Best Enthusiasm Poems
Excitement echoed
In my heart
First experience
Of being a part
Now looking back to
Those times, thoughts
Flood like the cold rain
And ties me in knots
Enthusiastically
Grabbing the end
Of the crosscut saw
Helping hand to lend
He let me slowly pull
From my point of
View, I carried my
Weight, without gloves
At seven years old
I felt a superb
Job was done by me
Now grasped being disturbed
He said to momma
Grab the other handle
I'm tired of the weight
Having her to manhandle"
Just a few short words
Made me feel
Inadequate, small
At times now inside I reel
Camaraderie
At other times shared
Loaded down with firewood
I knew he cared
Bringing in buckets
Of water
Fire starter, or feed
The cows some fodder
Forgiven years ago
But memories still haunt
That's why I write
To ease thoughts that taunt
For Sotto Poet's E Words Contest
17 June 24
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"Enthusiasm is nothing more or less than faith in action" -- Henry Chester
I cling to reveries of youth, the tender sentiment of plucking words from summer roots,
That in my journal hours when the red
of skies are agleam...phrases extend long long as straw.
I burn language the way one does in
a flamed trance--amused, enthused,
seduced-- reeling into a daze beneath
a new moon, a blur of penciled happenstance flapping like a winged feather on river of late afternoons.
I would still scribble in hay where syllables grow into racy tunes , my faith abiding in passion deep...
And I could not help myself but drown
my hands in raw and humid lines;
Bury my eyes deep in verses' jammed.
I'm loathed to leave my untamed story
when twilight fades. Still and all, letters
drip and tradewinds see blown paper
curling like blotted fingertips!
Being stuck is how I learned I am a cartoonist,
A poet, a writer, a painter.
Being stuck is what makes me
Seek something new that will interest me.
I know when my brain needs something new.
Her dendrites are crying for another language,
vocabulary words, new methods of painting.
I know I must feed her, so she can be the most
creative happy fun-loving dancing self she can be.
This is when I begin learning something new.
I do not care what it is - racquetball, paintball, Harry Potter,
something I did not know about yesterday. To loosen her and
allow her to be the best she can be. I either pick up a book
about something I have never learned or I pick up a hobby. If I have a broken ankle, I click on the History Channel to feed my dendrite highway and retain enthusiasm.
“Enthusiasm is nothing more or less than faith in action” – Henry Chester
Oh, glitter dreams, I had to let you go
though in my youth, you’re all that I longed for.
Faith fled when my sweet passions lost their glow.
Some plans I made fate forced me to forego.
They vanished like when tides recede from shore.
Oh, glitter dreams, I had to let you go.
One’s destiny can be a bitter foe.
It took from me my fervor to explore.
Faith fled when my sweet passions lost their glow.
When young, I never thought with age came woe.
Life taught me this when hope walked out my door.
Oh, glitter dreams, I had to let you go.
I’m older, and though wiser, dying slow.
Fate tore my wings so that I could not soar.
Faith fled when my sweet passions lost their glow.
I thank my Lord for gifts He does bestow
on me, but pray my good health He’ll restore.
Oh, glitter dreams, I had to let you go.
Faith fled when my sweet passions lost their glow.
she was a mess
people were scared
of uniqueness
she did not care
lived by her heart
knew herself well
people jumped back
friends delighted
family annoyed
followed her rules
lived her own dreams
happy magnet
Enthusiasm is the key
To the attitude that will open doors
To your future
Enthusiasm is the ideal
You will want to strive to muster as much as possible
To live the life you want to live
To fully find your bliss
To live your most honored life
The one you set up before you arrived, be enthusiastic.
If you have learned nothing else, learn that.
Enthusiasm, faith and love.
Will open all the doors.
Help me save the children from rage and hopelessness,
Bring your optimistic lanterns, and your jubilant joy sticks.
Meet me in a half hour in the gazebo in the park.
Bring all the children you can find along the way.
Use your magic flutes and faeries to get them out of their houses
I have sent others ahead with a scrumptious meal to fill their tummies,
Gypsies are bringing art supplies that will help them fill the town with creativity.
Let’s dance our dance and sing our songs, and bring all the children we can find.
Invite all the poets, singers, artists, pet-lovers, enthusiastic adults and dancers.
We need all the lovers of life, the spreaders of happiness, and the proponents of joy
If we are to save the children.
We can start immediately, saving one at a time.
Date: Jan 4, 2019 Contest: Free Verse
Sponsor: Emiile Pinet
The lift cables engage, elevating
our gondola high above the valley.
And as white snowflakes confetti blue skies
our honeymoon ski-trip feels surreal.
The allure of a ski lodge in the Alps,
is, it sounds so cozy and romantic.
For if the brisk breezes become too cold,
we'll retreat inside and toast marshmallows.
Together, we'll watch a scarlet sunset
as it sets the snowcapped mountains afire.
And kiss under trillions of twinkling stars,
like diamonds strewn across ebony.
We'll be like angels atop of the world,
only love imbues hearts with such feelings.
