Long Acumen Poems
Long Acumen Poems. Below are the most popular long Acumen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Acumen poems by poem length and keyword.
Remember when that flash of insight
last self-ignited in your expectant thoughts
blasting away the fog of uncertainty, complexity and doubt.
A sudden aha Eureka answer, pure, simple, so succinct, beautiful.
To some this flash of aha is called duration, or a blink. insight, acumen, Eureka!
But, my friend, how, why, when, where, do these Aha moments arise?
Can we conger up more for ourselves, fill a treasure cheat with insights?
Or is this quest a waste of time, as no treasure map exits. But does it?
Can we ever know with what, and how, and when to cast the magic wand?
Does our search for meaning, inquiries lay the foundation?
Can we prepare the way ahead in some way or other?
Think back, my friend, did these gems
always spring up unexpectedly, and what occurred beforehand?
These aha Euekas cannot be scheduled or delayed,
cannot be snuck-up on, snared nor detected,
cannot be forced out nor guaranteed to appear.
Euekas are not rewards for hard work, perhaps the opposite is true.
How often does lazy and shallow wader get the creative rewards.
Chance is never fair in its rewards for hard work.
Often, an Aha taps us on the shoulder, we are least expecting it,
out of the blue, saying: "Look at Me. Look at Me".
When gobbled up with glee, it washes over and transforms us.
We are never be the same. It makes our day.
Does begging the question, ignoring the answers laid out
make it pop up from the soup into an inquiring mind?
Or does it appear when we raise questions to that have already been answered well?
Does it appear when we thin-slice the book to separate the leaves?
Often mistakes and errors have led to great breakthroughs
like penicillin, radioactivity, the color mauve and plastics.
What does this mean to you and your Aha Eureka pot of gold?
Should we be less careful, more observant for the unusual?
The Aha Eureka is a fleeting feeling, easily lost in the blink of an eye,
rampant, capricious, imperceptible, unbounded, elusive
like seeing something in the corner of the eye at dusk,
if you look straight at it, it's gone, look back again, it's there again.
For me it can be a matter of serendipity.
The more I see, the more I do, the more I explore, the more hits are triggered.
Many total restarts from scratch, often helps.
But, for me the one simple things
that works is lay me down to rest,
and to sleep on it!
SUGAR, SPICE, SOUL
Oh, yes~ my friends, that is what poet friends are made of!!
Givers, in the main, not takers. You can count on their constancy.
They read you more than once a year. Not…run over your poem
like a speed bump with no feelings!! They even soupmail you, to ask,
“How’s it going, my friend?” And you really should do the same!
If they really are your friends, they do not, like ghost-ships…disappear
into the foggy night! Nor worse, have the rule…
” I only read, who reads me!” This really would limit my world!
Just pretty words and form-acumen, nor cleverness, a poet,do not make.
It takes a true, warm soul. Whether simple or complex the poem, it is still great artistry! It is sugar and spice for the soul!
Find some soul poet friends, you can trust.Not rare, but you may find
some out to harm you. They haven’t the courage to tell you what is wrong.
So they sneak under other poet’s comments to insult you. It’s painful to
find oneself being shredded. But for me, simply confusing.
The ones with fangs work behind the scenes,actively, working to get you removed from the site. Yes, no kidding. So be forewarned! There are poets with backbone who do stop this infantile and malicious behavior.
God bless them! Hugs to such genteel poets.
I have poets alert me to any evil going on. Hugs to them all. Their numbers
are few, but such poets with high integrity!
Such chutzpah, they have and will back you to eternity.
There are excellent poets on site with over fifty years experience writing
poetry.
Then those who just began. Like myself! Be patient with yourself. Learn the
classical forms. It helps control your thoughts gets your message across clearly.
I wish you all sincere, long friendships here and the joy of writing your best
poetry. An acclaimed poet told me, “The number of poems you write is highly
insignificant. The quality of the poem, is far more important.” I
I do miss Connie Wong as many of you still do. She was the poet’s poet!! Unafraid to pen more than four words in a comment. Never a cookie
cutter comment from her. One felt embraced by her. Remember that?
No “drive-by” comments from that angel. Now in heaven.
Wishing you all sugar, spice and soul! Not only in poetry, but in life!
