Long Enthusiasm Poems
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They say my heart is weakening
Yet my love is increasing, how come?
And they do not answer it.
They say my eyesight is fading
Yet my vision is perfect, I ask how come?
And they do not answer it.
They say my voice is not audible
Yet they clearly understand what I mean, How come?
Again they keep mum!
They say body cannot lift more than ten kilograms of weight
Yet I can move a mountain with my thoughts, How come? and they show a blank face.
They say when I walk few miles, I am breathless
Yet my determination surpasses the bullet, How come? and they look towards sky.
They say my body action have limitations
However, my wisdom is boundless, how come?
And they close their eyes.
I know my body is growing and becoming weak
Yet my soul has full enthusiasm to drive me
to enable me to perform things beyond the body can think.
Mother's hair is whiter than it was a month ago,
her smile is gone; she has aged a hundred years
in thirty days, I do not recognize her.
vibrancy and enthusiasm have dissipated
She cannot sit up, swallow or talk.
I think I’ll know when it is time to let her go.
I hold her hand, it is not freezer cold, but close
a tiny little thing; there is no flicker of the eyes
she is making guttural noises that sound painful.
I look at the clock. I have been here forty-seven minutes.
I cannot bear to be here much longer.
I won’t need words to let her know I am going. She will not care.
My sister comes, and we hold a vigil.
She is loud and happy, glad to see me.
Flitting about in this cramped tiny ugly horrible room.
I am demanding morphine, the nurse hates me and she shows it.
I want this to be over.
Then night draws a veil over the window. All we hear is a death rattle.
I do not know how my sister bears it.
She has watched mother deteriorate into a corpse of herself daily.
I yell for the nurse, but there is still time to hurt ourselves, watching.
Mother's eyes flicker. Clock ticks, accusingly, knowing my thoughts.
Morphine is given. She is finally released from this cancerous body.
We are together, my sister and I, orphans now
Are all the successful people in the world
Content and happy with their lives
Is a mansion on a hilltop with scads of dough
The only thing we need to survive
Nay nay good people, we need interaction
With others to inspire great things
The loving relationships of family and friends
Without them, we feel loneliness' sting
Floundering at sea like a rudderless ship
Being tossed to and fro by life's trials
It's really quite normal to crave some attention
We need human contact for survival
Why must we always keep up with the Jones'
Why not appreciate what we've got
Lucky to be alive on this luscious green earth
Taking care of our own little plot
Certainly no expert but I do know how things
Can affect each one of our lives
So always think positive wherever you go
Even giving strangers high fives
The shock and great joy on all of their faces
Is worth the small effort it takes
To share your enthusiasm and true lust for life
Till you arrive at those Pearly Gates!
Craziest Time under the sun
A heart melting for lost love
Dreams losing their passion
Promises broken to pieces
Inspiration without enthusiasm
~
Craziest time under the sun
Vivid hues of discouragement
Breaking into the mind who sees
Visions of painful memories
Loss of hope and freedom to believe
~
Craziest time under the sun
Horrid feelings of dread and gloom
Leading even the moon to disillusionment
Reaching the seas with feared reveries
Doubt consuming the mind’s assurances
~
Craziest time under the sun
Melancholy colored with black fright
Feelings of despair creating darkness
Even among the flowers and song
Where music and dance grew so strong
~
Craziest time under the sun
Ached to be filled with renewed warmth
Fed only the spirit of despondency
And created painful feelings of misery
Where in the world is the love?
~
Craziest time under the sun
Reached through the murky clouds
Gray thoughts filing their hearts
With judgements and bitter loss
Only God knows what is going on
~
Craziest time under the sun
Comes with a mask that is worn
To venture to the store or work
Where others might carry a germ
From a virus that has changed the whole world!
~
God help us to live on through this time
The Craziest time under the sun!
Craziest Time At The Poetry Contest
Choice 3: Craziest Time Under ...
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
August 11, 2020
Distance separates our closeness.
Disconnectedness, disparity,
niggling annoyances creep
stealthily into the unity that was.
Drip, drip, drip of destruction.
Tarnishing tenaciously......
tick tick tock the calamitous clock
concocting poisonous concoction.
Angry words thrown like venomous arrows
piercing a once beguiled heart.
Plans of permanence placed in temporary
abeyance ........romance gone.
You captivated and entranced me.
You wooed and lured me into false security.
You rocked and stroked my eager enthusiasm,
then cast it mercilessly aside.
Drip, drip, drip of destruction
tarnishing tenaciously -
pools of passion dispersed in disparity.
Save water. Save us. Turn off the tap.
Dragon ran excitedly, into my family room.
He’d been out all day, doing what was anyone’s guess.
