Best Manageable Poems
If we steadfast seek it,
feel we truly need it,
heed it as heart moving and joy fueling,
then spirit will send it, but the when
we decide is a date He will override.
Faith is more than asking, it’s relaxing even when
time leads us to believe too much of it has passed for
Him to show up on our behalf. Faith is knowing we
need not know what He knows about the perfect
timing for all things. From revealings to healings to
tangible needs, delivery time is only perfectly
manageable by Him.
When a need realization first dawns so does
the course start that will bring it forth.
Extending impatient hands will not hasten
the accumulation of factors needed for
manifesting a blessing we are after.
Too many details can lessen blessings compared to what
our Flawless Crafter can entail.
Perfection is an intricate creation, many elements converge
to aid it that only Spirit is aware of. Just the universe is
posed to spiritually know the truly ideal blend for the
ultimate, fulfilling send.
While the universe combines
many ingredients for our answers,
we, as an unaware factor, begin
an ebb and flow in thoughts and
feelings that grow us receptively
prepared for what, how and when
the universe shares.
You tell me that my love is not real
You tell me that my love needs to be more concrete
More box that I should fit into
More small manageable pieces
That are easier to swallow
But I can't just do that
When explaining my sexual orientation
It is so easy to say not straight
Not straight is easy to understand
Not straight is just the opposite of straight
But not straight
Does not feel right
Because sexuality is so much more
Than male and female
Gay and straight
It may be hard to understand
But some people don't fit into those labels
Some people reject labels
Labels are meant to be on boxes and not people anyway
I am not a box
I am not some pretty little package
That you can just name and make it so
I am a kaleidoscope
A brightly colored mosaic
Changing with each twist and turn
I am a beautiful cascade of emotion
Rushing over the cliff of hate
To wash away all the bigotry
I am a fire
Raging with a passion to share with the world
I am pansexual
I love all people
No that does not make me a ****
No that does not mean I will date anyone
What it does mean is that I will give you a chance
I will see how we can coexist
I will show you the love that we all deserve
Not as male or female
Or gay and straight
But as human beings
old men plan a casual shrug to war
inflatable egos
the fault lines of "manageable engagement "
whims to sip glory
adventurous folly, pomp and fame
young men pay the toll
on a route that chokes their end
hapless fate
to burn through youth's prime
to cut that sweet apple in two
wide eyed faith that softens the will to question
to follow a nation's calling
to battle "barbarians"
till fighters labor to know what for
if freedom's not a bread that's shared
realities of war
a roaming slaughter, its drifting body count decay
a misery and waste that burn the sky
above battlefields of leafless trees
soldiers' lives on the clockhands of death
we gather up their shields and weep
till the peace comes midst desolation
till in wisdom and carnage a life affirming flame
is lit
Poem composed November 15, 2021
On the bed, my ginger cat settles
onto a pile of clean laundry, dryer warm
Feline steady stare, resolute
a strategy of possession
she relaxes the way prayer soothes
"Off!" I command. My cat an unwelcome bedded guest.
she whines, "Surely, he's bluffing!"
solidified
empowered
swollen in the pride of "I'm not moving!"
meows spewed like an anthem of resistance
I lift her from the pile,
my underwear dangles from cat claws
like cheap tinsel on a tree
she exits, her short lived reign
sulks into howls of whining
till dinner softens her rebuff
till wherever curiosity and comfort take her,
anew
My hope of co-habitation:
to calm the little woes of daily chores
to reduce cat prestige from shedded hair
to shrink feline non-compliance to a
manageable scale
Our social contract - a trade off
to reaffirm my status
to maintain the charade of "boss"
an unsteady footing
in the crushed aspiration of rule
Poem composed February 7/2022
I often think of the sea,
not so much of vastness
but of depth, and what I
can't see, all the life just
beneath the surface – sort
of like, a newborn, 70 years
from now; sunlight blotting
out the sky, until rescued by
night...each of us a legacy
of many –
we find one another again, in
the shallow eddies – where waters
meet in manageable pools,
our circles pushing back against
a far greater current –
Where tide
tips the shore, we are nestles
of shelly kisses...sharing what
we can recall of both slippery
and pointed journeys –
in a real sense
all our forms and words
are a bit cliché
creative writing
the antithetical
of language
Simple Mathematics, really.
To eliminate one component
To solve a problem quickly.
I’ll form the problem into a manageable state,
By easily eliminating an unwanted variable.
Now, just what variable to eliminate?
First, I will multiply the X by two.
That’s the first step. Done, I feel fine.
I will multiply the Y too.
Now, I add my X plus X.
My Y plus Y.
That was to make sure it checks.
Now here’s the predicament (easy my shoe!)
This is my problem,
And a real head-scratcher too!
The equation adds up nicely
And the X and Y are simplified.
But, how do I eliminate my algebra homework
Precisely?
