Best Foregoing Poems
Pray tell, to whom do I owe this life of mine?
Mother—always an Angel divine,
Wife—for four decades, a Saint,
Daughters—love unfeigned.
Life’s Good, so
Paint
with a glow
Foregoing restraint
Splash your years—without constraint
Be happy—make laughter a lifeline
Pray tell, to whom do I owe this life of mine?
November 22, 2018
Categories:
foregoing, celebration, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
The meadow has come alive with sight and sound
As I go through the gate, I hear buzzing all around,
The bees are busy working on milkweed flower
Waist-high daylilies and coral honeysuckles tower,
Enticing a few hummingbirds into the crowded field
I snap a piece of sassafras which is carefully peeled,
Soon I see three cottontails on the path up ahead
About the same time, a cardinal flashing by, all red,
I hear the call of a tanager and a mourning dove
Today, there is so much here in the meadow to love.
The narrow pathway is overgrowing with wild carrot
Originally blown over here from a nearby cattle lot
Breezes are stirring up the gnats and dragonflies,
And I keep wiping floating pollen out of my eyes.
As I expected the mother deer has weaned her fawn
I’m surprised to see her here so long after the dawn,
The afternoon sun beating down is now aggressive
I should have known better, it’s becoming oppressive.
I’ll head toward home, foregoing a walk to the river
A sunstroke is threatening; I have begun to shiver.
Written July 16, 2022
Categories:
foregoing, animal, flower, insect, july,
Form:
Couplet
I walk this earth, unbeknown to human kind
an heir to Legends, men of mighty deeds
who through the force of fire and stars we find
those such as I the offspring of their seeds.
Hercules, his power and strength unmatched
was challenged by the Gods, challenged in vain,
the Hydra by his own hand was dispatched
and Nemean Lion, too, met fate the same.
Achilles, near invincible I'll admit
(and yes I know he sometimes dressed like ladies)
sent countless warriors into the pit
ne'er to return, unseen the realm of Hades.
Fin MacCoul took on Aillen, Tuatha De Danann,
when each year on Tara the creature rounded,
but finally fell by the spear of man
and sleeps until Dord Fiann thrice is sounded.
With Hammer, Iron glove, from Nordic stock
the mighty Thor showed Jotnar who was boss,
until his end foretold at Ragnarok,
a testament in stone on Thorwalds cross.
From such as these who stories shall not end,
these champions and Gods, what e're their names,
I also by my deeds now do descend
to stand among their ranks and stake my claim.
For I, too, am Hero.
I change a three pin plug without a thought
without referring to a diagram,
assembling flat pack furniture is nought,
no need have I of cryptic two page plans.
Foregoing sleep, no need for sustenance
household spiders with glass I stalk and snare
then fearlessly propel them over fence
to neighbour's garden where they languish there.
The lids of pickle jars cannot withstand
onslaught from twisting sinews in my wrist,
abhorring a vacuum, by my command
they pop, admit defeat, cannot resist.
The elements and I stand face to face
as windows I squeegee atop a ladder,
my maiden below holds me firm in place
yet fearful lest I should relieve my bladder.
My Lady is thus pleased I wield such powers,
I take her approbation with a nod,
happy she won't now nag me for an hour
for by these feats, for once-
I am a God.
Categories:
foregoing, humor, myth,
Form:
Rhyme
A butterfly flitters graciously in the sky,
No barring or fortress claiming its path, forever why.
A butterfly owes nothing of money or fare,
Its light of existence, foregoing superficial care,
The beauty of a butterfly, great meaning here on Earth,
A universal symbol, signifying rebirth.
A butterfly so beautiful, held in the palm of your hand,
Many put together we call a butterfly wonderland.
Do you think the butterfly knows of their magic in our lives,
How special for which they contribute, a midst no compromise.
A world they freely travel, without walls of resistance,
To admire and love, upon centuries relentless.
A butterfly I’ll be, instead of expecting world renown,
For my entrance in your world , surely never to be let down.
Categories:
foregoing, allusion, beauty, butterfly, creation,
Form:
Rhyme
Foregoing the fool
A tattered heart slept
In a reticule.
Two drawstrings pulled tight
To obscure the light.
Emotions fraught
With second thought
Perfected a
Silent reply.
Nightingales
With clipped wings
Rarely sing.
Free your
Soul and
Fly!
Dedicated to my wonderfully terrific Father:
02/14/2003
Happy Valentines Day, Dad.
Miss and will always love you, Johnny.
Categories:
foregoing, inspirational
Form:
Diminished Hexaverse
Sight of lightning, something to behold
Lighting night folds in tans and gold
Magical fingers illuminating sky
Vanishing zippers, blink of an eye
Showers begin, melting sugar, spice
Drips pelting skin, certainly feels nice
Dancing ballet, lovers admiring puddles
Foregoing rubbers, desiring warm cuddles
Licking streams of tears, salts rain’s taste
Ballet waltz, flicking droplets caress face
Blinking wet lashes, then dreamy surprise
Steamy gazes, lightning flashes brown eyes
Yes, enjoyable sight, winter’s dark morn
In formidable strength, thunderous storm
Without wonderous love, might be frightening
Yet shared delight, the sight of lightning
Love's natural storms knock off our socks
When lightning shocks like a jack in the box
Written 2/15/18
Contest: Describe a thunderstorm without sound
Host: Brenda Chiri
Categories:
foregoing, light, love, lust, rain,
Form:
Rhyme
All together in a body screeching to be let out;
The buzzing sound of their screams like a thousand crickets unsynchronized.
I cannot hear my own voice trapped in a paradox of demise.
How to get out? How to be free? Or forever so it will be?
The future lies in my hands; the problem is they’re not only mines.
My face, my smile, my eyes; they all shift in the blink of an eye.
Blankly staring at the reflection in the mirror; nothing can break me out of this reverie.
The person in the mirror, is it me? At points, dubious to comply.
To describe me, records of adjectives with no conclusion until words stop being invented.
Clever alternates swiftly passing by, with each day demarcating dominion.
The decision is not mines alone; to make truce and live at peace or to self destruct.
Just a moment of silence is all we need to get our heads together in order to harmonize.
We are in a dim room all laying down, restless from the foregoing outbreak.
Staring at each other with a passive smile, knowing that the tempest has elapsed.
We all have one thing in common that we require to survive.
For our existence we are obliged to be a family, dysfunctional but a family.
Categories:
foregoing, conflict, identity, life, pain,
Form:
Didactic
Carlos Bousono’s poem : Recordando a pastora imperio
for Damaso Alonso
(Poem published in the collection : Metaphora del desafuero, 1988, and dedicated
to Damaso Alonso, who exerted on Carlos Bousono an avowed influence and
patronage, concludes my own present tribute to the Maître. I confess I had not
read Bousono’s poems – I may have glanced at a couple of poems when I first
bought the Espasa-Calpe anthology some years ago – before I began translating
them on October 16, 2013.)
I have always thought that in the state of sudden immobility
of the immemorial dancer of flamenco the entire dance
is concentrated of a sudden in this posture
of an instant,
under the weight of centuries,
all of its foregoing agitation,
in such a way as in its absolute fixation is to be found
its passing and its minute ad mysterious simulation :
the flight of sea gulls over the sea, their avid and sudden swoop
onto the prey,
and she herself, the flamenco dancer herself, becomes in that instant,
like the form most refined and pure
of such an incomprehensible paradox : velocity and paralisation,
becoming more dense in the procès
between Aquiles and parsimony,
or the tortoise and despair…
No, there is no différence,
because to differentiate hère is to make a descent,
while here there is but an ascent.
And has the flamenco dancer understood suddenly
that to make a move
is an intolerable imperfection
for whoever aspires to the most arduous achievement,
to the supreme compromise with the fire in the beyond
and the surprise, sacred and full of rejoicing between
the fresh flames,
a compromise, then,
with the truth of the highest form of living,
and so the dancer of flamenco
remained for this reason without moving
in a difficult equilibrium
to see if that position, without touching it,
in not moving any of the pièces,
without turning a page, without causing the hinges to friction,
could by chance last, keep enduring there,
on the razor’s edge,
maintain itself on the head of a pin’s unlikely verticality,
balance itself on tip-toes, without breathing, each instant
succeeding the other,
on the verge of the abysm itself,
earth and boulders coming loose,
and one after another in succession, and in succession…
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Categories:
foregoing, devotion, , memorial,
Form:
Free verse
A PLACE IN THE SUN
Through each disconcerting walk of life
Till all my explorations cease
All the vulnerability I’ve got culminate
I have lost the kiss of peace.
In a place next to the sun I gladly soar
Hoping to be near God, ending my inner war.
I loathed my ostentatious life
Yearning, in spite of all my fears
Land me safe in a place next to the sun
Where I can purify my eyes with fresh tears.
