Long Exuberance Poems
Long Exuberance Poems. Below are the most popular long Exuberance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Exuberance poems by poem length and keyword.
In youthful exuberance I become a culture bandit
Well exposed, but never really learning.
Modernity taking a toll as Papa and Ante chased the goods
For my sake they said... No mistakes... deed was good
Nanny TV with her bright inviting light
My imagination on wide escapades around the world
And farther altering my personality by giving me languages, dress codes, and even an accent.
So I stole, other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere or so I thought.
And Yet
In all my juvenile delinquency I could never, tell an adult to his face you are wrong
Revering old age; what is that, where is that from?
In my Success in Corporate with policy of first names and no regard for age but ability and brain
I could never bring myself to say Pat.
Aunty Pat can you please email the document to me
Wait, what? Am I not her boss.
So I stole…. Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere, Or so I thought.
Drawn to the immaculate white of that gown
Instinctively I top it off with a colorful Kente Scarf?
The height I can rock in these 6 inch heels
but how Royal the Ahenema slippers makes me feel
This perfect perfect pony will do well with…. no not pearls or sapphire;
Animal bone necklace and earrings
Oh how perfect my manicure will be accessorized with these….no not diamonds
Bamboo bangles
I will wear the jeans, But only with that tank top with Adinkra symbols
So I stole… other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere… or so I thought.
My true culture grasping at my core
As I gasped, when that little boy called his father’s friend Larry
When He picked the carrot stick with his left hand from the bowl serving the community I died
Though it didn’t make sense because as a right handed person I would say my left hand is as clean as dried
I smiled brightly when that couple spoke Twi, while we waited for the A- train on the subway
My Culturally biased heart coveting a conversation
So I stole, Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere
A cultural bandit … infused with other cultures… blending in well, or so I thought.
Without need of Affirmation, I have Ghanaian blood flowing through my veins
I know the voice of my people, the beautiful colour
Of the soul that makes a Ghanaian.
In the mother land or not. Ghana comes with us.
From generation to generation Ghana is us
Perfect Culture Chameleons
We fit right in
Ghana is our heritage.
In youthful exuberance I become a culture bandit
Well exposed, but never really learning.
Modernity taking a toll as Papa and Ante chased the goods
For my sake they said... No mistakes... deed was good
Nanny TV with her bright inviting light
My imagination on wide escapades around the world
And farther altering my personality by giving me languages, dress codes, and even an accent.
So I stole, other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere or so I thought.
And Yet
In all my juvenile delinquency I could never, tell an adult to his face you are wrong
Revering old age; what is that, where is that from?
In my Success in Corporate with policy of first names and no regard for age but ability and brain
I could never bring myself to say Pat.
Aunty Pat can you please email the document to me
Wait, what? Am I not her boss.
So I stole…. Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere, Or so I thought.
Drawn to the immaculate white of that gown
Instinctively I top it off with a colorful Kente Scarf?
The height I can rock in these 6 inch heels
but how Royal the Ahenema slippers makes me feel
This perfect perfect pony will do well with…. no not pearls or sapphire;
Animal bone necklace and earrings
Oh how perfect my manicure will be accessorized with these….no not diamonds
Bamboo bangles
I will wear the jeans, But only with that tank top with Adinkra symbols
So I stole… other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere… or so I thought.
My true culture grasping at my core
As I gasped, when that little boy called his father’s friend Larry
When He picked the carrot stick with his left hand from the bowl serving the community I died
Though it didn’t make sense because as a right handed person I would say my left hand is as clean as dried
I smiled brightly when that couple spoke Twi, while we waited for the A- train on the subway
My Culturally biased heart coveting a conversation
So I stole, Other cultures infused, fitting in everywhere
A cultural bandit … infused with other cultures… blending in well, or so I thought.
Without need of Affirmation, I have Ghanaian blood flowing through my veins
I know the voice of my people, the beautiful colour
Of the soul that makes a Ghanaian.
In the mother land or not. Ghana comes with us.
From generation to generation Ghana is us
Perfect Culture Chameleons
We fit right in
Ghana is our heritage.
We come and go
Nobody stays forever
But our stay leaves an impact
Full of joy, sorrow, anger, love and hatred
Time makes them all a history
Generations pass and new breeze blows
We emerge as reborn
With fresh melody and resonance
Relationships and bonds float
Universe pays what you want
But the ways may be different
The gain may appear as loss
Nature’s long and short term vision
Every so often, unfolds simultaneously
Causing overlapping perceptions
But, wisdom is bestowed upon you
To distinguish between right and wrong
And decode the ways of nature
Life repeats itself with the same
Joy, sorrow, anger, love and hatred
We do not change
We are humans, with intrinsic traits
Destined to live with them
We go as fast as we come
Life is a repetitive affair
New becomes old and old becomes new
The old and new are the norm
All goes but the heart stays
And newness takes over
Why it happens, nobody knows
Reason, logic, purpose, cause and effect
Are manmade fantasies, alien to nature,
A tale of exuberance and spontaneity
Which never begins, never ends
Just stays and endures.
