Best With Ambition Poems
Coral life forms in copious swarms
feast in the Cambrian chyme,
dividing their cells and forming their shells
to end on the seafloor as lime.
Tectonic churning and magma upturning
renders marble whiter than bone.
The marble is mined, but the cutters are blind
to the angel confined in the stone.
A young sculptor arose, with a bend in his nose
and a transcendent creative spark,
charged with ambition to fulfill a commission,
an angel for St. Dominic's Ark.
An artist sublime who will live for all time,
his genius is to see things not shown.
For an angel to achieve he first has to perceive
its splendor enclosed in the stone.
At dawning's first glow he surveys the tableau
of the blocks the stone cutters supplied.
In some he sees dreams of potential themes,
but only one holds an angel inside.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
The block that he chose was rejected by those
who then lied and claimed to foresee it.
With talent and skill he falls to with a will,
surrounded by rubble and relic.
His method you see, for the angel to free
is to remove all the bits not angelic.
Michelangelo’s art for all time stands apart
but there's something further to heed.
For there's a bit more to the fine metaphor
in the tale of the angel he freed.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
For in all our insides a bright angel abides
and is just waiting for something to free it:
to remove all the parts which harden our hearts,
to chip out the darkness and pride,
to smooth the rough patches, to polish the scratches
and unshackle the angel inside.
© January 26, 2013
This poem is a farewell piece of advice to a group of students I have taught over the last four years. I do
hope they find the metaphor meaningful and believe that they are the "architects of their own future."
Spread before you is a canvas of hope and opportunity
Waiting to be painted with strokes of what you are and can be
Waiting to be filled with colours that define you and the life you live
Waiting to be stamped with the personality that only you can give
To the portrait of your life, by itself a work of art
A work which, on this day, with vigour you will start
Spread before you is a canvas of vision and desire
Waiting to be sketched with shades of passion and fire
Waiting to be decorated with a story and theme
Waiting to be etched with ambition that is now just a dream
Of a picture whose tone, texture and style
Would have made this work worth all the while
Spread before you is a canvas, empty, yet full of space
Waiting to be stroked with your wit, charm and grace
Waiting to be brushed with strokes daring, vivid and bold
Waiting to be painted with a story that can be told
Of a life whose essence is one of sublime beauty
Of a person who lived his life and did his duty
Of a person who lived life the way it should be
Of a complete canvas that will reflect many a memory.
So confined to the boxes is she who
Tries to free herself from them
Breaking down barriers of all political and cultural design
Constructing opportunities and
Imagining their trite and expected
Downfalls
She, who reigns supreme in the art
Of lability
The morning being the promise
The afternoon, the despair
The night, a restless dance to
Hopeful unknowing
So that it may all begin anew
And she may float with ambition,
Flirt with lofty goals
(Which are so very tangible once realized to a more substantial degree)
All through which comes the
Bitter devastation
The cerebral revelation
For her mind and the World work in harmoniously demonizing tandem to erase the sketches of a life
Of her own craft
12/13/20
"Why Is It?"
Times of crisis
The cause of our own destruction, and being lifeless
Is more complex than science
Sometimes it involves an appliance
Sometimes it's considered sacrifices
Often from violence
Or our own devices
Quickly will pay the price quick
And might just die if
You never try to fight it
An ongoing virus
Having an impact on the sinus
With me, don't try to get righteous
Or pious
I'm not one sided
Or biased
I remain silent
Holding a trident
On an island
Among redwood giants
No matter the climate
I spied it
And saw with my eye this
There's too many tyrants
Folks kept calling them "your highness"
Such B.S., never once did I buy it
Always remained quiet
Became friends with pirates
Such knowledge and experience is priceless
Turning on the light switch
Not so blinded or simple minded
Gaining mileage
Shining like a diamond
And still enlightened
Paying no mind or trying to fight the system
We've no proof, of if extra-terrestrial life visits
Why is it?
It's nice and vivid
The world can be quite wicked
At times I find it twisted
You don't have to agree, just don't be blind to it
Why kid?
Don't try to fib
Living a lie, why live it?