And we'll explore this new-found paradise,
with the enthusiasm of newlyweds.
(Blank Verse)
Oct. 12, 2018
My flesh is flush with inadequacy each day
for no purpose pulses inspiration my way
No motivation shows to validate
that my energy even palpitates -
I am a daytime deficiency breathing.
All things seem possible before I sleep
then night’s energy sun fades into lethargy:
I rise to flounder, flail and fail to move so never do I see the
me that my prayers and hopes wish new days would promote.
Has karma woven my desires revoked
or am I now a bad aging type of joke?
I cannot grope life’s enthusiasm
nor can I fathom what has happened,
but I am sad that my self-esteem’s armor
has been pierced by darkness infused drama …
home clocks loud mock me
as moments find me unchanged
just aged within ticks
tocking my stopped impetus
in passion’s puddled blandness
Ocean view ... yawning azure
wakes and smiles, the lemon drop sun
daubing sprites on wave tops -
Where they dance and twirl like
polished diamonds, spilling from heaven's parcels ...
every wee, brief explosion of light,
Is a bloom of shimmering enthusiasm ...
every precious spark is spent in an instant,
but like the tummy giggles of a child,
They are strung together in harmony -
perfect pearls to adorn the bosom of the sea,
(as laughter adorns the day) ...
Melodious notes of nature's exuberant refrain,
here-and-gone in one sighing, serene moment ...
but their affectations on my soul -
The bright, bursting wonder and delight
that each one ignites within me, is lasting and true ...
oh, what bounty mine, this occasion!
Even now, amid the darkness of doubt -
world spinning in chaos and questions ...
joy's mercy still pierces the shadowy veil!
What grace, that it is my meager gaze
they choose to reach - my weary, chill
and jaded heart, the one they chance to set ...
Afire!
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Write A Poem About Enthusiasm" Poetry Contest, Caren Krutsinger, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Serenity In Scenes Of Mother Nature" Poetry Contest, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Pick 6 Any Theme Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Some people are bored.
I am not.
Some people live the same day every day.
I don’t.
Some people never change their opinions.
I do.
Some people have not picked up a book since high school or college.
I am not one of those.
Some people do not believe in life-long learning.
I do.
Some people like to clean.
I don’t.
Some people stay with one political party or one religion because it was their parents’.
Laugh.
Some people are garage-door opener sellers because their mom was a garage-door opener seller.
Really?
Some people never find out that they are a cartoonist, a poet, a painter, a gardener.
I did.
Some people live the same day every day.
Exactly as their parents did.
Other people live a fresh new day, every day.
The bound out of bed, delighted to be wearing mismatched socks, both fluffy of course.
They pop into their stretch pants, and their saggy, baggy, comfy, sixteen-year-old favorite Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and they head for their art studio.
Or they run to their office and plunk themselves down with a coffee or a tea and a piece of pie or something equally delectable, and they begin to write or draw or throw glitter in the air.
Guess which one I am?
I really loved it when
I had that bubbly youthful nature
I’d wake up enthusiastic
Hopeful for what each day would bring
Years of disillusionment pecked away
And eroded that bright fragile shell
It’s most unfortunate because
It was so unequivocally uplifting
That smile on my face seemed permanent
As much as that fresh sense of joy and hope
Exuding from my guileless heart
To this day I wonder
Why being so positive and happy
Got on people’s nerves
It seemed they needed to knock
Me down a peg or two
How very sad that they so managed
To defeat my childlike awe
Now it seems almost an impossible task
To undo their vile malevolent undoing
But I am determined to keep trying
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
fluorescent colors
every corner of the room
delightful cartoons
reminding me of great times
happy moments of painting
Rain beats against the window,
As my little boy leans his brow
And little hands against the cool glass,
Staring, longing to go out.
His eyes light up with joyous excitement;
Grinning from ear to ear,
For down the hall by the door
He sees his sister's red and white polka-dot umbrella.
Glimpsing around to make sure no one is looking,
With quick steps across the floor he goes to the door.
He rises on his tiptoes,
Reaching and wrapping his little fingers
Around the doorknob.
Slowly opening the door ajar,
He seizes his sister's umbrella.
Pushing the button he pops it open
And slips away unnoticed.
The pitter-patter of rain strikes the umbrella
He holds high above his head,
As he runs across the yard
To the old wooden bench in the pouring rain.
Jumping he grabs a wooden slat
And struggles to climb on the wet slippery bench,
Springing high his little feet finally makes it up.
Bouncing up and down,
Screeching with enthusiasm giggles
watching the colorful rainbow,
Soaking wet,
He holds on to the back of the bench.
6/19/2020
Dancing through life
Shaking my shoulders
Loosening up my hips
A sassy gypsy queen am I
Taking no prisoners
Enjoying my freedom
Playing my tambourine
Delighting the faeries
Twirling skirts
In a variety of colors
Matching no one
Surpassing myself.
Singing my truth
Competition on.
Fire oozes from my soul
I am the gypsy pirate queen
Written 8-02-2019
Contest: Invitation to Play
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper