Exertion Poems

Toddler Hulk

I’m thinking of a person 
Who is strong and resilient. 
Big in personality but size is small. 
When mad, they turn a green pigment. 
All is lost when anger worsens. 
Tantrums raging, escalating. 
Tired now, limbs in a sprawl. 
I’m talking about toddler phasing, 
A daily battle of exertion.

SILENCE

To live bound by “integrity”, where rectitude derides you? It’s starkly accustomed. I enrooted, enclosed by academics--the desolate nature of my sentience consuming my interior. Nether perfection defenestrates my subsequent--and I’m so damn tired. Extort my studies till blood seeps via my retinas, weave my pencil till the anathematic led ruptures; a mere standard in our education. Sacrifice my youth as to my future, conglomerate extracurriculars till my collapse, lay none betwixt within life and school; label it as a system. Shut up, shut up all of you! My exertion incapable of being compensated for—silence, silence, all of you! Toil seldom for me, subsequently bequeathing my labor… Discard my passion, coerce me to fill the perforated gaps in tuition—quiet, quiet, all of you! Refrain from protesting till your own encounter, and perpetually weep!

Shut up, all of you
My future prioritized
Discard my own youth

DESTINY

What means destiny?
It's being an all round, or waiting for the correct time.
Doing own work with perfection, or waiting for corrections in life.
Learning from own mistakes, or leaving everything on divine.
Isn't it's our own steps and actions decides our destiny!

Ahh! Quite confusing!
Every theories gives a new conclusion.
Every suspect wants a new condone........
Similarly; Every person wants new succession but without exertion!
Listen! Stop being lazy..... having faith is good but overness makes you crude.

Perfection is not what destiny beings......
Sometimes only taking small and correct steps is what destiny seeks.
There is no exact explanation of destiny as it may vary with person and their personality.......
But we can have a guess that......if our deeds are good then our destiny can be defined without any compunction and uncertainty .

~Pratibha Pradhan

Do You Like it Raw?

So how do you like your sushi
just sashimi on a plate?

or do you prefer it wrapped in nori?
decorated with microgreens and eggs?

And is there wasabi?
that heat to the tongue?
just a dash or a dab?
Does it make your nose run?

Do you dip in soy?
or is it the modern aminos?
without that salty it seems a bit drab....

Do you like your fish as an appetizer to your meal
or can it be the main course?

Do you want a bit of surf and turf
alternating between beef and fish
culinary exertion almost unreal?

Start with seaweed salad, edamame or just some simple hot green tea?

And is it chopsticks or handrolls?
or do you eat with your hands?
Are there other accompanying tricks?

I long to hear of your distinguishing traits
as you tempt me with your stories and wit

So tell me your tales of sushi
and I will tell you mine

And then perhaps we shall have some saki 
and find another way to pass the time

- Do you like it raw?  - Artimus (C) Susan Manley 6/15/2024 2:48PM

Yeah... I am a bit salty today

Soar Up To The Sky

Written: December 13, 2023
          ____________________________________________

If the ocean's water
were used as writing ink for pens
to write down our words of praise
the ocean would eventually dry up
before it might be put in writing.

evil will triumph 
if the righteous remain silent
Inner defect causes blindness
success depends on action
stand up and do what
you realize is right 
 
raise exertion level
a smidgeon suffices 
to allow notions of impetus
you can then sleep well
your pick is akin to lacerations
requires precise timing
curious but uncertain. 
blind attrition is pointless. 

reach for stars
obtain an aerial view of the world
wave farewell to the land
live easily a prospective granted by
you are misusing beauty
greet the passing clouds.

forsake worries and avert your gaze
fear is a foe you must overcome
soar high and be wise.

If It Wasn't For Poetry

If it were not for writing,
I would remain as I am, 
voiceless wanderer, lost in chatter;
no different than meditation,
mere spectator of unfolding drama,
chopping wood, carrying water.

My common thoughts would linger, trapped, 
in silent vacuity;
same as enlightenment's unmarked footprints, 
unnoticed, on a deserted shore, washed away, 
by an indifferent tide, 
chopping waste upon water.

In the quiet curls between verses,
lying hushed as a wake, authenticity unravels, 
reminiscent of gurus, tangled up threads of resonance,
only the art of words provides;
in this vain exertion, I find liberation and its sister, 
inspiration, too,
splintering kindling, shouldering streams.

Quest

Quiet like the sea that winks at you with caution
Until waves wash your balance in a soaking totter
Exertion in a rooted footing to snatch breaths of salty air
Steadiness holding/healing a body from the drop off of loss
To watch the setting sun, its lilt and tow of memory
                                              careening beneath waves

Gossamer

Gossamer threads—that's what's in the mind.
Gossamer vines of the most significant kind
Shining as if adorned with diamond rays.
Or shattering beams through sapphire lays

Our spirits are entangled in angelic dust.
And green moss—our lives will forever adjust.
What a day!—that's now turned to darkness.
Moonshine and gossamer evade my harshness.

In the stillness of the night, a tale unfolds.
Etched in the body exertion is a story untold.
A shape of remembrance, a whispering plea,
An eerie mandala was grown, for all to foresee,

Akin to the first leaf that gently falls,
The story begins as darkness calls.
Silent footsteps patter over the ground. 
Unveiling secrets is profound.

The shape of remembrance etched in their hearts
An eternal bond that time won't tear apart.
The body exertion, a dance intertwined,
Two souls entangled, their fates now aligned.

With the light from the moon as its guide,
The story reveals the truth it confides.
In the stillness of the night, emotions ignite.
Passion and longing are burning so bright.

A shape of remembrance, a whispering plea,
The ethereal quilt was built, for us to foresee.

Can'T I Vote Peacefully

Of what essence it is
To fiercely assert a formalised choice
In the name of political honour
That produces terror?
I fight for my party to win
Yet us our country is between
The leaders and the led
Any need to fight?
Because her we have to as one ameliorate.

As simple as peaceful to vote
Just speak to the ballot box
Instead I've always caused things that box
My task of getting my boss there
At the height of prestige
In formulation of gangs of my fellow young dudes
To contend by physical exertion.
So funny!

It's now I realise
That the sons of those influencers are always absent
In our brawls and thugs
And in our forces;
For their fathers’ failing fates;
Like they have none,
Or ain't they our peers?
But they all do.
I see!
Ergo, I'll no more to vote fight
In rote we'll vote.
Elections are opinions, not dominions.

Middle

In youth, vacations lent my Summers wings
and Christmas gilded wintertime in gold.
I've aged (a bit) and love my Falls and Springs
for landing in between too hot or cold.
In time, I've learned it doesn't pay to be
too up or down, too rich or poor, too round
or thin. Avoiding each extremity,
I balance life by seeking middle ground.
I used to have my weight control down pat,
then physical exertion simply froze.
I'm somewhere south of fit and north of fat;
my muscles shrink yet still my middle grows.
As seasons come and go, I grow more sage;
I know the meaning now of "middle" age.

Expressions An Open Form

EXPRESSIONS
 imagery
with
compassion

a
newness
concealed
interpreted
reserved
&
 consumated
with
inevitable
 exquisite
exertion
&
intense
 inspiration
marked
excitement
in
unusual
circumstances
adhere
in
 extreme
struggles
of
 solemn
reflection
 on
 mesmerising
prowess

Up a Sacred Mountain

The humidity is a  sodden blanket
over our heaving bodies.
We are climbing through the jungle
to view a temple on top of a mountain.

The exertion is draining us,
I have to nail words together
to form constructed sentences.
Amorphous clouds of vagaries
form miasma's in my head.

I don't even care about the temple
despite my Buddhist leanings
but these evangelical missionaries
are as keen as mustard - go figure.

I thirst for a cold beer, a cold anything.
We are sweating through our clothes
choking in the heat-haze,
but the keen young nurses and doctors
are all for struggling on.
I'm just a follower; a lone Brit
in a happy mob of Americans
thank God they don't all burst into hymnal songs
or call for an ad hoc prayer or two.

At the top
I am wheezing, sweat blinding my eyes
i'm hating these good folks
with a satanic fervor,
though too weak now to curse.

The temple is very old
and it's okay in an ancient way.
I want to sit here and meditate a while
but this forking girl and boy scout tribe I am with
want to explore.

In my mind
I see a laughing Buddha 
a Pu Tai figure
rocking back and forth on his fat ass.

Dream House

My dream was to build our dream house together ,
Brick by brick layering with love and laughter.
 Stoke by stroke  painting with  care and affection,
Tile by tile cementing with sentiments and perfection. 
But dreams are dreams not reality, 
I soon came to know your immortality.
Month by month I screamed with agony  and exploitation ,
 Day by day I suffered  with pain and exertion ,
Minute  by minute I died with your betrayal and thinking of our separation.
Everyday I wish to turn back the time.
And think why can't you be mine.
Why my love is so stubborn and blind??

Reading As a Hobby

A hobby  
To kill extra times
And to relax oneself
More benefits than exertion and exhaustion 
From work
Nothing to do with ambition 
Reading at leisure
Reading for pleasure
Reading at ease
Reading at your own pace
And no pressure
Reading at your interest
And  gain relaxation and knowledge
With no bargain or totally free 
Reading to make friends
And books become your friends
Life long intimate
And with no quarrels

Invisible Illness

It's a wild ride, laughing and screaming at you. 

I feel as if I am in a fun house of emotions 

With psychotic clowns controlling my every move 

I'm their marionette being pulled in every direction by my warring nerves 

The background music is the sounds of my un-controlled laughter and crying the very same second 

My breathing is labored with tightness in my lungs 

Short, quick breaths to keep me floating in this quickly filling drowning pool 

I am too nice to hate and am trapped in life between love and hate 

I want to complain, but then you will see the real pain - I am in 

I want to walk, but cause my body tremendous exertion 

I want to talk, but cause my body pure exhaustion 

I want to do good, but it all results in damaging myself more 

Do I sit here and just deteriorate? 

Or do I try to strive, tearing my body apart even more than it is? 

I guess it doesn't matter which side of the double-bladed sword cuts you 

They're both just as sharp.

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