Best Enviable Poems
as a child,
I perceived
the wonderment
of Clouds.
and elders
likewise contemplated
the curious celebrity of them
the solemnity of shape-shifting skyships
their charity of rain:
encouraging fruit
greening hills
irrigating joys
keeping
watch
around the earth
in as enviable
a perch
as the risen sun
or mystic moon
that guides tides.
sun runs
apace
moon whisks
its baton away
but Clouds
stay high,
perpetual
imprints
covering Space and Time.
Could
Clouds
be God's eyes?
***
when I was
-abecedarian-
counting from one to three,
I licked my lips
at Clouds
reckoning
I'd catch them
like docile butterflies,
and discern the flavors of miracle floss:
must be rose-white sugar
some barley flour
lamb's fleece and goose feathers
the elders, lofty and wise,
disparaged my foolish games.
I tugged
on the edge of their mountainous faces:
wispy chins
transient strands
billowy beards
closest clouds
I'd seen
Proximal nimbi
and their dust trail
of ginger, onion, and clove
pulled pork, frizzled cod, light ashtray
lingered...
I caught
those crazy hairs
so hard
candy-coated
raindrops
fell!
My thirst for undying love I wished to quench
Drinking from the source of your enviable lips
Few droplets of nectar my soul was able to sip
That ample were though my craving to eclipse!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 NOVEMBER 2014
The hideous wrinkles and folds
unmistakingly reveal the damage
that the harsh years had wrought,
all the battles waged and fought,
won and lost.
I look at her now sunken face,
beaten and badly weathered,
and there is no mistaking
a perfect beauty she was
not that many years ago.
She smiles, a hint of a dimple
peeking through the loose skin,
faint signs of high cheekbones
desperately wanting to be seen,
strong jaws chiseled on a face
that must have been stunning
when she was younger.
Alas, all her enviable perfections
the passage of the years wasted,
disfigured, marred beyond repair
by the envious hands of time.
While this ugly observer focuses
on her now terribly faded image,
with a smile I sigh without envy,
listening to a voice whispering:
the more beauty one possesses,
the greater is the loss in the end.
Time, the great equalizer!
Ugly from birth and ugly till death,
I can take it all with a hearty laugh
as there is not much I will give up,
for the years cannot take away
what from the start I never had.
Ah, ugly is much more preferable
and perfectly beautiful after all.
Just like Helen of Troy
your face could launch
a thousand ships.
Your preternatural beauty,
arrests the air I breathe.
At first glance,
time freezes to a standstill.
So enviable is the symmetry of your face.
Your facial features, perfectly chiseled.
Your captivating face,
a feast for the eyes
Tantamount to fireflies
swarming the charcoal sky;
even Aphrodite would bow her head
in shame before you.
Just like Helen of Troy
your face could launch
a thousand ships.
That nose, beautifully centered
on your heart-shaped face.
Those lips, a rounded cupid's bow.
Those amber puppy-dog eyes,
brim with love
and devastating innocence.
Oh, how your face comes alive
when you smile at me!
Your aura, nothing short of magnetic!
The power of your radiant smile
could make iceberg explode
like dynamite!
Just like Helen of Troy
your face could launch
a thousand ships.
Free Verse Only- Pick a Theme Poetry Contest/Winner(2nd Place)
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Theme: Your face could launch a thousand ships
Date written and posted: 05/29/2018
Autumn waits on the back of September’s wings /
transforms her green to enviable hues /
the castanets of crickets like shamans sing,
chant to the moon ~ their hallowed muse.
Original date: September 19, 2022 revised on Sept. 22, 2022 for contest
For: September Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Placed 3rd in contest
Even the most luminous petal
of the enviable rose
will share its magnificence
for such a short time
As such, we must appreciate
each moment of its glory
for even from the most noble,
petals do whither and fall
Like the rose in full bloom
we must shine every day
and live every second
while the sun is our friend
Let Go
The last tiny leaf...
waits at the end of the branch.
Below,
there are several feet to fall,
and then there is a river;
the Green.
The cold of winter has long set in,
and the last survivor of the prior year,
refuses to succumb to the moment of truth.
Below the water continues,
and life goes on.
A few more days,
then only a few more hours,
moments;
the enviable,
the inescapable...
happens.
Released,
from the last tether of life,
the small...
brittle, but unbroken...
a perfect sheet of brown and gold;
a living newspaper...
all about yesterday,
now only a single truth cast free.
Falling down,
eternally...
the value of all things past,
less than was thought it would be.
The future,
the way of the Maker,
and the Master.
The plan laid out in the very beginning.
This... this is only the end.
Fear not as the wind touches the leaf's surface.
It holds it like a father holds a child...
for the first time.
Swept away into the horizon of another day,
one with a host of angels all around,
and a King upon the throne.
It is not so scary to just be...
a leaf, anymore.
When you’re born into this world of ours.
You have no idea if you’ll reach its ivory towers.
If you’re lucky to be born into a house of wealth.
Chances are, you’ll go far, have money for yourself.
And even if you aren’t a stiff, who got a lucky draw.
You can still makes millions, as we certainly have saw.
So what exactly is the definition of a successful life?
Money, fame, success, children and a loving wife?
My point of view is one that’s true, what my father told me.
Son, peace of mind, if you can find, you’ll never end up lonely.
I heard the words, not one absurd, but somehow didn’t listen.
For I’m 61, my life’s not fun, not an enviable position.
How I got here, perhaps that’s the question on your mind.
It would take a book to explain, how I came into this bind.
I’ll give you the short of it, I made some bad decisions.
And now it seems that I’m living in the Spanish Inquistion.
But you’re not dead you say, there’s more life has to give.
I agree and want to be out of this insane prison and to live.
Want to enjoy, to employ, the gifts and all the wonder.
And not be attacked, from the back and live a life asunder.
At 61, your life’s not done, you could have died at twenty.
You’ve had many years upon this earth, enjoyed it aplenty.
But if you’re broke, your fire’s unstoke, not a life of envy.
You ask yourself day and night, what will be my end be?
If I had fifty thousand dollars at this point in my life.
I’d create a machine, that would put away all my strife.
So if I can sell this house I own for more than what I bought her
I’ll take the profit, if I can, if I’m not underwater.
And with that money, this ain’t funny, I’ll make a whole lot more.
For I have ideas in my head that will even up the score.
It’s sad, it’s true what I must do, and list this property.
And chances are, I’ll go far, live life properly.
A house without an inch of warmth
A house without a ray of sun
A house without a shrill laugh
A house where nobody voices out a pun
Such a house can never be a home!
Home Sweet Home, There is no place like Home,
Such a comforting tone carried in such a note
As at today's date, it can be seen as ghostwrote
For a Home is no longer sweet, but a sour dome
Selfish are its residents, proud and aimless as well
No more are the members loving and caring
No more do they work and play while dancing
No more do they talk and laugh while singing
No more do they read and write while hugging
No more do they share and fight while enjoying
Rather, they tend to sleep and eat alone
Such a trend is common and fashionable
Nor is it taken as the abominable
Neither is it seen as condemnable
For the hidden eyes of the devil, it is not so enviable!
Worthy beings full of imagining
Pray, do change these unworthy visioning
Pray, do not hurt your families' heartlings
Be seen as the enlightened pearls with meanings
And carry forth this message for families in faking!
On this landmark an image stands...
statue of a man.
Man of honor and talent,
admiration of any man.
Born with great love for country
Died with one heart of chivalry.
Studied in different schools,
aced all subjects in drools.
A man gifted with excellence.
Shared great works in pickets,
Cured many patients without wickets.
A man of great stature,
No man may be able to equalize.
A man of great sorrow,
Sacrificed himself for tomorrow.
Fellowmen freed to visualize.
So much more can be said
About a man of enviable skills
Young and old have all laid
Heroism of a small man...
Bigger, higher than hills.
GHANA!!!
The blood sacrificed for our sake is being betrayed
The landlors can't benefit from their own rich resources
We starve on the green space whiles we await manna from the sky
The hope couched in the star is gradually losing its black pigment. ..
Wake up Mother Ghana!!!
Happy Independence Day Mother Ghana!!!
It is your birthday!!!
I know you expected some panegyric spiced with literary devices on this day
But sorry , though it might be uncouth, I had to hit you with the truth
I still love you regardless Mother!!!
