Long Alacrity Poems
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For once in my whole life, I did see not;
What is wrong from the right angle of view,
But been just has really hasten my shot...
To get tough handling matters without clue.
Which saddened my heart afterwards to learn,
The other side of the point not researched...
Cum unjust conclusion felt off concern,
Yet succumb not to view insight perched.
With bumps, face romances fearful death's hand,
At reach jogging heart near the hole of time...
Where difference between minute and hour, sand
Eon's alacrity without fear behind crime.
But grace and shame don't pin merciful space,
Like how repentance and favour hack case.
The flaming fire of desire, has consumed
me most of my revolutionary life.
And beyond, far, far beyond the
confines of being just a Mother and
dutiful wife.
It drove me out of Chicago on a
mad hunt, for a beautiful city to
do more than just exist in.
Somewhere, where I could contribute
to life and see a massive win!
I found that magical place, where
this became so wonderfully true!
A transformative place, wherein
integrity and telling truth was most
a pleasure-filled requisite to do.
I participated in both guest seminar
leader and trainer-to-be programs,too.
My life took a shift at that point
in time.
It was both demanding and spectacular.
Yet in a way, most gentle and kind.
I started living beyond friends and family.
Halted blaming world history for the way
things, "be!".
Waking people to get their hands on the
steering wheel of this,present life.
Developing programs to rid the world of
strife.
Never using illness as a way to manipulate
people.
My soul shines as bright as one on any sunny
church steeple!
San Francisco will always be very spiritual
to me.
It's the shiny, satiny ribbon on my life, based in
this century, in truth and integrity.
Poetry, for me, is but a minuscule beginning!
Humanity over government and confetti fears?
I would call that a most blessed winning!
Walking on the edge of the eternal, indeed!
To do so with alacrity, joy and speed!
Utopia: an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect.
~Oxford Languages
Achieving Utopia is not possible,
It exists outside the realm of Reality.
Reality is the great unstoppable,
In the end there is no amnesty.
No matter how strong the fantasy
Death holds the ultimate captaincy
To the end of our life's journey.
Utopia is a figment that ends with alacrity.
The end is inescapable, coming to us swiftly,
Without exaggeration, in the blink of an eye.
For: ''U'' Contest, New Poems Only Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
November 14, 2021
They placed me in a wooden box
and then they put the lid on. They left
me to shiver the cold night through and
picked me up next day around eleven a.m.
I heard dogs bark and children play, I heard
sweet songs among the dirges; friends and relatives
said such lovely things about me that afore were quite
unheard of. Inevitably, old Uncle Jim came out with
the one about the actress and the archbishop,
and what the fallen woman said at confessional
to a rabbi who'd taken over from the priest
for the day in a spirit most ecumenical. Then
the pall-bearers at last bore the box to the
spot assigned for burial. "Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust," said the reverend with
solemn finality as they let down the
box with me inside into the yawning
cavity, and that, if you'll allow me
add, with something akin to
alacrity. Then just as he gave
the final sign
to set the spades
showering earth down,
I lifted the lid of the box where I lay,
I said to the assembled all gasping and white:
"Sorry to stop the proceedings so late in the day, but one assumption I
challenge as completely unfounded, though it's been all too readily
taken for granted:
Far be it from me to cause an upset, but I think you should know--
I'M NOT DEAD YET!"
Some of the assembled felt very let down
and made no bones about it.
The vibrant popinjay has gone.' The harlequin no more really
Spins in song.' The magic's now all in a can.' Younger female backers
Parry times looming advance plan..' The age'd icon takes his glances
Across the acres, of yearning souls in hopefull trances..Parody banners they lie.' beneath sultry skies.' Echo the effigy of the past, See it burned in the mans eyes.'
Actions Describe.' Writ large the irony of life.' Youth has
Flown.' All hail its ghost, Ronnie strums, the speakers hum.'
Geri-acrity...Fumbles combinations and with alacrity..' 0yet theres really not one chance.' No way back.' All I see is false hope.' Rod Stewart is a husk.' Not yet voiceless.' Nor danceless yet
Its the back end, of the romance.!
