Best Moreso Poems
Do you have any idea how much material your entire being holds?
I'm not talking about the materialistic (of the world) things many have their fingers tightly gripped on second by second... Moreso....
You are one glorious stretch of canvas, rolled out into different sections.
Your mind; a base for all magical flow you could possibly salvage from one place in thought, which lead to the creation station- Your Hands; these then work with the constant attention from your visual display palace- Your Eyes; allowing all things to collide and combine in a beautiful mash of the initial magic that the mind created....
and Your Feet; your mobile assistants that carry you to all the points you need to travel to.
Moment by moment, we are in constant soul rebirth, with this our material is constantly renewed and made clean. Creating a whole new vast space for you to splash your burst of colour and divine spirals of reality upon.
We are all artirsts in some way. In some expression.
The canvas has always been here.... choose to create a master piece!
Seems I indeed already had everything,
So the truth must be, all I ever really wanted
Was to be everything you wanted in me.
Seems now I have indeed lost everything,
Because what we had together was only in my favor.
You were never truly willing to be with me.
Seems now I see, what we were, was not everything we could be.
May letting go bring us more fortune than we'll ever know,
For we've finally come to moreso know each other.
"Fear of - Not Enough Love"
love is the key to living a valuable life
one fear plaguing my mind is not sharing love enough
embracing every heart; thus eliminating strife
through good times, but moreso, when things get rough.
fear remains a strong emotion holding one captive
a prisoner entrapped in flesh and bone
sweet love erases fear for humans are reactive
to a soft touch surrounding a soul who feels alone.
i shutter to realize so many dwell in pain
from lonely thoughts of being pushed aside
my fear of not extending love and leaving them in vain
so everyone would enjoy that special glow inside.
with my fearless persona, I find a way to give
a golden opportunity to lend a helping hand
encircle those who have a need with a great will to live
and fear will be defeated through love in life so grand.
*For Tanya Harris's What's Your Fear? Contest.
You know Mr. & Mrs. reader of ethical and non-essential concerns of dismay. Sometimes
along life's journey, there's a crossroad we all will face. "A crossraad along the way", whether
you choose the wrong way or the wrong road. You're only halfway in your posesstion if you
decide that the road is the only way. "Recesstion over Oppression", being the second part in
my series, this poem is my own opinionated thoughts as I've travel amongst a discontented
journey of crossroads, non-essential along the way. "Recession over Oppression", to every
man, women, boy and girl are we all headed for that ultiment question, "The Faith of a crum-
beling World". Quite sure you've surrounded yourself from the snare's of the world, so you
may not have come across many if any crossroads, like how deep is your faith and is what
you are believing GOD to be! is it in direct allignment of the Higher Power you can not see?
You and me, Well-Well you see I cann't term to grip the ethic's of racial acrimonious of the bl-
ind-eye's that claim to see. You may see differently remember (this is only poetry) so don't
come too the crossroad and still be blindsighted by the oppress of demorcracy.
There's going to War's and rumers of war's, there's going to be people who cann't see the
lord in no skin color but white. Some even say he's black and then there are those that say
he's not the lion of transquility. Recession has brough about high unemployment rate, men
have fallen in love with themselve's moreso now then-then ever before, the bible speaks of
this and a crumbeling world of hater's has no answer, for the men's the womens or the
young boy's nor answer's to our young girl's. I truly believe this beautifull creator establish
it that way so when crossroads and faithful decision's overtake you. He so love the world that
he allow his only begotten Son to come into the World just to die for the Sin's of the world to
defeat the enemy (Death) too reestablish true believer's of trust, not skin-color Faith but ev-
erlasting abundantly Power like that of a million Pearl's. For every Women, Man, Boy or girl.
when facing crossroads; (Remember) "The Faith of a Crumbeling World".
Although I probably hate a person who commits a felony, I may hate moreso a self righteous soul who won't commit a misdimeanor.
Come dear beau
embrace in my shadow
beneath my leaves
for a kiss or two.
I am a mistletoe
a parasite,
that needs to hang
on a tree as host,
and moreso,
I need kisses
to excite and powerup!
