Best Dispositions Poems
Having lived on earth for some time now
Impatiently he dwells, harboring self doubt.
In face of impediments he loses his mind
Acquiring dispositions like hate and lies,
Hosting showmanship to look good and wise.
Never does he claim his world to be saintly
Letting dreams reign and thoughts go wild
Acknowledging failings incapable of verity.
Risking happy tears, triumphs he celebrates
Saving saddened ones to mourn disasters,
Banking on the strength of worn-out hands
As unforgiving minutes tick-tock forever.
When he gets a turn at the wheel of fortune
Losses seem to mount at every pitch-and-toss,
Regretting moments when he says:"hold on"
For he loses the ground on which he stands.
Yet he carries on, in treacherous currents
Swimming boldly in shark-infested waters
Accepting the reality of fish-eat-fish world.
Unsatiated reveries bestow vacant dreams
Never ever venturing to walk with the Kings,
Commoner he is, like his friends in drudgery.
Pride and joy of his family, a Man he's already!
Truth he owns, is the truth he delineates,
Being a flawed man, for forgiveness he prays.
October 21, 2018
Poem of the day on October 23, 2018
Placed first in..In response to Rudyard Kipling's poem IF
Contest by Silent One
Placed 3rd: Strand select 12 by Brian Strand
A whistling wheezing hamlet, whispering and emanating, tunes euphonic,
In a remote isolated valley, far-flung from the abode of the temporal,
Warbling quietly to whistle scads of tranquil cryptic songs;
Lying spasmodic, a sparsely inhabited mellifluous hamlet, Kongthong!
Not to hyperbole, a singing utopia, uncustomary to the core!
Where innate and mellow are the naive dwellers' rustic tinkling timbres!
A rover's riddle, the natives' pride, a unique heritage, their blissful strains!
Ringing with an ancient tradition of tune-giving in honour of the root ancestress,
Customary to the matrilineal surviving unknown folk of the thorp!
The chirping region's dispositions and practices outlandish, vague and obscure,
Primitive and bizarre, mere to merge with nature's absolute accord!
Voices buzzing in whistles, murmuring and chattering, lilting,
Arcane, pervading the virgin thicket of the sacred thorpe!
To entangle, passerby and wanderers in dream like metaphors!
Those magical murmurs in quirky tunes, mingling the breeze of the secluded hamlet, intoning own tinkles!
Blessed are the tuning terrain's offsprings, nameless!
Rared by ditties, hailed sacred by the clan's conviction!
Outlying, by the uninhabited enchanting wilderness of East Khasi Hills,
Sleeping quietly the untrodden, nature's lulling lullaby, the whistling Kongthong!
Yell! Immaculate and serene, the saga of their undeciphered airs, mumbling in exquisite ethos!
Inimitable and gripping to eye, how the denizens of the tribe,
Are crooning to dub and call each other by indigenous intonations!
Pitching and whooshing, to tune their melodic identities unique!
Whew! The picturesque terrain is tweeting, whooping, and whizzing!
Heaven! Bless anomalous nature's absolute pamphlet,
The ringing Kongthong, God's own whistling hamlet!
Soft eyes of brown, hair a cascade of curls,
Your smile, a contagion that enraptured the world,
Dispositions like whispers of a wondrous spell,
With a handshake, you wove stories only our hearts could tell.
Fell deep and fast, no escaping your snare,
One touch, one glance, a universe we'd share,
In stolen glances, a secret dance took flight,
A symphony of hearts, hidden from plain sight.
But time played its hand, as years unfurled,
Our paths diverged in this big, wide world,
Said our goodbyes, with dreams to chase,
Destinies calling in their different space
Then a call unexpected, like a forgotten melody's trace,
"I like you," your words whispered across time and space,
In that moment, a chapter revisited, a page turned anew,
My heart's ink bled emotions, vibrant and true.
Four months, you were the canvas of my dreams, Every brushstroke a memory, painted in golden beams,
In your presence, time danced to a secret tune,
Little did I know, it would all end too soon.
September's touch, a fading sunset's gloom,
With splintered hopes I'm crying on my roof, "Boyfriend isn't my norm," your words so cold,
Left me adrift, in memories I hold.
So here I stand basking in the glory of my naivety,
A masterpiece of trust, my own little activity,
Regreting how beautifully my heart danced to your deceiving song,
Now I'm lost in the notes of what went wrong.
Pieces of my heart in my hand,
Punishing myself for not understanding your plan.
Sunflowers,
cheddar-cheese petals
surrounding seedy-brown-mustard centers,
stand guard over hot summer pavement
like mighty oaks.
Laughing children
run in and out the yellow forest,
slaying dragons,
rescuing damsels in distress,
then pretending to be astronauts
sailing across space
to a planet inhabited
by tall, green stalk-like aliens
with golden helmets.
Did van Gogh imagine such things
as he painted so many saffron blooms?
Did their sunny dispositions
have any effect on him?
