Best Acknowledgements Poems
To capture a moment in your hands
To hold it, study it,
Look deeply into all things composing this moment.
Compiling a mental list of ingredients
And dissecting the consequences of this moment.
To crush this moment that you are grasping in your hands.
Extinguishing all life in it.
Executing something out of your own control.
Refusing the opportunity to channel this moment.
Exercising the possession of this moment before it flourishes.
Feeling the thunder of this moment.
Crash upon all levels of consciousness.
Defeating all futile attempts at righteousness.
Running from this moment as if behind you,
But truly it is front of you, glistening on the horizon.
The punch line of all moments is in evading the capture.
Being passed by, refused, overlooked, denial of acknowledgements and
accolades.
Narrow minded, business always, imagination less nobodies.
Embodying nothing.
Hands gnarled with bitterness, lacking the ability to even capture life itself.
The exact essence of a moment.
Of the living embodiment of it's fleeting seconds.
A luxurious gift whether new and shiny or in tattered and faded wrappings.
Makeup who you are, your being.
Each heartbeat we fail to recognize, is just another fleeting moment of our life.
Memory
I am my memory.
This piece of the world, this brief sprouting
Amongst many thinking radishes,
Exists only as resonances within
Lacy neurons; Flanders’ delicate patterns
Sustained by glial skeletons,
Beyond the spider’s web or silent
Snowflake in elegant complexity.
I am memory:
Identity, selfness, the compass of my person,
Shaped by the universe’s unknowingness
Of my reedlike form; yet I know I exist,
And know of my fate,
And of the fate of the universe,
Which is the power of my memory
And humankind’s collective memory.
I am:
And therefore recreated endlessly by my memories which,
Shallow-like, bow to my insecurities
Played out in my mind; ironically,
Feeding my own undermining,
Poignant recall of joy and bittersweet sorrow,
Given force by visceral emotion, shaping “I”
Anew, through endless rehearsal.
I:
Who is: only in relation to you, another,
My child, parent, brother, sister, a lover,
Bosom friend; like me, the sum
Of memories, which we share
And are thus part of each other,
All one, yet separate, connected
Through memory.
The memories of you fade,
Yet do not disappear, and
Give truth to my thoughts
On memory, and my identity;
Me, whom you pursued until
I caught you, and gave
Me memories happy and sad,
That shape me still..
with acknowledgements to
Blaise Pascal, William Shakespeare, Rene Descartes, Eric Kandel, John Locke, the Lace makers of Belgium....and Georgia
Old Spencer, smelling of grippe, drugs, and death,
he couldn’t bend over to pick up chalk, magazines,
and failed acknowledgements of stupidity.
He certainly reveled in my foolishness.
“Modern science would still like to know what the secret ingredients were
that the Egyptians used when they wrapped up dead people.”
Funny, how people snub any disregard for my self-worth,
I could always smell a phony.
As if picking his nose allowed Spencer to hold his head high,
my presence was only preceded by three other competent institutions.
Success will overlook a booger.
Failure hones selective pride.
I felt it was important to know where park ducks went in winter.
Mayhap they occupied a posh New York hotel.
I left Elkton Hills for selfless reasons.
Attitudes make me cold.
There must be something grander than academia,
like being a good parent or having a large vocabulary.
It is easy to find reasons for disliking people.
They could be old and repetitive.
They could shake the wrong person’s hand.
They could be sarcastic,
exercising their passive aggressive skills after similar provocation.
It seems living can be a circle of depression.
Growing up is difficult if you’re not in the game.
Hot shots always make the rules.
They have an inside track on linear success,
always elated,
blubbering on about how good life is.
They lounge around in their warm homes dressed in bathrobes,
reading The Atlantic Monthly, drinking their hot chocolate.
You can hear them at the edge of your senses, concerned about your destiny,
hedging their own reputations and possible futures,
shouting in barely comprehensible tones from behind closed doors,
“Good Luck!”
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OLD OAK
In the shadow of solitude now I see Your eyes,
that so faithfully carry about the light
through my thoughts so dark,
and the pen trembles in the hand,
waiting for the prodigal son's acknowledgement.