Neither fame, nor fortune sought,
sans this anonymous wordsmith,
whose quirky pastiche (no matter
evokes collywobbles, when risky
business undertaken to spill forth
most confidential personal woes),
broadcasting a heart of darkness,
Joseph Conrad might find quaint-
lee amusing, & considerably less
far reaching encompassing than
his (former) humanity ink home
passing (just one heir iz all seek
king soul full asylum), versus us
storied author, (not me), whose
didactic éminence grise, moreso
attributed, thee now esteemed
Polish man of letters to leave a
nonpareil earning, deserving, and
crowning legacy far greater than
yours truly, could ever hope for,
though as iterated with opening
sentence, neither renown, nor a
bucket load of money motivates
this anonymous scrivener, he me
rilly aspires to clutch ephemeral
notions (yes some themes recur
more than once), nonetheless a
euphoric exuberance arises, no
matter, one or more pairs oven
ranging unknown reader's keen
eyes scowl at this petrified disc
ore dent fountainhead, he dares
alluding to his saddled beasts of
burden on par with shrugging,
colluding, bearing, et cetera atlas,
perhaps presuming this measly
mortal strives to trick up ersatz
scratchings asthma grandiloquent
(albeit, "FAKE") Magnum Opus, nyat!
This informed cognoscenti disavows
any haughty, lofty, pretentious, etc.
thinker only enjoys waggish badinage!
I often ponder as I lay awake and let my mind wonder, what beauty realy is.
If it is truly only in the eye of the beholder? am I then blind when I hold her?
Embrace her and see infinate possibilities like trillion probabilities of us creating
Our own galaxies with the simple serinty of jst the sound of her voice.
If beauty does exists then surely it must be more than visual, like a complex
Machanical sphere that governs all that is tangible. What manner of beauty then
Lies in the air above us or ground below us or is it limited only to our comprehension?
If so then beauty must be all that I can see, for that is where my understanding reigns.
Oh but if it truly so then beauty is in no order and far too complex to define. Because
What is beauty to me is imperfection to u.
With that reasoning we find that beauty is unique to each man according to his own predetermined
Desires and createria of what he considers beauty so long before he saw u, he knew u were beautiful
Because u were exatctly what he considered beauty to be anything less is mare imperfection. How
Shallow we think and allow our eyes to percieve the world. I wonder is that why we are perhaps so quick to justify failure than to correct our errors?
But this I knw without a shed of a doubt...for if the is beauty in light then surely darkness must glow in its own light too.
Even moreso the surely must be beauty in sorrow as the is in laughter.
But what I seek most is the understanding and appreciation in knowing that as the is beauty in life so is the in death and with this I silently conclude that the greatest beauty of all is the celebration of life and not the moaning of what is lost or left behind
Prologued: Before granny left....she used to sing to me a song..{that I'll} "that I will
never forget." 'Son...I'll be going on Home....soon', "but there will be someone who will
take care of.......You.." {I say}..."But gran-ny....whoo-wo-wwhooo will take care of you,
and where are you going....(?)" "Because me and john-boy wants to go with you". Tears
are (slowly) druel-ll-ling-g down her ...sweet-ol-face, she see's the tears...in the corner
of my eyes, and she graps my hand and she tells me to (hush)..."hhuuu-sss now boy and Promised - Me." That you will take good care of your....Mother_____"and your (lil)
brother.....jo-john-n...(coughing...she cann't remember his name)...John-Boy...grann-iee
...John-Boy.." OH'Yeah....yeee-aah..(he's) my baby, bighead and you Wiiill-led take care
of him too. "Do you hear me.....boyy-ee....Yes'Mamm-med."
Then she say for me...to stay from.....Stetson Store...it's on Stetson corner where drugs are sold, and she'd never allowed me to ever there all by myself. {she say} now even
in her weakest stage; "you are to grow-up, and...become a man amongst...Men'(s)..
Still(coughing) and still...crying...do you understand..?? 'Lil...Wesley..'
"My Angel is here...now, then the room is suddently very quiet, then.....the machine goes
flatline.." Crying moreso now...(myself) then someone touches me on the shoulder...and
say's...she's gone now....son..."Home to be with the______Holy-One". "John-Boy...the
little raskal...he's my baby brother and he is (3) yrs' old, and I'm Wesley...(Hi) and I am
(10) ten yrs old..."Don't drive your...Mother Crazy....and remember what you...promised
...Me..(!!)." "Because....there's_______No room for ....Crybabies..{!!!}." And this is my
story. (Lil) Wesley:: (pt. 1)
amidst cavorting delightfully, enjoying thorough
frolicking gingerly, foreign hick hating slo
hip-hopping insouciantly sustaining row
biological status quo
kvetching lamely moreso mother became pro
naturally physically rumbling,
heard all the way in Oslo
supposedly twerking, undulating vivaciously
wantonly x2c wisely yielded – nada no
zona pellucida anchored byte size seaman,
potent embryonic fetal moe
newlweds nocturnal merriment
moma's Menses marked march 1959
lovingly joyusly, insemination happened ha low
bullseye clenched diploid fertilization
guaranteed germinating heiress
while squaqking lichen Apache at Diablo
ma late mother did should know
upon awakening upon tautly stretched exertion
during dilating cervix, which jiggled like jello
three score orbitz round el sol, warmed cockles
and muscled away brutally cold degrees
tab billed an igloo,
or circa six decades
drafted exuberant ho...ho...ho...