Did he really love those festive flowers?
Look for answers in the pensive starry night.
Mornings have a multitude of faces,
moods and/or dispositions
sunny she's a a good friend of mine
dancing in the sunlight
warm, without inhibition and free
no lingering in the chill
of disconnect, that's just me
early she crusts my eyes
reddened veins of pain
erupting in a darkened
state of grey
I squint, trying not to feel
and limp towards
another unwanted day
rain and cold each caress
the corners of my comfort
pulling me back under wraps
wishing me a wanton momentarily
lapse of reason as the season's change
sickness feigns, I dial that dreadful number
cross my eyes and fingers and lie
as I lay my head
back down gently
upon the warmth of your
Enamoured with myself, I walk my garden path
Where the grass grows tall
Snapping off a long piece, a whistle
So shrill the dogs howl
Dandelions greet me
Their sunny dispositions radiate hello
How can I not make myself a dandelion crown?
Can I not take what I own?
Daisies dance - pleading pick me, pick me
He loves you, he loves you not
No worries, love
I will pluck your petals until my answer comes up
Scent pulls me farther along to
a sea of roses at the edge
Their heads held high, defiant
to the waves crashing below
Can I not pluck again?
They are mine, are they not?
I suck the pulsing red reminder
That we own nothing but just us
I try again, as they are mine!
A snip, a blossom cupped in hand
Cascading petals into nothingness
A mockery of my intent
Small acts land large on nondescript days
Majestically humble sea of roses
Here to teach and touch and love
My ego in my pocket, empty-handed I go
essential
contrasts
of
authentic
ethos
with
nostalgic
responses
in
concentrated
self-images
prosaic
remembrance
of
inwardness
embraced
individual
elaborated
coincidences
deliberate
limitations
&
isolated
feelings
revealed
From the spoils and tragedies of childhood,
panning virtues out of dispositions.
Impaling self upon the spears of truth,
cuts chains of substances and delusions.
Upon mercy’s door, the forgiving heart,
handles Love with gratitude and prudence.
Walking the gallows when bound to depart,
no more illusions when choosing masters.
Respect no longer collecting trophies,
Wars and peace only with integrity.
Essence lives in speech without utterance,
Pride under shovelfuls of honesty.
Closing the chapters when life deems it so.
Strong days testing the brave to deliver,
even when to the ones loved, it is no.
Broken but still, in those times forsaken.
An ear towards the counsel of the wise.
Wooed by the songs of a revolution,
prunes the soul of what is left, harnessed fears,
in diaries of this evolution.
Anger is a form of fear
Violence is what I always hear
It is unpredictable and uncontrollable
It makes peace unstable
Everyone has it, it is like an addiction
It gives birth to chaos and destruction
I see it causing a lot of grief and pain
With all this hate and anger what do you think we can truly gain
Every day control is dreadfully slipping away
But with all these nasty dispositions and attitudes anger is here to stay
If you’re reading this please take a moment and pray
This world’s anger needs management
I truly know why Jesus was sent
Miscommunication, is fabrication of reality
When actually it’s a matter of perspective.
She was a standout, with a name similar to yours
With pure intentions, painful convictions but losing to her own dispositions.
Deprivation of her moral mentality structure crumbles
Caused by misadventures of her past life
Blighted with horrific memories
Tragic upsets that shake the very foundation of her soul.
Lead by the goals of our society
To keep the mindset that anxiety… controls you
But who understands?
Those who demand you to over expand your capability of toleration to your demons?
Pharmaceutical apprehension to be your companion in this never-ending struggle?
School systems have programs
That program you to say
Everything’s okay
Just get over it and move on
But you see there is no off switch to pain
No preset to reset her experiences
The hand that she felt
A seatbelt that would strap her into a horrible roller-coaster ride of misery
You see, there is something wrong with this picture
Its missing something
Someone…
You?
Maybe everything that she needed was a frosty before third period on a March afternoon
Or maybe, an almond milk macchiato on finals week at Delos across the street
Or even an acquainted silence of tears while she spilled her heart on the dashboard of your car.
She needed a home
No not a bed to sleep in with complimentary breakfast
No!
A resting place
That’s laced with people who care to hear the response of how her day is,
Or how’s she’s doing in school
Or why is there scars on her…
Arms to be held in when she needs comfort.
Sometimes we’re the only savior that people see,
But what saviors are we when we’re preoccupied with our own self-indulgence of social media.
Temporary satisfactions from addictions ever going,
Distracting us from having true meaning in life.
We need to make a stand,
To withstand this generational curse.
Of carelessness of peoples pain,
But first, let me update my status.
At the packed coastal beach, scents of chrysanthemums’ incenses
Adorned the cool sea breeze, perfuming my mollified senses
The late afternoon sun burned gently, its flames caressed my skin
Snowy clouds ambled the cheery skies, dressed in crystalline blues.