He claimed he needed money, a thousand dollar loan;
It was for my birthday gift; or so that’s what he stressed.
“That’s not the way it works”, said I,
“You don’t buy it with my money”.
“I know”, he replied, “but it’s more than I have,
I need a loan and I’ll work for it Mummy”.
And so he scrubbed and mopped; swept and saved;
until he had his dough.
Off he went and spent all day;
not for his meals, did he ever show.
When my birthday rolled around; he handed me a box;
“It’s professionally wrapped”, he proudly claimed.
Obviously it wasn’t for it looked like a mangled fox.
“Open it”, he cried while clapping paws with glee.
His enthusiasm, non-contained; it was oh so raw,
said he’d gotten it more for himself;
I eagerly, opened it with my own two paws;
It was such an amazing sight; he’d gotten me an elf!
“Whew!” he said, breathing a sigh;
“I thought you’d not open it in time…”
“You wrapped a house elf in a box, alive?
No wonder he’s pale white!”
I pulled him out; gave CPR and he was revived;
although, still a bit woozy, from his recent plight.
Oh so delighted my elf was, just to be alive;
he’s dedicated to me; for the rest of his life.
These, cacophony that beggars descriptions
Disorder from indecent breed incubating,
Confusion of morals, the imposition of strange culture,
Filthily dressed to undress my mind,
Our teacher teaching theories of writs and wits
These promiscuous pastors parading piety with nudity
Lewd licentious and libidinous species luring laurels with drama,
These traditional priests tutoring the innocent as the skilled orthodox guru
Folly forming and fuming fire on the podium of cerebral
These gangs of immoral breeds hovering over men with enthusiasm
The sick physician administering drugs on the ignorant,
These,
A coup against Coleridge,
Wired Wordsworth,
Barron as Blakes
Shapeless Shakespeare,
With excessive deluxe paint like a red zone hawker,
These fashions clogging the pump of poetic flow
With the garbs of a seductress
Allays my feet to the "gutter-most" pit of whores
These, who feigned folly as fashion forcing Mr Flesh, to a quickie,
Teach me the lyric and lines and morals too
Inspire my curious heart in poetry and NOT the contours of shapeless show
Evoke in me a desire and arouse my intellect and NOT to lust
Induce me with scintillating lyrics and NOT to the nightmare and dreams of a succubus
Tempt my heart to scholastic loyalty and NOT to the apple of Eden
Conjure the parley of mutated minds with words
Come again to the conference in art and rags of skilled minds
I adjure you, be Natural
He sees things others could never see even when partially opened
So what should they do? Lock him up or worship him?
Some do one, others do the other.
After he is locked up, and away
the followers give up, and slide away
into the sea of status quo.
Then a new visionary appears, and the followers follow her.
Enthusiasm pouring out their pours, sliding down their chins
They stand in a pool of admiration
Fawning, paying great tribute
until they find out that she
is also human.
Then they disappear like fireflies in the morning.
The diehards may go to a third, fourth, sixth, eighth person
But others will return to their childhood ways.
If they had seen the shadow people
they can either believe in their own eyes
or allow society to negate their truth.
Freedom of choice.
What a quandary.
What a world!
Insanity a sliver from brilliant.
Youth must be compared to spring: adventerous,
carefree,memorable and innocent;
ah,but many have surrendered it
to irresistible desires...
only to regret it
in later years!
Endless yesterday,I search for youth again...
always to immerse myself
in the lost flavor of my innocence
that time snatches away,
with force and cruelty,
from teenagers facing a frightful reality!
With ages,comes wisdom...though only a few
acquire it, and look forward to the outcome
of such a fine virtue;
others lose their sense of identity or
dignity by not foreseeing tragedies,
but being satisfied with mere consolations!
Endless yesterday,I search for youth again:
laughing,singing,smiling
and looking for tomorrow;
but none of the visions have changed,
and the enthusiasm alone
gives me better insights without time to borrow!
For Sotto Poet's E Words Contest
17 June 24
POTD. First Prize
-----------------
"Enthusiasm is nothing more or less than faith in action" -- Henry Chester
I cling to reveries of youth, the tender sentiment of plucking words from summer roots,
That in my journal hours when the red
of skies are agleam...phrases extend long long as straw.
I burn language the way one does in
a flamed trance--amused, enthused,
seduced-- reeling into a daze beneath
a new moon, a blur of penciled happenstance flapping like a winged feather on river of late afternoons.
I would still scribble in hay where syllables grow into racy tunes , my faith abiding in passion deep...
And I could not help myself but drown
my hands in raw and humid lines;
Bury my eyes deep in verses' jammed.
I'm loathed to leave my untamed story
when twilight fades. Still and all, letters
drip and tradewinds see blown paper
curling like blotted fingertips!