With every word said and every cruel thought
I atone to those who my cruel deeds had bought.
My heart has been completely crumpled
In vain my love with exertion broke free
Unvarnished truth should be my salvation
Seeking the lost emotions, to comfort Id.
In a place next to the sun I dream of going
Where all past transgressions shall be foregoing.
Categories:
foregoing, emotions,
Form:
Quatrain
November 13th 2017
Happy 83rd birthday to thy cremated mom
Harriet Harris fought tooth and nail
Mother succumbed
to terminal illness without fail
Ovarian/ Uterine Cancer to no avail
hosted by death feasted fancy
at Oyster Bay metastasized inducing this male
the sol son to grapple as psyche didst ail.
*************************************
Major organs compromized grim reaper and
carried corpse into dead zone as a keeper brand
donned as one Canarsie flashy dame grand
ball room dancer didst skittered in right hand
side o' me noggin, the idea flit ta left land
of gray matter thru me mined task didst ex panned
foregoing bidding on e-bay, ruminate how trite
online shenanagins, never asking nor knowing spite
most likely raged within yar being,
which lack of filial duty haint right
to be near where psyche flails quite
understandably, but no matter matthew scott
never did ask, how emotions most clear aflame
with anger writhing asper your terminal plight
vis a vis injustice to snatch desire with shroud of night
arising each morning to brilliant light
ye, thy lover of life becoming ashen gray
with recurring incomplete bucket list that may
already, a dozen plus years ago - neigh
aye methinks, so much deprived of grandchildren ply
their oars thru the time stream, how whiz sigh
to partake whence thee drew final breath thy
avoid seeing thee stiffen with rigor mortis, why...
did unlucky dice throw of fate
rob and steal unattained goals ye strove with grate
fully before out bidden by dead souls, who hate
mortals to complete, thus truncate a lifelong mate
to papa, whom recouped severe loss, though his pate
undoubtedly flits with remembrance
of thee one he did highly rate
despite occasions, where spats hood did vitiate
this son feels he did not booster morale at all
Categories:
foregoing, dark, grave, happy birthday,
Form:
Ballad
The sky is light
The moon is brighter
The paths are clearer
The fastest legs ply
Abonyi village stands in silence
To wails of frogs and flies
Only the stubborn child cries
To the ‘chu-ko chu-ko’ sounds of beds
The day has been bade well
The gongs of my heart struck
Awakened!
The earliest crow heard
The windows of the eyes,
Still fixed
The doors of the ears,
Widely left ajar
Foregoing the croaks in a yard
Awaiting the tiptoes of a mile
But to-dawn
The tiptoes of the sneaker,
Has faded
Drowning with it
The whispering escort
My door is barren
Refusing to imitate the dawn’s before
Where the tiptoes of the sneaker;
Careful to avoid the distract of the roosters
The gentle struck on a door
And the soft whispers of a lover
Tickles the ears of an expectant
Aw! The spell of poverty
Striking the young of Abonyi village
Has compelled the sneaker, my lover
Into the big mouth of no-man’s-land
In search of a better tomorrow
The night still glows cold
Longer than ever told
With loneliness,
Striking the note of the good times
Once spent together
Categories:
foregoing, africa, best friend, care,
Form:
ABC
Once upon a time on a table lay an innocent little book;
Do not open it, a label warned, not even to take a look.
You want to know, don’t you, why so many have come back,
To look within the unassuming book, without looking back.
Beware the warning label lest an event unfolds unexpected;
You may disappear forever when you saw yourself injected.
Who would expect a book to be the last thing you ever saw,
A book that could easily be hidden away in a desk drawer.
I have witnessed others take the plunge down thru history,
Daring souls who opened the book to disclose its mystery.
Foregoing any warning labels that evil forces may brew,
In pursuit of their stated purpose human virtue to subdue.
The mystery remains sealed but unleashes feelings of wonder,
To pursue all the avenues of the world its secrets to plunder.
Simply a touch of the hand will reveal beauties to behold;
Simply open the magical book and endless stories will unfold.
I look down upon the little innocent book sitting on the table.
If I forgo the warning and open myself up, I can certainly enable,
A wide range of desires and emotions in my heart to finally surge,
For everything the world has to offer, I can offer a sincere urge.
To make things better, to become whole, to seek only perfection;
To erase any weakness and fear no longer subject to detection.