Often saw the back of my eyelids
Getting so high, I'm lifted
Mixing alcohol with it, if it already didn't
It's about to hit quick
Was or wasn't predicted
The same can be said for it being scripted
Spirits risen
Despite so much division
A lot of content is encrypted
Continuing the expedition
With ambition
As was written
The truth not fiction
Taking out all competition
Remaining driven
Nearby mechanisms
And organisms
Made my decision
Many schisms
Everyone has opinions
Did or didn't involve criticism
In and out of hell's kitchen
Often I've been conflicted
I don't just sip it
I dive in it
Wasn't always able to fit in
Either I did, or I didn't
I'm different
I listen
Keep my hand hidden
Using wisdom
And vision
To take care of business
From the start to the finish
Yet I'm far too dependent on substances and liquids
It's really sad, I know isn't it (it is)
It never is too late to start
Pursuing what you dream.
Listen closely to your heart...
Allow your mind to stream.
Do not let status or age
Instill crisis within you.
Successfully turning the page?
Only if you decide to.
All of us when we are younger
Wish that we could be
A certain someone - this, we hunger
For innocently.
Many of us follow through,
Becoming with ambition.
Life goes on for others who
Do not reach such fruition.
Time, effort, determination...
All of which are needed
Concerning a qualification
Being earned - succeeded.
When it comes to a career
And all of its deployments,
Necessary to hold near...
Your passions and enjoyments.
Caught up in our daily lives...
Succumbing to routine.
Suppression of ambitious thrives
Which go unheard, unseen.
Commonly, what was desired
Is lost or forgotten.
Their fruits from a tree inspired...
Now, fallen and rotten.
At any given time, this tree
Can produce and provide
More fruits, of which you are free
To choose in your decide.
Will you come into your own...
Take up what makes you clever?
To say the least, this much is known...
Better late than never.
Words are not enough
Language of April showers
Say it with flowers.
Gracious camellia
Daintily posing, but in vain
Begonia lost in thought.
Desirable
Hopes teeming with ambition
Of a stargazer.
From friendship to love
Exchanging yellow petals
With the deepest red.
Delicate beauty
Of hibiscus in full bloom
Inspires iris.
A blushing lilac
Unaware of dawning day
Dreaming of first love.
Bittersweet flower
Ever loyal to the end
Won’t betray a friend.
Parting time is near
Save the memories within
And forget-me-not.
Yellow hyacinth
With a heart that knows no peace
Nest of jealousy.
Morning breeze scatters
The rich fragrance of jasmine’s
Deep sensuality.
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* Hanakotoba is the language of flowers.
** each flower is bestowed with symbolism & meaning.
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Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Any Poem#21
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placing: 8th
We talk about the sacred,
places ancient as fire, palaces divine in quagmire,
getting lost in footsteps of artistic archaeology,
uprooting ghosts in structure's facings,
We want to know why knowledge is forbidden outside the skin
of nourishment's tastings,
pineing for the verbotten dialect of perfect sin,
needing to understand why boats become skuttled in sands of dread,
asking why it seems angels along with demons our confusion conspire,
Staring into faces of stone like children seeing new color,
wondering if those rigid lips will ever confess a crime that We could forgive,
is there rhyme in love haunted by punished valor,
could there be trust established in harmony with ambition refusing to give,
communicating as birds before the malstrom
for directions to the shelter that made Time begin in form when thunder rung,
running into the genesis of Life & Death We trumpet like heros
congratulating each other for finding beauty in burdensome burrows -
J.A.B. Dedicated to all community builders -
My memories wander and my heart goes back to another place,
Where the people are warm and genuine, and have that Southern grace.
It’s known as the Azalea City, with the magnificent March flowers,
Where they savor the flower, instead of rushing to happy hour.
Championship football games in the chilly fall air,
Performing with the band with such skill and flair!
Tender sweet memories of a first embrace,
And you have no trouble still seeing that face.
Working so hard with the band for competitions,
Made us as musicians flourish with ambition!
And coming home as winners we were truly blessed,
We knew that God had simply made us our best!
Churches on every corner, and everyone attends,
To hear a sermon of inspiration for all the friends.
Can’t forget the sweet ripe peaches, and hot sultry nights,
Thinking of Valdosta, Georgia makes everything seem alright.
Translucent mauve and purple on a strict medusian mission
In rhythmic undulation bubble-shaped to thwart suspicion.
Together they are swarming as they quiver with ambition.
They hide away the feelers – meant to help radar evasion
Infesting seas and oceans. It’s the jellyfish invasion!
