Long Crisci Poems
Long Crisci Poems. Below are the most popular long Crisci by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crisci poems by poem length and keyword.
Before I had a boy's perfect body,
the sharpest mind and a spirit full of energy;
even strangers complimented me
on my selflessness, asking God to bless me!
Had I known then that youth wasn't eternal, unlikely the indelible seasons
that renew themselves accordingly, I would have had
a different view of how it should have been lived...
with a more purposeful insight, which allowed no time for regrets!
And that boy's perfect body, carved by loveliness ,
could be seen in photographs belonging to another century;
thick hair and a smooth face defined a neat appearance...
to make plenty of girls stare at me desirously!
O young years, why didn't you warn me of your hastiness?
I could have made the effort to slow you down,
and enjoyed you more without ever wasting time in idleness!
Beautiful and care-free days, how can I posses youth again?
I am still kind of handsome, much older now,
and ladies adore my good looks, once flashing a sweet image
in those attractive and radiant smiles of long time ago,
not worried about any wrinkle revealing their true age!
Before I had a boy's perfect body...
magnificently sculptured like Michelangelo's David;
my adolescence began with my physical beauty,
and ended with that ravishing vanity tossed aside!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Young and middle-aged ladies, who wear sundresses
when summer days sizzle, make the opposite sex notice
how lovely and sexy their soft skin is; curious guys,
of course, can't help staring at them...not once but twice!
Watch them chatting on a bench of a park,
or just strolling down a busy street...
pushing their baby's stroller in the July's heat;
come closer to hear their silly talk!
Jan, my niece's friend, attracts me like no lady ever can,
she wears a colorful sundress she made herself,
and she talks funny to make everybody laugh;
some thinks she's crazy, but I'd love to be her man!
Many women go to great lengths to get one of these...
the one that makes them stand out and get winks
from men who are easily distracted in the baseball's field:
they wish their wives looked like that...more strength they'd yield!
Fashion models draw admirable glances from an applauding crowd,
but they wear sundresses for recognizition, not for their soulmates;
so ordinary ladies wear them to find that ideal boyfriend or husband,
and admit among yourselves that it is a style of attractiveness!
Written by Andrew Crisci
for Constance La France's contest, " The Sundress. "
Women are quickly adjusting to modern times
by being more liberal and independent of men;
gone is the housewife, mother and wife,
who stayed home and took care of her children...
On the other hand, men seem to have lost their power
as breadwinners by becoming less caring and loving husbands;
families rarely gather at dinner to discuss matters,
and this daily celebration pleased their Creator...
Martin Luther was assassinated and John F. Kennedy followed him,
so did his brother Robert and America watched and mourned;
these were, indeed, difficult times that changed the image of a nation,
and the innocent blood spilled by hatred spread more indignation...
Unexpectedly, something marvelous happened which brought awareness;
and soon after the American astronauts landed on the barren and grey moon,
everyone wanted to declare their rights as abiding and loyal citizens
of a country that suppressed freedom and created unneccessary choas and gloom...
This teen was powerless and horrified witnessed these events that changed America,
peace, justice and fairness were far cries from reality, more needed to be done; and mama
didn't want to lose me when the Vietnam War started and hippies refused to pick up arms;
and their peaceful songs are a reminder of a youth spared by God for His great purpose...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Mommy, you carry me in your womb,
not knowing that it'll become my tomb;
mommy, on a cigarette you constantly puff,
and I, too, inhale the smoke that makes you cough...
I sense much loneliness, even though
I can't see you and feel the sadness of your day;
why does smoke make you reject love,
the tenderest love you should have for your baby?
Your lullaby isn't heartfelt and sweet to make me sing,
there's a sourness I can't easily explain;
most mothers are happy when they conceive,
why aren't you excited, delighted and really glad?
My desperate plea you can't hear, because this voice is too low
for you to hear it and give up that bad habit;
I want to live like others babies and drink my milk and grow,
but you're not concerned and moved by it...
Even your teeth have turned yellow and your breath smells,
smoke makes all your clothes sting as your brittle hair loses sheen;
how can I survive, if you continue to clog your lungs?
I breath what you breath...I cough when you cough, and sometimes bleed...
Mommy, I will have the same beautiful eyes that you have,
that reflect the color of a spring sky and softness of a calm sea;
mommy, live and let me live and hear my desperate plea,
many uncaring mothers have died and taken their unborn to their grave...
Cpoyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
As you'll go through life,
there won't be any gentle slopes
to climb and reach your height;
everything has its own merit,
only fear is the obstacle to winning battles,
so don't let that fear keep you from that victory:
conquer what was unconquerable,
and wave your victorious flag joyfully
with an enthusiasm too irrepressible!
Yesterday, many intricate thoughts of defeat
were clustered together and crushed by a doubt;
today, your are the supreme winner favored by luck:
so idolized by all and even envied by some...
for avoiding those gentle slopes!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Life has an unseen, funny side...
more thrilling than a pony's ride;
am I so discouraged and doubtful without a realistic insight,
to give upon my half-won battles,
and the people who seem uncaring?
