Long Dispense Poems
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“Tired I am, ”
You told me the other day my friend,
“for many good deeds have I been doing for so long
but
recognition for my contribution I haven’t received
any. Why?”
Here is my reply, to you gentle friend of mine,
Written with the tenderness your kind heart has come
So very well to know,
Tell me:
Does the sun care to be appreciated for the affection it
Embraces the earth
Or
For the caresses, its rays so abundantly dispense to
Each mountaintop?
Does the cloud request a reward for the load it carries
In its bosom
Or
For the drops of rain that so kindly bestows onto the
Arid ground?
Does the earth seek payment from the seed when into
Its soil is planted
Or
For the fruits, the trees so bigheartedly distribute, rebellious
Stomachs to appease?
Does the bee demand compensation for pollinating
The flowers
Or
For producing its divine honey that even the immortals so
Much enjoy?
Does the wind ever insist on any fee when through the
Leaves whispers
Or
For when the murmur of brooks and the melody of singing birds
Transmit?
Shouldn’t we, my loving friend, be inspired by nature’s unselfish
Examples
And
Share our soul’s wealth, expecting nothing in return, from our
Fellow humans?
And finally
Is there anything we could ever think, that is nobler and holier than
Doing our Lord’s will?
If there isn't,
Then
Don't you ever complain, my friend, because good deeds are never wasted
Since
They are always noticed by the watchful eye of our heavenly father, who
Is delighted to see you contribute to the maintenance of his creation!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
09 July 2021
On the Top of a Hill
Now that we have reached atop a hill
We may wish to stare at the sky,
Long to stay there for a long while
Or wish to have wide wings to fly;
Now that we have are at the top a hill
Let us not forget those left behind,
Toiling night and day in the field
To earn a daily bread for their living;
Let us not ignore the helpless souls,
But bring a ray of happiness
To weaker folks in dire needs
And comfort to those in distress;
Let us partake the light of joy
With those with no roof for the night,
With those who have no meals a day
And those with no future in sight;
Let us dispense our love and care
To neglected elderly souls
Without a prop to stand and stare
And bereft of all affection;
Let our heart not be cast in stone,
But shine with the light of compassion
That seeks not any gratitude,
But is filled with comprehension;
Let us be the true instruments
Of the bountiful Supreme Lord,
The mercy of God to implement
On His distinctive earthly plane.
Written 25 March 2023
Edited 29 March 2023 for :
A Brian Strand Premiere no 1204 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Dear Moon,
Each syllable of your name sings a melody so serene, I find the scarcity of my own tranquility immersing on the tip of my tongue.
The hum of my profound fragility twirls along the brittle attempts to submerge into the cloud of my thunderous delicacy.
The remnants of my soul crumble into a decaying, dispense of dust, floating through the basins of Earth’s hue.
The scent of you radiates off of the vex of my skin.
An ethereal blend of elegance, silver and the spirit of my distillation.
I find each celestial fragment of my embodiment thickening in the night sky, enveloping itself into the safety of the split space within the stars.
The green of Earth farewells the gleam of my cells.
Each one shines with the shimmering pride of a newfound purpose:
The stillness of perpetuity in lunate.
The hush of eternity in galactic saint.
And the appease of permanency in cosmic quaint.
A final exhale until my excess joins your divine rock of tragical, obscured beauty.
Your gravel brushes against my skin, so calamitously determined to test my devotion, oblivious to the ache my ashes fester for you.
Dear Moon, I call your name.
In a magical place in a mystical forest where unicorns didst roam,
A bridge surrounded by lilacs blossoms showed people the way home.
Not a place you can stumble across in the day time, for it is a dream.
Ethereal place with a stream of sunlight, where delicate faeries stream.
Unicorns you see founded this place, christened it their special spot.
When you stumble here you either see her fabulousness or simply not.
Pure heart will begin feeling joyful and excited seconds before they spy
Bridge with the lilac forest, covered completely from an evil one’s eye.
It is the resting spot of the unicorns, their private sacred burial ground
Lilacs are the most fragrant and beautiful the world has ever found.
Unicorns can give you clarity, and insight into what your future will hold.
But you have to keep their counsel; for if you do, their loyalty is gold.
Dust of merry pixies cannot touch the powerful unicorn power strong.
They dispense of it rarely- given to a pure heart, when nothing is wrong.
So if you have not forgiven your neighbor or yourself for an infraction,
You cannot travel to the land of the unicorn or get total satisfaction.
My advice to you, my lovely, is to be nice to yourself in every way.
Give yourself the chance to sing your heart song, do not forget to play.
When ready the unicorns will come get you in your deepest sleep.
Show you this magical place where your secrets they will indeed keep.
Haven where solicitous parents hover
over sick little ones and dispense advice to
mature ones; an emotional stronghold, not merely an
edifice one enters for physical shelter.
