By accident or fate, I have stepped
on the threshold of delirious doubt,
the older I look, the closer seems death;
no voice is hopeless as mine, no sight
gloomier than anything ever imagined:
I've been a passing shadow over dearth!
Ha! The older I look, the closer seems death,
the expression of anguished fear is clear;
only faith can implement solid assurance:
that dying is another flight into omniscience:
in that endless space of the void above earth
with peacefulness resonating across each boulder!
That lone boy roaming wildlands was a footloose,
so adventurous, curious and hastier than a goose;
he flashed smiles at strangers expressing cordiality:
what he saw in that wilderness instilled in him joy,
through spritely loneliness he absorbed deep spirituality
that influenced his thinking and his concept of mystery!
Ha! The older I look, the closer seems death;
it's a sharp arrow piercing an earthly soul,
not praying but attending to his somber funeral...
where people sob while he's in deep sleep:
something indelible he has left on their breath:
literary and musical works and a reason to weep!
Copyright( c ) 2024 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, boy, childhood, death, joy,
Form: Rhyme
PS it’s Poetry
“There’s praise in words, and words in praise
“Write ON, Write ON”
• Abraham G. Suah 200
• Adams King Oyarese 427
• Aditi Mishra 24
• Agona Apell 229, 403
• Alan Ireland 371
• Alcibiades Castelo Branco 180
• Alethea Coulston 109
• Alexander Adams Blackie 220, 335, 47
• Alexander Corns 348
• Alison Hodges 343
• Amanullah Khan 290, 436
• Amar Agarwala 380
• Amitabh Divakar 378
• Amy Catherine Sullivan 276
• Amya Richelle Ranck 235
• Ana Espinola Collins 110
• Anais Vionet 395
• Andrea Dietrich 210, 277, 4
• Andrew Crisci 308, 402, 406
Yes its PS it’s Poetry
“There’s praise in words, and words in praise
“Write ON, Write ON”
Categories:
crisci, analogy, appreciation, dedication, poems,
Form: Free verse
If perfection is everthing
and mistakes aren't made to trouble the clear water,
does one ever learn anything?
I have my flaws and my prospective seems in disorder.
If I am unable to untie this knob
that won't allow me to cry: let me cry
and forget the bitterness of promised things
you deserved to have to make you happy;
selfishness held me in its arms and forced me not to sob
and I hid my regret in shame not to confirm your doubts.
If perfection is everything in your imagined universe,
how can you look at others who are so imperfect
and ignore them when they give into their silence?
Be compassionate and withdraw that thought!
Higher than clouds I should have taken you darling,
and open the gate leading to Heaven and beyond...
declaring you my princess who deserved happiness,
and caressing you certainly would have brought you bliss.
If perfection is everything to the proudest men,
how could they ever understand the humble ones
always finding the road back to their sweethearts?
Will they be lonely and also be unloved again?
Written on 9/4/2020
Copyright ( 2020 ) by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, conflict, devotion, emotions, happiness,
Form: Lyric
Drover, ride your white horse...ride it with grit
on the sun-scorched prairies
of the Mississippi Valley:
where no tree is found in a shady spot,
but plenty of wild daisies
and pink roses distract you constantly!
Winter came with snow and haze,
and the buffalos couldn't graze;
now, in the open prairie, they do
and aren't startled by your gallops or
fear being chased and hunted by two
or three lasso-throwing cowboys for
their gorgeous hides to make a fortune...
hear them whistling a Kenny Roger's tune!
Drover, ride your white horse...ride it with grit
through the rich farmlands burning,
until you'll get hungry, thirsty and tired;
sit down by the Mississipi River and unwind,
observe the clearest water flowing
as Mark Twin did while he was writing!
Drover, ride the white horse, ride it with grit...
while thinking how far is your home,
how lonely is your wife holding Jerome!
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, horse, peace, places, song,
Form: Rhyme
Looking outside I feel very serene inside;
the brown-breasted drake has returned
to his nest not too happy to have found
the snow-clad bushes that stood astride
a river that was the gold-seekers' pride!
The wind-whipped lake below is subdued;
last spring a brood of six closely followed
the mother duck until they swam alongside.
They disappeared from her sight to learn skills.
Her attentive glance was constantly set on them...
being afraid they would be attacked by ravens
which watched them not flipping their wings
to outwit them with their artful stratagem,
and suddenly snatch them with their claws!
