Best Infrequent Poems
I'm constantly searching for myself –
That part which is essential, inherent.
I sense its presence, it's somewhere within
The being which echoes with infrequent shouts
Of a neglected foreigner
Who happens to live in my dwelling.
But it's a language I can't comprehend;
Only some fragments, and on rare occasions
When we're at peace, like adults
With altruistic motives.
I'm persistent in my search
So persistent that I tend to go outside
In hope of finding
The object of my pursuit.
But I'm offered a wide selection of objects
Each resembling that which I desperately seek.
I consume, yet I'm the one who's consumed,
Drained slowly, gradually
Until the essence is left to evaporate
As if its only purpose is to be absorbed
Into bountiful void.
I stuff myself with pleasures
Until I dissolve in them,
Become the object of my desire.
Then the insight and rejection.
Continuation of the search
Of the lost one.
But it is different with you, my beloved.
You contain that spark
Which will revive me.
You can fill the gap,
Complete the circle.
Only a little more;
I know I will find it.
This is what I need,
Is it not?
Tree Stories
She asked me about the trees
and I laughed, remembering the times I saw her eyes sparkle through the leaves on every single occasion of when I told her what I humbly named "tree stories"
She remembered every single story I told
And even after I stopped telling them, she'd recount every one and begged me to tell more even in the freezing-our-fingers-off cold and when I told her I wouldn't tell her any more,
She silently smiled and knew that my stories were best kept infrequent and special so that that tree never rotted
Now here's another one, made lovingly
I watched the leaves flow through the city and when I walked out of my raggedy old apartment building I felt pity for these leaves
They ran through these sidewalks and crosswalks without a destination and never had a relation to one another, but together made a beautiful creature to which I wrote my plots and storylines for you. The branches themselves stayed put however, waiting for the leaves to come back whenever and ask if it all went well but to be disappointed, for these leaves were gone somewhere, left for a 17 year old boy to be compelled somewhere and so the tree is left forever incompleted everywhere. The tree is left forever, with no other story to tell.
Fall is a hard time for the trees.
I wrote this to make you smile
You know, the one that lasts for miles and for all the while we didn't have the pleasure of seeing one another, so to see that bright smile again I wrote this story for you, my lover in wonder.
This made me so happy to write and my eyes saw even more than what I allowed myself to see at night whenever we have our love filled phone calls and whenever I close my eyes so I can imagine you here with me, your breathing holding over the rough, rough tide.
And now this is where it ends. Till another story I hope this holds you over and again I say, I made it lovingly.
Goldie, my peculiar but beloved cat,
has certain affectations --
she prefers, most times, her own society
and shuns her housemates.
But, sometimes, she cuddles
or will join the others
to laze around -- in the living room,
the dining room, a hallway, or
in the kitchen.
An inside cat who, early on,
suffered the indignity of
"the operation,"
she asserts her independence
by darting into the front yard
when a door is opened --
and she pointedly ignores
any calls or pleas to come inside.
But when the door shuts
and no one is around, she is fearful,
immediately climbing up into the ash tree.
And there she stays
until I come to coax her down.
She may climb high up
and, finally, shakily manage
a descent to allow me to pick her up
and carry her back inside.
She never leaves the yard
but does enjoy ignoring me
when I am in a hurry.
She will dart about and run
from one side of the yard to the other.
For her, it's only an infrequent game.
And, as my treasured pet,
she certainly deserves to play
while testing the limit
of my affectionate, chagrined
commitment.
Team Work
alteration between success and failure
astuteness to win challenges
ability to direct individual accomplishments toward organizational objectives
ability to work together toward a common hallucination
drive that allows common people to attain infrequent results
distinct obligation to a group determination
different commitment to group efforts
to divides the task and double the success
adeptness to work together towards a collective vision
ability to direct individual accomplishments toward organizational objectives
hush-hush that makes common people achieve special outcomes
create the innovations that defines our professions
moving forward together
group of many hands but of one mind
the fulcrum in long term achievement
accomplishments of an organization are the results of the combined effort
gulfs the chore and doubles the success
the power of the team is each single participant
is to lift a shingle with more limbs
T.E.A.M. = Together Everyone Achieves More
A Letter To Rose
Hello Rose,
I know that you have questions and have missed me as much as I am missing you. I do not like excuses, but there really is a good reason for my infrequent visits. Of course there are others, like Tulip and Lillie to whom I must give my attention;but you know that I treasure and favor you above all other flowers in my garden.
I know that this summer has been very hard on you, but there’s nothing I can do. As you know, we have been in a drought for the past three years and counting. My once green lawn that must now tolerate brown, is longing for more water; but the authorities require that we water lawns and gardens only twice a week.
I know how you must feel, and I am so sorry to have to treat you this way.
I feel your pain, and it makes me so sad inside. It makes me cry that your external beauty no longer shows; but yet, I love you no less, because your true beauty is deeper than the sea. In a little while, you will blossom again for me.
