Best Thursday Poems
For some reason, Thursdays find me warped both in a space of inertia and hyperactivity. Perhaps the anticipation from hitting work deadlines on a Friday creates havoc within my frail psyche.
Half-awake, I forget the kitchen's GPS--where is it?
With lungs soaked on oolong tea leaves,
Fingers dribble on a Japanese mug, now cold
And jaybirds' drowsy talk wouldn't bring me to reality
Car keys jangle by the table's edge...
I am on auto-pilot mode:
Until a quick bath reminds me there's LIFE after 6 am!
Hair swept in a bun, time screams fashion alert
Lunch comes goes as I stare on a white screen;
THE boss hovers by that I piano the board
Racing project's notes on page 3
Yet every darn line seems inane!
Finally, I get my groove
Come late afternoon, an outgoing box is cleared!
Whistling, these hips zumba in the room, well, lightly...
How feet race uptown to view jazz events
Reservations done
For winsome friends--our Saturday's thrill!
Evening crawls while I gorge on pasta
Then mild breathwork to release drained energy--
Netflix? Not! Thursday is my scourge!
How Breezes' tune carouses
When in a flash, night stars blind me
That something knocks me out--
An impertinent Friday afterthought, maybe.
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8/1/2019
Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
MAUNDY THURSDAY
The Upper Room was hushed that night,
As frightened friends supped their last as one.
Shoving back the morrow
When their leader would be gone.
This is my body—broken for you;
You are my beloved—take my blood, too.
Do this and as oft as you do it,
Do it in remembrance of me.
(A shipman shivered on a night-long watch
The night was warm, but he was not.
“There is a horror in the air breathed he.)
And for you I will go to the tree.
For you, I will give all of me.
(Outside somewhere across the world
A bird stopped singing, dropped its head,
And curled its wings under in a roosting pose.)
Did he know—did he really know
He would rise again and live
He has surely faithed it so!
And with body trembling but heart obedient.
He would go.
(And in the distance a cobbler nailing
Finished his last shoes for the day.)
My soul screams, He silent cries!
By what decree must it be
That I must lie upon a tree and nailed be,
Beaten by the throng—I have done no wrong!
Have You forsaken me—here in my Gethsemane?
(If you can listen, you can hear a
Mother’s lullaby song.)
Father, you chose me for this desperate task
That they may all know Love at last.
Thy will be done.
As We are One.
(The feverish earth turns, dances, sings, sails, nails,
Rocks without eyes – without ears – it spins on.)
Easter is not yet.
MAUNDY THURSDAY
The Upper Room was hushed that night,
As frightened friends supped their last as one.
Shoving back the morrow
When their leader would be gone.
This is my body—broken for you;
You are my beloved—take my blood, too.
Do this and as oft as you do it,
Do it in remembrance of me.
(A shipman shivered on a night-long watch
The night was warm, but he was not.
“There is a horror in the air breathed he.)
And for you I will go to the tree.
For you, I will give all of me.
(Outside somewhere across the world
A bird stopped singing, dropped its head,
And curled its wings in a roosting pose.)
Did he know—did he really know
He would rise again and live
He has surely faithed it so!
And with body trembling but heart obedient.
He would go.
(And in the distance a cobbler nailing
Finished his last shoes for the day.)
My soul screams, He silent cries!
By what decree must it be
That I must lie upon a tree and nailed be,
Beaten by the throng—I have done no wrong!
Have You forsaken me—here in my Gethsemane?
(If you can listen, you can hear a
Mother’s lullaby song.)
Father, you chose me for this desperate task
That they may all know Love at last.
Thy will be done.
As We are One.
(The feverish earth turns, dances, sings, sails, nails,
Rocks without eyes – without ears – it spins on.)
Easter is not yet.
I often wonder if I’m at fault for the chances we never got to take.
You’ll never get to experience my love and I, yours.
I ache to think it’ll always be too late.
Between Sundays and the week to come,
it’s Thursday wondering where the days have gone.
The flow of tick tocking the passing through,
when the rushing of the important is to pursue.
Days just disappear to wondering grieve,
while nights to sleep are to short to believe.
Moon tides smile growing full of restless sleep,
when that exhaustion only ask for that deep.
The tragedy about time that just perish,
when we cannot get hold of the now to cherish.
Taking life by the day that forever last,
so that we can celebrate it with a blast.
No more promises for tomorrow as hope,
and yesterdays regret a habit interlope.
Thursdays from Latin is Jovis related to Jupiter,
called the remover of all obstacles for the better.
Then as we know everything can happen,
on Thursdays even when you don’t know Latin.
________________________________
Written on 18th April 2004, a Maundy Thursday, one of the three
sacred holy days forming the Christian spiritual calendar: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Mark. A contemplative piece set in Shakespearean sonnet style depicts profound human transition from spiritual exhaustion to divine surrender. It talks of stripping away the external ego to find internal sacred peace.
____________________________
When hope feels thin, and your horizon far,
When righteousness your own for little counts,
Broken and bruised and battered when you are,
When your wasted shadow forever haunts;
When rites and rituals robbed are of magic,
And piety nor pilgrimage might please,
Belaboured worship loses all its logic,
Divine grace seems to gasp for fresher lease;
When you are keen to off-load your old self,
To fill life’s vacuum with His holy presence,
Too keen to leave behind all power and pelf,
The heart whilst craves a deep unending silence;
Ready thence you’re to embrace divine bliss,
To fill your life with fullness that is His.
_____________________________________
Sonnet | 13.04.2004 |
THURSDAY NIGHTS
Her game was whist,
Whilst mine the window vigil
Empty dark and wet
Blackness and pools of light
Lone nine year old watchman
Eyestrain through the rain
Glued to the glass
The city would not give her up
Till 10:20 pm exactly
10:20 exactly.
