Best Foreseeable Poems
Mute
but immutable.
Unmoving, unmoveable;
timeless, yet tireless.
Solitary stalwart sentinel
surveils undulating horizon.
Aberrant, achromatic clouds
pock-mark the skies, as distant
rumblings herald his adversary's
latest gambit in their age-old conflict.
The wrath of a thousand crashing,
clashing, thrashing fists batter
against the beleaguered sentry.
Ceaselessly, remorselessly,
the maelstrom assails him.
But the foundations are firm and
noble gatekeeper stands steadfast.
Single-minded of purpose, placid
custodian morphs into combatant as
his luminous, voluminous blade carves
luminescent arcs through chthonic cloak.
Tenebrous tendrils wither and dissipate,
impotent under intense lambent onslaught.
His victory is only fleeting, as vanquished
foes are summarily supplanted by more of
their ilk in a seemingly continual surge.
Again and again, over and over, tormentor
presses the attack, exploiting any weakness.
Over and over, again and again, valiant warden
repels the barrage and despatches his enemies.
And so the pattern repeats endlessly, unabated,
as these eternal opponents jostle for position
in a perpetual cycle of aggression and defence.
Until eventually, finally, ultimately, the stale-mate
is broken; when Tempest's tantrum is tamed and
Blizzard's battalions have been banished, all is calm.
Tranquillity is able to reassert herself and order has
finally been restored; at least for the foreseeable future.
Obligations fulfilled, the triumphant Guardian can now rest.
Until the need arises again, until he's called upon once more,
he will wait patiently, watch diligently, in unflagging vigilance.
Forever resolute, a beacon of sanctuary, a symbol of hope, his is a
thankless task, but the Protector of Mariners will always be needed.
-----------------------------------
(C) John C Michaels, 27 July 2017
For Eve Roper's "Lighthouse" Contest.
(1st Place)
And nothing is not
un-foreseeable if and unless
you at least consider all
the facts and complications
first!
GF
"I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the moon's repose."
---"La Figlia Che Pionge"; T.S. Eliot
Que tan dificil es
decir todo lo que siento.
O! This emptiness,
this vacuity,
this unfilled mental space
not admitting place
to what does not pass
our tests of time,
or logic --
no crutches
in opposition to
unembellished fact --
no sweetened fairy tales,
no selfish constructs
to justify
seizing goods or power;
no promises of forever
nor of endless pleasures:
only bare existence --
"being" --
in this unguided,
ultimately purposeless
angst-filled universe.
And, always,
mere inertia, eternal resistance
or accelerating change toward
foreseeable, entirely predictable
end.
Act!
Construct reality!
Live your life.
Northside of Chi-Town is full of emotion.
In the ‘45 Series Cubs and Tigers are battling.
Sianis buys two tickets to show his devotion.
Is booted ‘cause his billy goat won’t stop bahbling.
He curses the Cubbies and causes a commotion.
But spring is rooted in fans' love and devotion
Like lush, green, yellow, crimson, ivy will never
Stop growing. Year after year fans fear
Hearts will shatter but remain forever
Faithful chanting “Wait ‘til next year!”
Generations grow up cheering with great emotion.
Generations grow old enduring gut-wrenching loss
Bleeding among Lovable Losers time
And again, but no Cubbie faithful dares cross
To the Southside—it’d be a traitorous crime.
In 2003, faithful fans’ love and devotion
Promises fruition as Dusty Baker
Arrives Northside heralded as the Cubs’ savior.
But NLCS Game 6 at Wrigley is a heartbreaker.
Cubs need five outs but collide with a traitor.
Steve Bartman’s still in hiding; his name elicits emotion.
Castillo’s bat aims grenade over foul territory.
Cubs’ fielder Alou springs towards the heavens to snatch
But when feet touch dirt Cubs land in purgatory.
Faithful gasp: Curse of the Billy Goat sets a rematch.
Since that fateful day in ‘45 exploding with emotion
Wrigley hasn’t seen another World Series.
Since Bartman's affair in 2003, Cubs haven’t won
A playoff series. But Billygoat yaks to Mrs. O’Leary’s
Ol’ Cow an’ scoffs at the new scapegoat’s unearned run.
In 2011, after 91-losses, Ricketts proves his devotion
Adding the sabermetrics guru who now values emotions.
Epstein arrives at Northside championing human connections
Rebuilds Cubs’ roster with players who reverse the motion
108-years and character solves equation for a winners’ resurrection.
Hearts ripping open is a crushing emotion
But fans never stopped believin' in near
Foreseeable future ‘cause they’re loyal
Lovers and nothin’s as good as baseball ‘n’ beer
At Wrigley for 81 games on your own home soil.
