Long Congratulate Poems
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Giving of myself entirely
and making others happy
is my greatest wish,
no other passion is greater than this:
intensely feeilng it and sharing it.
Some have thrown stones at me without a solid reason,
and murmured wicked words filled with jealousy and hate,
not knowing that truth was my lighthouse not standing alone...
that one day would have shed light everywhere! My night
wasn't the darkest and my morning was the brightest!
I have seen again those malevolent eyes,
but those evils hearts didn't give me a chance to love them,
and reading their unloving thoughts I avoided them;
are they dead or alive, roaming the dark forest of their soul,
never seeking the warm light of another sunrise?
Giving of myself entirely
is a passion and a devotion;
my happiness echoes with gleeful emotion,
seeing them smile and laugh, shake hands
and congratulate themselves for their good fortunes.
If they thought as I think and loved as I love,
no unkindness would deprive anyone of giving of themselves;
so what's the cause of their malcontent? Hatred, selfishness or pride?
I've come to this shocking conclusion: self-love!
It's the huge cloud blocking our sun and making it really unbright!
I'd rather spend my days by myself than having untrue friends,
friendship should be that iron bar that no heat is ever able to melt;
understanding, forgiving and loving is the strongest allegiance
we could ever wish or dream of...then let your honesty be it!
Let's built tomorrow on trust, not self-gain, and love each other!
There are things one must do in high society.
One must maintain appearances…and all that.
Know your manners.
Know your place setting.
Know your place.
Be social, congratulate profusely
and defer when appropriate.
There are things one must not do in polite company.
So escape expectations.
Run away at night.
Scratch up your feet.
Collect a few blisters.
Shiver and gasp
in a gleaming blue spring
of spring run-off.
Then run on.
Find old trees but respect not the elders.
Treat them as social ladders, and climb!
It’s lonely at the top, I’m told.
Nothing but a canopy of green.
Is it money? Jealousy?
Just leaves, perhaps…leaves? Leave?
OH! LEAVE!
Get your feet back on the ground
Where moon-cast puddles of light
lay dappled between dancing shadows.
Take in the dizzying ballroom.
Spin ‘til your head spins.
Sing if you want to…or better yet
SCREAM!!!!!
And scream again,
just to hear the world scream back:
"There are things one doesn’t do in polite company."
Screw it.
Run! Swim! Climb! Dance!
Scream until the world hears you!
Let them scream back. They surely will.
But there are things one must do,
In wild country.
04/03/2020
We have this January 1st tradition…to which we faithfully adhere
We head to the beach so we can watch the sun rise on a new year…
For years we’ve been going to the same beach…as each new year’s begun…
to stand along the water’s edge and smile as we greet the sun.
We love coming back to the same spot to rekindle memories we’ve collected
and…as very often happens…to make new memories…unexpected.
The old memories were there to greet us where the water meets the land…
the trees, the birds, people walking their dogs…the ocean and the sand.
But it was on the boardwalk…as we watched the sun begin to rise….
where the new year…just waking up…delivered her first surprise.
As the sunlight reached the boardwalk…that boardwalk became the perfect stage
and in that perfect spot…that perfect moment…we watched a couple get engaged.
We were the first to congratulate them…the moment his proposal was done.
The first with hugs and handshakes…
The first to see the ring on her finger shining in the sun.
It was a beautiful moment and we took their picture in the midst of a sunburst…
We…a couple who’ve been married 35 years taking a photo of them…
a couple about to start their first.
As we left them to enjoy their moment…
(she couldn’t stop looking at her ring!)
I thought…if this is just the first day of the year…
I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.
Yes…if New Year’s Day was any indication…
then, to me, it seems quite clear….
2024…is going to be…one amazing year.
I'm proud of you,
And I love you.
You are:
Calm,
Confident,
Kind
Well-reasoned,
Reserved,
Gentle,
Humble,
Thoughtful,
Intelligent,
Insightful,
Observant,
And
Articulate.
You exercise sound judgment,
And have a good sense of humor.
You are independent.
Repeatedly, you've shown
You can make a plan
And execute it.
