Long Deriding Poems

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Premium Member Immanent Yet Transcendent

In the anchorage of the mundane mind, 
detached from the principled roots of sanctity
by the dislodging drive of sequential desire,
untamed instincts shroud the senses.
As the needle of ethical compass breaks,
the vortex of  immanent emotions drags the mind
into the fathomless inner depth of deriding abyss.

Beneath the sensual surface of mortal perception,
the mind transitorily shapes the innate images 
on the fleeting screen of spreading awareness, 
shifting beyond the limits in search of new sensitivity
within the quintessence of unique existence,
the construct of sublime elements of divinity. 

In the realm of existential dualism,
with the dark and depraved attributes,
irreducibly distinct from the righteous potency,
human being breathes as God’s generous gift 
the divine breath of the devout life,
the intrinsic source of creativity for love and altruism.

The enlivening inner window of enlightenment 
lets inside the sacred sunshine of seminal virtue,
highlights the positivity of the persistent psyche,
enhances the defining strength of the spirit,
flowing with the fountain of generosity and empathy,
that finds the cathartic pathway of spirituality.

The spiritual journey is a trying translocation
from vice to virtue to the high stratum of consciousness,
achieved by the introspective dissolution of the boundaries
of the rigid thoughts through transcendence.
As the separation of outside-in and inside-out dissolves,
intrinsic virtue permeates the non-dual awareness.

When the immanent emotions bloom as radiant lotus,
the soul contained within the limits of acuity
finds freedom to merge with the transcendent consciousness 
of divine oneness, and fusing with the supreme,  
embellishes the sublimated life with heavenly adornment. 
The absolute then assimilates the liberated atman.


Why Be a Perfectionist?

We all fail in one way or another, and failure
is an essential and painful way to learn...
while searching for that life's treasure;
and if it is never found, rejoice in what you have
by honoring the gifts that were given to us:
to love with an immense desire to be loved,
to be comforted when others turn away and
you can't find a shoulder to lean on!



Why be a perfectionist in all you do? But altruism isn't fair, 
and you may miss out on those chances for acquaintances,
look around:  people are happy with only significant things:
being heard and surrounded with inseparable friends...
even birds gather on the roofs tops  to chat among themselves,
and notice this human misery, not wishing to be us indeed;
and we have more intelligence than them, and are much stronger
and wiser to let unhappiness and envy derange our existence!


   
I tried all and nothing determined or guaranteed
how successful or gratified I would have been,
if had impersonated the role of perfectionist;
meekness flees from us when we detour,
to shorten the distance and the struggle to get there...
to devise a plan is to start being human to the very core,
detesting the absurd idea of being a perfectionist,
and deviate from the dilemma which devitalizes our energy!



I spoke to a perfectionist who was as sharp
as the expressions he used in his flawless speech,
a well-educated  person with an unlimited knowledge:
what I wasn't impressed with...wasn't his worth or ample pride,
or his self-importance and the self-revealing attitude 
towards his brilliant personality and self-esteem: 
but a lack of perception...to seem so worried about his age;
and seeing my deriding look, he took off his shades and cried!

Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci

Premium Member Deprived Of Your Love - POTD


I can’t rid of the bags under my eyes
The crowfeet despise, all were lies,
Conjured was an illusion of you
Throughout my groping confusion
evasive, flimsy
A-m-o-r-p-h-i-c, innuendos 
I was subjected to your derision 
dissing me relentlessly
deriding my appearance,
disparaging my intellect
as I stumbled and fell into the abyss 
Mocking doesn’t suit my countenance
My lips desert dry, thirsty, parched
An amazon no longer beats its drum
My buoyant nature now laden with coarsened shroud 
Leaving a cardboard moon deprived of its shine
Stars like candles blown out one by one
No use waiting for the rising Sun
The end of world does come,
stopped spinning neath heavy ebon clouds
Expectations unreal
All zeal gone, listless is my spirit
along with my illumination
Now you see me
unmasked in raw anguish
I      d
     r
     o
        o
            p 
jowls hang from endless
torment endured
like the drenched and cold, wounded hawk
taken flight, eagle-eyed, a warrioress
more determined and bold, traveling on
with unlimited range
and self-esteemed 
This bird, 
 you 
c
  a
   n
  n
o
t  c h a n g e
© I Am Anaya  Create an image from this poem.