Its picturesque mirrored by the unruffled sea, as I took in
The panoramic scape, seamlessly flowing, forming curls of indigo hues.
The azure shades subtly paled, as flustered vistas grew morose
Soft mumbles preceded grumbles, in a capricious metamorphose.
Spindrifts and gusts conspired, in mutinous unity of quietude’s assault,
Strides of wave crests turbulent, broadcasted their unruly tumult,
The beach, depraved vestiges of the serene, scenic scape pristine,
In solitude rue of the sea's untamed, rowdy routine.
Surges of emotions compulsive, our dispositions rendered visible
Sometimes as the sea’s open sight, our auras discernible.
© Maverick Nyambu
In solitary silence i commune with my own heart,
And diligently consider its questions and awnsers,
It declares to me that all real questions have real awnsers.
Truth offers herself to all who enquire after her.
If insulted she will look for better company,
From better dispositions and warmer hospitality.
She exists like a spirit; not timid and weak, but powerful,
And she will share her power with all her followers,
To bless or curse those who use her influence;
If used for justice, she will protect and defend,
If for mercy she will inspire benevolence and goodness;
If used for love she will make worthy of the same;
If for hate she will bring misery, if to deceive she will condemn.
Of all in existence she is the most excellent!
Because she illustrates lucid and clear choices,
She conveys the most profound feelings,
And the grandest most sublime imaginations,
She plainly discovers beauty and ugliness.
She is not property to be owned and controlled,
Nor will she own and control those who know her,
She imparts the power of pure intelligence,
Witch is nought else but her own power.
She makes the best people, and also the worst.
The great and wise who raise others to her vitality and glory,
The wretched and miserable who by her abuse and oppress.
She discovers what is, what was and what will be.
She influences the highest and most beneficent liberty,
And also the heaviest oppression and cruelest tyranny.
Lies can be vehemently hurled against her,
But she overthrows all direct contact with her enemies.
She is equally impartial to flattery as she is to scorn.
To doubt, wonder and question is to stand in her shadow.
To reflect, reason and believe is to see by her light.
She is not in words, thoughts or silences,
But manifests and presents herself through these.
She is the absolute that makes possible all absolutes,
She emanates knowledge, confidence and wisdom,
With her fear dissipates and disappears,
And beauty is her splendor; She is the mighty Truth.
Julian LeBaron
By the wayside
A story-teller charms;
Exquisite tale of old
~~~~~~~~~
Path of uncertainty
Change springs a cast;
Innovative ideas hurl
~~~~~~~~~
Loiter and linger
Upon these lonely shores;
Waves crash the beach
~~~~~~~~~
Listen for a glimpse
From unknown scenes;
Mellow music hints
~~~~~~~~~
Heavy mall traffic
Sea of faces swirling;
Waiting the sales kill
~~~~~~~~~
Bus number 197
Double decker sighted;
Bound for Alexandra Village
~~~~~~~~~
Bazaar book stall
Old leftover tomes;
Weathered lessons await
~~~~~~~~~~
Talk of war again
Outbreaks somewhere again;
Spirits rebellious
~~~~~~~~~
This weary world riddled
Such fiery war-mongering;
Profit for the arms trade
~~~~~~~~~
If you must ask
You do not know;
Poetry wears intent well
~~~~~~~~~
Dreamy dispositions
Watch the falling rain;
Cold clearance coming
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
12 November 2014
Singapore
Long long ago, when my parents first met,
They Fell in love like everyone....
And Started that long treck.
Perhaps like you, they fell in love!
And they found out there was more
Than just kissing and dancing and
making love.
In those days, marriage was in order!
And in order to eat, they had to work!
Yes, it was in their character....
Those were days, when work was not
considered wrong,
How proud they were to start each day
With gratitude to God and a song!
They worked during the great depression,
And not one word of complaint did I hear.
My mother stood in the snow with hundreds
of others.
Waiting for just one job opening!
I guess they just don’t make them like my
mother and father anymore!
My father, would faint,If he were here,
Seeing the rush and greed, for FREE
everything!
It is not some thing any of us should
cheer!
One day, after many years, you will get
To Happily, retire!
congratulations, you did what God asked
You to do.
Making this world a better place, for people
Just like you.
Both opened a very fine store, worked long,
way over 10 hours a day.
Their dispositions never soured.
My grandpa, live with us too.
I know, all are in heaven, as
They shared their wealth with any
Needy brethren.
4/24/2022
Just beyond your focus, came a fallout of rage.
There was a silance that had ended by the look on your face.
And I could swear_____ I saw you fall apart, your strength
had turned to weakness as you through up your arms.
I CAN tell when your losing your way.
And it's not fair that your running away.
Your dispositions faded like the jeans that you wear,
and by this challenge thats forsaken because you really don't care.
It's about this matter of dependance that you've already scathed,
so lets head back into the silence so that we don't BREAK away.
And just follow me if you don't know your way,
and I won't tell...........when your running around in circles.