Forfeiting Poems

CONCENTRATION

Concentrate
So you can penetrate
Through that concrete
Which are obstacles, denials and more
Into your concealed dreams or visions
Without deviating from your mission.

Focus and keep looking ahead 
So you don't loose guard 
Then fall back or resent
That's what a coward does
Relenting or forfeiting dreams.

Distraction is an enemy
That steals your glory
Gain victory over you 
If you ain't focus or curious 
So; concentrate on what's ahead of you
Concentrate on the necessities 
Forget about the naysayers 
People always have something to talk.

Wasted Moments

Worry
changes nothing
tomorrow unmoved
Forfeiting 
the gift
 — of a present unclaimed

(Dreamsleep: October, 2024)

Tomorrow's Child

Cry for the children of tomorrow

As we perpetuate their sorrow

While we pollute and destroy the Earth

Forfeiting the rights of their birth

Their futures will be sad and bleak

What's left to inherit for the meek

Mimicry

When I analyze the lyrics 
I see everything that the world mimics
It’s the easiest of diagnostics 
That unravels the mystery of these mystics
How we tamper with the sacred relics
Cutting and stitching tapestries from solid fabrics 

Watching while your hearing wastes 
Numbing nourishment out of your tastes
You try to keep up and so forsake your rest
Stretched to the limit, you have no zest
And you wither in the haste
For at high cost you copy and paste 

Who lived well if not your fathers before you 
With timeless counsel they try to hand you 
But the old gold you trade for the new dew
The rich color you trade for a pale hue
Forfeiting and sidestepping blessings well due
And then flood your tears on the pew

As the world pulls its strings 
It matters what a man sings
If about worldliness and things
Onto the strangling cords he clings 
If to God his longing, belonging and belongings
Then he is one among priests and kings

K. Muitherero

A Friend's Smile; a Gift From God

In the darkest moments 
Drowning in my bile
T’was, not God that saved me 
But a close friend’s smile 

God gifted us all with life
Even forfeiting His Son
When the greatest gift of all
Is the people we name loved ones

Melancholic Muse

Its inner self, deep dark hole of a maze, 
Sad stretch of dire and apathetic doom, 
Exacerbated when outlasts a phase, 
Giving the tunnel end’s lighting no room.

The steel shackles along its iron grip 
Without a shame restraint the weary mind, 
Stricken under merciless lashing whip -
In solitude, disabled and confined.

To silence this depressing demon’s voice -
To attack from all fronts and from within, 
Forfeiting the battle is not a choice, 
Only one way to rise above - to win! 

May 7, 2023

Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Contest: Anatomy of Melancholy

Blasphemer's Lament

why do so many humans elect to be tended and herded like sheep?

should path to salvation require forfeiting self-determination?

long have golden trim and precious jewels reigned at altars of worship

why do such all powerful gods require so many interpreters?

does enlightenment entail shedding logic and credibility?

nothing's holy about misogyny, bigotry and genocide

what type of belief system relies on second-hand information?

when did blatant hypocrisy and greed become a religious creed?

why do self-proclaimed, loving benefactors require blind allegiance?

accept these articles of faith which are beyond any criticism

should a fixed object of belief be based upon mere speculation?

doesn't require a divine being to do right by humanity

shall continue to choose to believe in that which consciousness reveals

Freakish Fanny

Freakish Fanny fled fine Finland
For far-fetched Formosa fields,
Forsaking fantastic fiords forever
Forfeiting flourishing forests,
Frigid fertile farmland, festivals
Forgetting feared future fighting.

written January 22, 2022

Thoughts On the War of Late

“Where have all the flowers gone,” the poet wrote
A metaphor for those lost in a cruel war of late
Lives that were wrested from home and family
And thrown into a milieu of humiliation and hate
No real purpose for forfeiting their young lives
In conflict that obviously portended no good ending
But then, what war of that magnitude ever does? --
Is worth our young servicemen and women sending
To sacrifice their lives for some undefined honor
Is it patriotism to assert ourselves in a foreign affair
Methinks there are ulterior motives unexplained
That did not justify the loss of lives way over there.

written November 5, 2021

Gravity of a Surrealist

arched mirror on the cold stone,
blackglorious dress,
Xoloitzcuintlis at heel.

quiet reflection,
forfeiting Frida’s apparition
beneath her underclothes.

her fate was switched
from doctor to artist
painfully so

she’s pretty with eyes closed,
heavy-petaled headgear.

Diego paints ash on canvas,
surrealist unibrow lifts —
Frida’s suffering relinquished.

10/25/2020

The Last Chapter

By making that choice
It was never about making a mistake
By formulating that plan
It was never about undermining my culture
By observing that growth
It was never about who is better than the other
The decision was to be made

Explosiveness of a creation
Fearless it will become
Honourable it may progress
Powerful it will succeed
Confident it may proceed
A monster in the making yet a human being
Never anticipated that ingredient of humanity

By forfeiting that honour
It was never about my royalty
By preserving my resources
It was never about being dominant
By sustaining that dream
It was never about giving up
I made, I made that decision

Living In Shadows

I heard of an Angel with a scarred face,
a poor man; he was in a hurting place.
Living in shadows, he hid in plain sight,
begging for change on the streets each night.

I'd heard he shared what little food he had:
the plight of beggars left him feeling sad.
And so, there is no question in my mind
that this man was both generous and kind.

He saw a crazed drunkard wielding a knife;
and forfeiting his; that man saved a life.
He pushed a little girl out of harm's way: 
and his soul went straight to heaven that day.

A homeless man with nothing but his dreams:
willingly gave his life for hers, it seems.
For though he had only one life to give:
he gave it up so the young girl could live.

Totenkopf

Non-forfeiting my troth, in bonny and buxom, I believed.
What good is too good? And why is better, better than worse? 
Given the first beginnings I merge intuition with silence,
And form my own variant of “das Weltspiel”, as I deny
The realm of Earth and Heaven, and the realm of God and Man.
The progeny of thought, pliant but plum, with no falsity,
Purified by a jaunt of far and beyond, thenceforth
From a beginning to an end, shines in this darkness,
So strenuous in the pleasures of conviction,
Overwhelming and powerful, almost a daemonic proclivity 
Towards the duty to produce evil that destroys goodness.
The unrest is raising to overthrow the slavery reigning in the heart,
The slavery that is wearing the Totenkopf , so proud, and so it is!
I want to stop the cant I hear. Full of devilish malignity, the cant
Of a false scruple, in the world of no clear direction.
How one achieves it, if good is too good? If better is better than worse!
O, I have no predestined servility towards tolerance,
And I will passion and protest and be protestingly passionate,
In my own dimension of reality, frigidly judicious, as an old faith.

A Painting On Curved Glass

My view from the balcony paints the sky cobalt blue
Unaware of the maple tree that ferociously swings 
Quivering its shadows at the behest of gusty winds 
As fluttering green leaves filter gilded rays through

As clouds move in, evening calls out the golden sun
For forfeiting its reign of the vibrant orange horizon
When pitter-patter's heard in blooming rose garden
Emanating petrichor from fragrance of summer fun

When the fleeting storm moves on it's all over soon 
As faded light emerges from somber eyes of dark 
The sky now resembles a painting on curved glass--
Periwinkle on tangerine runes enticing bashful moon

June 1, 2018
Placed 3rd: Standard contest 400 by Brian Strand

Perspective

wanton moments secure the thrill of riding
waves of multiple convergence points
reality just ain’t what it used to be...when
there was light and then there was not...
attitude breathes her fiery breath of creation
planets birth, first blush of remembrance
existence happens to each, forfeiting strong
words and emotions embedded in subtleties
framing everything occurs when stoppage is
engaged as moments coalesce past their
reduction points...strength occurs when integrity
blindingly recognizes the disparity between
two or more objects attempting to become
something other than what is perceived
force engages the tempo aligning the fanned
rays of emergence.  Fire ignites the notion
that we are not all one rather part of the whole
perspectives confuse the mind of the holy
if one drop is that...isn’t it all?

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