The Unforetold Truth

The Unforetold Truth
The Truce unclaimed is yearning
The Halo surrounded is hatful
The treasure unfound is slothful
The ink unused is fading
The forces unchallenged are daring
The stakes untaken are dilapidating
The cross unbeard is rightful
The characteristics unfeatured are deriding
The Chances non-formed are regretful
What do all these culminate to produce?
The Unforetold Truth
The knowledge present in everyday felicitations and adventures reborn
The Unforetold truce present in the lie conquered and disseminated
Where there is strength in bold and overridden fear
With success in the wind.

Melody Under the Moon

They loved me when I sung
My songs of jubilant tune
I poured out both my lungs
They'd listen till the rising moon

But one day inspiration left
My instrument had died
The sounds of Melody bereft
Now till the rising moon I cry

Where could they have gone...
Her precious sounds and keys?
In my arms she died upon
My eyes poured out a sea

Her strings were ruined and plucked
All her notes were out of tune
From veins her music eruct
Under the rising moon

I bowed, I blew and pressed her
To play her one last time
I heard the broken chords infest her
And I screamed into the sky

The same sky that bore the sounds
Of luminescent, peaceful tunes
The same skies that bore the round
Daunting,
Deriding,
Disgraceful!
Rising moon...

The deathly screams! The cries of agony!
Louder than marching drums could fabricate
My felicity obliterated by her rhapsody
No tune may ever patch or mitigate

In a world with too many, I still sing alone
And they boo me off my stage
They decrowned me from my throne;
They'd rather hear a tune assuage
Their hearts as hard as stone

They don't want to hear my voice
My unfortunate epiphany;
I don't really have a choice,
They can't stand my misery

And so now I'm off my stage
They listen to a newer, happy tune
I think of Melody in my cage
Under the glowing, falling moon
Form: Rhyme


A Year of Struggle

Any tourist visiting the Big Apple
has noticed a big change in attitude;
everyone rushes by looking sad and acting rude,
" Our city has gone through a year of struggle!"

All cafes are shutting down, my City Cafe' too,
I came here on weekend and read my poetry to everyone;
my fellow poets acclaimed, I hated the deriding boo
of a passerby who knew nothing about how to write one. 

I'm stuck in the Big Apple, I could leave Gotham*
and go to another city as vibrant as Amsterdam...
would I find the same enthusiasm from words spoken vividly? 
Will young people listen and learn how to write good poetry? 

Life has lost its vibrancy in the Melting Spot, smiles are gone
and all the friendliness has cooled off, it's a cross on Calvary...
when one thinks of death and nothing else, instead of clinging to hope;
can a glass of Bordeaux change the sad mood and break their sobriety?

Pfizer seems promising, volunteers line up to get inoculated,
other are skeptical and rather wait, their cynicism is unreal;
many have lost their dear ones and fear to be in a hospital bed,
Trump is proud of his accomplishment and that's his last squeal.

The city that has never slept will return to certain normality,
no masks or distancing are required after ninety days;
the livelihood it had and the death toll is a tremendous loss,
the nostalgia echoes in all, but stronger is the desire to live freely.  
 

GOTHAM: New York City
Form: Rhyme

Canopies of Emotion and Consecrations of Reality

Canopy’s of Emotion and Consecrations of Reality 

A botanical canopy of human emotion 
The preservation of the wildlife inside the ocean 
A consecration of sacred vows that culminate your devotion 
The invitation to contemplate as you consider abstract notions 

Turquoise reflections beneath an enlightened sky 
The pain of the dejections that protected you from a lie 
The rain clouds of perception that pierce your heart to make you cry
The unbelievable interjections of thought that constantly question why

