Best Referral Poems
You may feel about the planet what
you feel about a great baseball team or band:
that once there was a moment when, unknown
to us at the time, we convened
and lost and found ourselves in what we created.
Who should I thank for this day?
A fresh-mown lawn is a robin's repast.
A bear a black bear a rolling delicately dancing
graceful as silence sailing through the ferns and understory
unafraid and in no hurry.
My musician referral service, vacation rental business,
nonprofit management system, plant identification database,
great American songbook and anthology of poems. Coach says
in a thousand years back and forth games like lacrosse and soccer
will be played against genetically engineered primates
but baseball will be played solely by humans.
In a thousand years, amen.
Hail to the thieves
that retrieve
lost trees.
Hey! Where do you disappear?
Hail to the piercing taste of a pear.
Hey! Why do you gaze at me so?
I don't need reality unless it's mine.
Talk to me.
Talk to me.
Take your time and sigh.
See the world redesigned.
Then let it go.
Sell sunbeams in a crisis.
Talk to the stones that turn.
Touch the rhythm and burn with it.
Celebrate both victory and defeat.
See what's featured in the cosmic menu.
Among all the amenities I obtain you.
The art of grabbing without touching.
The art of dreaming without falling asleep.
The art of loathing without telling.
The art that picks the hip from the heaps
of all their winnings.
The art of elusive light.
The art of being close tonight
and disappearing tomorrow.
The art of 'have-a-nice-day'
with a finger on a trigger.
The art of getting miniscule
and then growing bigger.
The art that unites all nations -
the everlasting
misconception
of communication.
05/06/2016
(c) Maryna Tchianova 2016
Ukraine
Inspired by http://www.wikiart.org/en/rene-magritte/the-art-of-conversation-1950?utm_source=returned&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=referral
* * *
Sacred and profane love by Titian (1514)
Love divine
How it burns when it falls from the sky -
how it hurts when the water is done.
How it rains with the words half-denied,
When the world looks for fabulous suns.
How it aches when the feeling's away
from the roads that are fast and are clean.
How it roars when the lights are insane,
how they fatefully touch our skin.
How I pray for this love not to fade,
How I look for your eyes in the woods,
How we crave for emotional shade,
In each other we find our roots.
Profane love
When the touch dumbs us down -
when the shadows arise,
When in passion whe drown,
when there's evil disguised.
When your kiss, black as night,
slowly turns on my key,
when your arms, full of might,
burn my fragility,
When we're fruitful and hot,
when we're lost in our dreams,
When we're tied with love's knots,
So profane we might seem.
06.05.2016
THE DESTRUCTION OF MISS TREE
Miss Flower did not like Miss Tree,
Nor did Mrs. Sun,
So they conspired with Mr. Wind & Mr. Rain to end Miss Tree's life & fun.
" She blocks your ray, every day," grumbled Miss Tulip to Mrs. Sun,
"and I cannot feel your warmth, unless Mr. Wind blows Miss Tree's branches some.'
"I know,' chimed in Miss Flower, in referral to Miss Tree,
'she often flies into a rage when Mrs. Bee pollinates me.'
Sefus, the squirrel joined the plot to destroy Miss Tree...
"She's too small a hollow for storing nuts,'he snorted with superior air
' and she's constantly fussing with her fly away, green mop of hair,'
So they all agreed, were of one mind and accord,
Miss Tree must be driven away,
so they called on Mr. Wind and Mr. Rain who summoned Cousin Hurricane,
who uprooted Miss Tree that very day.
Now Mrs. Sun scorches Miss Tulip & her sisters,
without the protection from the shade of Miss Tree,
and Mr. Wind and Mr. Rain perpetually complain since
they've no branches to sway as Miss Tree's did so gracefully.
and cousin Hurricane's been given all of the blame for the destruction of "beloved", Miss Tree,
And Sefus, the squirrel has to carry his nuts wherever he goes,
What heavy responsibility...with neither the hollow nor Miss Tree
Hate............,
this is so far from true,
it's quite the opposite, love speaks the truth,
opening up the heart bringing you hear,
opening up your eyes to search past the fear,
through gifts freely given, we share from one to another,
so stop searching my heart just to demean it,,my brother,
in all sincerity, go search the new,
for the old is only what we once knew.