You've found a kind, intelligent, empathic mate.
This is what I can see from the outside.
Inside you, I'm sure there is more to know and love.
You have overcome obstacles,
Such as my role in choosing one of your babysitters.
I've always been hard on myself,
A perfectionist,
Focusing, at times with frustration,
On my own deficiencies,
Rather than my merits.
Grappling with my own physical and mental challenges,
Unfortunately, one could not keep them entirely to myself,
And also, I'm afraid, by extension,
I've focused my perfectionism
On you.
This must have been hard on you
In a number of ways.
I'm sorry.
My hats off to you.
You deserve credit
For whom you are, and the man you've become.
Rather than focus on my deficiencies,
I congratulate myself,
For whatever positive role I may have played.
I'm proud of you,
and I love you.
Circa February 28th, 1968 - The Former Leiper Estate
Soon after our family settled
into the sprawling estate
named "Glen Elm" approximate
half century old from date
mentioned in title, said treasure
rosy Gypsy foretold fate
Harriet Harris, (daughter
of Antebellum Rebecca great
Kuritsky - Brooklyn transplanted
Southern Belle), create
head "FAKE" story, whereby
former did absquatulate
with jack of all trades (Boyce
Brandon Harris) too late
above named ramshackle
mansion, they remained mate
to each other til death did
thee mum part, congratulate
sans, her high school chums
felt envious - girls did rate
papa (now octogenarian widower)
most handsome (master) bait,
whose smarts earning advanced
degree applying his pate
as mechanical engineer for
General Electric did satiate
penchant solving complex
mathematical equations tete
a tete for super intelligent
entrepreneurial fella alleviate
head real passion rehabilitating
derelict property, allocate
ting leisure time resuscitating
neglected homes ameliorate
head procreative itch practically
rebuilding this did animate
dad's profuse true calling
spending hours fame did anticipate
(though papa quite modest,
and other people gushed appreciate
ting self taught revitalizing
unseen hidden gem and to articulate
unique artistic flair himself
as taskmaster masterpieces intimate
ting creations nobody, but
himself could imagine brilliance pate
drew forth unbelievable
enhancements doppelganger did berate
rarely could family, friends,
strangers...do more than capitulate
with ceaseless praise always
adding final touches to captivate
most flattering aura, charisma,
karma (credit) perfectly calibrate
head aesthetic qualities even
shabbiest building communicate
ting magic touch of, who plied
blood, sweat and tears culminate
ting in unbelievable transformation
particularly, how to designate
ideal amount of appeal to abode
came to screeching halt dissipate
head after mum passed, and papa's
raw talent earned thru educate
ting himself, no amount of inborn
inherent blueprints did illustrate
native bent, BUT no new life could
resurrect demise of his queen soulmate!
In the mind of men,
for his achievements
he want to be able to congratulate himself
for having gone through the hard work, discipline,
motivation, just for it to dawn on him
it's rewarded with realization.
Man is a chaotic mess of sensitivity,
running away from the chaotic mess.
Realization is, he never can.
What does it mean that you can't do anything about it.
The wind sings it loud and clear,
Nobody hears.
The wind say, the reason you can't
do anything about it,
sweetie, you don't exist.
Images are just images
reflecting on the moment.
It's all an abstraction,
flying away with the wind.
It was all a dream!
In the distance I can hear church bells chiming a new song.
My best friend is about to marry her bad boy, so wrong.
Believe me, something I would say today would not matter now.
If he turns out okay, I’ll be the first person to say “wow!”
But from what I have already seen, he is a big bow-wow-wow.
I’d rather see her married to my namesake, a beautiful red cow.
He always seems to put her down, making fun of everything.
She told me that she’d bought her own engagement ring.
His parents were surprised that he and she were engaged.
His proposal was a scene from Star Wars, completely staged.
It wasn’t that I was angry or felt left out or blue.
Now that I think about it, those things might actually be true.
I’d better put on my game face and make a fast run back to the wedding.
To congratulate the bride and groom, Mr. and Mrs. Royal P. Tedding.