Behold, all I have to do it pick up the book and break the seal,
To fulfill the demands of destiny in my life and become real.
The warning label lies there for those with insufficient courage,
Though the wax seal lies ready to break open as a way to encourage
Brave hearts with an inclination to open themselves up to discover,
What it means to live on earth, intricacies of the heart to uncover.
The unpretentious soul picks up the book with its invisible hand,
It has not yet awakened as form the rigors of the earth to withstand.
The soul now reaches down, hesitant, wondering, wishing to escape,
Instead, the soul opens the book of life and into the world awakes.
Categories:
foregoing, inspirational, life,
Form:
Lyric
Argh, I Ne'er Got Got Bran Did With...
A Muffin Top Before - Why Now!?
Impossible firm he (reed myth self)
to compete with Adonis, no way no chance
asthma gut busts over
waistband of sweatpants,
the choice couture,
asper this poet, who kant's
cease spewing regularly
(quotidian) raves and rants
years ago (another lifetime),
I partook of contra dance
sing, (and most casual suitable
place to find romance)
plus burn calories matter of fact,
a milieu to buff and enhance
physique, while simultaneously
kibitizing with great expanse
of pleasant gals and guys
one must not be afraid to prance
(albeit in accordance
with a caller on stage,
and maintain endurance)
synonymous with aerobic exercise,
and also act flirtatiously amorously glance
sing and/or stealing a French fried
kiss, yup dashing all
the way out to France,
yet returning just in time and proper,
or improper instance
all the while sustaining
the energetic activity over expanse
of a few hours (traditionally
held on Thursday evenings)
and for that block of time held in a trance,
asper...analogous to
spellbinding arrow or lance
suspended part way thru flight,
cuz all troubles troubles
temporarily melt away
which venue mentioned,
which small number of bucks one did pay
to participate among mine weekly highpoint,
where life liberty, and pursuit of happiness
which place this then akin to a cray
zee lee whirling dervish, did pine
to spruced himself up, and ready to hay
for four, thus sped without delay
this bag of lovely bones hapt tubby
more more trim, unlike
less physically fit body of today,
and scant finances find me find
foregoing joyfully
listening to musicians play
and healthily exhausted
with closing waltz,
thence out tummy car
yours truly did sashay!
Categories:
foregoing, addiction, appreciation, celebration, environment,
Form:
Rhyme
I just hear bugles i just hear trumpets and horns
I am the fool a slayer of rule an androgynous clone of make believe
thought a trance, sometimes not knowing what's real as free a rational ability
I have barely cried and yet cry more everyday for the equinox of tyranny and hate
selflessness and greed, A story of Kuwan-Yin
were you the mind or the body or neither, or have you gone too fast around that bend and
do you have answers that don't end
he is not of this earth as sin does fine within a wreckless statesmen's stride,one left for homi
right for sui's, putting it all on the Ritz
fat crackers on paper plates and moving cars where there ought to be people
our savior will not be driving a beam-er
balls crushed by these crippling cars, from my first cigarette to my car stereo
aways thinking she's my girl. I'm sure i was a taxi, with loneliness my meter
look the hundreds we save foregoing the gas pumps and those
no duty fags that bust your ass
the privilege to put money into a bad deal until someone buries you at the wheel like a good
captain you go down with your hero's grip ,down with your ship
look at those campers who like nothing better than plug in they're bug zapper and radios, we
plug our brain into some machine, that spits us out in search of gold
drowned this system from it's consuming desert
decide what time forgot, before we 1st decided life was more and we have less
and lesser chance to strike, let's split on a cheap camel, it'll carry your gold
we grab what life throws, and now it takes to prolong a species cause. It knows a life so
brutally evolved, our memory could succeed where others failed,
but one, frankly it had to start with a mom a manger was as pod and the wisemen robots
Categories:
foregoing, lifelife, life,
Form:
Verse
I was borne with wings of innocence
Able to soar as imagination rose
Circumstance clips the wings of young
Fate shackles Mercurian ankles in its throes
Tethered to the ground of normality
Directed to the beaten path
Tread the quicksand of conformity
Join the multitude or feel its wrath
Such is a stifling courtship with maturity
Foregoing the whimsical notions of the past
Join the age of production and gratuity
Accept the roles as they are cast
I must find those wings that let me soar
Discard these chains they call the golden age
Ride the winds that whisper of forgotten lore
And break the gates of this earthbound cage
gkl2010
Categories:
foregoing, introspection
Form:
Free verse