Panagiota Romios
10/7/2022
Oh, my Beloved Africa
Why are you always so behind time
Why is it that the world always has to be miles ahead
For you to follow in the trail of dust they leave behind
Oh, my Beloved Motherland
Why is it that these sons and daughters of yours
Are always so eager to get up and leave
Why is it that you always only get to keep
...those whose thoughts are to beg and keep the obsolete
...of history from the worlds abroad
...which have nothing better than the makings of thee
Oh, Africa my Beloved
Even I sometimes get the urge to just get up and leave
But so strong is my love for thee
For it always anchors my spirit, here to be
Perhaps if you and I were to form an alliance
We would prove to the others
That indeed, even in Paradise dreams can still be achieved
We can prove to them that on the canvas of life
Anyone can paint whatever his heart may like
For it isn?t life that matters
But the reality of what you make of the opportunities it offers
Oh, Africa you truly are my deepest love
For you, in my heart is nothing but pride
But there is just one teeny-weeny bit of help I need
Please speak to Mother Nature for me
And ask her gently to lend me her scriptures of life
So I may peruse through to see if I can find some answers I seek
For I feel inclined to believe
She has a lot more acumen to offer
Than of the realities that graces the ordinary minds
Of her intelligence, I wish to spread to the extents it may prevail
So in speaking to her on my behalf
Please ensure to make clear of my selfless intents
So she may keep sealed from me the pages whose secrets she doesn?t wish
revealed
Oh, My Beloved Mama Africa
You truly are such a Great Mama
You have seen it all in time,
...and even beyond my time you will still continue to see it all as time strides
Truly, in me your roots run deep
For your were still here, when more than a thousand years back
...plans to have me alive were hatched
Son after father after grandfather after great grandfather
...after an endless series of other greater grandfathers in time
So why should I abandon thee when it?s finally time for me live
Just to show you gratitude for having me
...this life I live I shall on behalf of all before me dedicate to the benefit of thee
Deep breath
Let it out, carry the blight
Another ... remember the mantra
It is NOT a reflection of my worth - ever
This imbalance, this favoritism ... yet ...
I work tirelessly, intensely
I scrape the walls of my spirit
Wring the drops of creativity from my core
Burn the pulpy paragons of my aim and acumen
All in the efforts to weave the finest fabric from phrase
To spin wonder from words and will
To affect the deepest emotion and imagination and ire
Simply by the ordering and placement of letters on a page
It is my passion - my craft
And I take nothing more seriously
Or more joyously
And no matter how magical the end game
No matter what the fruit born of my most astute energies
I drown in a cipher sea
(And this is not a perspective of arrogance, but rather empirical reality)
Patches of rough-hewn fabric that frays at the edge
Shredded attempts at art and assignment
That are their own worst rags and remnants
But are held up as the golden standard of excellence
And, (I kid you not), wonders of the writing world
Simply because of the signature at the bottom
(And often, a fake one at that)
Though it fails me as to where that absurd accolade originates
Oh, to but query straight out, without reproach -
Where-oh-where, is the ripe in this refuse?!?
What is the redemption you find in these careless phrases?
Stuffy words stuffed into stuffy stanzas
All for the sake of feigned profundity
How can anyone possibly take such transparent text
For anything but mediocrity and mush?!?
Still, the endless comments of adoration ... at a loss
It is a weekly, daily, even hourly poison to my soul
Rending, ragged, my person and fertile prescience
Leaving my hands clenched and blue
My wit and whimsy tattered
My quill filled with blood
And my heart ... taxed and weary.
Once a friend of mine invited me for lunch
A celebration he planned for his book launch,
The book was on traditional Indian cuisine, I knew
No very different from its modern cousin or new.
I was hesitant to join for my stomach was upset
He pleaded with me, let the plan not get upset.
I must join the friend’s party, how could I say no
For it was a special event in his life, I should know.
He would take care, being an accomplished chef
For me, he assured, food would be entirely safe.
I decided to not enter into a friendly row
But to go, occupy a chair in the back row,
Enjoy the lunch as best I could to the last course
And not utter a word about stomach, of course.
I went for the lunch on a winter day quite chilly
Vowing to avoid the food items with lots of chilli.
Through morning my friend made things all ready
For the party he threw, guests had arrived already.
While cheese and toast rested untouched for a while
We proposed a toast to his success as a chef of style.
Matching the rhythm of our warm and soft whine
Rose red wine rose and swirled in shining glasses thin.
I was delighted to see on the table dishful curd
So much good for my stomach, I shouldn’t discard.
The fat naan was so liberally buttered all over
None possibly would have eaten in their life ever,
Flat bread made of finest flour of well bred wheat
Looked like blooming flowers on the floral plate.
The flavor of famous basmati rice as it would rise
I would favor to have it instead of bread to be wise,
Sprinkle of spring onion with smell of spring in fish curry
Added to the gastronomic delight, a treat far to carry,
Meat in gravy with basal green layer of fresh basil leaf
Could meet the culinary acumen of any expert chef,
The salad of beet root, leek, lime and touch of olive
Could beat any such combo in the world, I believe.
Before scoops of ice cream could bury the red berry
The dessert disappeared as if in desert heat in a hurry.
My friend’s hospitality won the hearts of one and all,
Thanking him amply we departed before the nightfall.