Sunday afternoon
The cares of the week have lost their edge
The pace is manageable
Sunday papers read from cover to cover
Times sprawled on the couch
Daily News in the kitchen
Nearby empty breakfast dishes.
A quiet wistfulness steals over Sunday
As afternoon turns to evening
People out walking dogs
Strolling home
Running along the river
Everyone trying to make twilight last a little longer
The ever present sirens
Sound melancholy
Couples reluctantly say goodbye
Parting at street corners and brownstones
A man helps a woman into a cab
And watches it pull away
On a late Sunday afternoon.
Young lovers
Wait in a subway
He holds her close
She holds him tighter
As her train rushes by
She is not surprised
Nor is she angry
Because she knows he wants to see her again.
Do you know that giant of Africa yesterday?
That great and well-fed West African Elephant?
Whose offspring’s are pot-belly, lament-less and relieved?
Have you seen that giant of Africa today?
Whose leaky walls are infiltrated with turmoil and malevolence?
Yet couldn’t hear; couldn’t see and couldn’t say?
Have you seen a thespian Nigeria?
With over-blown inflationary rate
Uncontrolled exchange rate
And a despicable insecurity peril?
Wherefore is everything that was there before?
The favourable exchange rate
Manageable security and controlled price
And where is everyone?
The Obasanjo’s, the Jonathan’s and the Yar’adua’s of blessed memory
Whose hands of revulsion are we in?
Where nothing is something
Only hunger, malady, dearth and communal cleansing
With yesteryear better than the crinkled arms of tomorrow
See the boulevard, the drifters and the indigents
Permissible and impermissible whores
Imperceptible horror and terror
With rage in everyone’s smiling faces
When will CHANGE be ‘CHANGED?’
That which we bargained with our lives
Traded in sorrow and grief
And forsaken afterwards
Does CHANGE mean hunger, marginalization and communal cleansing?
Does it mean power outage and general price hike?
Who can CHANGE the CHANGE and
Not pick the pieces of discord.
You're about to see there's no difference between a tortured artist or a Wounded animal
Picking up a pen was the only way to make my depression manageable
At times it seemed that beating depression wasn't Fathomable
The hurt poet sometimes has to let loose with his pen and that should be Understandable
The nice guy with a pen turns into a cross between Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger and Hannibal
When the smoke clears from my rhymes, they're still flammable
My whole life I was told I couldn't but now it's Laughable
What they told me I didn't have, I didn't lack at all
When I found my strengths, it's like when Lionel Messi has the ball
No one can get near, and the world is about to see something magical
The great ones always learn from their mistakes, and aren't scared to retake steps
I learned to live with it, before I learned how to escape stress
I used to miss my old girl, but now I focus on the girls I haven't had a chance to date yet
Because as I got older I realised a relationship needs more than just great sex
I wish I realised it while I was younger, so I'd have felt heartbreak less
I'm honest to a fault, so I'll willingly admit some of my feelings for her haven't been erased yet
But I'm getting there and doing it in my own time
I don't care for people telling me what I should feel inside my own mind
If I fall short it won't be by much
Check my track record, anytime I got knocked down, I always got back up
I've been knocked down many times, but you won't find anyone who reacts quicker
I just saw that Ariana Grande has split up with Mac Miller
And I'll probably lose the plot
If I don't take this chance to shoot my shot
Ariana I'm trying to win your heart for good and play no games with your head
Let's settle down and start a family together, the only downside is I'll probably last 30 seconds in bed
"Oh god why did he say that?, did he really need to go there"
Go where?, the belt?, he's always saying things that go below there
I forgot this world is sensitive and doesn't know how to take a joke
You can't break what's broke
I was stuck in the dark, but I escaped with hope
I'm hard to kill
My art is real
And the tortured artist is like a Wounded animal because you should try to keep away from both
Allah, Brahma, Christ, Dionysus, Each Favorite God Has Inspirational Jazz Keeps Love Manageable. Nature Offers Presence Quite Remarkably Solid Teaching Undeniable Virtue Waxing X-ray's Yonder Zygotes.
It's strange how life reminds me of papa's old beetle.
Well taken care of, beautifully washed,
And treated with respect,
Only to reward him with a box and silence.
We run about, dodging the men in shorts,
For the looks in their eyes know not remorse,
For the powder give them power,
And they extends their lovely hand of death,
So we can dance in peace.
I wonder why mama cried when papa was brought back.
He had gone home to rest,
But I felt sad for her hair which she pulled,
Her wrapper which she gave a continental design,
And the ground which she toyed with,
Like a two year old.
It was a sight to behold, a woman mourning her husband,
Sent home by the predators.
One was manageable, but two was disaster.
A home filled with laughter, reeked of sadness,
A confusing feeling in my mind, filled with images.
I run to the backyard to see mama pounding yam as always,
But I see nothing, and hear nothing.
She lay in front of me,
Smothered and dressed in blood, like her husband.
She finally got her wish, she ended up with him.