------------------------------------------------------------------
Paul Callus ~ 22 nd June 2014
Contest: Five Lines (A Quickie)
Sponsor: Skat A
Placed: 5th
I am a Island Boy and this is who i am
I am a Island Boy a real Jamaican
I am a Island Boy a real Manchesterian
From a distance i can only imagine you
in the arms of someone new.
From a distance i can only imagine you
dancing with someone new.
I am a Island Boy and i am proud of who i am
Dare you to ask where i am from because inner
verse one i already answer the question.
From a distance i can only imagine someone
trying to love you better than i do.
I am a Island Boy don't take me for a toy
I am a Island Boy you can't destroy
I am a Island Boy with much love to deploy.
From a distance i cannot say all my imaginations
are true, so from a distance i will continue loving
you until i can be with you.
I am a Island Boy with ambition
I am a Island Boy with a vision
I am a Island Boy on a love mission.
He's burnt obsidian black
Tall and handsome as a matter of fact
This son on scooter, around Town.
If you could see him now
He's tireless Veteran with duodenal ulcer
That ballooned in the Middle East.
He hailed from land of Carib breeze
Forgotten sons drenched in pain
Suppressed
Some faced deportation at their own command, from frustration.
At home, in Belize, he's "Yankee"
He's self-employed and commands attention, with ambition
He's builder of homes
Does electrical, plumbing, and landscaping
He must stay poised
This son without suit and tie.
*
*
I am a woman on a mission,
Armed with a fierce and fiery disposition.
I am focused and filled with ambition,
Even in the midst of burden and contrition.
I am a woman on a mission!
I am a woman who's here to stay,
I do not come to play.
Working night and day,
I get mine at the end of the day.
I am a woman on a mission!
This is my creed,
I am here to succeed.
I know what I need,
Running until my feet bleed.
I am a woman on a mission!
I am a woman of class,
and riddled with sass.
Cannot be discarded like day old bass,
wrapped in beautiful skin like radiant brass.
I am a woman on a mission!
With the curls in my hair,
And mysterious eyes that stare.
Switching my hips with flare,
Cage me if you dare.
I am a woman on a mission!
Through the pain and strife,
I choose to speak life.
Courage is my wife.
I am a woman on a mission!
I choose to walk in love,
That was taught from up above.
I live to talk in love,
In a world where there's too little of.
I am a woman on a mission!
Starting each day with a smile,
Pressing on the extra mile.
Moving around in style,
It will pay off in a while.
I am a woman on a mission!
I am a woman on a mission,
Armed with a fierce and fiery disposition.
I am focused and filled with ambition,
Even in the midst of burden and contrition.
I AM a woman on a mission!
My own proverb......
" Life with ambition will build a great wall of confidence"
Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka
All rights are reserved @ 2015
I cant take it anymore,
This isn't what I've planed for!
I was confident, saturated with ambition,
I became lost, with no destination.
I had it all, It got took all away;
Joy,love and transparency, became nothing but sadness, hatred and ambiguity.
I loved the way it was, but it was never Okey,
Okey for adapting to facing indignity with respectability.
However Seeking change, Is a double edged sword challenge;
A halt caused by fearfulness, or a motive stimulated by persistence;
To shrink and deteriorate, to rise and pullulate.
The plague knew my infinite hulk
in 1769, crept through the Polynesian crystal
onto my outstretched archipelago
black sands and white sands and volcanoes
speaking the purple language,
the queen’s English to the farmer’s French,
and drank from the palm tree
to drain the lagoon its persistent innocence.
I called that man under white skin elbows
unhinged to finger length arms
planked ‘cross the wishful shore to the sun,
drunk with ambition for Elizabeth’s glory,
tracing the black dot of Venus
across the infinite grapefruit horizon
from juvenile tree-house forts
to play science on God’s paradise, James Cook.
By definition Cook is defined by mine.
A century more defined another
defined by my natural beauty
and native Polynesian simplicity alive in artistic
assembly, though darker skinned
than acceptable at that period before the end
of a dry English sentence,
a man with a watering eye called Paul Gauguin.
Had Gauguin’s father surpassed his flesh,
he might have said his son taught van Gogh
the artful act of goat-fed attrition
through blurred lines of lacked definition
which persist to define impressionism.
And had his father been a poet, not a journalist,
he might have taught his son that an island,
at its core, is a man, defined by his own accord.
Date: 12/21/2018