My one and only, acknowledgements arrive in solitude's embrace,
just like tears, and where there is a tear, there is love,
always faithful and unbribable, invisible but so real
that you can touch it with thoughts
and with the fiery breath in the infinity of solitude.
I admit to using my verses as ransom for my guilt,
(and guilt is my silence),
and I listen to the rumor
that perpetually, like a bat,
whirls across the lonely poet's street.
They say that me and You,
my one and only,
are fantasy, but a pen immersed in ink.
But You know, don't You,
that me and You are perfectly real, full of wishes,
dreams and memories.
My one and only, I am listening to the whisper of the wind
in this warm, dreamy summer night...
It is silent, horribly silent without You,
and the wind's whisper is dying down, farther away, oh so far,
as if called by death to its black hearse,
and I have waited for so many days, months and years to appear,
to bring Your voice to me,
gentle, soft, warm and yearning,
but it is so silent, oh so silent now,
that I can hear the screams of solitude
chase away memories
into this warm summer night,
my one and only, I am standing in the shadow of the dignified oak,
and I am looking into his empty sleepiness,
as if its playfulness left along with You,
it is silent like the wind.
Its dear, green, eternally waking young leaves,
who used to whisper in Your vicinity, untrammeled and confidential,
are completely silent now, completely dead.
Now I am trembling in the shadow of our oak,
fearfully looking at it as it drags its dignified old face along the ground,
its memories are as lively as mine.
Once, yes, once the memories,
who live so inaudibly,
shall become so weak,
so humanly weak,
that they shall find their dark home
next to our wooden crosses.
© Walter William Safar
THE GREATEST PERFORMANCE OF MY LIFE
Ahhh… I had performed so many characters in my life.
A mother, then a single mother with all its encumbrances
of being a breadwinner, a homemaker and sometimes
a substitute father, a grandmother and now a retiree.
I worked in so many different positions, doing my all
in each of them, receiving awards and acknowledgements
for a work well done or for my contributions, inputs for
better procedures in improving the workflow and productivity.
Most of all, I made sure of being financially independent
before retiring for I want to be comfortable without thinking
of finances and I do not want to be a burden to my children.
To me, these were not performances, they were responsibilities.
Responsibilities to myself, to my children and to my work.
And now, I am having the greatest performance of my life.
Living the moment, doing the things I want to do, sharing
my blessings, my gifts to my loved ones and close friends.
Reinventing myself, learning, exploring, changing every day
the best possible way, not making a big deal of little things,
accepting what I cannot change, being grateful for what
I have and appreciating my loved ones and close friends.
Most of all being thankful to Him and trusting Him more
each day, living for today with no cares, worries and fear.
6/5/22 The Greatest Performance Of My Life Poetry
JCB Brul
This one is for all the ladies who give up their priorities and career for their family. For the ladies who dedicate their lives in looking after husband’s parents, her children and indeed her beloved husband.
This one is for the ladies who lag behind whilst their spouses remain updated for being on professional ground.
This one is for the ladies who avoids argument and feud to maintain happiness and ambience of her home.
This one is for the ladies, whose birthday, every member of the house forgets but with all her love, she makes their birthday a special occasion.
This one is for the ladies, who do not complain about their illness and are available to serve when ever needed.
This one is for the ladies who are asked to “look within,” when her children grow, when her husband changes his priorities, when her duties as a daughter in law are almost done!
Not only through my words but with all the respect and understanding, I shall be there for you forever.
To me it seems, I have deleted my own life.
Yet, I have no acknowledgements, no respite!
All these years through the spin,
Now, when I was expecting a win,
You have asked me to look within!
From dusk, till dawn….
I cried for being used as a pawn.
Disgrace and wounds that I have never shown,
Have probably allowed you to take the lead on!
I thank you for asking me to look with in!
I feel strong and I know I have been a linchpin.
No, I am not sinking!
Despite your blames and meaningless inklings.
Proudly, I stand glinting!
I am loving and a caring personality.
Empathised all through, despite living through brutality!
How would you, parents and kids deny my hospitality!