The troops are closing in,
We lost our allies and fight like bulldogs,
But with teeth as sharp as uncle's lost wooden ruler.
Defeat is near, and I have long chopped my thoughts,
Better than the chef I saw on television at Ene's house.
The beetle smashed an armour tank.
The flag was cast down,
Dreams were shredded,
The promise of a nation was destroyed,
Where do we start from?
In our lives filled with lofty goals,
We may reach for much beyond our means,
And as interest is piqued and grows,
We sell wisps of notions as our pipe dreams,
Yet while news breaches concerned factions,
Of those who would off-hand discount our plan,
You may well consider these actions,
To be the final throes of a desperate man,
Watch me rush headlong at windmills,
Listen to my brave and salient battle cries,
For with nothing I easily afford the shills,
This puffery of pipe dreams which may sink or rise,
Take account of what may be lost,
Incredible credible reputations,
So to me the onus is tossed,
And I afford pipe dream facilitations,
But as prospect becomes tangible,
And peppered pipe dreams begin to spin,
Overt liability then manageable,
The need for my Quixotic services thin,
The writing’s on the wall distinct and clear,
Yet I long for the impossible it seems,
Where I keep the company of the grand seer,
And remain the nexus of fantastic pipe dreams.
- Before I get too much bad press here I want you to know
the term ‘Puffery’ means to build something up with flowery language.
Vision is shadowy; I choke the steering wheel with knuckles turned white
the shifty roads are blanketed with fresh powder, day has fallen into night
a small oval portion amongst a foggy windshield was my view
traction became lost, tires slid, there was nothing I could do
I prayed to God that He would keep me safe from any harm
He must have heard because I spun out and landed in a tree farm
the skeletal infant trees did not stand up against my brawny Range Rover
if I had struck a mature oak or maple, surely it would have been game-over
once my trembling core ceased to a manageable state
I was taken aback by a heavy rod iron gate
not two seconds before, an open field of trees lied ahead
against my better judgment, slowly I decided to tread
uneasy, I glance over my shoulder to ensure my car is still there
if a gate could unexplainably appear, I feared a car could dissolve in thin air
I am impressed and terrified at the magnitude of what stood before me
I pressed my face up against the icy frame and gasped at what I did see
children; small children not aged more than eight
simultaneously detected They had a visitor at the gate
robotically, as if on cue, They began to drift toward me
cloaked in robes of slate, I fixated on a child wearing a key
the piece that hung from his neck flickered as if it were on fire
with a green stomach, I knew my situation was off-colour and dire
I attempted to address Them but all that escaped was my breath in the icy air
in chorus They froze – countless eyes offered nothing but a vacant stare
I wondered how long They had been locked up for and why
my thoughts were interrupted by a small girl’s haunting cry
my eyes searched frantically to see where the ominous iron curtain went to
my mouth tapped dry when I learned it was I, who was caged, like an animal at the zoo
anxiously I turned around when They became engrossed with something behind me
large yellow eyes cut through the darkness and my demise was all I could see
I was trapped. In order to survive I had to acquire possession of that key …
april 25, 2012
Diana-Marie Bombardieri
for Gail's CONTEST - Stranded 0r a Ghost story
in the corners of my mind
dusty piles of letters
and words
I’m trying to sweep
into a manageable
meaningful
mass
*
raindrops
like inked letters
falling through mind
onto page
*
SUNLIGHT
primary cause of melanomas
activating limbs
while evaporating words
before they touch the page
a double curse
really
Brittle Bones Break
It is heartwrenching to read today of a grotesque medical anamoly…
When a cute little girl of four suffers from a cruel bone malady…
The medical journals have identified it as Osteogenesis Imperfecta…
A dreaded enough disease that begets in a baby at its mother’s placenta…
The scientific explanation is plain and simple enough, a flawed DNA strain…
It is usually non hereditary, it is by a cruel twist of fate, merely a mutated gene..
There have been cases of passed down defective genes, regardless who is to blame..
This disease is crippling enough, there is no need to play the blame game..
The odds of getting an OI baby is astronomical, yet it is enough to happen…
Yeah, this dreaded disease strikes in six to seven children in every 100,000…
What a living hell these unfortunate ones have to suffer in their innocence ..
Having poor bone collagen, they have fragile bones that are glass brittle….
Having bones that brittle, an OI child have a most challenging time upon birth…
Some severe cases are designated type II OI, they die shortly after birth…
Growing up is such a challenge, they have all kinds of medical problems…
They tend to be short statured, with brittle teeth and breathing problems..
Limited in mobility, they have curved spines, blue sclera and muscle weakness…
The severity of the symptons vary according to type, confirmed after proper diagnosis….
There is no cure, only proper treatment can make the insufferable symptons manageable…
OI kids, they grow up needing assistance for daily activities, on their own they are unable..….
....continued in Part 2
http://www.star2.com/people/2016/01/03/her-bones-are-so-brittle-they-can-break-like-glass/