The old woman argued relentlessly, her case.
Resolute, she raved in her conviction;
two thousand and one reasons were there for her to be mad.
Eleven was given to questioning eyes.
It was September,
and Bernice brought home the bourgeois man,
and the two fell
from the pedestal
they held among friends in the big city,
(the city) a melting pot,
now a city in affliction.
Bernice’s brown eyes combed the neighborhood;
two boys, with open arms,
played aero planes;
Across the street,
the rug pilot laughed his ass off
as if mocking the bourgeois man,
and his woman hid her face in rags …,
in degradation –
but her sad eyes openly mourned her son’s suicide.
Grief of that magnitude brings offense,
and the bourgeois man was red with wrath,
and he abhors the old woman
with every inch of his being.
Racism was reversed.
He avowed by God to ruin the rug pilot,
and the people that loved him consented.
Hearts were left to wonder
what makes men so cruel.
The reasons for the old woman’s rant was explicable,
and of the grounds for the revenge
the negros conceded,
in only one instance.
Revenge was foreseeable,
and the spirit breeds more phobias.
Why does one write poetry?
To get lost in the solace of words,
to encourage one to look at birds;
or is it something much less communicable:
a state of being, like a look in the eye,
that is unreadable?
We could talk night and day,
about the how and why,
but the only thing that is foreseeable
is the poet coming back again
for the ink and pen.
This relationship is going the wrong way,
it started off great, but as of late,
it has a foreseeable expiration date
Too many arguments,
too many dodgy eyes
Not enough trust between us,
got my head hurting from laying on an empty pillow of lies
I loved how you were so mysterious at first,
you were somebody unlike anybody I ever met before
Had a cool way of always being evasive,
but now I'm beginning to suspect why
I don't trust those crocodile tears you conveniently cry
This relationship is going in the reverse,
it's going retrograde
True lovers don't deceive one another,
that's a recipe for disaster homemade
Retrograde,
starry eyes moving backwards once the attraction fades
This relationship is headed the wrong way,
it's going retrograde
Now is the time to leave your lying inertia behind
If you want to swing the right momentum,
then fuel this sputtering rocket love with some truth serum
Otherwise, this romantic boost is going terminal retrograde;
this failed relationship has irreversible heart damage,
I'm afraid there's nothing left to be saved
So you think that trolls and dragons
Are definitely not for real
You surely haven't talked with Carol lately
It's more than just a feel
They eat her food and occupy her house
Sometimes hide Mike's pyjamas
And we all know what that can lead to
If we only had a camera
Never a dull moment at Carol's place
Constantly messing her stuff
Fire comes out as Mr. Dragon cracks up
Then giggles at Mike in the buff
The local Dragon and Troll Exterminators
Have promised to get rid of these guys
But she's grown to love 'em a whole big bunch
Won't be party to their demise
So the Dragons and Trolls will have a home
At least for the foreseeable future
What a sweet ending to my poem about love
Tween Carol and her adorable creatures!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Ain't it Funny how
Lucifer once said to his father
Some certain individuals
No matter how guilty they are
Or evidence doth incriminate them
Always seem to get off
Scott Free
Enough said
Mic Drop
That's all I wished to say
As i am currently off to serve
Scott's sentence now
So due to this unavoidable catastrophe and travesty of justice
I will be most unfortunately out of commission for
the a wee foreseeable while
Hope to be back and see you soon
I'll be back
All depends on if I am prepared to change
And i manage to get parole for good behavior
With again
Ohh so Devilishly glint and glimmer in his eye
Trying his level best not to crack a Smile
Whilst all the while chocking up way
down deep inside
Looking most angelic as if he could sprout
wing's from underneath the ethereal
glowing hallo eminent above his saintly
head
Like butter wouldn't melt on any given
Sunday given up for lent
The Devil's Pathway
A road of sweet temptation
And depraved debaucheries
A road of sinful excess and,
No foreseeable boundaries
Explicit acceptance is the rule
I've been warned
Never to tread upon the
Devil's Pathway
A pathway of
Self-destruction... the
intensity of sublimity
Pleasure. Just be
A puppet on God's
Holy puppet strings
But yet
I've been born a sinner
According to
Strict religious teachings
Rooting for heaven
Still my tainted black soul
Just wants to feel the
Heightened sensations
Of the Devil's Pathway.
So, out of curiosity I tread
Unto the Devil's Pathway
Tuning into salacious tales
Outlandish laughter and
Detecting sheer naughtiness
in high-pitched giggles
Causing my knees to
Weaken with
Blissful excitement.
If I should stumble and fall...