What is the past tense of Quit?
a. Quitted
b. Quitten
c. Quitude
d. Quittined
e. None of the above
Which of the following is the correct meaning of Alacrity
a. Stubborn, unwilling
b. Alarming, Surprising
c. Mediocrity
d. Eagerness
e. None of the above
What word in the English language is always spelled incorrectly
a. Accommodate
b. Wednesday
c. Necessary
d. Fuchsia
e. None of the above
How would you rate this test
a. It was a great test
b. It was an enjoyable experience
c. It was a very easy test
d. This test deserves a 10
e. All of the above
2-1-2023
The Multiple Choice Poem Poetry Contest
Suzanne Delaney
Sure few ones know where the world's going to stand on
history speaks restless in time civilization after civilization
many theories are taught till today through education
anarchy is reaped there with contrary and contradiction
good people are always trying to feed better conception
but their alacrity does not auger well fully in any condition
so often they suffer mentally from humanity's hypertension
hanging uncountable differences of castes creeds and religions
games of suckers of political power, dominating will of many nations
tuning uncompromising attitude, intolerance, nepotism's maturation
few trying to make the life of this world long through international organizations
restricting harmful uses of desterus weapons by the official proclamation
knowledge of history may help if studied with true scientific visions
if all the nations do not come to think in common platform's combination
then surely one day this world will face dangerous destruction
Gone almost half a millennium ago,
Here comes one of your kind;
A mind ever ridden by the chariots of Muse
And who rest never can find
Until he ceases to refuse
And empties the weight of pen.
Your great grandchildren still love your art
And so dear you shall forever remain in my heart,
Each day I read your eloquent verse
When low moments I want to pass.
' To His coy Mistress' methinks was your best
written under Muse's forceful behest,
For no mortal can such a nugget craft,
Unless they intoxicate the throes of superior art.
If I were the Giver of breath to the fallen,
Andrew, I would resurrect your noble soul;
But your shall remain forever stolen
By the quiet and bliss of the tomb,
Perhaps till the congregation of the chosen few
Who include repentant gurus of letters like you.
Now two things we share in common,
That were to me recently known:
That your father was a honored clergyman,
And mine a revered reverend who served his turn;
The second thing we both love the beauty
And the dazzling splendor of art's alacrity.
Now, rest in peace and in undisturbed bliss
And let your offspring's rhyme your spirit please!
when onset
of periodontal disease didst rear
innocuously unbeknownst then,
that...nada one tooth experts could spare
though grievously sad to bid teeth adieu
now, tis gratitude these words
pour favor at a tear
and second to none false teeth
at age LIX doth veer
rill lee inspire this
very satisfied patient
February of 2018th year.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
back in the day
aye gladly placed trust
asper resigned then questionable oral fate
before hairs turned gray
joining high achiever pact (and pack)
to endure academic gauntlet
divesting global incentive
with alacrity, humility, tenacity
and thus this poetic disquisition
to pay homage to aspiring successful
and alumni sporting ring of brass
aye honor within elite chattering class
one significant summa cum laude graduate
sum decades ago,
perhaps reclining, reflecting, and reimagining
latex gloved gloved hands (now retired)
'pon some tropical island paradise,
or freshly mown grass
incognito with sun glasses
revels Doctor John Brent
perchance bred (bingo) begot astute lass
or lad exemplary instructing
thru his own blood, sweat and tears
who (for x number of years)
treated patients in an ever growing mass
sieve lee tending a family dental practice
within Harleysville, Pennsylvania
asserted superb reference (on my behalf)
via telephone to Doctor Montgomery
(aye presume) also enjoying
his twilight phase (if alive - I hope).
Charon—The Eternal Ferryman
The mythical ferryman extraordinaire of such keen gaze,
Who braves the Styx and Acheron in the deepest of haze.
Charon is a most sordid God who relishes his work as the
“Ferryman of Hades,” carrying new souls to their oblivion.
With an obolus as payment and a flash of his fiery-fierce eyes,
Charon performs his morbid task with a frightening alacrity!
With his winged-demon appearance and horrifying demeanor,
He terrifies all newly-deceased souls who face his vile being!
The world of the dead is the final destination for those who
Depart from the dark, dreary shores of the Styx and Acheron.
The deft ‘n cruel skull-crushing force of Charon’s ferryman’s pole,
Ensures that all lost souls in his charge never question his orders!
Charon’s fealty and devotion to Hades are absolute in his actions as
He secures the paramountcy of the world of the dead from the living.
The fleeting and finite nature of our mortal coil ensures that we shall
One day ascend heavenward or descend into a state of total perdition.
Without any doubt, if it be perdition, Charon shall be there to greet us
With the grim gaze of his fiery-fierce eyes as he carries us to our doom!
Don’t forget your obolus—or else!
Without this silver coin the wild wrath of Charon shall be upon you!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
January 21, 2018 (Couplet)