Supernatural gifts pushing the boundaries of what we know 
Factual shifts in how we represent the information we want on show 
A lover lifts his head in the melted light of the afterglow 
A state of constant dread as we interrupt the natural flow 

Firmaments of shimmering beauty raining down from a sunlit morning
Wonderments of time unfolding before your eyes as a vision is forming
Achievements of unheard of refine only to serve as a constant warning 
Of the imminent decline we’re facing when confronted with Global Warming

Divisive opinions colliding on the parliamentary floor
Incisive decisions deriding as we wonder what all this conflict is really for?
Indecisive teenagers contriving their image while they’re constantly seeking more 
Derisive divisions forming at the Presidents front door 

A culmination of considerations that challenge the status quo 
An invocation of alliteration as we express more than we think we know 
A consummation of deliberation as we form conclusions that just won’t go 
A formation of imitations as we reveere those who rose above the low 

Don’t perpetuate the societal state of heirarchical exclusion
Or deliberate on what we venerate to reduce the mass confusion 
While we consummate the virtues we rate that break through the universal delusion
We invigorate the fierce debate that seeks to eviscerate illusion
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member The Peacemaker

Both curious and wishing I could meet
this man renowned surrounded by mystique,
I'd wondered if he practiced in deceit,
so there I was to listen to him speak.
How strange the things I’d heard!  What to believe?
He seemed so plain of dress and countenance!
Perhaps because the common man’s naive
they sought him for uncommon sustenance.
For many came with hungered souls to fill,
while some said he would lead them all astray.
Deriding him, they baited him, but still. . . 
He would not be confounded, and that day
He touched a blind man’s lids and made him see.
Then Jesus smiled, and peace enveloped me.

For "The Faith Healer" Poetry Contest of 
Kai Michael Neumann
Form: Sonnet

Premium Member Pulp Diction

I've had enough of the usless drivel, hypersenitivity and endless snivels
We're more fulfilled I hear so often, yet the fruit on show to me seems rotten!
A girl of 9 cut down by a gun, floods of drugs; engineered and spun..'
Borderless war, we're doing well.' No father's for many; childhoods of hell.)
Mothers are sidlined, (the state is all) whatever's dictated now thats the call.'
Dress like a mummy.' Would that be safest? I'm not surprised lifes devestated.'
I'm writing now not as I would.' Joy is proscribed fewer smiles in the hood.'
It is a challenge, just holding your nerve, anti-sense; the current trend and verve.'
Why not slash your throat, and drink, to health.? Calling it, as sense by stealth?
The reason most aren't 'satisfied', no matter the volumes of goods and pride.'
The word and act, ( are of satan derived ) you feed the beast, it eats you inside
And spills it's driven reasonless; cargo, deflating human worth, from each get-go.'
It's all community and culture I hear, while unity is shattered and nations fear.'
Is fear a commodity? Despair a road? Seems so from watching the waiting goads
The social whip, the endless quips, deriding stability as a worm in wood slips'
I say culture, centuries old; should be valued, not cheapened; diluted sold.'
All the the while, bellowing loud, that cultures multi, can unite the crowds.'
It's such non-sense, as we all know.) Yet showman and women just go and go.'
The tanks half empty, it's the theme that's chosen; to chill our blood, reality frozen.'
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member I Swear

 Frigid temperatures filled the square
Rigid opponents chilled the air
 Deriding him a radical socialist
Unbridling the race to get him off a ballot list
 The city was arm in arm, in protest daily
Whites, Blacks, Arab and Israeli
 and what came up to all’s surprise
Mayor elect—Mamdani’s rise
 Along came the 112th Mayor elect
Strong spent are the people who'd select
 Lines stretched around doters
Awaiting hours were his voters
 Indulges in a city reborn it’s bagels and lox
Sworn in over the subway station docks
 Hand upon Islam’s holy text
A marvel of a man who’ll govern next
 Swearing words of conviction and not of pity
I swear, to bolster and defend this dynamic city

Mayor Mamdani
promises New York City ~
a hopeful journey






New Year's Day
1/1/26
© I Am Anaya  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Senryu

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