The Segue Bought a sense of happiness midway through the
song
It is the songs signature
a segue that changes the actual mood through modulation
Written By:
A.Pseudonym. Of Whiskey scented Words LLC>
21 and Over Songs for People
a sense of betrayal
heartbreak over
a self-created image
I conjured it up myself
setting high standards
wanting to much
what I thought I was seeing
wasn't what it was
reallity
fantasies
how it's is
and the way you wish it
to be
Ain't nothing here worth
holding on to
trinkets and memories
sometimes ain't that good for you
my imperfection
or sometimes a overly need to please
leaves me heartbroken
as she's as mean as she wants to be
people like to keep you down
push you around
sometimes a man just don't wanna be alone
you do better ny yourself
needing someone else
makes you vulnerable
and you're still all alone
Hold up
if she Loves you
I mean really really Loves you
I'd shake your hand
call you the man
if he really loves you
if he really wants to be will you
I'd congratulate
and take you by the hand
bypassing the real work
relationships require
frustration, and resentment
can emerge
leaving you feeling foolish
wishing you wished you had
stresses cause resentment
you're often disappointed
frowning all the time
keeping yourself mad
at the same time
it aint to much to ask
wear something that say's were together
at aint much
showing up nbot to show out
but just fellowshiping
spending time together
sometimes that what
love is all about sometimes
just sometimes
heartfelt plea or longing
the urgency of self awarness
Wailing oboe
her task was to make
the meloncoly of this
instrument sound
happy and cheerful
breathing a need of
human stenght into
a situational conversation
lacking the blue overtones
to convey the
happiness that is to come lacking melocoly and frustration
flutes and drums
Segue
I just got through viewing
The "Hot New Poems List"
With the names of those I know
and some I guessed I've missed
I breezed right though the first five
Then, right straight down to ten
and new there'd be no need
To ever check, that high again
Then, Flying though the twenties
Perhaps, the thirties I would place
Even in the forties
would be a saving grace
Perhaps the Soup was careless
For sure they are mistaken
Not every poem I have written
'till now, could be forsaken
Then, there were the sixties
and the seventies, AGAIN !
You'd think between lines they,
could s-w-eeeeeze my poem in
The eighties saw no hope
The nineties were amiss
You'd think that I'd be sad
Or just a little pissed
But I'll just keep on trying
'Cause, you can never tell
But, the truth is that I'm Happy
to see my friends all doing well
I want to especially Congratulate my friend and yours
Jan Alison for making the Top of the list
"Not bad, for a girl that writes "Pooh" eh........ Lol
Hope was Burrow's substance, where he poured his time,
Pedalling steadily.
Intended path made smooth for those in legacy line.
Sliced through wiry roots,
Watchguard Wombat dug safety spaces.
Safety albeit empty,
claw shortening scooping to prop up progeny.
Plodding stoically.
Muffled praise from mollycoddled recipients who forgot
to congratulate wombat.
Chirps trill between ear orifices, a cheerful bell,
twinkling creek,
Thrill of apparently sucidal bird ledge leap,
harks updraught as capacity for flight.
Her name is Rainbow, though only he calls her so.
Optimism is Burrow's skeleton, firm fragile scaffold not broken
Bloodstream good Samaritan convinces him those closest know
that he would give everything
- devoid of return, satisfied in striving.
Fallen from insipid clouds, risen to a wide arc -
Squadron Observation squawk when the sun reemerges.
Related inseparably, sweet candy stripes are strings,
Harnesses of translucent hues.
Rainbow holds a cauldron in her wings
Shivered salute feather plume pom poms, her support
Altitude albeit not born to
Chimes a celebratory chortle, rain's finishing touch
Firey refraction stacks medallions of precious metal.
Magnetism draws, claws refuse to dig, Burrow closes.
Academy of affluent fly close to burn point,
- risk being scorched
Hypnotised by the increments his digits indicate.
Prospective friends and followers fill up his hollow
Lucrative lure curates karma, demanded by lorikeet
Marionettes dance, tuned to bushland command
Pinnochios pulled by Burrow's Rainbow.