Long Clear the air Poems
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This is being newly dedicated to my Aunt Jane who reminded me to keep shining God’s light brightly.
THE GLITTER OF LIFE
A tiny sparkle of hope
Hidden within the gloom
We only see muddy water
Occupying all of our room
There is a pretty flower
Beneath those tall weeds
Buried far out of sight
We look not that deep
We seek bad news
So eagerly caught
We forget good news
Should be what is sought
Let us take a quick peek
Of the descriptionalization
It is what life is all about
To reach full realization
The hovering dark cloud
Brings depression and woe
Feeling trapped in sadness
Pulling with an evil tow
You become a hard rock
Or it seems like one of them
Now the trials before you only
Sand and polish you to a gem
Your eye catches a twinkle
To tap your vision per say
It travels far within to spark
Happy thoughts your way
Those clouds of gloom
Cover up the shiny light
The glitter inside of you
That wants to shine bright
All those weeds can hide you
Even from your very own face
So it is time to pull those weeds
To clear the area of your space
A crushed spirit as written
Will only dry up the bones
Whereas is your joyful heart
A good medicine to own
Our strength is from within
The joy of the Lord in each one
Our individual glitter of life
To shine with strong emotion
When you do shine your light
To see your pathway grounds
The glitter of life will be seen
That most abundantly surrounds
There will be a glow of beauty
Like nature covered in sequins
The flowers bursting through
Even the tallest weeds of grim
You will see the difference
You will finally get the hint
Even if you only shine a bit
With a brief flashing glint
To shine your light is simple
Though it seems hard to do
Hum a merry tune, or whistle
Even a smile changes attitudes
Clear the air with a breeze of hope
Thus letting the light inside glisten
A new wind of change on a good note
Chiming a beautiful tune – just listen
Lean not on our own understandings
To form opinions of what appears to seem
It is the faith within that holds the victory
To overcome the world and conquer our dreams
We are all sprinkles of the glitter of life
Scattered through dark clouds of gloom
Fighting our way through evil and such
Brightening the path for happiness to bloom
Florence McMillian (Flo)
Sometimes
I woke up late and in an outrage.
Alone, did I always have to take a backstage?
Silently she would leave the cottage early
Leaving me on my own, though I loved her dearly.
Often,
after my early morning meal
not to steal my spouse slumber, an ideal
time, I would gather my shawl and walk down
a wooded path illuminated in a rainbow gown.
Sometimes
I remembered those serene days
Wandering in the city, searching new ways,
Knowing her favourite haunts to get a bargain,
Or get a tasty meal in some charming garden.
Often,
when we lived in the city, loneliness
devoured what little I had, it filled me with emptiness.
Now at peace in the forest green I knelt in front of a cross
in a limestone grotto praying, never at loss.
Sometimes
When I saw she'd gone to God knows where,
Jealousy ate my innards, but I had to clear the air.
For I had known her quite a while and always knew
She was a kindly woman, gifted and a lover true.
Often,
I closed my eyes and collected past loving reveries;
he'd hold my hand on serene days and we'd visit parks and galleries.
He had always treated me with kindness and respect.
“God, lead me to touch the brokenness of his heart and let him forget."
Sometimes
Things always came to a head and decided,
Love was too precious that we should be divided.
So I followed her as she winded her way among trees.
Found her before the crucifix praying on her knees.
Often,
I wished he was by my side in prayer.
I heard a snap, I turned to see him standing there.
I brushed away my tears, reaching for him to hold my hand.
I forgot all about my tears, the man I always loved was God's plan.
6/21/2018
A collaboration with Victor Buhagiar, a pleasure to have had him do this with me.
Duets: I Shall Collaborate With You Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: James Edward Lee Sr.
I have this lucky shirt…I feel the luck in this shirt is strong…
I’ve worn it many times and every time I wear it…luck has come along.
I wore it on the first leg of our trip to North Carolina.
It’s like being enveloped by and old friend….
And since it’s luck worked that first day… the next morning…I put it on again.
In my defense our car was air conditioned…I didn’t sweat
and for 10 hours I felt the luck through my shirt flow…
So it was an easy decision the next morning…to wear that shirt two days in a row.
(In case you’re wondering if I am a complete slob let me clear the air….
Yes, I wore the same shorts and shirt…but I changed my underwear!)
All this reminded me of a time years ago In the mountains of NC
when Damien and Taylor (our two eldest grandchildren) spent two weeks with Deborah and me.
We didn’t notice this until we looked at the photos later
something that, to this day, still disconcerts…
but in every photo Damien and Taylor were wearing the same shirt!
They brought two weeks of clothing
Stacked in their dressers…each day to be swapped
but each night Deborah washed their dirty clothes then neatly stacked them back on top.
Each morning, without thinking, Damien and Taylor would reach into their drawer…
and put on the very same shirt they wore the day before.
So in every photo taken in each and every frame
due to Deborah’s loving cleanliness…Damien and Taylor were dressed the same.
As I put my lucky shirt into the dirty clothes…to be washed for the 100th time again…
I wondered if, perhaps, Damien and Taylor also had lucky shirts back then.