Sanctuary whose personality changes
with time, paralleling inhabitants' metamorphoses,
embellished with evidences of the pride and sentimentality
each possesses, those preferences each
thrives on as part and parcel of existence.
Houses become homes when those within love them and
one another--nurturing, respecting, mending,
maintaining that rapport and awareness
essential in relationships within and beyond walls.
July 5, 2017, entered in Brian Strand's Early July Premiere Contest
Motherly Love and Frowns
Treading down the memory lane streams to my mind
memories from far yet near, some sweet, some sour,
memories preciously shelved in the precincts of my inner sanctum;
so sweet were the mindful motherly hugs of love
like the embrace of a divine angel
so serene soft and self-assuring her smiles
like the spring selfless sunshine
so delicious her warm kisses on the forehead
that no other feel can replace,
yet interspersed at times with some harsh words
for playing hide and seek on the sideway street;
so soft was the caress of her hands on the cheeks
that not even a beloved can bestow
so cool and compassionate her cuddly care
no considerate nurse can dispense
so pleasing to rest on her merciful knees
more so after a hectic day`s fatigue,
yet interposed often times with some scowls
for dusting my clothing or getting home late after cycle rides;
In afterthought, her love and frowns have made me the man I am.
Fields and fields of corn on the cob
As far as the eye can see
Sweet little niblets of yellow perfection
Tempting little old me
Must admit to this addiction of mine
Coz hiding it makes no sense
My skin has taken on a bright yellow hue
“Corny” jokes I always dispense
For breakfast, lunch and even dinner
It's corn, and corn, and more corn
Thinking of joining “Niblets Anonymous”
Been addicted since I was born
Cute as a button sitting in my highchair
Corn mush all over my face
No telling if I was animal or vegetable
You couldn't even tell my race
Mom cleaned me up and there I was
Just as sweet as I could be
Mom called me her “Little Corn Niblet”
To my friends, I was “Cornpoke Pete”!
It’s time, by now, we did away with nations.
I tell you, hand on heart beneath the flag,
This jingo jag has now become a drag.
Those puerile patriotic palpitations
had meaning only when we lived in tribes.
Today our people mix and mingle freely –
so can’t we now dispense with Horace Greeley,
and wetbacks, wops and wogs, and all those jibes?
Since nations never have a sense of humour,
it’s little wonder why we have these wars.
We need a change of heart. Embrace the cause:
don’t split us into gooks or spooks or squaws,
or hicks or micks or spicks, or baby-boomers.
One nation under God, we’re all consumers.
The race of life that we must run,
we enter soon as we are born.
At first, we sit around and watch,
because we’re not equipped to run.
The race of life is perilous
with pits and bumps at every turn.
The road may lead through pastures green,
or stress your nerves and make you stern
But how to run we know not how
Just how to run, we need to learn.
Where do we learn the dos and don’ts?
of running in this risky race.
Our parents teach by words and deeds,
we listen, learn and sometimes heed.
The way they run the race of life
may help or hurt us in our race.
Teachers, coaches, fellow runners,
dispense directions geared to guide.
But they, like parents, trip and fall
because they’re not perfect after all.
We look to those who ran before,
those of renown, great ones of yore.
Hoping to tap their secret source
to learn just how to chart our course.
There’s only one who flawless ran,
the race of life, in a short span.
From start to end he fought a fiend
who tried to buffet him nonstop.
Jesus, was God come down to earth
to live as man and run his race.
Then conquering where Adam failed
He won the race, captured the prize.
So, as you run the race of life,
Grab Jesus’ hand and run beside.
Mimic His steps and learn from Him
the way to run and win the race.
Columbus was not the slightest bit offended
At King Ferdinand's dismissive sound
When he declared the world was round,
His was not a plan that very many comprehended.
Though the queen, Isabella, thought Chris a fine fella,
Her spouse wanted nor hair nor hide of it.
"The horizon", he snarled, "marks the edge of the world."
But Capt. C. was convinced that the horizon was not the edge of the world and that India was somewhere on the other side of it.
"Well, the subject is moot, Spain is broke, we've no loot.
Coffers practically bare, no dinero to spare,
Such a venture is out of the question.
Why not Egypt, or Malta, or Crete, or Gibraltar,
Or something cheaper that we can invest in?"
As Chris started to go, Isabella cried, "Whoa!
Let's dispense with pecunious tomfoolery.
Though we've no ready cash for a project so brash,
I could hock some, or all, of my joolery."
So three ships were anointed, and westward they pointed,
And the horizon they bravely set sail for it.
But the monarchs soon bailed when Chris' treasure search failed,
And to Spain he returned, but no honors he earned.
Instead, he was stripped of command and put in jail for it.
Later, of course, his accomplishment was plain,
And a whole New World was laid open for Spain.
No, Columbus wasn't looking for America when he "found" it,
He just couldn't seem to navigate three caravels around it.
For Columbus Day
October 10, 2022