What hope works so hard to drive
the fittest life to survive?
To reproduce, endure and keep their species alive.
To contrive with such unyielding will and drive,
when entropy works so hard to deprive
them of entry onto Heaven's beehive,
and the keys to the door when they arrive.
They lack enough within of things to consciously derive
hope beyond their instinct to revive
a life crushed by Earth's forces one to five.
EUPHORIC EPITHET
disarrayed sands
derive dislodged
from
timeless terrain
settle bemused
on
stratified shelf
of
languid life
disorganized
in
dismantled moments
of
petrified perturbation
trustworthy truth
on
ruffled ripples
of
disordered discontent
oscillates
on
bewildered efflux
of
delinquent dismay
as
metamorphosed elation
reveals tousled
real pretense
of
traumatic transmutation
of
disquiet mind
drowning disheveled
in
distraught nothingness
with
splintered leitmotif
of
embedded emotion
in
sensual sandcastles
on
shriveled shore
of
eroded yearning
where
psyche rises
shape-shifted
to
covert flute
of
passion symphony
plays music
of
ecstatic self
entranced
as
convivial concerto
resonates
the last refrain
of
melodic memory
as
transcendent essence
of
euphoric epithet
Don't pout when I smile
Don't hate when I am away in mile
Don't push when I stand
Don't flush when I taste bland
Don't spurn when I land
Don't burn when I am in your hand
Don't block when I step aside
Don't flock when I abide
Don't dive when I disappear
Don't derive when I am not near
Don't repine when I am not fine
Don't define when I forget to draw the line
Don't run when I walk
Don't pun when I talk
Don't skip when I stay
Don't slip when I go astray
Don't keep when I don't beep
Don't lit when I don't knit
Don't frown when I am a clown
Don't drown when I am not a noun
Don't...
marigolds line the path to my outside home
it’s a cottage garden, which gives me joy
against the walls of my she-shed are tall pink hollyhocks
they look like upside down skirts with yellow bloomers showing
they are fuzzy if you graze them gently with a finger
there used to be roses, but they are gone now
a large potted fern waves a friendly hello as I approach
I feel loved here, among those I have planted and nurtured
Never knowing I had a green thumb until I retired.
The joy I derive from my plants cannot be put into words.
I sit back on the chaise lounge cushions and breathe
There is nothing as rejuvenating as country air.
Feeling refreshed. I am in awe of what I have built
apple blossoms above my head tease my eyes to the sky
I thank God for this garden.
In the heart of the fire, there lies its essence
Beauty isn't found outside the world but deep within.
True Happiness doesn't derive in materialistic possession
But in little things we share together around.
I desire, not of the high status but Simplistic living!
Sharing the little things we have I find the real meaning.
Hurt
Immersed within in us all lay such deep rooted hurt
A pain so profound, yet staying subconsciously inert
Be it physically or an emotionally charged event
How does this apply and what does it represent
Hurt can transform us, make our deepest fears multiply
Can abruptly change our life, all within a blink of an eye
Events compiling, wondering if you can bear all this strife
Leaving you unsure of what’s next in this chapter called life
Hurt can derive from an assailment on the body or of our minds
Manifesting into suffering, a life time of sorrow, pain of all kinds
Burying deep within your subconscious, hiding how you truly feel
Not allowing yourself to yield to pain so surmountable, so surreal
Hurt can be an excruciating experience within your whole body
Debilitating you wholeheartedly, within everything you embody
With all your good intentions, all your inner will you can exert
Seeking no more than a simple solution to ease all of your hurt
If Harris chooses to have beer,
They hoist a message more than mere,
It’s like October Fest
In November, no haste!
Sails rudderless poll boat,
Who knows how people vote?
Guesses gallop, go in top gear.
_____________________
Tongue-in-cheek |10.10.2024| humour, political
Poet’s note: Kamala Harris in a media blitzkrieg on late night TV chooses to down a folksy beer to ‘send a masculine oriented message’ (in competition with Trump?). And poll analysts go in a top gear to derive its impact on Nov election results in US of America. So much focus, so much significance of that one can of beer!
To my sweetest May:
It is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore my feelings for you.
I enjoy the polite interchange in conversations we have between us.
I also enjoy your company as you choose to stay late voluntarily and
offer to help so we can further engage in conversation.
I can’t overlook your beauty, as I find myself attracted to you.
However, this is an unrequited love
This truly would be a May-December romance.
From poiema we derive our word poetry
As a woman I applaud God’s creation of you in His poetry.
Your long flowing glory and brown eyes.
That black dress your wore a while ago knocked me out
because you’re a knock-out.
What a beautiful woman, I must admire from afar.
Gosh, you’re sexy.
Unrequitedly Yours
December
Cross landscape high and low,
light candle of hope, walk fazed life through darkness grime,
let it glow.
New sun will rise,
show path of success at right time…
surprise.
Derive
pleasure sublime…
thrive.
Cross landscape high and low,
new sun will rise…
thrive.
Just as the word applies to a wide variety,
It extends to a great many portions of our life.
With meanings that derive from its context,
Along with numerous chances to fall off, just ask a wife.
As it seeks to be centered against edges,
Those borders tend to define us in excess.
Not just to zero, but even beyond to the negative,
So they may counter all the positive success.
So while the fulcrum may get all the business,
The direction seeks to clarify and measure.
Since equilibrium demands all the values
Of human experience, between pain and pleasure.
The guardrails in place are moved often,
As if shifting sands form the foundations base.
So what may tip to a side one week, may
Slide over to the other, without a trace.
When we look at all the scales we follow,
With efforts to stay centered or mainstream.
We might recall that risk is ever present,
And needs to be managed to avoid the extreme.
Soon the forest would reveal its dark secret
Poems are written. Music is composed. Ballets are staged.
In enacting suspense-filled plays, each creature is engaged.
Mysteries, like petals of blossoming flowers, unfolded.
As sketched by nature, the shapes of plants and trees are moulded.
Midway through the brawl for existence, the fittest survive.
From Mother Earth, life-giving nectar, all creatures derive
Do trees pay tax as per their heights, and do beasts as per strength?
Which creature has measured the forest's height, breadth, width, and depth?
What serenity between drops of the flowing fountain!
Isn't there a transmission of peace between each mountain?
The food cycle and water cycle roll like the planets.
Prey and predator eye each other in forage facets.
Owls, bats, hawks, frogmouths, and nightjars share nocturnal secrets.
Some feed others. Some feed on others. There are ruts, no riots.
The gentle breeze soothes the soul, though the gales disturb
Love lives long, between the strongest tree and the weakest herb.
Doors of forests, yet, like puzzle-filled caves, are numerous
Amidst sunshine, unknown nooks in it are voluminous
For what exactly enate
Value do I personally so much
Place and stake
Numbers in order to derive
Just how so many lives
The message I so desperately sought
Within to deliver
And future cost
It pains me dearly I may pay
Will not even even see the light of day
Matters not
When all and sundry is forgot
As I and if alone will only are to be enabled
To know the real and only true
Enate true actual real value
That I alone
Care desperately enough
To pour
These my mere
Words and heartfelt thoughts
To you here another
If neither you don't either
Care or give the slightest
Damn about
For after all then
Who am i deceiving
But sadly me
My own self
And my fragile mental health
Bold Nietzsche declared, “God is dead,”
Humans have killed him, so he said.
Enlightened men, all widely read,
have purged his being from their head.
God decomposed and left a stench,
That human genius cannot quench.
The promise of enlightenment
Instead of light has brought man blight.
God’s substitute, goddess reason
The symbol of man’s high treason
Has not engendered human good,
As humanists believed she would.
History and experience teach,
That man cannot perfection reach
By mere intellectual means
For evil exists in his genes.
The two world wars that men have fought,
defy claims of rational thought.
The truth is clear, mankind is flawed,
And badly needs the help of God.
The moral mess mankind is in,
Is evidence of human sin.
The death of God has brought a curse,
And made the plight of humans worse.
That God did die, is indeed true,
But from a different point of view.
God in man’s flesh came down to earth,
To live and die for man’s rebirth.
God is not dead, He is alive,
From Him humans their lives derive.
If you enlightenment desire,
Embrace God and make Him your sire.
I am not what I look to you;
To my soul I am always true.
Because of it, I am alive.
God, out of it, joy I derive!
What is good or bad my soul knows;
On my character, light it throws.
For my sake, I let it contrive.
God, out of it, joy I derive!
I would like to be what I am,
By not involving in any scam;
I follow my soul to survive.
God, out of it, joy I derive!
The Extra Mile Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
placed 3rd
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You better go the extra mile
In order to make others smile
Take care how not to be hostile
Help humans to revive
Leave not people to their own fate
With their worst woes, yours you relate
Truly, it’s a wonderful trait
From it, joy you derive
Give confidence to a loser
Transform totally a boozer
Play well the role of a schmoozer
To let mankind survive
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