As I woke up in the night
I felt a whisper plainly light
It won my urgency and might
and left this stricken heart afire.
'Twas then I recalled amongst the ashes
a tragedy of placid acid
my conscience stained in moonlit blood
beyond these thoughts, just slits and gashes
Once more, to still this beating heart
I tried to nod and play my part
But it seemed my role was far ambitious
my guilt led me to emptier dark
In emptiness I started praying
believing He would be forthswaying,
maybe, even turn these drapings
into sympathy delaying
It seems the source of my DUE misery
was of a transformation of my making
the downfall plotted against my taking
the brother a thorn of mayhem
I grinded his bones and shod my feet
until next lifetime I'll retreat
Until next night-time I'll believe
the lies I fed my soul to sleep
I heard the whisper, ever certain
A gentle tap, a jilted stirring
Except I now know the referral
that taunts and spoils my peace, eternal
It felt so real, a blattant lie,
Those swirling colours that painted my mind,
of fictional characters beyond this light,
just dreams illusions and deep rewinds.
And as the night faded away
So to the whispers dared play.
Into the silence, I stared ablaze
Afraid next nighttime's slumber scare.
That prophecy awaiting forecast's rhyme
it will be so, adversity's culled drive
incineration stalks with warlike pine
inauguration's trust, to resent life!
What covenant's assert, be it the state
of well to do, or slur, confirming's grit
as chosen, nor impure, but truth's relate
the privacy of purpose strength's remit.
Still beckoning, as days become incur
and registries assumption records, borrows
necessities compare, while perils mirror
its planned precision, mind-sets muse with carol.
Disaster, is its measure rank to scare soul
when all recorded entries sensed its course
and yet the vanity certain was arrow
while risk, protection, and restraint were source!
Prepare the unknown, God would save referral
all bridges uniform destruction's lay
awaiting timely jurisdiction's narrow
one day again, all sameness in array!
While man seeks destiny, the odds now viral
surviving, stacking entities accord
the way is wrought, division is the herald
a wearing thin, negotiations ford!
That prophecy awaiting forecasts' rhyme
it will be so, adversity's culled drive
incineration stalks with warlike pine
inauguration's trust, to resent live!
What covenant's assert, be it the state
of well to do, or slur, confirming's grit
as chosen, not impure, but truth's relate
the privacy of purpose, strength's remit!
Still beckoning as days become incur
and registries assumption ~ records, borrow
necessities compare, while peril's mirror
its plans precision, mind-sets muse with carol!
Disaster, is its measured rate apparel
when all recorded entries sensed its course
and yet the vanity, certain was arrow
while risk, protection, and restraint were source!
Prepare the unknown, God would save referral
all bridges uniform destructions lay
awaiting timely jurisdiction narrow
one day ~ again ~ no vacancy, relate!
While man seeks destiny, the odds now viral
surviving, stacking entities accord
the way is wrought, division is the herald
a wearing thin, negotiations ford.
Opinions vary, odds referral
as actions quarry tends to swirl,
where are the men, is life this sterile
the symptoms less than life's bone marrow!
The children grow in ranks apparel
where are the men, is life this narrow
excusing treading's ravenous carol
abusive fondling, forecasts peril!
Where are the men, life's lonely herald
for riches ~ war, greed thus compares scroll ~
this honors God ~ my questions burrow
so deep within my conscience furrow!
Lies, changing victims for the harrow
accusing, doubling into quarrel,
as dormant, vague, the drugged, scared, toll
mounts upward, factions bartered, controlled!
Where are the men ~ their orders foretold
are but convicted spectrums . . . . God sold!
If you ever find yourself feeling low
Remember that you are no 'ordinary Joe'
You were truly always there for me.
In 1988, when things weren't so great
Separated from my family
You were truly there for me.
I was living in a fetid flophouse
A place meant solely for down-and-outers
Be they men or be they mouses.
You had mercy on my soul, Joe
Helped me move out of that hole
You were my sole damage control
You were truly there for me...
When I finally got my first teaching job
A full-time gig for part-time pay
You were there, Joe, to save the day.
At 2635 W Pratt you gave me a room
Saved me again from impending doom
Joe, you were truly there for me.