It hurts me that I can’t smell your sweet fragrance nor feast on your loveliness. Your beautiful colors of red, white, and purple, no longer embrace my front yard; nor do they grace my living room.
However, the weather people are predicting a wet winter that could improve things! I hope so, because I will cut back your branches, allowing you to grow new ones. And come late Winter and early Spring, you will burst force in splendor and elegance.
11072015 PS Contest, Ode To Flower (s), Hamilton;( PS Contest, Second Chance, by Broken Wings")
[ edit poem ]
Life Is What Happens
What a long, strange life it’s been.
Childhood and adolescence were close to normal,
I never felt quite right,
Never fit my image of a normal kid.
Dealing with internal demons for so many years.
Adolescence was hell,
The frigging dybbuks took control
Internally screaming, “your not good enough”, “your dirt”,
Externally, manifesting as cystic acne, ugly, festering sores.
Then long hair, drugs and rock n roll.
Feelings of compassion, and forgiveness.
For awhile the voices got quieter,
Infrequent periods of contentment,
First love, and then the Voices were back.
Alcohol, anger, self-hatred,
Move away! Leave L.A.!
Transplant to Sonoma County
Twenty-three years old, alone, frightened.
A period of relief, enjoyment, discovery.
The search had begun!
A time of growth, feelings of great love,
for life, for spirit, for myself.
Politics grabs hold,
Open to new friends,
Seeing myself as worthy to be loved.
Christine, daughter of the Motor City,
Nancy Marie, the wild one,
And then she picked me up hitchhiking.
How do you measure a life?
Marriage, children, many good years.
But the demons reappear,
This time as a progressive, degenerative disease
I watch the life I thought I knew, disintegrate little by little,
until I’m stripped close to the bone,
And I watch!
Three decades spent creating a structure,
A way of being, a persona, a box,
In which to place all our preconceptions
About love, family, commitment, hopes and dreams.
Like Schopenhauer’s “Will to Live”, life moves on,
Refusing to address the petty personal dreams, wishes, and prayers
Focusing instead on the perpetuation of a far less then perfect species
--Updated 1/25/2013
THE FOREST CALLS
The pink clouds surround the setting sun
The black earth won't give up her secrets
When all things are said and done
She holds her memory the most infrequent
Paltry mists of past liaisons
Stormy strife from deep within
Remembrance of aged relations
Decadent mirth no more lies therein
What far off calls do sing
The pabulum so requisite
To this epiphany I do cling
Twilight hours of crimson exquisite
Last words spoken of lovers one
Engulfing the forest calls of all done.
She had many good days and bad ones. There were sad moments and happy ones. There was a period in which she was a daily soft drink consumer.
But I must say that there was nothing soft about the drink she craved.
She was captivated by a certain strong drink more than any other.
As for me, if it wasn’t for the salt and the sugar it contained,
I too would be drinking with a frowning face, just like MOTHER.
Doing the laundry, cleaning the house, and cooking, or simply taking her infrequent leisure. Beautifying someone’s hair, or just chatting with a friend,
there was often a small green glass bottle of soda nearby. This lady never poured from the bottle into a drinking glass. Such a classy ritual was never required nor desired by her. The most favored, the most flavored, and the most refreshing moment for MOTHER was a bag of salted peanuts slowly poured into her favorite strong drink.
Watching as his MOTHER intakes her favorite snack, I, a little boy, look on
and capture a magical moment. The drink was ice cold, but MOTHER liked
it that way.
Sixty-plus years have come and gone, but the memories will not pass soon. Those precious magical moments will last forever. MOTHER, happily drinking her cold and soothing coca cola. The tasty bottle of coke, filled with salted peanuts; MOTHER'S frowns from the very strong taste, but enjoying every drop. Without knowing it, MOTHER was creating a magical moment.
Time has made the little boy a man, but MOTHER'S favorite drink and the memory of that magical moment that she created shall forever stand.
IS IT THE CASE
Is it the case that
Lands are small, to contain all of us,
Or that
Our hearts are not big enough to love?
Is it the case that
Seas and oceans are narrow for our ships to pass,
Or that
Our minds are not wide open?
Is it the case that
Food is scarce the hungry of the world to feed,
Or that
The greediness of certain men is so great?
Is it the case that
Concern for our fellow humans is infrequent,
Or that
Indifference is incessant?
Whatever the answers may be,
My dear brother,
My loving sister,
This question must be answered first:
How HOLY is it for someone to build
His happiness
Over
The unhappiness of
OTHERS?