cuz, i.e. thencee at 362nd day
baby in belly did fully grow
December first nineteen fifty seven
sanctioned newly minted papa
to sing a capella for he's a jolly good fellow
quintessential nascent
kickstarter heady everflow
though wintry dark,
a “hi” beam illuminated
newborn girl with dayglow
sans, mechanical engine ear
papa (an honorably discharged army vet)
all spit and shine groom,
who wed a bride somewhat callow
first time parents with giddiness did saul fully bellow
Boyce and Harriet Harriet countenance
twas (like an elf on Christmas eve) all aglow.
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Dear Sis – I knew not what else to do
thus, this poem crafted fur ewe
a doe ting maternal gal – whose time on Earth flew
Life for many of us around here isn't always about winning,
because where Im from, it's almost always about losing.
We learn more from our simple failures and mistakes than we do about our greatest acomplishment's.
Failure for us is like our greatest teacher.
Sometimes you have to lose, but I know it doesn't mean I have to stay beaten with failure, all it means is that I too am no better than you and I too am as prone to failure as you if not moreso, so around here it's never about winning.
Twenty one years of your love,
Twenty one years of your hugs,
A tale of our happy home,
All wrapped in one poem,
Today...
Our wonderful kids,
Twenty one years of bliss,
We now sing in chorus,
How much this means to us,
Today...
And it doesn't need to be said,
The best times are ahead,
Where our love always will,
Grow even moreso still,
Today...
I love your scrunched up grin,
You are indeed my best friend,
You have cared for me always,
And now I want more todays,
Today...
When you jump in my arms,
Full of pure love and charm,
I thank the Lord for all I have,
As a spoiled husband and Dad,
Today...
So on this most precious and revered day,
Vickie, I love you in every possible way,
And thank the Lord you agreed to marry,
Me, on this great day, our anniversary,
Today...
(this pastiche pertaining to maya own inc ore pore rated poetic patois promulgated many moons ago from those screaming bloody thirsty headlines from the Italian court for justice sans the brutal homicide attributed to this then American college student and her ex-boyfriend).
with the assiduous vigor of a cadre of volunteers
brought sought after fruition of freedom
per the release of imprisoned young (twenty something) American lass
whose former life sentenced commuted to egress from an Italian jail
to her home within Seattle, Washington
whereby family, friends and strangers who fought for her liberation
breathed one palpable surprising sigh of euphoric relief
when the plane who boarded landed safely on the tarmac of SEATAC
aswarm with frenzied television camera crews
scrambled to get the initial scoop and what promises
to land this once anonymous cell bait
an undisclosed amount of lucre
which many on the other side of the pond
find mind boggling if not downright objectionable
moreso livid with rage
against the Machiavellian machine
on account of supposed culpability in tandem with her then boy friend
accused (under the guise of guilty fiat)
sans homicide of college roommate
now sought after garnering this fawning female
(salaciously tagged by Perugian court with the sobriquet “she wolf”
now faces a future replete with riches aplenty
allowing gravity of ugly epithet plus stigma from accusation of murder
to serve as basis for what will no doubt be a best seller
not to mention made for the silver screen blockbuster
with subsequent royal carpet treatment
to compensate for guilty judgment decreed
without tangible evidence nor fair trial to boot!
Every morning I awake and see my daughter (first born), its like it washes away all my past sins and even today's sins as I look at her precious beautiful baby eyes,
it makes this sometimes hard hearted man want to break down soft as a child and cry,
for no matter how much me and her mother fight and we both know that *****is wrong but just seeing her smile makes it all the more right.
I look at what I have done but moreso at what I do today....and I know that things must change even if my pockets might have change it dont matter if I cant do things for a better change.......I love you baby Siprianna and you know daddy is going to try and make life better for you than his......LOVE YOU BABY SIPZ SE7EN...... ALWAYS AND FOREVER....
Sometimes, that's what Life
is like, A shark's tank
With Our minds, out of fear,
going blank
From thoughts of being carried
to the bank
While in its jaws, after having to
walk the plank
On the account of FATE, moreso,
than rank
Where We, to the level of rock-
bottom, have sank