Which makes me wonder when it comes to our apparel..and our sense of fashion too…
If re-wearing clothes that are not dirty and do not smell…it’s something fellas do.
Which brings me to the reason for this poem:
Beginning with these two weeks in NC
and then on our 48 day road trip…let me take a moment to assert
Do not judge me too critically…
if in almost every photo
I’m wearing the same shirt.
The siblings in our family consisted of 4 brothers and 8 sisters.
The boys were right at home in keeping our hair washed and combed.
On the other hand, the 8 girls wore pony tails, braids, and on
rare occasions, curls.
At the time of our father's demise, he was 58, mother was only 35,
and our maternal grandmother was 75. The ages of the siblings in our
large family ranged in age from 9 months to 19 years, and we were
well taught to look after each other.
I must confess that before today I never once gave thought to the subject
of hair which was a family matter that our precious mother had to contend with day after day, year after year. Indeed, her hands were filled with hair.
We were aware of wigs, but there was never a sign of wigs in our house.
On the other hand, we boys kept busy watering and feeding our father's pigs. We had a cow, a goat, a pet rabbit, and lots of chickens, but there was no sign of wigs. There was a hot plate, hot comb, straighting combs, and curling combs, but honestly, there was never a sign of wigs.
Anyway, I'm delighted to share with you that our household did have an
affair with hair. Both our parents and our maternal grandmother who lived
with us had black hair. Two brothers had black hair, and two brothers had
brown hair. Five sisters had brown hair, and three sisters had black hair.
Our mother was also a beautician, and the 8 girls always had lovely heads
of hair that would very often command a stare. I tell you, my beautiful
sisters never gave wigs a care. I share this matter of wigs with you because
I wish to clear the air that my mother, grandmother, and 8 sisters simply
did not need a wig.
We all learned early in life that there were lots of things that just were
not fair. And yes, our mother had a lot of burden to contend with and to
bare. But there is no doubt that she spent a lot of her time and effort
taking care of the hair of my 8 sisters and grandmother. But again,
there was never a sign of wigs.
Time and Change
There's an old abandoned farmhouse I passed the other day,
With broken down old stockyards and a shed of rotting hay.
Thistles growing cornfield high among the citrus trees.
The fowl run all but fallen down with grass up past your knees.
Horses grazing by the house, bring a nostalgic smile.
This farm once loved and cared for, made someones life worthwhile.
A blue wren flits from twig to twig, and along the veranda rail.
The pensioned off old dairy cow, will never again see a bail.
The mailbox a yellow rusty fridge, standing by the road.
A fence of wooden posts and wire that no longer take the load.
With busted gate on rusted hinges, a windmill with missing sails.
And there a tank and water trough, with split and broken rails.
Now that old abandoned farmhouse, will one day turn to dust.
Becoming part of all around, in change we place our trust.
If daily grind wears you down and you think you’ve had enough.
Remember change is constant and to fight it makes it tough.
Hard times we know will take a toll and slap one in the face.
Then nature sends a caring hand to keep us in the race.
The rain will green the fields, clear the air and turn the dirt to mud.
Give that pensioned off old dairy cow a fresh and tasty cud.
The shadows in the afternoon stretch across this little glade.
As the sparkling sunlit brook, disappears into the shade.
And I wonder if one will see in a hundred years from now,
There'll be another farmhouse, another horse and dairy cow.
Or crowded streets and buildings with people rushing to and fro
Concerned with things to do today, and worry about to-morrow
Whatever will become of it one thing is for sure,
Time moves on and brings the change, that's what time is for.
________oOo________
Senate Intelligence
By Franklin Price
6/8/2017
Senate intelligence, not so sure I saw today.
Those words an oxymoron for what I heard some say.
Do not become political, I heard the chairman speak.
Some of them would not comply, their minds were just too weak.
I'll not point my fingers, not be specific in my point.
If you watched, you may agree, there were non-listeners in the joint,
that thinly veiled or blatantly, proudly took their party's side
I saw again the sad state we're in, “You did not listen”, is what I cried.
You had a chance to clear the air through a fine upstanding man
That he was canned by the president, of that I'm not a fan
I think he has integrity and he did his job too well
Tried to be all to everyone. I think that's why he fell.
Position required arm's length, unbiased and aloof
Made some very tough decisions and it all went through the roof
Stepped on several psycho toes by thinking for himself
Was much too good, thought consequence, and now he's on the shelf.
The FBI director's job should be autonomous
With freedom to investigate all the crime done on the bus
Without the threat of firing, without sufficient cause,
Investigate to solution without oxymoron pause.
It's a shame we don't have Hoover still, who covered his own ass.
Collected trash on everyone, to mess with him must pass
If you tried to take him down, you were likely going too
Then your royal job, upon the hill, would no longer be for you.
There always are temptations to selfishly advance
To give you free vacations, to put money in your pants
You better clean your act up, we the people watching too.
The president got Comey. We don't have to vote for you.