Not 10:23, 10:27,
Panic if after 11:00.
Unnamed unknown terror
Could cause her loss
Her game was whist.
I never understood it.
How could you know
Where the trumps lay?
She could handle the uncertainty.
I became a bridge-playing man.
Same game, but the lie of the cards
Was more certain, more exact.
...............................................................
NOTE
An autobiographical snippet. As a child I always worried overly
whenever my lone parent was out of sight, even for her regular
Thursday night whist-playing session a mile away across town.
I spent many long hours at the window to catch sight of her walking home.
Kirby's no Catholic, at least he doesn't believe
the Pope's infallible. Infallibility's for me,
the one he counts on for treats under the table
when no one is looking, or he trails me into
his mistress's laundry room, where
doggy perks are stored along with "Tide, Free &
Gentle, plastic containers of color safe bleach
destined for the King Size clean-machines
as good as any Laundromat on planet earth.
In the church of my persuasion, Thursday
of Holy Week is when parishioners, called for duty,
come forward on cue to sit on folding chairs
before God and the world, while a priest, kneeling
in his grandiose garments washes their feet
in the old way, (a bar of soap, "Dial" maybe,
"Don't you wish everybody did!", a basin
of water, a towel or three) as our Blessed Lord
demonstrated on his way to the tree.
Barefoot at bedtime, sleeping over
with those I love most, Kirby, senior citizen
of our family dog-dom, granted privileged access
to the end of my bed, takes sacramental care
of the object of his affections. My left foot
carefully washed, special attention
to the toes, (no thorns on this rose), are
hors d'oeuvres he does not sample
in his ample love.
T is for Talent
H is for Honest
U is for Unique
R is for Respect
S is for Strength
D is Determination
A is for Amazing
Y is for Young
I shared an inappropriate dream and I was told that I was going to hell.
My dream was about humility and servitude.
That rather than Jesus Christ washed the feet of the poor and unwanted he pissed on them instead.
In my dream it was raining piss and some have said that this could mean that people are worried about money troubles. My Uncle who has died was in my dream but he was a devout Catholic who would kill himself and suffer a worse sin if he missed any of the masses during Holy Week.
But was he the Christ figure who pissed everywhere and said "so what" when I protest about his behavior. Why are the poor and lonely and mentally suffering only honored during the Holy Week.
If piss could be a blessing like rain.
When it rains it rains most of the year not only for one week.
Maybe hell could use a little more rain water.
He came and dwelt among men
And shared a vision of heav'n;
To Him some opened their doors,
But more denied their favors.
With sinners He sat and supped;
Thus, others called Him corrupt.
But they did not understand:
He changed their hearts with His hand.
He walked and taught in byways
And always with gentle gaze;
Some gladly took His offer,
Others remained a scoffer.
Still He sought those who were lost,
Those who felt were tempest-tossed.
He healed the sick--gave them hope!--
Granted them the strength to cope.
He knew He had few days left
And sorrowed for those bereft;
In His heart, He put us first--
Both good and bad and the worst.
In spite of His love so clear,
We pierced His side with a spear.
Then as He drew His last breath,
For us all He conquered Death.
April 6, 2023
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Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
Meek moments meet true love that flows,
Ask for the truth that sets you free;
Urge grace most sweet to help us know,
Note succinct proof that bids us see;
Dream with pure heart the way of poise,
Yeshua broke bread to feed the soul.
Touch that deep art as faith moves choice,
Heed unafraid as love makes whole;
Use your time well to live love's tell,
Reap what you sow as deed now scopes;
So breathe fond dwell as acts weave spell,
Dance fits the show to discern hope;
Apt memory lives love most fond,
Yield what you free as tact now spawns.
Leon Enriquez
13 April 2017
Singapore
After all the hardship and pain
After all the studies and quizzes
After all the sweat and tire
After all the sleepless nights
We await for it
We await for it patiently and joyfully
For the day to come
For “Thursday” to arrive
And wipe all that suffer
All that nonsense called “school”
All the agony and turn it into delight
To enjoy the day
To spend it idly
With both friends and family
Thursday…
A blessing allowing us to live
To be who we are
To forget the things we are forced to d o
And welcome the day with a smile
And a cheerful cry!
At last it had come
To begin a life, we open it with Thursday!
"Do you ever notice how most of the pictures many post are throwbacks, because the life that they're living now isn't as great so they wish they could go back, and most of those pictures are just for their own self gratification, and this is the only reason we take them, whatever happened to just living in the moment, instead of putting everything on social media so that the world can know it, enjoy the life you're living....because everyday isn't given and you'll drown in the pool of corruption and you can't get out by swimming....some say it's an addiction of what many may call a conceited sickness."
OPENED IN ERROR.
A man had bad news about his mother
Had loads to drink one after another
But later on that night
Was seen happy and bright
Said that letter was meant for my brother.
ANGUS.
An old sailor by the name of Angus
Fell in love and married an octopus
They had a son James
Who won gold at games
Found having six arms in sport was a plus.
OLD NICK.
The horned devil had set himself one goal
To collect from those who had a dark soul
He was on to a winner
Saw mankind a great sinner
Said hells fires will need a lot more coal.
OLD WOMAN.
There was an old woman from Nantucket
Had no teeth so her food she would suck it
But one day she choked
On meat that was smoked
And sadly that's how she kicked the bucket.
NELLY.
There once was a young girl called Big Nelly
When she walked by she shook like a jelly
Was told to lose weight
Before its too late
So doctor's have now stapled her belly.