I am so done with the sick banality.
I am a scholar, intelligent and creative!
To keep up your vanity and superiority happily submitted to your ego trip!
Quite elucidative that I should not have been so accommodative!
I have been there, through their teens and routines.
Yes, your kids are luminous, brilliant and pristine!
I am happy that I looked within!
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Contest Name: STRAND COMPLETELY NEW(4)any theme any form
Date: 4th July; 2020
I sit at the water’s edge
With my lone reflection to see
What happened to our pledge?
Now, will never come to be
My tears ripple in water below
No more skipping stones
Pain from memories I know
Slowly seep into my bones
As the waves ebb and flow
On heartaches from a distant shore
I wonder if you know
That I will miss you evermore
And the sadness in my heart
Will echo through the years
And yet again will start
The rippling of tears
Waves of pain come over me
As dark clouds hover above
Tears blurring vision, I can hardly see
How can I endure this loss of love?
My reflection distorted, now unknown
As if I lost myself as well
I fear what my broken heart has sown
In this sorrow that within me dwells
~~
7/14/17
Acknowledgements:
My thank and appreciation to Heidi for sharing
her poetic voice with me. As always, it has been
a pleasure working with you Heidi.
Today
I am going to let go
Relinquish worry
Set free doubt
Let faith guide me
To pastures overrun with heart’s desires
Today I live in the present
Absent of all those things inhibiting living in the now
Boldly dreaming up a future big and bright
Dripping a blinding orange luster potent as the Sun
Placing those dreams
in Gods hands along with faith
Praying into existence
acknowledgements
all my positive thoughts are powerful
Today I claim all ambitions
Previously abandoned by fear
Today I read
Today I sing
Today I dance
Today I write
Today I heal
You’re free to follow or walk beside
Encouraged even
To indulge that which secretly grins
childishly at hearts core
To that which you first knew was yours to have
Doctor, lawyer, painter, teacher, sculptor, mommy….
Before someone said that wasn’t big enough
Practical
Or Un-Obtainable
The time is now
Come….
www.nefretitim.com
Tomatos,medium green
bacon drippings,lean
cornmeal,coated on both sides
Seasoned with pepper
Alabama fried,
Whistle stop
Mean !
Acknowledgements to, in this tribute to novelist Fannie Flagg
RUMBLING ROADS.
I can spend time scribbling words
Already written in 1000 note books
I could watch intently those that already HAVE
And try to get what they have achieved
I could do well too, if I pretend that I'm alone
And live on, on my own different path, I may as well think of: FATE
That fate itself doesn't exist nor does destiny
I may read over and try to feel everything
Or I may read and try not to understand a thing.
I may take it that I understand the logic in ignorance
Or believe that it is the greatest bliss of all
I would believe what have always been within
Would I trust my instincts or disbelieve trust itself?
II
Where I come from, I'm certain of
Where my so-called wisdom leads is a mystery
I can wallow in this knowledge and be complacent
Do autopsies of my self-made philosophy
And stick lead-notes on boards of rusted cliches
I could be Jubilant and celebrate my acknowledgements,
I could try to understand how my wits work
File reports on my findings and make an archive;
For the forthcoming generation to tear at my woe-
perhaps the mystery will fade,
Perhaps it's existence will never be fathomed
And I'll be sure then that this wisdom is far-fetched
Questions; I could stop asking lots of questions too.
III
Answers, they are always there
Way-laying in the paths of questions, doubt and sweat
In the tongues of pain and fiery bitter-sweet
In the crunching stones rolled on by rumbling tires
Truth; answers are in the truth that the road sires
Always there for you to step on and wonder
For you to spit on and cross over
Answers are on the clean surface of city tarmacs
In wreckage scenes of uncleared accident tracks
In the blood seeping grounds of roads of gravel
Answers are in your shoes as you trudge on
Into the unsatisfying world of demanding enlightenment
Into the future that beckons you to step forwards
Answers are in the dust you make along the rumbling roads.
-Lucas-
The weary sailors were lost at sea,
Hoping to find a guiding light,
Wondering if they would survive this misery,
And escape their stormy plight;
But the mighty waves would not relent,
And roared like thunder through the night,
The ship was tossed with fierce intent,
The sea was showing them its might;
The wind was blowing against them,
And the sailors did not give up their fight,
But they forgot their captain was at the helm,
Who had noticed a beacon shining bright;
The lighthouse was but a speck in the storm,
While turbulent waves gave a sure fright,
Still, far, they could see an island form,
And to them, it was the most beautiful sight;
The captain whistled and steered the ship,
The sailors encouraged, held on tight,
Together, they did not let their vessel flip,
As they reached the island safe alright.
~~
7/15/17
Acknowledgements:
My thanks and appreciation to Jo for doing this
collaboration with me. Jo, it was a pleasure working with you.
Waiting on defeat, the feet
I'm whimsical, captured, no bondage
Unrestricted
I have inclinations
No bondage freed from our regrets
Waiting on the beat
Notions unrestricted
To prance away
Say what, what you say
Dancing displayed, non controlled
No acknowledgements
Notions unrestricted
Waiting on the beat unbound non inclusive
Awaken dreams a dancing machine, galloping liberties
Unfettered, uncovered, uninhibited, unrestricted
Free to the fancy, fancy toward the freed
Given all that's liberty, give me liberty
People all, all you people stand on your feet
The feet of creation stand over circumstances deeper than oceans
Crawl, walk, run, fall in we're all notions unrestricted
Pursuing a solo career turned out to be a great choice.
Laura was gifted with a strong alto voice.
From upstate New York, this fine lady came.
Her prolific songwriting talent launched her to fame.
We saw that overwhelming success coming true
with the release of “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You”.
Laura’s biggest number one hit was “Gloria”.
That one lasted a long time on the charts in America.
Two other song hits the public would extol,
were the popular “Solitaire” and “Self Control”.
For several film soundtracks, she contributed many a song.
The list of acknowledgements and awards is certainly long.
Unfortunately, this talented artist is not with us anymore.
Laura sadly passed away back in 2004.
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and LauraBraniganOnline.com for information I obtained to write this poem.
I watch the clouds turn to gray
And I listen for the rain
Then I hear the haunting melody you play
As it echoes with sad refrains
I often wonder why, you only play
that haunting melody on rainy days
What sad memory do you recall
When those raindrops fall
I wonder what you may have lost
that left behind a cold winter frost
As lightening bolts strike the mountains
The thunder and music seem to blend
I feel deep heartache as I listen, I grieve
Silently hoping you will find reprieve
From what has captured you within
For rain to wash away the haunting sin
But the storm brings no reprieve
And I hold on to the pain
The heartache does not leave
But comes down with the rain
As I know I will always hear
This haunting melody to my ears
That shakes my soul to the core
Standing all alone at your door
So I will join in, with you violin
For I know I'll always hear
The sad sounds of your strings
And on the piano I'll share
The sorrow the rain brings
Drenching my heart, because I care
---
Acknowledgements:
My thanks and appreciation to Heidi for sharing her poetic voice
with me in this write. Great working with you Heidi.
Spring has fragrant blossoms to reap
And as it awakens from slumber deep
Spring sings of blooms and life anew
And butterflies and skies of blue
Summer sings of sun and sand
Of ice cream cones and getting tanned
Of beautiful sunsets that delight
Of moonlit walks on sultry nights
It is in these moonlit walks I take
Crystalline steps with wishes I make
That started with Spring's new beginning
My heart just keeps on singing
Let there be peace, sunrise to sunset
In a butterfly's flight to things unseen yet
Let sweet ice cream tasted in every flavor
Blend into memories at warm beaches to savor
For autumn's song will soon take hold
With rustling leaves of red and gold
Soon the trees will have no melody to share
For autumn's song will leave them bare
Until snow spreads like an angel's wings
Lining tree branches with glistening white
Softly, my heart continues to sing
In the silence of snow, falling into the night
~~
Acknowledgements:
My deepest thanks and appreciation to Heidi for sharing
her poetic voice. Heidi it has been a pleasure working with you.