Fall knee down on the
Devil's Pathway
Crawling through the
Quagmire of drains and
Ditches
Wallowing
In lust, desire and greed...
Ergo my wretched soul
Feeling the blasted heat
Of a gamut of red hot emotions
Will truly come to know polarity.
For
Eventually
Fire consumes everything
On the Devil's Pathway.
Fear is the feeling of being afraid,
Afraid of what’s said or what’s done,
And joy is the feeling of being so happy,
From living a life full of fun.
Then anger is the feeling of being irate,
Being enraged and livid, full of mad,
And grief gets a mention as a feeling of woe,
When you’re feeling all down and all sad.
The feeling of when something’s nasty or wrong,
That’s the feeling of pure disgust,
While a positive emotion of earned admiration
Is the powerful feeling of trust.
Unprepared and caught right off guard,
Surprise is the mood you’ll detect,
And when you’re awaiting a foreseeable forecast,
Anticipation is what you’ll expect.
These are our emotions we play with each day,
Please balance these to keep yourself sane.
By exercising every emotional corner you turn
You’ll enjoy all there is in your brain.
Money is the bane of man
Since the day that time began
It has started wars
Invasions onto foreign shores
It is involved in the death of men
And continues to be again and again
The only thing people are willing to kill for
No matter how much they have they always want more
We need it to stay alive
Without it we cannot survive
A necessary evil in our every day lives
We think it helps us but it only deprives
Teathered down by our lust for it
To its will we all submit
Now all mankind bitter and awry
A truth that we chose to deny
It makes our choices for us
Leaving others to clean up our mess
We act like this is not the facts
But for our ignorance we pay a heavy tax
We throw money at every thing that goes wrong
And we the people just go along
It destroies our moral foundation
We corrupted it as a nation
We are all to blame
We treat life like it is one big game
Money becomes our only answer
It has become a cancer
For which there is no foreseeable cure
It is a condition we must endure
2/28/09
Mind, the architect of life’s structure,
obeys what is learnt as the art of living.
Heart, the carrier of nonlinear abstract intellect,
breathes emotive truth in the framework of being.
If the diktat of mind is not pursued,
life is sucked into the whirlpool of chaos,
and not listening to the subtle urge of heart,
life turns into an unfulfilling objectified entity.
Intangible confrontation with either this or that,
designs the dubious dilemma of option,
for lack of equanimity valuing one over the other
causes the onset of neurotic inner conflict.
The foreseeable forks in life’s pathway tests
if judgment and wisdom falter in internal strife.
The rational balance of mind and heart
finds psychic route out of cognitive dissonance.
________________
August 18, 2022
Contest : Inner Conflict
Sponsored by : Unseeking Seeker
What this contagious smudge?
Spreading in their walk of life
With that fondness on its look
And behaving in us too august
From its stockpile and reserves
As everyone keeps impatient
And nervy well at his seconds
A mutual support it's to bring
Metrics at the edge showing up
Definitive to blend irregularities.
A beautiful painting to figure on?
Fancy vignettes out the color wheel
The artistry steadfast to the dogs
Not suspicious by its wall bricks
By most minors well foreseeable
Shrinking the grid lines as young
Such a thirst needing no drink
Hungry! Enthusiastic to starve
Canvas tensed up for buildings
Their thoughts then getting stiff.
How the streams match a channel?
Probably an invention off the orbit
Once in a while without likely set up
Soft scales splitting her shoulders
Unto offsprings of a foreshadow
Which are likely to be fully grieved
Creating gradient on last designs
So as to weaken no nail stepped in
Grounded fruits rising to their trees
Plenty of happiness everyone needs.
Bill C-7 is a motion to expand medical assistance in dying (MAID) in Canada to persons with disabilities whose deaths are not foreseeable. Persons with disabilities are protesting that the Canadian government is proposing to offer medically assisted deaths to individuals without offering adequate social supports, housing, medical equipment, nutrition, and mental health supports.
After the pandemic is over
I don’t know if my troubles will be fewer,
or if my life will be valued,
as people see my life as a prelude
to choosing medical assistance in dying —
I don’t know why they’re trying
to imagine life in my shoes,
as something not worthy to choose.
I hope I will be okay,
and all the friends I’ve met along the way,
and we will have the help we need,
and not be stopped by ignorance and greed.
Just because I’m diagnosed with schizophrenia
doesn’t mean I should be worth any less to ya!
And just because I can barely walk
doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen to me talk!
I don’t know the day I will die,
or all the tears I will cry,
but it’s not up to you to take my tears away,
and causing my death is not okay!
Why don’t you ask what I have to offer society,
instead of offering to put an end to me!