We expressed the appreciation for the food aloud
As much as our satiated minds sincerely allowed.
December 3, 2017.
Murky shadows slink around the darkened rainbow
like black eels embracing the dish hi-lighting mankind’s testes.
As today Man’s testicles still hold the world hostage
and reveal the slow moving continuum slithering toward the world’s fate.
Flames and chaos surround Man's prayers while searching for God.
Man stares at His face looking to find his own,
but knowing God is vindictive, Man’s core freezes
exposing the glass cage that surrounds his heart.
God's stare penetrates the glass cage to see Man’s deviousness,
“The chaos you have created in my world is not why I made you!”
God’s gaze is not consoling, “You have made me angry!”
He raises his voice and Heaven’s gates tremble.
"You have freewill, do the right thing!" God commands.
Sometimes, things happen for a reason, but sometimes, they surprise."
Acumen is displayed in the wisdom written in the nooks and crannies of Life
but learning is not men’s obsession; it is obtaining the Holy Grail of lucre.
These avaricious men, like lemmings, follow a personal path to oblivion,
being devoid of integrity, truth and vision, they wallow in fake glitter.
The black underbelly of the dark rainbow holds many truths
but man is slow to learn disdaining the moral lessons it teaches.
Life led Man to a truism: Surviving is paramount
But Death added another truism: Lives will be sacrificed
Truth is the string that holds the world together
but when deceit runs rampant truth can carry a nation a long way,
yet in the pursuit for power and control; lying reigns supreme.
To stay in power, the liars will twist the truth until it becomes suspect.
Confused people follow the din of the opulent life of the wealthy.
It is greed, selfishness and jingoism the wealthy foment that entices the dispossessed.
Deceitful carrots of untruths are dangled in front of gullible minds
desperate enough to believe they can have it all, too.
Working people continually struggle to find ways to be heard
to expose the elite’s perverse calloused nature of self-centeredness;
maybe the fighting spirit of working people’s efforts to survive is
just enough to impress God to make the world safe for another day...
G;Geico commercials B;(you knew this was coming); Billy Mays commercials U;
hour long imfomercials
G;Big, juicy homemade hamburgers B;White Castle belly burners
G; Best fast food place;by far;All American, Massapequa N.Y. (check it on web-
always, and rightfully rated number one B-white Castles (ugh;belly burners!)
G; Music played with syyle and heart B; Gangster rap/ Disco
G;Family gatherings B;Alone in a dingy room
G;A nice warm shower B; Having no showerhead
G;Staring at TV test patterns for hours (told ya I was weird) B; Gamey game
shows
G;A nice warm sunny day B;Heavy rain and your roof leaks
G;Creativity B;Malicious destruction(other than a Billy Mays tape)
G;Cooking and eating with family /and/or friends B;Alone with a bag of pretzels
G;Enjoying swimming at the beach or pool B;finding a great white shark in your
pool
G;Words of love and encouragement B;Mean words of anger/hate
G;Good poetry B;My poetry usually
G;Peaceful sleep all through the night B;Cronic insomnia U;Being awake for 8
days (as I too well know...one's mind turns into oatmeal)
G;a love of beauty B;Loving your own beauty
G;swiss or cheddar cheese B;Limberger cheese U;Liederkranz (ugh! clear the
house!!)
G;A full refrigerator (including Tootsie rolls) B;A rerigerator full of food expired 6
months ago, and now home to strange new species
G;Catching a mouse B;doing the same, but with your teeth
G;Courteous drivers B;New Jersey drivers
G;Religious faith B; Fundamentalist extremists (of any religion)
G;Room deodorizer. B;Dirty unwashed socks your air deodorizer
G;A trusting marriage B;A busting marriage
G;Acoustic guitars B; Acoustic torpedoes
G;M&Ms B;BBs
G;good books used as tools B;Mediocre books by fools
G;Cleavage B;Seepage
G;Being in a band onstage B;Overfilled audiences leading to rage
G;Jessica Simpson's looks B;Jessica Simpson's mental acumen
G;Eddie Murphy on stage or screen B;Eddie Murphy in real life (I know!)
G;Being loved and adored B;Being lonely and too bored
G;Some money in your pocket B;Your finger in a socket
G;For Bush to get a Lobotomy B; News of Bush's colonoscopy
Enough for now folks. Have a painless day!
The elders speak in timeless tones to reconcile the past,
And offer truths from which we choose to fill the roles we're cast.
But though the sage will muse how well the truths can guide our way,
So few will heed and recognize the worth of what they say.
The elders speak a sacred tongue in soft and whispered tone,
Of olden days and simpler ways, of souls who now are gone.
They tell of lies and blunders made throughout the ages passed,
And beg we put their truths to pen, for all to know at last.
They come to me at varied times and occupy my thought
With facts and lore of times before, and other things they've brought.
