Where would my reason come from?
My purpose for rising at dawn – for risking my heart,
For giving a part of my smile, a part of my light…
Where would I go when I want to show?
My thoughts on the page, my thoughts of love and faith,
The feelings that sing like grace, the feelings that are the way…
I say…
Without poetry, I would be just gray.
Never vibrant like the scarlet in my passion,
Never lively like the glistening of the starry night,
Never luminous like the sunlight who abides in my life.
Without poetry, I would be so meek.
Never vehement as the laughter who breathes,
Never fervent as the moment who bleeds,
Never zealous as the eagerness of a budding leaf.
Without poetry, I wouldn’t be me.
I would be lost amid the words that couldn’t speak.
I would be missing the colors of my painting.
I would be adrift in a sea of disenchanting.
Without poetry – Where would I be? Because I surely wouldn’t be me!
MY WAY
I see reflections of my life, how I arrived
at this stage of my telling life, the phase I thrive.
Was a curious child with too many questions
that I kept to myself from my keen attention
for inquiries from a child were not welcoming.
Was hard to conform to ways, so disenchanting.
I was a rebel without a cause inside me
for showing off good reputation was not me.
Like going to church every Sunday was for show
for following and applying scriptures were low.
Complain, compare and criticize were always said.
Whatever is true, praiseworthy were not impelled.
Verbal abuse were there too, mean words stabbing you,
affecting your belief, doubting their love for you.
The kind of environment they grew up, passed on
to next generation and could continue on.
I was a problem child for not caring about
others’ opinions of me, I could go without.
Being different was not easy; but being
myself, staying positive gave my life meaning.
7/28/21 An Interesting Couplet Poetry
Funom Makama
Meter Used: 12 syllables (How Many Syllables)
Used: RhymeZone
How disheartening to realize our illusions
Were but naïve misconceptions about aging
People don’t necessarily become wiser with age
Many become bitterly selfish petty and vindictive
Blessed are those who age gracefully because
It’s disenchanting to get hurt and learn the hard way
Blessed are the kind the givers who see beauty in all
Have optimism in every breath and live with integrity
Blessed who grow creatively to give back to the world
When their desire is to leave this planet a better place
AP: 2nd place 2020
Any difference between feeling horrified, on one hand,
and disenchanted terrifying thoughts, on the other,
seem connected to punishing error and folly in others
unlike our self-righteous ego identities
trained to settle for a Win/Lose anti-communal
anti-trusting world.
Such disparities are even less wise when paranoid
and manic,
a difference in degree
between tragically toxic and merely Win/Lose business as usual,
between outside projection and inside rejection
on our shared global potential enchantment stage.
Then, too,
perhaps any disappointing difference between climatic ecstasy
and everyday enchantments,
in-between wu-wei,
still kindly loves our best
and healthiest
and most beautiful,
sensual,
graceful local cooperative presence.
Each ecstatic day may bring some of both
cooperative enchantment
and Left v Right disenchanting competitions
to avoid horror and terror out there,
without doubt,
but also everyday disenchantments
of a complex,
sometimes chaotic,
domestic inside/outside competing darkness.
The opposite
of egocentric perpetrator
is ecofeminist victim
The opposite
of conservative perpetrators of Win/Lose retribution
are liberating wounds of WinWin absorption
enchanting green restorations by mindful day,
ultra-nonviolet by not not night.
Another way of thinking about my personal manifest destiny
and our manifest destiny as a community,
as a people,
as an ecotherapeutic species,
is to focus on enchanting Win/Win health destiny
v. disenchanting projects of mere Win/Lose destinations
back whence sin
LeftBrain Yang-dominantly began.
And, another way of thinking about enchanting ultra-violet integrity
is through cooperative octave possibilities
for re-enchanting global wealth of health ecstasy.
The Hands of Time
The hands of time stand eerie still
Where hearts chamber a cagey chill,
And whispers warn of shadows deep
With eyes that strain as shower’s sweep,
The sands of time a formless fill.
Disenchanting dreams pave their will
Seconds follow a timely till,
While the dormant lie counting sheep,
The hands of time.
Where voices scratch a shackled shrill
The hours' harbor a haunting thrill,
And the minutes tear as they weep
Behind the veils the walls of sleep,
Moon in sight above the foothill
The hands of time.
#4
The Rondeau consists of 13 lines of 8 syllables plus 2 refrains
AABBA - AAB with refrain C - AABBA with Refrain C
July.25.2018
Rondeau Poetry
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Placed 1'st
There's no doubt, by reason, my reason's in doubt
I stayed up all night 'til my demons came out
I let my indulgence seep into my skin
And, looked for Deception to hide my heart in
Yet, selling my sorrow is all that I'd known
In All My Intention, my heart is alone
Pretending that I could still bury my past:
My ghosts had returned to provoke me, at last
But, oh how it seems disenchanting to feel
Will Fear every find me, and know I am real?--
There's something in sorrow which makes it like Home
I'm so far beyond you, with no road to Roam...
UNPLEASANT ONES
Money obligations:
Parking tickets, mortgage, credit cards
All sorts of insurance:
Life, car, house, dental and health
Are overbearing and unmentionable
Disenchanting, unpleasant ones
Crying out loud: “Till death do us part”
Assets have corresponding dues
Unavoidable liabilities,
Valid or invalid reasons
Are unthinkable!
It entail fines and penalties
The more unpleasant ones
The more pleasant ones if you settle!
Although non-payment
Carries no imprisonment
Guaranteed by the Constitution
But it only turn to excitement
Interest incurring, mounting balances
Doubly unpleasant and annoying!
Speak not ill of competition,
Tell not happily of his sin.
Inform me of your position.
I then can vote the best to win.
When I listen to your ranting.
It pains me so, grosses me out.
Find your lies so disenchanting,
They are no truer when you shout.
November will be too soon here
You are still in a leaky boat.
Both of you now have made it clear
Neither of you are worth my vote!
Spinning leaves you disoriented.
Stumbling along with a smile.
You can leave this world.
Your visions blurred.
And, it feels uplifting.
The intoxication keeps you spinning.
You're hoping that it doesn't stop.
But, when the daze subsides
things come back into focus
like those yellow lights flashing.
And now they're not so easy to ignore.
I guess that might be why clouds exist.
So easy to bury your head inside
a place where the flashing lights
can't penetrate or agitate
this false sense of bliss
the opaque softness can provide.
But even clouds can dissipate
leaving wisps of fluff behind.
The flashing yellow passes through.
Time for another place to hide
from the light kept hazy from all your spinning,
from the yellow dinged inside your cloud.
Escape from thoughts that you might be sinning
Against Yourself
by holding on to covert lies.
Keep it peaceful.
Keep it lively.
A sober form of ecstasy
veils the truth brought by the flashing.
Ever-present.
Disenchanting.
Demanding you to recognize,
you're only stalling your demise.
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