people,
Seeking only to be entertained.
No interest is given,
To create or leave anything that sustains...
Or maintains an historic substance.
Unless what is being created,
'Is' historic and valued as having substance.
And that usually is not determined,
By those staring at entrances and exits...
To approve the arrival of who enters.
With a glance of a nearby clock to acknowledge,
The exact time someone who is talked about...
Leaves and with whom,
If not alone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You can take a substance that works in your system, but then you take this over here that's not banned, and this over here that's not banned, but if you mix them together, you've got a banned substance in your system.
quote by Lawrence Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What is your substance...?
What’s your ‘substance’, Aristotle, pray? -
that in your book On Metaphysics, you
should feel the need to look at ‘being’ more
than Plato said of soul? How ‘know thyself’?
You focus your so glorious mind, O sage,
on what confronts us in our human state;
hoping that from there, all will disclose
itself; and so you seek to formulate:
in Book Four, Chapter Two, acutely list
four ways, four meanings, of the Greek as used;
to us, they’re more apparent grammar-wise:
‘being’ as noun, verb, adverb, adjective…
you ultimately choose the languaged thing:
nouned as existence, substance - ‘ousia’;
no wonder Shakespeare took you up on that;
asking as he did, God’s self in human form
what were the essence of that insubstantial
substance that the world’s whole being holds:
and out from all these cloudy worlds of thought -
it’s ‘constancy’ in godly human heart..
I wonder, Aristotle, if Will’s search
to see the One that’s constant in the All
would satisfy your subtle Grecian mind?
or, in Creation’s grammar as it lives,
do active verbs precede substantive nouns?
And do we know our godly self more true,
as constant in ourselves, in Being Now?
*
[For Pete, who asked]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Kofi
I am in love with a man called Kofi and,
I am a woman of substance;
I am in love with a man called Kofi and,
He is a man of substance;
I love roasted chicken and he loves fried chicken,
And his whole body is like a hair garment all over.
I am thirsty for his milk and he is hungry for my love,
But we will share this love in the land of camels and sweet-milk;
There we will live forever on this sweet valley of mine.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Crushes Are Cheap
It is baffling how feelings surface...
It feels like love in seconds, but what is it really?
SImply a longing to chase?
They cannot be real feelings because how can you love
What you do not know, such love is cheap, even free
Even if every time you see her, speak with her, be with her
Your heartstrings do tug, what substance does this love have?
What is it founded on if not knowledge?
How is it possible to crush on a girl yo do not know
What can you love about her if you don't know her?
What is there to love that is real?
Surely you are doomed
Stronger still is being 'in love', but the more you get to know that person
The less you 'love' them, the lighter the crush is.
It is strange, should not each moment you spend with her
Be sweeter than the last, then how is it that the
Crush grows weaker as you grow closer.
If such a thing is true your crush cannot be love\I t is some cruel form of disillusionment
Some illusion of love that breed emptiness and a greater loneliness
This seems to be all I know, it happens all the time
This subject is all my rhymes
These crushes although devoid of substance
Still crush my soul and weigh heavily on my mind
There is no peace in my weighed down heart, weighed down heavily with
Cheap, empt love.
Such love is not even love at all
So then there is no love in my heart.
Just a cycle of crushing crushes until all substance is crushed and crunched out.
poem by David Knox
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Song of Fortune VI
Man and I are sweethearts
He craves me and I long for him,
But alas! Between us has appeared
A rival who brings us misery.
She is cruel and demanding,
Possessing empty lure.
Her name is Substance.
She follows wherever we go
And watches like a sentinel, bringing
Restlessness to my lover.
I ask for my beloved in the forest,
Under the trees, by the lakes.
I cannot find him, for Substance
Has spirited him to the clamorous
City and placed him on the throne
Of quaking, metal riches.
I call for him with the voice of
Knowledge and the song of Wisdom.
He does not hearken, for Substance
Has enticed him into the dungeon
Of selfishness, where avarice dwells.