But does it mean that no flame is burning,
and the hands on the clock have stopped moving;
how long have you known me and didn't see my woes?
O friends, I don't mask myself under disguise,
and I don't hide beyond the false smiles to genuinly express myself;
anything I say or do is a pure delight and surprise!
Externally I may seem friendly and affectionate,
but internally I churn the bitter reality of my plight:
a lonely seeking the unlonely on the edge of a cliff,
where his voice is stronger than the hot wind;
a fearless voice echoing amid the massive and rugged canyons of the desert!
Come rain, and soothe my thirst with your raindrops, wash my hands and feet
that need to rest after the longest and remotest jeourney;
in a dark cave, I will find refuge and by the crackling fire I'll sleep!
And peeking through the shadows, I'll see many stars twinkling to keep me company;
and what else, beside this guitar can cheer up a lonely seeking the unlonely?
Huddled under this warm blanket, I'm too confortable to go hunting, although I'm hungry;
beer and chili are enough to fill up my belly until light shimmers through the thick fog,
then would I feel like a lonely seeking the unlonely...if the pelting rain inspired a song?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Today Lady Luck has made me smile for a change...
I tried all the tricks to lure you and lying about everything,
I saw that worry in each smile turning into fear:
you weren't willing to please me and lose someone dear!
I am alive again, and as a madman I'm screaming,
" How can you blame me for finding some happiness,
and not wait for a call to ease this loneliness?
But finding you is harder than searching for a diamond in the sand!
Too sorry to say darling, " Even those platonic thoughts have ended...
I couldn't wait forever and cling to an empty feeling! "
The few words that we whispered without tenderness
have vanished into the clouds of another sunset,
and without a last kiss...what else is left?
Even those platonic thoughts have ended...
making me realize that true happiness
isn't found in someone who's already committed.
Entered in Just That Archaic Poet's contest,
" Sing To Me "
Inspired by Judy Holliday's rendition of Irving Berlin's song,
" What'll I do? "
Written by Andrew Crisci
On this blessed shore,
every gate opens wide around sunset and dawn,
and the foreigners flow in...like waves rolling along;
all movements and images sketched
in linear prospective as if reality didn't exist,
permitting subsistence not to evade
from the sublunary harbor draped in aqua suede.
Many explorers from the Old Word
paid her a visit on slow vessels loaded with necessities,
in the hope of finding precious stones and gold;
and Columbus succeeded in his quest,
and all of these he brought back...
a new frontier was discovered and millions
flocked to these friendly shores with empty pockets,
but with dreams that would have made that young nation great.
On this blessed shore,
all are welcome if their character is good,
and the desire to get wealthy, with persistent sacrifice,
is reflected in their undisputed honesty and endurance;
Emma Lazarus wrote of these immigrants in her immortal sonnet,
which the wretched, the impoverished and the persecuted cannot ignore...
Read it again, doesn't it ask your libertarian souls to devour it more?
On this blessed shore,
peace dwells at a tremendous cost,
soldiers have gone to foreign lands to fight,
so that it may never lose its God-given right...
to spread it beyond its bounderies for all nations to admire;
and the proud citizens sing their national anthem to enhance its worth...
how can a Nation, guided and protected by God, not rejoice in its freedom?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Heart filled with happiness, eyes much merry; cheeks color strawberry,
just running through fields of ripe huckleberry,
keeping away from the buzzing, restless bees...
going to a from their sweet hives hanging from massive apple trees.
More than childhood memories, such are these...
a reflection of youth that removes them from nostalgia; husky peasants
shaking off the husks from the golden corn;
a tasty, hot corn meal for those winter's dinners drooling on my tongue.
And approaching a torrent, I threw pebbles found on its almost barren banks
back into the spattering water that I drank sporadically until I was full,
to indulge in its freshness...squashing tiny daisies
that seemed too afraid to squabble with a giant and fight for their survival.
The southern landscape with its mild climate, was rich and fragrant,
inviting hands to pluck the delicious, tempting fruits
off their branches, scattering the thrushes engaged in musical tones;
and I tongue-tied hurried along cogitating an instant.
Would it be too childish to ask for a come-back,
to relive the cheerfulness of the oldest days, ceased by time and age;
to observe a reflection of youth take shape...
and embed, in a secret, a conversation regardless of present knowledge?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Auburn lady envious of the blue night with its gleaming, capturing stars;
those rare diamonds, belonging to the silent and vast Universe,
you've stolen to adorn your undulating hair,
brushed by the July's harebrained breeze,
so temptingly soft and adorably fair;
if no admirer or lover seeks you, can I offer you my first dance?
Your melancholic look is fixed downward,
and you refuse to look above, nothing excites you tonight;
your external beauty cannot be resisted or ignored,
and will an harlequin, in his vividly colored costume, make you smile?
I'll play the flute brightly and make him dance to cheer you with his wit...
until your sadness leaves no sign on that sad face!
The shrill sound of the crickets can darken your spirit; listen closely, auburn lady...
sing along with the blue night, while your musical tones become the chords of my harmony!
Inspired by Edward Robert Hughes's painting: Night
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci