Best Expending Poems
Memories of the sea wash over me
on days when clouds are drifting cottony
above my head through placid azure sky.
Such images flit like a butterfly
across my mind; I seize them gratefully!
They bring with them sweet thoughts of family
and times of which I now can testify
flowed out like tides to leave me by and by. . .
memories of the sea.
How young we were in days so summery!
Through waves we leapt, expending energy.
Sated, we lay sunning on the beach to dry,
till sunlight - like our youth - sank down to die.
But I will keep for an eternity
memories of the sea.
Tidal Waves
Brackish debris filled surf retreats
depositing into hard sand graves
pictures stolen from post cards
Shards of a city strewn disjointedly
still ticking clocks idled in the moment
streets awash in decorative disarray
liquid mud roiling through the streets
ravenous pain stalking its victims
cold shock of sunshine’s failure
hands clutching grabbing
carried on the crust of fear
waving in silent farewell
luxury and comfort crushed
wild furor of seismic waves
expending tectonic energy
John G. Lawless
5/12/2015
submitted to - Show but Don’t Tell – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Thomas Martin
Beneath a heavy weight I labored,
misunderstood by those I love and serve,
illness raging, family demanding,
expending soul and physical reserve.
Like a thin smoke quickly dissipating,
spirit tenuous, weak upon the road,
on the precipice of breakdown trembling
feeling endurance and harmony erode.
Along a peaceful stretch of sand walking,
listening to pounding surf, the birds,
tasting the invigorating sea air,
hearing in my heart God's voice, His words,
inviting nature in to permeate
my being, soothing the aching pain . . .
spirit at rest, on God's glory feeding,
I can go home, begin my work again.
Copyright, August 1, 2014
Faye Gibson
I stand naked wrapped only in the truth
you vile, loathsome reptile.
My contempt of you is limitless
as I have been force-fed your hypocrisy.
Your postulations are lost on me
as my insight into your repulsive nature
is exceeded only by the palpable stench of your aura.
Eyes opened to their widest apex,
ridiculously lends support to your “jokerish”
smile overly exaggerated in a…
Carol Channing kind of muse.
It seems your purse a revolving door
to his wants, has an ideally broken clasp…
Your shoulder, a never ending
tissue to his every sorrow should be waterlogged.
Which stands to reason why your legs
stretched open as wide as the earth’s axis,
“she-doggedly-in-heat” sniffs attention from him
and remains open like an all night 7-11 just to
provide “respite” in the name of “friendship”.
You find joy in slinking and scurrying through
the misfortunes and/or gains in our life,
all the while professing your love to him
and masticating on a stolen covenant
you have orchestrated in destroying.
There is no sector of my day
allowing me peace and escape from your
treachery and continued debauchery.
Your hair once a mousy shade of brown
now waxes blond in your further attempt
to assure he remains suckled at your breast
knowing his lust for blond haired, blue eyed
women that are six shades lighter than my ebony hues.
There is though, an appellative to my anguish,
which recoils from my tongue at
any attempt to voice this rage.
Escalating anger marinates and broils within
my breast as your ubiquitous presence
in my life has finally left me little strength
and no shelter from the uncloaked
vicious pain searing me to the core
in this deep abyss I have found myself in…
Unleashed fury beckons me, reaching back beyond now
when day was night and night was only imagined
barely controlling this hate and
the exigency to extract myself
from this nefarious, cheap, vaudevillian
show, which no longer can be ratiocinated
through your insipid lies before I...
Can’t imagine your expending this much
energy with your own household or husband because
you’re always living and breathing in mine!
Contempt has a name…and its malodor is…Linda.
The only ounce of energy I'll be expending today
is having picked up a pen to scrawl these lines...
"I have declared this to be Dolce Far Niente Day."
Enjoying the sweet life, doing nothing by design.
I'll be spending time as I desire lazing in a chaise,
pretending I'm vacationing in the hills of Tuscany
whose orchards are heavy with grapes I must praise
for the mellow flavor of the fine wine offered me.
I will indulge myself enjoying their sweet bouquet,
malingering while listening to Chopin's Polonaise.
It's my intent to hold an annual Dole Far Niente Day
and have it last 'til stars ignite the night sky ablaze.
I will enjoy pampering myself with nothing more to do
but gaze on the clear blue waters of the Ligurian Sea.
Nothing will be hampering my idle nor twist it askew,
for I'll pay no heed to misgivings while in this reverie.
No more writing for I've taken good measure this day.
Pool waters are calling me, where I'll float peacefully
as twilight darkens. I'll take pleasure as I gently sway
in a hammock, content to stare at the moon dreamily.
Let there be no shame in a struggle to the top
For everyone who is achieving is not being a fop,
But expending the effort to be the best they can
It means climbing further upward again and again.
Do not be jealous of those at the top of the list
For they had goals you may’ve, heretofore, missed,
Consider them excellent examples of fortitude
And do not upon their fine successes intrude.
Congratulate and encourage those on the ladder
Above or below you, it really doesn’t matter,
Everyone reaches the summit at his or her own pace
What’s really important is doing so with verve and grace.
Written December 1, 2021
I've stumbled into this present moment in time,
Where tears won't come for those long passed.
For in stillness they lie, being long past knowing,
Once loved in fullness, now faint memories last.
For a sunset will descend upon each life entirely,
Cherish together time, before your finality is cast.
Expending innermost thoughts on others this day,
Love friends in the moment as were it your last.
while figuratively hunting
and pecking around me noggin
force hum theme to write about
lo and behold, the solution
stared me right in front
of my little knob nub nose with gentle clout
cuz, as an avid bookworm, the dictionary,
I enjoy expending hours
to drink up etymological history
relating to the origin and
historical development of words
and their meanings.
with no shadow of a doubt
and most times, this animatronic,
the technique of making and operating
lifelike robots, typically for use
in film or other entertainment
dogmatic, enigmatic fugee dooby
brother beastie boy
(actually a mwm) dislikes to flout
his abilities, hobbies, interests,
as aches hike kant imagine being treated for gout
a disease in which defective metabolism
of uric acid causes arthritis, especially
in smaller bones of the feet, deposition
of chalkstones, and episodes of acute pain.
Boot lemme return full circle
to thematic core curriculum aye started to aim
and express gratitude
to the ghost of Noah Webster,
who gets credit yet also blame
if some snide haughty guttersnipe,
some slovenly individual feels snubbed,
and hence, living personage, said descendent(s)
of oblivion, whatever unknown
man or woman to living persons
stake a valid claim
that his/her many generations removed
heir (Harris), and or heiress ancestor (proven
with tangible researched reportage,
then cited with countless
prestigious explorers of English language),
that a daunting scrivener perhaps
even a courtesan or rich dame
rightfully ought to receive the fame,
thus such living relative might
upend the huck cult personality be game
to dare challenge secure historical niche
ambitiously held by Mark Roget (1779–1869),
British physician, natural theologian
and lexicographer. It was released
to the public on 29 April 1852.
The original edition had 15,000 words,
and each new matured edition
of the Thesaurus grew larger.
Austrian princess taken from her home,
stripped of everything that she ever known.
Her mother arranged a political marriage,
sending her to France with a horse and carriage
Off to Versailles to meet her destiny,
To take the Dauphin's hand in matrimony.
At the age of nineteen she was crowned queen,
too young to reign, too clueless and naive.
A lonely queen by the name of Antoinette,
also referred to as Madame Deficit.
She spent money careless and haphazardly,
while the people of France were starved and hungry.
Attending masked balls, donning lavish gowns.
Flaunting her way through the Parisian crowds.
Her neck always dripped rare jewels and expensive diamonds.
Posh pastries and champagne consumed with no stipend.
The tax on grain to make bread was outlandish.
The people of France were malnourished and ravenous.
"We are dying from hunger, please help us!" they pleaded.
They felt forsaken, robbed and cheated.
"Let them eat cake!" was the queen's supposed reply.
Perched on her throne with hair ten feet high.
She paid no mind, she kept expending,
Oblivious to what was really happening.
Desperate were the French, so they started a revolution,
holding her prisoner, creating their own constitution.
She was put on trial and the jury found her guilty.
The sentence was death, the maximum penalty.
Some say she was a victim of circumstance.
A political pawn, she never stood a chance.
Her fate was met that day, with the guillotine,
becoming just another tragic figure of history.
It was fluid, softly palpatating
at the same rhythm as my heartbeat.
The orb was perfect in every way.
Made of polygons too small for the naked eye to see,
each one pulsing at exactly the same frequency,
at the same instant.
Capable of instantly knowing and feeling the same thought,
each one as all the rest.
To move, and shape,
and seem to take on a mind of its own,
yet always in tune with the master.
Each aligned magnetically,
their bond impervious to the
most destructive of forces.
They resist heat, pressure and corrosion,
only bending to the will of the master.
As I approached the orb
my outstretched arm penetrates it easily.
The polygons react so quickly, I feel nothing.
I can pass to the inside without so
much as a molecule of oxygen following.
Inside, the iridescent glow of anti matter brightens
as I slowly begin to amalgamate into the structure,
each molecule designed and programmed
to go to a specific place, to perform a specific task,
all functioning equally efficient, expending energy
to be replaced by the strange blue green aura
emanating from another orb, a very small one,
vibrating at multiple frequencies controlled by the loci
of their constantly changing interrupts.
Nothing seems to move except for the slight vibration
of the small orb as the frequencies shift and change
in odd behavior, producing a definite pattern of sounds.
Slowly the larger orb brightens
revealing plasmatic form and structure.
Layer upon layer, deeper and deeper,
the orb expands by the square of the exponent,
until at last sitting alone in a vast wilderness of only darkness,
I remove two small objects glowing - - -
One from each pouch located on either cheek.
As I bring them together slowly, a sudden flash of light
takes on almost a solid form.
“So, how was your day” she says, as I seated myself for supper.
Dedicated to the little boy in me.
May 2010 Charles Henderson
There is only so much energy
Only so much I can expend
I must be wary and save up
For somebody who won’t pretend
I have only so much life force
Only so much that I can spare
I need to use it frugally
For somebody who’ll truly care
All my days on earth are numbered
Soon my precious time will be through
So please tell me, my pretty boy
Am I wasting it all on you?
Are you going to break my heart, boy?
Are you going to make me cry?
If you’re thinking to fool around
Then I’m going to bid you goodbye!
You see there is only so much, dear
My time and love are in demand
I don’t have an endless source, boy
So you had better take your stand!
Decide to be exclusive, boy
For my passion will make you burn
It will add days to your life, boy
You'll forget what it means to yearn
Life will not last a long time, boy
Please tell me that you’ve got a plan
Promise me I’ll never regret
Expending my life for my man!
I am taking steps heading upward
On an escalator going down
Expending all my energy
But staying on the floor that’s on the ground
No matter how fast I run
The faster the treadmill spins
And after running for many hours
I stop just where I did begin
I am stuck in my cage
Spinning on the rotating wheel
I can empathize with the guinea pig
Knowing just how he must feel
And yet I keep on moving
As if to stop would mean to end
I must put food on the table
And pay the bills that keep coming in
Even though the scenery never changes
And I never seem to move too far
I guess there is a sense of security
In knowing exactly just where we are
What is science?...but,
the study of unknown things,
innovation from the known,with
the process of continued improvements,
...and the pioneering spirit,
in search of the unknown,only to
pronounce a greater understanding...
Where or how...
would this apply
to the study of the humanities,
it's varied modes of empirical investigation,
also with the philosophical and theological studies?
What is expansion...or sion?
exp-...experiment
-an.....of or belonging to
-sion...a combining form
exp-an-sion...experiment of belonging to a combining form
A civilized social organism,with the processing
of the socio-politico-economics,which in turn,
administer to the needs and wants of
the social infrastructure,of a combined whole...
The 4-corners of the earth's great wheel,
have all had their opportunity,in forming
civilized nations of human habitation...
the black south....Egypt
the yellow east....Asia
the white north....Caucasia
the red west........Americas
Dynamics has shown,for each,
a struggle to maintain the resources neccesary
for a growing population,an expending of energy...
there is no repetition of history,since
that would involve identical action,
the chaos theory holds true to that,
as we only face a similarity of action...
Fate...Karma...Original Sin,
pathogenetic...sympathetic
we're all tied to the bonds of the past...
Our Creator's greatest laboratory
Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication incorporating connection between anterior cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges) greater activity upon basal ganglia, which synoptic description does nothing to alter the predisposition to ingress of uncontrollable imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical fixation particularly during onset of puberty, when an emotional kamikaze nose dive at the nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow of me former self nowhere tubby found on account of deadly symbiotic relationship asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milkmaids, or rather pressing said resources sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous, and horrendous self destructive antics, where ballistic charges drugged eminent domain former nerve cell size occupants, thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility with pride fullness and prejudice on par with dousing one with an opiate that completely upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly, and managing productively versus expending precious time and energy self absorbed into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions, manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality got embedded within the neurological interstices, which even as of this moment hound me akin to wild beasts circling ever closer to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
(Eliza strokes the door. A thought is visibly pushing through her mind)
Eliza: I think...I want to know.
Martha: How does it feel?#
Eliza: There''s something there. Right behind it. Someone. Pulling me.
Martha: Eliza...why are you here?
Missie: Oh stop prying. She''s just gonna leave soon anyway. They all do.
Eliza: We tried for months. Toby and I. You know, we never quitre fit, and I always thought that a baby would be the glue that we needed to fit us together. A little kicking screaming ball of glue. And when I fell pregnant he looked at me like he loved me, genuinly loved me, for the first time since I had met him. People held us like we were real. Held me, like I existed. All fat and full and real. Four months. That''s all it lasted. It ended in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. He did his best, Toby. He held my hand when I cried...for a while. Tollerated me lying in bed for days on end...for a while. He just didn''t understand.
Missie: You mean he didn''t care. Look, the guy didn''t want a baby. God, move on already.
Eliza: I tried! But we weren''t right. We didn''t fit. Just going through the motions. In the end we were juust faking...we both knew it. We were off to my brother''s wedding, big fake smiles painted on, and I ended up here.
Missie: He sounds like a right catch...
Eliza (deffensively): Yeah? And why are you here? You don''t have enough compassion to mourn, let alone to be a mother.
Missie: I didn''t have a kid. I had a cyst growing under my school shirt. An ever expending mistake, for the whole world to see, so fat I couldn''t see my own feet. I found the thing parents. Soppy freaks like you guys. You know, people who would actualy give a ****. And the ungrateful thing stripped avery inch of life from me. Died and took me with him. I was forteen. Fourteen. Tell me how that''s fair.
Eliza: Do you know what''s not fair? I wanted, needed nothing more than a baby. You drop your nickers in some dirty nightclub, get given this, this gift, and you want to give it away! That''s what''s not fair.
(Martha hasn''t seen such confronation in fifty years. She pulls Eliza away from Missie)
Martha: Eliza, give her a chance. It''s all front. She''s not as awful as she seems. She''s sad. Just like us.