I seek him in the field of Contentment,
But I am alone, for my rival has
Imprisoned him in the cave of gluttony
And greed, and locked him there
With painful chains of gold.
I call to him at dawn, when Nature smiles,
But he does not hear, for excess has
Laden his drugged eyes with sick slumber.
I beguile him at eventide, when Silence rules
And the flowers sleep. But he responds not,
For his fear over what the morrow will Bring,
shadows his thoughts.
He yearns to love me;
He asks for me in this own acts. But he
Will find me not except in God's acts.
He seeks me in the edifices of his glory
Which he has built upon the bones of others;
He whispers to me from among
His heaps of gold and silver;
But he will find me only by coming to
The house of Simplicity which God has built
At the brink of the stream of affection.
He desires to kiss me before his coffers,
But his lips will never touch mine except
In the richness of the pure breeze.
He asks me to share with him his
Fabulous wealth, but I will not forsake God's
Fortune; I will not cast off my cloak of beauty.
He seeks deceit for medium; I seek only
The medium of his heart.
He bruises his heart in his narrow cell;
I would enrich his heart with all my love.
My beloved has learned how to shriek and
Cry for my enemy, Substance; I would
Teach him how to shed tears of affection
And mercy from the eyes of his soul
For all things,
And utter sighs of contentment through
Those tears.
Man is my sweetheart;
I want to belong to him.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Doom
See no evil, Hear no evil,
Speak no evil, that we learnt
That is why we did not notice
When the whole country burnt
With the lava of corruption,
emanating fire and fume
Grasping all in its flames
Bringing this world to doom
Not a single job can be
Got without connections,
Nor can the children see
A future without donations
Rapport with the right person
Is a must to rise upward
Who does not care for it
Does not go forward
Corruption, Match-fixing, Donation,
Approaches and Bribery,
Is there anything further yet
Left for us to see
There is a need for revolution
Corruption which will beat
Which will douse this lava
And its mighty fume and heat
Someday all this will change
And for the better, hope I,
So the coming generations
Will not have to sit and cry;
When all will be educated
From the king to the urchin,
The world will then be
A paradise to live in.
poem by Vishnu Sampoorn
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Hebrews 11: 1
Faith is the substance of things hoped for
the light of the Lord that opens the door
Reveling the light of heaven serene
the evidence of things not seen
My God has revealed the evidence
His glorious power with consequence
Healing me and making me clean
the evidence of things not seen
Faith in Christ without reservation
releaved the pain of my aberration
So open His book to see what I mean
the evidence of things not seen
Faith is the substance of things hoped for
the evidence of things not seen
poem by Amera Andersen
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Vine of Life
Substance is not divinity.
It is a creation of divinity.
My substance is my creation.
Is it substantially good?
Is it substantially evil?
The mind creates a bitter fruit.
Bitter to the taste,
Bitter to the eyes,
Bitter to the heart.
The spirit creates a sweet fruit.
Sweet to the taste,
Sweet to the eyes,
Sweet to the heart.
The vine is the connection to the fruit.
Our connection to the source of life.
Is life mind or spirit?
What is my calling or what is calling me?
The voices in my head?
Or the voice of creation?
The mind has limited capability.
The spirit has limitless.
For the mind will always thirst.
And the spirit will quench another.
Now my cup runneth over.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Delightful Dancer
Substance of essence, dancer delights
Igniting the night with tangible might
Incinerator of germ and historical foe
In ovens of grease our waists to increase
Force of nature, portable sun
Brother of air, and also of bear
Domesticated by man, solicited by time
To send meek and wild ever to run
In tales of the lost and also the found
Of ancient stakes and frozen lakes
Far flung places and many races
do many thrilling stories abound
in legend or culture or book
where men fear ghost and ultimate Host
humanity is still forged from destiny and iron
dancer delights, substance ignites.
poem by Martino Fortuin
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