Then you delivered the coup de grace
Referred me to the director of a place
With a part-time teaching opening
That led me to a whole new weltauschtang
You rescued me living-wise twice, and that is nice
But even more than that your referral changed my life
As the faculty and student body of BRISK Academy
Led me to a place of clear thinking and sanity
And eventually paid me handsomely.
Joe, you are not one for accolades or praise,
But if I could, I'd give you a million-dollar raise
Because you were truly always there for me.
Thank you, Mr. Joe Bulgatz
Whenever I was in need, you were truly a friend in deed.
April 24, 2018
The art of conversation and Titian
Hail to the thieves
that retrieve
lost trees.
Hey! Where do you disappear?
Hail to the piercing taste of a pear.
Hey! Why do you gaze at me so?
I don't need reality unless it's mine.
Talk to me.
Talk to me.
Take your time and sigh.
See the world redesigned.
Then let it go.
Sell sunbeams in a crisis.
Talk to the stones that turn.
Touch the rhythm and burn with it.
Celebrate both victory and defeat.
See what's featured in the cosmic menu.
Among all the amenities I obtain you.
The art of grabbing without touching.
The art of dreaming without falling asleep.
The art of loathing without telling.
The art that picks the hip from the heaps
of all their winnings.
The art of elusive light.
The art of being close tonight
and disappearing tomorrow.
The art of 'have-a-nice-day'
with a finger on a trigger.
The art of getting miniscule
and then growing bigger.
The art that unites all nations -
the everlasting
misconception
of communication.
05/06/2016
(c) Maryna Tchianova 2016
Ukraine
Inspired by http://www.wikiart.org/en/rene-magritte/the-art-of-conversation-1950?utm_source=returned&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=referral
Mosquito is a poorly-trained doctor
all examinations he failed
no internship he did
he carries needles in his mouth
injects clients to become patients
and treats patients to become tombs
his clinic is in the bush
referral hospital
in people’s houses
pharmaceutical factory
in stagnant pools
As time were spent upon thee, not concur
from some ungrateful attitude, some slur,
and then regret, my known in thy demur,
I would but think, why did I find occur
in thy occurrence, why this track impure!
With reasoning intact, I asked for cure
of all thy reasoning's slack, of its obscure,
demeaning of conditions not my stir.
As headstrong empathy, no thought's conserve
and restless with some seeking, no reserve!
No grasp to grant concurrence, no observe,
no evening's inference, no unswerve.
Between us, some referral looks for nerve,
approaching as rehearsal might preserve.
We are the least approving of our verve!
That walk-on of indenture, of deserve,
no idol with its longing can endure
in grace, outside of luring some evade.
Away from Thee, truth's hurrying might replace,
that promise of true love, God's touring base!
Sometimes he has to give himself a hit of nitrous
oxide, when the most exciting thing in his
day is when a second set of incisors
appears behind the first set,
but then he can only refer
the patient's parents to
the orthodontist, who
makes real money,
although the
referral fee
helps.
Still he can’t help wondering if
implants could have helped
Chet Baker’s embouchure.
will, knowledge and action
as the threefold powers
are yet incomplete
if our consciousness be
bereft of bliss and creativity
that effulgence renewal
blissful, self-referral
as expression of being
rejuvenates innate aliveness
in all realms and domains
where we pause awhile
to ink the inky black void
with beauteous hues of light
20-May-2023
In the realm of Telegram's glow,
Where taps and tokens start to flow,
A game named W-Coin was born,
A simple tap, and wealth was sworn.
With every press, the coins accrue,
A world of crypto starts to brew,
Ethereum, Solana bright,
Or TON, each path a different light.
Fifty thousand strong at start,
A growing game, a beating heart,
Ten million soon, or so they claim,
Yet bots might play this numbers game.
Invite your friends, the tokens rain,
Referral bonuses to gain,
With each new friend, the levels climb,
Rewards increase with passing time.
Tasks and staking, boosters too,
Ways to earn and gather through,
Retweets, join, and play with glee,
Unlocking rewards, climbing the tree.
Stake your coins, let them rest,
Earnings grow, you'll be impressed,
Reinvest to tap with might,
Workers toil throughout the night.
In this game, the taps are gold,
A simple joy that never old,
W-Coin's world, a click away,
Where tapping leads to wealth each day.