Long Alexander Poems
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When manic, I feel, think, and speak like God:
like Superman (or the world’s savior)!
The rush from feeling like a demi-god
makes me believe I am a conqueror,
like another Alexander the Great!
So when I’m flung to the abyss of hell
when these erratic moods abruptly abate,
I rapidly cycle so that I can't tell
the bottomless and profound lows that turn
these immortal, Olympian, speed-like highs
into abject spiritual dead-ends; I learn
that (as this disorder intensifies)
delusions of real grandeur soon grow tempting,
especially when life feels not worth living.
O what a man, so bold and brave,
Could do, his mighty hand could save.
This noble warrior was a relative of Zeus himself
Or so they say
His kingly proise remains today,
A standard figure of Persian frays.
Lightning crashed and thunder rumbled,
Signifying that this man would become well-known,
Not one to be humbled.
He was said to have tamed a wild horse,
By the fullness of his brain, of course.
His athletic records, no one could break,
For they remained for his pride's sake.
He became a briliant man, built like a tower of steel
That led some to believe he was unreal.
One every man would have yearned to become,
His power, his splendor, an unbeatable contendor!
Until only by a fatal error, his well of talents stopped flowing
For once in his life.
No one could save him from this horrendous plight.
The face of death reared its grotesque head,
And only to the path of enternal stillness it lead.
However, his name, emblazened by his noble deeds, very old,
Will retain its place in history in its priceless weight of gold.
Stream of errant emotion spurts out of your mind,
scathing currents erode the brittle banks.
The mistaken course pervades unrelentably,
and drowns deep the pieces of my broken heart.
If compassion could change the aberrant channel,
within contours of forgiveness I’d embrace you.
You’d find ahead a turning meander for the soul
that would flow to the placid bay of bliss.
You stoke the contrived fire of betrayal,
consuming the canopy of verdant longing.
The flame rages uncontrollably untamed,
and burns the flowers together we'd bloomed.
If tolerance could dowse the deviant fire,
I’d shower divine rains of forgiveness on you.
You’d find silver lining around melting clouds,
and we'll walk life to the realm of rainbow.
For God bestows mercy on mortal sinners,
to err is human; to forgive, divine.
(Inspired by : "To err is human; to forgive, divine" - Alexander Pope.)
February 7, 2020
Contest : Famous Poetic Lines 2
Sponsor : Silent One
May 17, 2020
Contest : Brian's Choice H
Sponsor : Brian Strand
The match was so exciting,
No one clearly in the lead.
Though Rafa won a tiebreak,
Nothing else was guaranteed.
The second set had started,
Rafa sweating in the heat.
While playing on his birthday,
He would not accept defeat.
Approaching six games all,
Another tiebreak on the rise,
His opponent turned his ankle
And fell down before our eyes.
His pain appeared enormous;
He was helped to leave the court
In a wheelchair, as he realized
All his hopes had come up short.
So Nadal is in the finals;
He “walked over,” as they say.
Not one soul, including Rafa,
Wished for it to end that way.
*French Open Semi-Finals
Rafael (Rafa) Nadal vs. Alexander Zverev
If Washington came back to life
I wonder how he’d feel
To be pictured on a quarter
And a dollar bill – surreal!
Abe Lincoln, too, would bust a gut
If he became alive,
To see his visage plastered
On a penny and a five.
And Alexander Hamilton,
If he could live again,
Would love the play about him
And his picture on the ten.
Had Andrew Jackson ditched his grave,
He’d likely argue plenty
About his image front and center
On our nation’s twenty.
Ben Franklin, though, would be real proud
If he came back to earth,
To find out that a hundred dollar bill
Proclaims his worth.
McKinley’s portrait graces
Money that we rarely use.
(I’ve never even seen that bill –
Five hundred smackeroos!)
Poor Jefferson, despite his wealth
And all he got to do,
Unfortunately got his mug
On the elusive two!
The pictures on our currency
Have long been set in place.
Thank goodness or our current prez
Would swap ‘em for his face.
Hey you guys, why leave your town
To find a bride and settle down?
Take a tip and don’t philander
Somewhere remote like Alexander.
He married a princess called Roxana,
It seems, to make her hill tribes calmer.
To equalize the world by sex
Was a worthy aim subject to checks.
Pneumonia, poison or whatever
The emperor from his wife did sever.
So poor Roxana was alone
Cut off from people, friends and home.
She made her way to Macedonia
There to die not of pneumonia.
She, much sinned against, did sin.
She did in some foes and got done in.
Want to learn more? Surf to ‘Cassander’
And read some books on Alexander.
