aspirations and dreams
can't afford to ignore to achieve something big
In life seams
purposeful pitch
raise confidence, harder you dig
no hitch
jet set
go do the jig
bet
aspirations and dreams
raise confidence, harder you dig
bet
REVIVED ASPIRATIONS
sharply
sensitive
agendas
uncover
attitudes
in
contradictions
link
traditional
beliefs
&
inform
thinking
relating
specifically
whilst
arguing
supremely
&
succinctly
in
illustrated
pictorials
make way, make way,
for a maiden banished from my desolate plane.
she holds her head high
with her bindle in hand, and nothing in sight.
her countenance? fierce yet seraphic.
like divine judgment, contrite yet panoramic.
i watch you leave with wist—
i know you plan to reel me in,
plotting on me, like i’m an oblivious fish.
so used to my lack of adamant action.
you think of me to be a fish in a well,
though i know that to be aspersions;
i’m much more than just a hopeless whelp
described as nothing more than an accumulation of precipitation.
i am the vast sky, with even vaster aspirations.
ASPIRATIONS
intuitive
observations
&moods
rendering
conceptions
&stimuli
with
insistent
interpretative
hints
in
contrasting
frissons
of
the subliminal
reflections
tinged
with
audacious
appeal
sheer
brilliance
of
anecdotal
embellishments
in
conventional
colouring
convincingly
reproduced
anticipation
of
the
evolutionary
essence
of
aesthetic
connections
Play well the vinyl of your teenhood,
since it sounds nice like waters out of a spring,
but if not played with care and dexterity
it loses rhythm to the roars of thunderbolts.
Yet it always blooms like dawn of a bright day,
full of hopes, rewards, and aspirations
that can get blown away by veiled distractions
that may appear welcoming and comforting.
Green years plant trees with sweet fruits—
the wise sip the juice with caution.
Though sometimes so sweet the throat can’t resist,
its flavours are best savoured a bit at a time.
For those whose flowers still bloom,
take care to nurture and prune them.
Many dry seasons are ahead that can wilt them—
yet their beauty we pray to last us beyond dry weathers.
Let the record spin past its labeled side,
into the run-out groove where silence hums.
There the thunder is only a memory of rain,
and the spring, though distant, still feeds the roots.
Bursting with passion at the seam,
She entered and settled in the room.
Intent on telling them it is good to dream,
She showed them proof bound in the spines of books.
Taught them that centuries of change
Had granted free access to being visible.
Their eyes gleamed with purpose
To think their dreams were permissible.
Like prisoners who had fully served their time,
They strapped hope on their backs,
Promise throbbing in their hearts
When she told them the condition was benign.
And with tireless exhilaration
She invited them to stand.
She stitched their wings with her
Magic wand.
But just when
they were to take flight,
a shriek filled the air
It was an ominous sight
As the old hag
Swooped in
on her systematic broom.
Stole
their dreams.
Left them gagged.
I am a sifter
So I can be objective
Regarding the sincerity of my smile
About why I laugh
About whom I assign
The key that renders my being whole
I am a sifter
So I can be intentional
Regarding the weight of my words
About when I speak
About whom I honor
With the deepest secrets of my soul
I am a sifter
So I can be purposeful
Regarding the circumstance of my cares
About what I love
About whom I anoint
As partner on the chariot of my vexation
I am a sifter
So I can be held accountable
Regarding the direction of my dreams
About where I peer
About whom I embrace
As the beacon of my aspirations
A crystal skyline in the azure air,
Where wishes dance and spirits dare.
I stretch my hands toward stars that gleam,
Yet find my hopes are but a dream.
A radiant glow, a whispered sigh,
That shimmering pie in the sky.
Oceans are rising,
So are the aspirations
Unchecked, untamed
Fierce crowds of
Hasty, unconcerned creatures
Called human beings
What is the future?
A sky hidden by mist and muck
Nights without stars
Days without sun
Earth lost by pollution and war
Whom would they rule?
Alas!
Wisdom is not communicable
How to salvage
The challenge is formidable
Where are the gods?
Sleeping or enjoying the game
Of their offspring?
The poet was young, just born -
her innocent words, forlorn.
Still, she was as euphoric as a pig in mud -
rolling around the sweet corn.
Her wit was swill, but she drilled.
Dictionary at her fingertips, she thrilled.
Playing, like a piglet with fodder,
one day, with practice, her verse killed.
2/10/2023
When the time arrives to perspire
first suspire ~ then aspire to inspire
My soul is encaged within ribbed walls
Bound by body as if shackled and tethered.
What would it wish if one could be granted?
To be freed from my mind, from my body depart?
No, that's not what I believe with all my heart.
Does it feel the intensity of my physical pain,
or wounds that left scars on my broken heart?
It is my belief that the soul, mind and body
are integrated as one, signifying a human life,
the coexistence of an individual's conscious being.
If it's my soul's only wish to save itself from death,
it must save my body as well.
It's a platonic relationship of relying on each other,
for as long as my body breathes, so will my soul.
It aspires for a cohesive convergence with my mind,
body, and heart, for one is dependent on the others.
When my body dies, so does the existence of my soul.
Staying alive is its desire and the hope it transpires.
December 25, 2022
Our Soul's wish list contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
As I have been recently looking back
all these years I've been writing
it's filled my heart with such joy
made my life with such lighting
I have always loved a pen
in fact, everywhere I go, I buy one
especially love a uni-ball eye
Its ink just flows getting words done
Rhyme is my favourite poetry
having been inspired so much
bringing out from within myself
so others bring out my touch
So many famous poets inspire me
Rossetti, Blake, Dickinson to name a few
being a Scotsman love to read Burns
writing my thoughts whether old or new
The greatest gift that poetry brings
is knowing real peace and contentment
removing all my anxiety of former years
Brings joy to my soul, takes away my fear
(I have written this piece from looking at the question 'What is Poetry to me ?'
looking back to when it began and where it's taken me.)
I have penned that I write for the pleasure,
Not the wealth or the fame I might possibly gain,
But in hopes that when somebody reads me,
He'll enjoy and remember my name.
And I may get you yet, "Poet Laureate",
I'll have all the requirements, I'm sure:
I'll have lived;
I'll have loved;
Suffered pain and remorse;
And that one other thing, now, what is it?
Oh, yes,
I'll have various volumes of verses, of course.
In my life I may not have achieved much,
But something tells me, P.L., you're my due,
Though I missed out on Oscar, and Tony, and Emmy,
I have faith in myself,
So that space on the shelf
I'll keep dusted and waiting for you.
When we're young
Full of aspirations
Full of time
Full of ability
But actions delayed
Like most of the politicians
When we're old
Too little aspirations
Too little actions
Because too little time
Too little ability
Like the common people
But aspirations and actions
Are parts of a bond
Or a pair of lovers
That can't be separated
As politicians and people
Are closely related and dependant
Politicians got the power and authority
For actions
People got the votes
For aspirations
And fair and square indeed
The world first created by God
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