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, absence, bird, lonely, longing,
Form: Italian Sonnet
How long ago, sweet lover
we held hands and chased dreams
until they were lost in space like clouds?
How long ago, sweet lover...
we looked into each other's eyes
speaking tenderly under those falling leaves?
Whenever moonlight appeared,
we looked above and smiled,
did the envious moon smile back?
No, her jealousy wouldn't break!
How long ago, sweet lover
we felt the aroma of roses
on these cheeks and lips?
How long ago, sweet lover
we gave ourselves entirely
to passion without measure
and couldn't stop the intensity
of kisses and their pleasure?
All that mattered in that moment
was the happy feeling throbbing
faster than the warm heartbeat;
while pretty stars kept on shining!
How long ago, sweet lover...
we hugged with intense
emotions to increase
the consuming passion
we burned for each other
with complete abandon?
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, emotions, memory, night, passion,
Form: Lyric
The only reason for being sad
is holding on what is worthless,
another reason is selfishness;
joy is empty when one is bored.
Somebody should notice
how strangely you act,
putting your feelings first,
getting all the praise;
and showing no love for me,
you take the sweetness
out of each of each memory
bringing rain and unhappiness.
The only reason for being sad
is revealing the selfish person
that you are, not caring if words
hurt and make you feel good
when they should cause you pain
if they were actual thorns.
The only reason for being sad
comes from your silliness...
that I owe you everything
even the anger you're feeling;
woman, no selfish heart can be
if it doesn't share all the joys
that the other feels and would
share with this lover who is me.
Copyright ( c ) 20018 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, anxiety, feelings, image, pain,
Form: Lyric
Our parents had the faith of Moses,
they read the Bible and said prayers;
Satan tried to deceive them, but he couldn't,
they feared God and did what was just!
Where this generation is heading?
They may be smarter, but not wiser
and gaining knowledge they claim themselves
gods who need no virtue, no pudor;
so ungrateful they are for the life they're living
on the edge, not kindness for themselves!
When anger is expressed with brutal acts,
shouldn't guilt scold their bizarre behavior?
When Satan captures these gullible souls:
they walk in shackles increasing their fear!
Where's this generation heading without understanding?
A quick glimpse in their future anticipates only disaster:
unholy minds have no interest to welcome our Redeemer,
and they won't turn from wickedness to receive His Healing!
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, culture, faith, god, vanity,
Form: Rhyme
It's another frigid morning
that February brings in howling;
I shiver more than the stripped branches
when a fierce wind makes me think of avalanches
sliding down mountains and ravage villages,
and yet I await spring that promises renewed joys.
Being melancholic is longing
for the water gurgling and bubbling
among the shining rocks restoring life
all around and sparkling with dim sunshine;
will the fair-haired boy send his paper boat
down this foaming river? Will his darling wait
for it and pull it out of the water with a thrill...
making distance shorter for an anxious gill?
There in the cottage with small opaque windows
above the rock garden of Sweet Alyssum and Amaryllis,
the little sweetheart is overcome by profound loneliness;
long is winter when counting days and months,
and cuddling her kitty with cobalt eyes and soft, white fur
Karen sets her glace on the snow flowers that gleam...
if her tears made them grow, then she can dream
and follow that thought although absence seems to demur!
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, anxiety, goodbye, nature, peace,
Form: Rhyme
Home is the refuge of our weariness,
an oasis only found in a calm desert,
that's where we feel safer at night...
when warmth restores confidence
in our God who has shown us delight;
under a universe dotted with stars,
we have made Earth our residence.
Home is the only earthly possession
we're allowed to take forgetting all pride;
here, we make memories shaping destiny,
and somewhere on this road our journey
must end as the others have through time...
handing down the torch of aspiration.
Home is the refuge of our weariness,
the safest place to lay down and rest...
but without one: dreams are not dreamt,
events aren't celebrated with excitement,
birthday candles aren't blown to make wishes,
holidays aren't bright without their cheerfulness.
Copyright ( c ) 20018 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, dream, god, home, peace,
Form: Rhyme
Loners choose lonely corners,
unexplainable are their moods;
they are the introverts we misunderstand,
if loneliness increases so do their woes...
and sorting out their thoughts,
they accept their fate and meet their end.
Doesn't solitude inflict pain?
How miserable and empty days
are for the ones not loving anyone!
What keeps one happy and sane?
Deprivation of anything is the reason
for heartbreaks and endless regrets!
Loners seem happy and undisturbed by sound,
they seek that serenity they never found
and what the hurt is replaced with the illusion
that once the heart is wounded no infusion
can heal what was broken by harmful words,
and living alone they're poked by their own thorns.
Doesn't solitude inflict pain?
Who chooses loneliness is surely to abstain
from the joys love gives to heart and brain;
doesn't solitude inflict pain?
Are loners tired of living in the fast lane?
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, destiny, feelings, life, loneliness,
Form: Rhyme
This happens only to Ronny
trying to hang ornaments
on the biggest and tallest
Christmas Tree he bought
to impress neighbors and friends:
everything he does is insanity!
The craziest thing he has ever done
was falling off the ladder on the sleeping cat
that used to rip apart his cowboy hat
with his claws that scared everyone!
Poor, Ronny why did you fall off
the ladder landing on the sleeping cat that catches mice;
isn't your hair full of fluff?
He always thought that you were cheerful and nice:
letting him play with your basketball!
Poor Ronny, throw out that Johnny Walker battle...
it makes your skinny legs joggle:
that's why you walk with a waddle!
Next time use more caution and be smart,
so you won't fall off and land on the sleeping cat...
or miss a few steps and hurt your butt!
Do drunk people feel pain or seem upset?
Today Ronny got drunk and unable to think
and standing on that ladder that wobbles
he falls again on the sleeping cat that flees
and laughing he quickly gets up and says,
" A Happy New Year to those who drink:
the happier the heart is, the sweeter it sings! "
Copyright ( c ) 2017 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, christmas, humor,
Form: Lyric
Kings and lords of powerful kingdoms
built castles with high towers on hills
to defend themselves from the invaders;
I've built no castles because my defender is God...
I've no need to build a fortress if He stands by me!
My riches lie in words and they praise the merciful Father
of compassion who protects anybody without an armor;
I seek Him not only in joy but in grief as well:
He's the river of living water that fills up my well!
Rich people guard their gold constantly and agitating
they toss in their turbulent sleep, I go to sleep peacefully
uttering the same childhood prayer when angels sang joyfully;
even now, unafraid of hose murky shadows: I hear their song!
My riches lie in words and they declare a faith with a yielding sword;
is a person defined by wealth or by the virtues he possesses inside?
Any treasure is sought by thieves although it is hidden and guarded!
If vanity is foolishness, shouldn't we pursue the essential things in life?
Copyright ( c ) 2017 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, angel, conflict, desire, faith,
Form: Rhyme
Praise the Ruler of nations!
God is mightier than anybody:
they try to defeat His army,
but can they win against angels?
Even Jesus, the shining sun,
defied death and amazed many:
the massive stone rolled away...
He was no longer mocked by men!
Praise the Ruler of nations!
Proclaim His name from every corner,
and although He's invisible, He's near...
whenever we're afflicted by wretchedness!
Had God not sent Jesus to save us indeed,
we wouldn't have any hope for happiness;
had God's love not been so grandly revealed:
we would be living a life of total wretchedness!
Praise the Ruler of nations!
He'll inflict misery on the ones disobeying Him;
He'll fill the endless skies with brimstone and fire!
Hail to the Ruler of nations!
Unquestionable is the foolishness of Kim,
but his desire for conquest will end in dire!
Copyright ( c ) 2017 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, conflict, death, faith, god,
Form: Rhyme
The August's heat wave made streets sizzle,
in the fifties there was no air conditioning;
can we imagine the frustrutating feeling
that made bodies and minds very feeble?
Summer was fun on that noisy Mulberry Street,
no traffic went through it: such a sad downbeat;
how happy were the kids that couldn't help screaming,
getting wet in a large pool of water that was refreshing.
Blame that rascal kid that opened the firehydrant,
nobody went to school and mothers seemed moody;
some vendors were mad, but watching was so groovy...
they weren't nagging and enjoyed the scene with interest.
My books lay on the stoop, splashing water made them slide
nom brought them in giving me a naughty and disapproving look...
even she realized that's another silly excuse for me not to hide,
dipping bread into her delicious gravy while dad sliced the snook.
Copyright ( c ) 20017 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
crisci, absence, august, children, food,
Form: Rhyme
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