Before they placed her in a hearse
She pronounced an awesome curse.
‘To conquer my land shall many strive
who ne’er shall leave that land alive’.
I fear this curse still ails her land,
which nought can lift save God's own hand.
Name this land if that you can.
Take this hint. It ends with –stan.
I was told that a friend cherished, talked about me,
said- I was not hearing her when she spoke;
I was so angry,
for I am a listener !
A true friend to those who I let enter my world,
for this journey has made me very careful;
I did not say anything to her but distanced myself,
then, weeks, weeks later I realize I was hurt, not angry.
(and I missed her and our conversations on every subject)
Does this mistake have to end friends ?
Perhaps, I can ask why over coffee?
"To err is human; to forgive divine . . . . "(Alexander Pope)
___________________________
February 4, 2020
Poetry/Verse/Forgiving Hurt
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1223-059-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for Famous Poetic Lines 2
sponsor, Silent One
Third Place
Alexander Kielland
a Norwegian writer regarded as a fine author, if not the top drawer, but somewhere in the middle, one does not need to stretch up or bend low to read his work.
I read his books when sitting in the library, skiving as my teacher would have said
After seven years we, who didn't have what was said, did not need further education since we were worker
material, which in a way, makes sense after all, most of us ended up in factories as our elders had.
The day before our sour-faced teacher gave his farewell speech, and, gave us advice on how to go through life humble and respectful of higher orders, I read a short story by AK about little Marius, who could not grasp the Latin language.
The priest had told him he could not be a cleric if he didn't understand Latin, his teacher despaired, and his
poor parents ashamed that their youngest son was so dense and refusing to learn Latin verbs.
I can't remember how the story ended, but little Marius disappeared, fled to Germany became
a tycoon in
the valley of the Ruhr bought a big castle and denied
he was little Marius. His sons joined the Nazi party and
and were the first go to defeat Norway to squash rumors of the Marius, unable to learn Latin and AK
books were banned.
When our teacher came into the room, we stood at attention at our desks
He told us which factories were seeking apprentices
and stables needing lads to run errands
He looked at me and said, there is a training job for
cobblers I impress upon those who are hopeless to seek employment as cobblers.
No, I'm not little Marius, but I do live abroad.
Nothing but a miracle will bring you back to me now.
You said that,
I said I'll change, But I don't know how.
My life is at a crossroads,
Trying to stay straight,
Keep my focus now.
Bending round this corner,
Searching for your love,
I longer,
...Forever...
When my heart calls to you,
Do you hear it calling?
...Tell me?
All the things I did, I'm sorry
...forever, Tell me?
That you'll take me back,
I've changed my ways,
For now and forever.
Tell me,
Cause I can't stand to lose,
All you had to offer,
And when I find a miracle,
I'll send it to you in an instant now,
The angels will deliver,
I hope your heart can open somehow?
And when I feel the rain is gone,
The crimson light will shine on me for now,
So take me back, I beg, I ask?
Bring me back to life somehow.
So tell me...
That you'll take me back,
I'll love you now and forever,
And tell me...
You'll forgive my past,
And we'll move onward together.
So tell me...
Please come back to me,
I hope these words are yours forever.
Please tell me...?
When finally that magic fell,
A sparkling dust held over us together,
Uniting us as the one,
My dreams came true,
You came back too.
I will never let you down,
Never again, it's my promise now,
I hope I am the miracle,
You're searching for,
I'm searching too.
So tell me...
That we'll always be together,
Grey and old.
And tell me...
If my heart tires,
Or my love gets too cold.
So tell me...
This chance you took was yours,
Forever so bold.
So tell me,
I'll be yours forever,
To claim and to hold,
...nothing but a miracle...
Graham Alexander Devenish
I stayed on this famous island for a little while,
fortress, prison and avant-garde Bonaparte style.
Rigged charm with antiquities slow train,
governors constitution keeping royal patriots vain.
200 years after the mysterious death of the king,
at his grave, I was wondering, ‘You poor little thing’.
Another sort of great Alexander that loves to conquer,
taken on the establishments in crisis that ponder.
Ideals of restless doomed heroes celebrated,
taken war to higher constitution elevated.
St. Helena the wife of Emperor Constantine,
went on to pilgrimage to find the sacred terrain.
Building the church of the Holy Sepulchre,
the place of Christ crucifixions culture.
Priestess of Avalon and patron saint of discoveries,
island of sacred through Christ self recoveries.
Total sovereignty and its dying destiny,
luring fatal admirations penalty.
No escaping from repeating history.