I've never had writers block but I fear it
Wrote 30 poems a day for 11 years, I'm not looking for a writer to compare with
Sometimes I write something so personal I don't want to share it
I get scared I may say too much, and they'll say they didn't need to hear it
I put my life on paper, but sometimes I just like to see how many words I can rhyme
find inspiration in anything, I've always got a verse in my mind
From simple rhymes, double rhymes, internal to double entendres
I'm having a grand day (Grande) with dreams of making a wife of Ariana
I paid for my mistakes and i'm glad they didn't come at a higher cost
I may have suffered but at least I never had writers block
There's no limit to how many rounds of ammo my pen can fire off
I just try to finish every verse before the desire's lost
I wrote a poem called "Dear Chantal" maybe I shouldn't have put her Name in it
But am I wrong when I was just trying to get the pain to lift?
I try and be original but every story has been told already
If it Rains , then I hope it falls heavy
I need it to clear the air and wash my pain away
I've put every flaw of mine in my art, so you knew I came this way
When I have a bad time, a sad mind, i find paper and attach rhymes
It's my way of surviving and trying to change the day
I've never had writers block but I fear it
Wrote 30 poems a day for 11 years, I'm not looking for a writer to compare with
Sometimes I write something so personal I don't want to share it
But I'm thankful I can write, I've never had writers block but I fear it
I chance upon
This rare book find;
Brown yet beyond
The pages sign.
For days and days,
I sift new thought;
Old wisdom says
Align bold plots.
The author writes
In words said plain;
The reader cites
A fragrant stain.
Each chapter tells
In clear detail;
Each message dwells
How not to fail.
One sheet prelude
For summary;
One attitude
To make me see.
Old book spine weak,
I tear each sheet,
Summary speaks,
Inspired thoughts greet.
I feel delight
At this grand find:
So much insight
To fix in kind.
Words of a seer
With pathway thoughts;
Prompt acts to steer
Fun, wit and plot.
Words that speak out
To inspire zest;
Word profound bout
To light life's quest.
A message found,
"Live On Purpose"
On earthly grounds,
Let love imburse.
Twenty-five sheets
To meditate;
Light for the feats
That gravitate.
Gratitude stills
My heart and mind
For thought and feel
Know love most kind.
The author shows
A wise sure grace;
Dan Millman grows
A sublime space.
The reader heals
Old hurts and pains;
Words heap a fill
That knowing gains.
Old pages ooze
With happy fare;
No need for booze
To clear the air.
Sanguine this talk
Of making sense;
Poignant the walk
Without pretense.
So here I tuck
Rare vintage finds;
Thrill magic luck
With peace of mind.
Read line by line
To glimpse thoughts wise;
Learn to feel fine
For a small price.
Leon Enriquez
13 November 2014
Singapore
Conscience And Surviving
(*Shadow/Blitz poetry should be read rapidly)
Clear the air
Clear of conscience
Conscience causes confusion
Conscience derails dreams
Dreams fail to fit the occasion
Dreams will melt
Melt unrealistic margins
Melt them with fire
Fire will purify
Fire burns fast
Fast through flaming houses
Fast over high dry grasses
Grasses continue and turn green
Grasses grow giant lawns
Lawns become giants
Lawns climb mountains
Mountains stay still as they can
Mountains do not leap
Leap over oceans
Leap to the stars
Stars wink out secrets
Stars tell scary stories
Stories of violent creation
Stories about the hidden dark
Dark takes over
Dark creates night
Night drinks in power
Night consumes the alter ego
Ego shrinks to such depths as man
Ego bathes in the light of day
Day discloses realities intent
Day takes the sun to happy places
Places in the heart
Places rich in passion
Passion recognized by everyone
Passion born from the burning sun
Sun that reaches every soul
Sun takes solace from shade
Shade has no shadow of its own
Shade belongs to trees
Trees treat sun and shade the same
Trees have leaves and religious beliefs
Beliefs in nature
Beliefs is little creatures
Creatures come and go
Creatures know surviving
Surviving peacefully
Surviving gently
Gently
Peacefully
Narcissism arrives in any way..
Has many shapes and sizes..
Forms of narcissism floating in the environment
A Narcissistic one..
Dictates in the mind..
Of importance I solely am
Only I can sustain value..
Only I can indeed prosper
The Universe revolves around myself..
Others are not worthy of anything..
When it is I..
That bears all the fruits of life..
Why shall I embrace what others have to offer..
When there is no value fulifillment in anything they do..
I am above and beyond..
There is no living being above myself..
The reflection in the mirror shows my vanity in every aspects ..
On the whole I am all about myself..
Empathy for others is literally impossible
When empathy is only for myself..
There is no space for empathy to expand..
Empathy is one sided..
I feel for myself alone..
Togetherness is obsolete..
I refuse to allow myself to join hands and feel love for another..
The hands I join are of my hands alone..
Narcissism equals sadness..
The heart and soul bleeds..
Others have been exposed..
Effected by the selfishness of narcissism..
An ungrateful, opportunist arises
Like a mist of smoke..
Lingering in the air..
Others clear the air..
Air of unwanted selfishness..
A newly mist of selflessness..
Clearly a smoke filled environment of love and compassion..
Love and compassion..
Dissolving is the key..
Dissolve selfishness..
Welcome selflessness
Welcome everlasting love..