© Demetrios Trifiatis
24 February 2013
Is it presumptuous to assume
A melodious togetherness with you
Without an unfavorable tune
Or could we drown our indiscretions
In the depths of love’s infinite sea
And swam ashore in unison
Without feelings of malice and jealousy
Could we hold hands as true lovers and
walk the stretching shores of tranquility
or sink slowly in the agonizing sands
of deceit and our past infidelities
Is it presumptuous of me to -- think
Understanding and forgiveness resides in your heart
My blatant disrespect for fidelity was contemptuous
No less or more than yours, but I condemn my part
For you, eternally my heart weeps
Could you see past my mistake with a blind eye
Or continue stabbing me repeatedly
With sinful lust and yearnings for your lovers side
Is it presumptuous for me to say
Your adoration and passion is eternal
And your love for me is everlasting
Or is it just merely for today
Could you kiss me with fierce uncontrollable passion
The way you anointed your lover’s lips
Or in your eyes, am I not seen in the same fashion
Does he control the water, you the glass and I
Am merely allowed subtle infrequent sips
Is it presumptuous to feel right
About stealing an innocent gentle kiss
While you sleep a peaceful sleep - day or night
The kiss no longer belongs to me but its mines to miss
Is it presumptuous of me
When I trace the subtle curves of your caramel body
While the moon saturates your alluring frame
Your body opens and shifts with acceptance of my plight
And you passionately bless my offerings but you still call his name
blue is the colour that we see
staring at space into infinity
a blue sky appearing up above
denotes fine weather that we love
a blue ribbon for a performance
implies a standard of excellence
a blue jeans is a common garment
that is found on every continent
a bluebird is a symbol of bliss
which signifies true happiness
a blue moon indicates an event
that is extremely infrequent
true blue symbolizes deep loyalty
to a cause or person that is worthy
a blue sky reflected in the blue sea
paints a picture of perfect harmony
Tennyson's form from The Lady of Shalott
I sing my fame ignoring grace
as I meet vict’ry face to face.
Defying prudence to efface
the pride of getting letters placed.
My personal Tower of Babble,
a chance to boast, I’m just like you
and so we brag, like winners do.
To grace all rivals say adieu
in this bracing game called Scrabble.
Safe in my tray, letters espouse
myriad words, and though I grouse
that sacred “Q” is safer housed
within the pocket of my blouse -
my personal Tower of Babble.
So when the needed “U” appears
I lean down to adjust my fears,
spouse has no clue of my arrears
in this rousing game called Scrabble.
The triple word space opens up
Rising to retrieve my prize, yup
“Z” lies sequestered in a cup
filled new with kibbles for our pup -
my personal Tower of Babble.
Planning ahead, my vile secret
planting tiles in careful sequence.
Hiccups to my ruse - infrequent
in this whupping game called Scrabble.
for Isaiah Zerbst's contest, The Lady of Shalott.
You're my Knight and I'm you're Lady
a medieval flash in time not maybe
your nobility conquers any quest
with armor and sword dressed
Remove all apparel you need it not
for you've won the battle you have fought
leave your saber in the stone
magic comes from inside hence thrown
And the ruler will also disarm
to you I'd never harm
defenseless you are to exalt
cavalier without assault
Our virtue exposes all infrequent prosperity
excluding obnoxious barbarity
Your lord and vassal can retreat to isolation
drop coif and shield and leave all avocation
She was quiet
Almost shy
And kind.
I was crude
Rough
In a hurry
I only thought of me
She thought of us.
When we dated
We frequented local places
Never venturing beyond
Our quiet town
We had some good times
But I grew tired of the sameness
I wanted to see the world
Meet the smart money
Feel the hustle
And take in the give.
Eventually things faded
Our calls were infrequent
Her voice became cold and formal
A tiny crack seeped between us
Growing into a fracture
That couldn’t be healed
When it ended
We went on our own
But it hurt me more
Than I admitted
Walking home that night I bit my lip
To keep from crying.
One day my mother said
She thought she saw her
In town
Holding a young child by the hand
She looked happy.
“I thought you didn’t like her” I said
Stopping, my mother searched my face
“I was used to seeing you as a couple that’s all.”
We met by chance years later
We changed
The world changed
Things happened
We stared at each other
Not speaking
Just staring
Standing
At arm’s length
In awkward silence
I was going to ask about children
But I didn’t
The anguish
And bitterness of rejection
Was still buried somewhere inside.
We parted the same way we met
Awkwardly
Memories came back
And I realized
She was comfortable where she was
A place where time moved
In its own peculiar way
A world of
Small shops
Familiar strangers
Clean streets
A place where mothers
Kept an eye on their children.
All in all
Not a bad place to live
And certainly not a bad life.
A voice inside my head
Whispered “Who was she?”
I pretended not to hear
When I look back
I remember the time
A girl walked into my life
For a brief moment.
Maybe it was love
Or infatuation
But whatever it was
She was the girl I once knew.
War & Peace
We agree most of the time war is caused
By capitalism, nationalism, in fact, any isms
Demagogues and murky propaganda
These entities can`t fight wars without soldiers
And there are too many young men who
Simply love the idea of wearing arms and fight
They go to war the survivors are veterans
They know now they have fought for nothing
In despair, they take to drink and drug and sink
To the bottom of the human heap
Aldous Huxley spoke of something in the water
That takes the aggression away….Good!
Only one has to be careful not making them into
Zombies with no ambition to the point the world
Disappear in the morass of apathy.
We can`t stop wars happening but we can try to
Prolong peace and make wars more infrequent.