Your history is as rich as your culture
You have an enviable home and people
You instill discipline and abhor evil
No wonder your compound is always peaceful
I love you Mother!!!!
His name is evoked with boundless esteem
By the strata of generations down the ages
The prodigious son of our holy motherland
Who embodied valour and chivalry to the hilt.
He could have lead a princely life of comfort
By conceding the honour of his blessed land
But happily chose a life similar to his terrain
Instead of beating the same refrain like peers.
He embodied all that stands for grit and nerve
Inspired the masses by an outstanding example
Sent shivers down the spine of the adversaries
And won admiration even from his sworn foes.
His form awe-inspiring stays etched in minds
Reviving the memories of his sacrifice great
That arouses the most weak and low-spirited
Infuses the spirit with verve and vim; enviable.
Even today he is revered as a symbol of bravery
With very few peers to match his place in history
He strode like a colossus on the sands of time
The Maharana is worthy of salute for all time.
Till his last breath he worshiped his motherland
A crest jewel among all valiant warriors of the land
He the great, his loyal Chetak, the gallant steed
To all such immortals, we all owe our gratitude.
She had a gothic heart,
predictability and tamming tranquility were her counterparts,
she felt pain as gain,
peace was nettlesome and purposeless,
an abomination that careless civilization is undeserving of,
life is best consumed in confrontation,
within her magnificent mind God's value gravitated toward the power of volatility,
instability as instinct,
truth is permenance in transition,
Victoria believed that divinity as a mystery unsolved is more exhilerating
than explication or epiphany leading to the extinction
of curiosity's reign,
Victoria knew that law and politics are nothing more than an imposition
by the few heaved upon the many,a yoke of oppressive genius,
Victoria, a child of love betrayed,a woman of courage displayed
thought toughly & tenderly about the potential of mercy,
an enviable Empress,
compassion and kindness were complimentary components
to her dangerous disposition as hawkish talons
may be employed for feeding of fighting,
she developed into a clandestine warrior of natural necessity,
this world would either waste her
or she would wound the witnessed wickedness,
there was no harmony to be hankered for,life is a war of wills & wits,
espionage,diplomacy,truces,tributes and trounces always in the making,
Victoria loved God like a woman loves the anguish of pregnancy,
Victoria had a passion and a pity
for the Creator responsible for her awakening -
J.A.B.
Bartender, Bartender . . . mix me a drink . . .
and give me one of your alchemic, mystic concoctions.
Bartender, Bartender . . . tell me what you think . . .
as you give me your magnificent magic elixir.
Bartender, Bartender . . . I don’t want to think . . .
but I need that feeling of sublime nothingness.
Bartender, Bartender . . . I’m in love with her . . .
but only YOU know the truth of what I can’t tell others.
Bartender, Bartender . . . I’m really not a broken man . . .
and—believe it or not—I still have faith in my fellow man (sometimes).
Bartender, Bartender . . . I do love your alcohol . . .
and your enviable mastery of the alcoholic arts.
Bartender, Bartender . . . I dislike stupid people (immensely) . . .
and I avoid them (like the plague) whenever I possibly can.
Bartender, Bartender . . . my love of poetry is for all eternity . . .
and my passion for it knows no limits in the human imagination.
Bartender, Bartender . . . mix me a drink . . .
and whether one day I meet Jehovah or Mephisto,
please always give me one of your alchemic, mystic concoctions.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved - August 30, 2014
(Homage to the Kwanza River
" Water mother " of Angola)
Largest and only Angolan
Art thou, O majestic Kwanza!
In the central highlands
We see thee rise in Mumbué
And 960 kilometers of undoubted majesty
To the north and west
Since the municipality of Chitembo, in Bié
Stretch out on the big curve design
Before the hug, so sweet, so strong
You give to the salt of the Atlantic
Largest and only Angolan
Art thou, O majestic kwanza!
With an enviable basin
For two hundred and fifty
Kilometers, you are navigable
From the mouth to the Dondo
Where the dams of Cambambe and Capanda
Render yourself patriotic reverence
By the megawatts of power
Largest and only Angolan
Art thou, O majestic Kwanza!
As well as to the national currency unit
In the two provinces, thy name this also:
At its northern margin, Kwanza Norte
And Kwanza Sul, on the opposite bank, equally
They pay more than deserved tribute