They seek to put a record straight or make an error right,
When history's lacking in some way and needs a ray of light.
At first, I’d cringe in shock and awe, was overwhelmed and dazed.
At times, I’d feel too small to deal with issues that they raised.
"What should I do?" I asked myself, “Why should I care at all?”
But time has shown that I should trust the wisdom of their call.
I honed my skills and craftsmanship, and dedicated time.
I lent my pen and acumen, and love of word and rhyme.
I judged them not for wrongs they did, their ignorance or views,
For though they erred, the lessons learned are much to dear to lose.
It's not so much the words they say, or lives they lived and lost,
Or ways they tried to go and guide, no matter what it cost.
But what they learned from what they did and left for us to muse,
Much more than gold and treasured gems, are lessons wrought with truths.
I believe many of us charged with making our history palatable for the generations to come
get far too involved in our own sensitivities. We seem to place inordinate significance on our
judgement of our ancestors' ignorance, wrongs done to one another, and politics. As a result,
we overlook the value of the lessons learned and passed along with their legacy. It is the
cost of the wrongs done, the lives lost, and the errors made that inflates the value of the
lessons from which we have to learn... and leaving those lessons in the past is yet a greater
cost, or loss, as the case may be.
YOU ...
small, furry,
soft, warm, joyful,
sweet little creature,
came to me in a shadow ...
a time when my heart ran cold,
kicked far down the road by sorrow,
and lost as any hobo without a compass.
I had given hopes and dreams their pink slips ...
shown their sorry, deceitful little selves the door,
and told them where to put their accursed optimism.
Then YOU ...
you who had
been so neglected
and abused by others
of my race, others who had
seen kittens as something less
than themselves ... something for
their twisted amusement ... something
meant for the focus of their ire and hatred
and evil intent ... something at the mercy of the
dominion granted them by their so-called "acumen" ...
YOU, Sugar ...
had come with
such a simple name,
a name I had every intent
of changing to something far
more artistic, or worldly, or cute,
or extravagant, and yet as the time
passed those first days with me, as you
worked your gentle, loving, tender, amiable,
precious, good-natured way deep into my heart,
it was more-and-more evident that whoever had given
YOU your moniker,
had somehow, through
their sinister intent, STILL
been unmistakably affected
by your pure and precious spirit,
and had out-done my best intentions
and wholly self-lauded creativity, (as well
as trumped my attempts to attach a name to
you that others would feel obligated to soak with
feigned praise), by giving you a sweet epithet which,
in its absolute simplicity and virtue, was nothing less than
PERFECT.
YOU, my sweet
little Sugar, abide
the very essence of
your name, and you have
not only sweetened my days
beyond measure, but have saved
my life in ways that I'll never be able to
impart you. Who knew that the dark clouds
of my heart would be rent by such a fuzzy little
face of sunshine - that all I needed was a little bit of
YOU.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "My Companion And Close Friend That Never Complains" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 5th Place ~ in the "Just A Little Bit Of Sugar Poetry Contest", Debbie Guzzi, Judge & Sponsor.
Written: January 27, 2024
________________________________________
"Remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you. Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open? Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking".
Oh, a flimsy state over grief, issues, and dualism.
How do I find the inner sanctum of nihilism?
As the guillotine of deceit hangs in plain sight,
How tempting are laziness, ease, and blight?
True divine tandem can occur at a sacred site.
An inner haven as you dwell in glory and light
Yield the path to connecting with the infinite.
In an inner sanctum, calm flows over divine might.
Bewilderment seems sporadic at first glance.
Once you've linked culprits, anguish may trance.
I succumb when the climate renders them unwell.
Cluttered mounds of breadcrumbs lead to a swell.
Ascending free from ominous pits of dread,
Seeking trust across awareness lies ahead.
Sensing the heavenly spark that will soothe,
Illuminating the path leading to the truth.
Stillness enhances your perception of taste.
Find the light; the climate seems to be quaint.
How subtly do things reverse disastrous?
I often fall into that abyss, myself in vastness.
The stain of low scorn darkens in midst of trust.
I stroll into the dismal clay of scarlet excess dust.
The ruthless grasp buried inside suffocates life.
In empathy, I endure the agonizing pains of strife.
Invest oneself in each mission and excursion.
These wonderful events allow for sensations.
Mercury is in and out of phase, as is the moon.
Be mindful of your tongue. The lips are strewn.
Flawed sensory acumen of a stray mind,
uncovers a spiritual path within a gild divined.
The inner sanctum door unlocks at that sight.
While the tulip blossoms with glorious light.
The soul sparkles with astral splendor and sequins.
In a hallowed realm, where rays serve as beacons
In my self-searching dedication toward eternity.
Inward cosmic trends enrich my trust earnestly.
1st place contest winner / POTD