So, flow with it and enjoy
Dad lying on the bed; when he saw me, his eyes glinted.
He tried to rise and sit; I extended help and lifted.
He patted on my hand convincingly with affection
Gestured me to sit beside him and showed the direction.
On my way out, half turned and impulsively looked at him.
And I observed his frail hand waving at me through the scrim.
Our eyes met together at once and it was the last sight.
I could never predict that it would be a bitter night.
***
I was helpless; an irrecoverable loss; despair and dungeon filled.
My deep attachment with him made me restless.
I was listening to the slokas of the Gita.
It was from the temple gramophone
One particular sloka echoed in my mind.
It tells that the body is perishable;
The soul can never be destroyed by the elements of the earth.
So it is mere ignorance to lament for which is not eternal.
Yes, death is inevitable.
Regained my spirits and started looking for the better ways
For paying my tribute to him.
My father was the Hero of our family.
During the toughest times, he was the one who showed his exuberance.
Eternal love showered on us that could never be paid off
He was stern and responsible at crucial and decisive times.
He was the man who surrendered his bliss
and tried to trace it out in our fulfilments.
He was always a dependable iconic figure in the team of his co- officials.
I realized that grieving and lamenting won’t make his soul happy.
His ideals are to be observed.
We have to carry them to the generations next to go.
Nothing else can be found better for paying my tributes
The ideal legacy is to be carried out, isn’t it?
Death of a loved one Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Date: 05-04-2023
I’m at the bar in Havasu
I thought I was through with you…
Guess I wasn’t after all
Lonely and wishing I could cuddle you wild
Sorry that I have been down and about
I miss you tremendously no doubt
I know I sound desperate
I need to quit it...just a bit…
Maybe, baby,
You and I are meant to be; well, possibly
It could happen, you see?
Maybe, baby,
You and I could be free
I want to set you free from captivity
Companion, I must be crazy…
How you held me last night…
Took away my midnight fright
How you fulfilled my needs…
You shared with me your adoration seeds
I bred you with my authentic words of love
I have been entranced by bluebirds from above
Brainwashed by the MK Ultra lullabies…
Brainwashed by society’s downfallen lies
Unbrainwash me, my love…
My bittersweet darling of mine
Unbrainwash me, for I rove
Towards the end of times’ sign
Tainted by the torment of this difficult life
Fainted at His sight and lived through strife
Painted a picture of you and I in rainbow delight
I love you like a saint loves His scriptures tonight
Sorry if I sound desperate all day and night
I guess meeting you was fate – our date felt right
It was meant to be, but being with me
Sounds great – it’s never too late to be free
Feeling the hate when I should be in love…
You handed me roses with prickly thorns
Thoughtlessly, I bled for the sake of love…
You could be an angel with devil horns
I suppose we were compatible in some way
Sorry if I sound desperate all night and day
Fading faith force-fed me with dreadfulness
You maintained faith within my soul of sadness
Murder my madness and mesmerize me with mere merriment
Memorized your forgiving face in the spacious, marvelous sky, I can’t deny
Sentiments sweetly shimmer anew with no hint of resentment
Immobilized by impairment of my heart’s hopefulness that won’t ever dry
Enduring in these hardships the best I can on this Earth
Endearment encourages me to engage in elevating mirth
Eternal exuberance embarks upon my engulfed mind of mysterious melody
My isolation is melting away like ice in the fire, a divine sunshine of serenity
I have been so desperately, so genuinely,
Looking for someone to be with sincerely
Well, I’m heading home now and baby, please know
That maybe we are a flawless match, a fabulous show
my makeup was fabulously light green, lips ruby red
I fit in well with the theme, witches, warlocks and the undead
the blue I had sprayed in my hair glittered like starlight
when we entered the party, a gang began a quick fight
my witch hat was pointed at an odd funny angle
could I get a dance? Just one maybe wrangle?
I looked at my husband whose nose gave a twitch.
I looked fabulous as a sexy, gorgeous young witch
my husband dressed as Dracula with cape and red tie
he watched me dance with another, we both wondered why
the rest of the night my man spun me around the floor
I had not danced in a while, my legs and heart said we wanted more.
My friend laughed at our exuberance yelled out “get a room!”
I gave her a gentle tap on the head with my yellow straw broom.
the food was delicious, the drinks were cold and refreshing.
my husband’s eyes were on me, I knew he was undressing.
funny to me, since we already had two babies at home.
the next thing I knew, I was picked up by a gnome.
The gnome ran off with me to the ladies room to gab.
she had a lot to tell me, and she wanted to blab.
this was a Halloween party provided by my school.
At our principal’s house, and he was now a fool.
Made silly by drinks, which went straight to his head.
His wife was so embarrassed, she sent him to bed.
teacher friends were dressed as goblins, super heroes, and a ghost.
We all discussed unabashedly the craziness of our elusive host.
He was a shy guy, and would be embarrassed to death about this.
A cobra slithered up to me and tried to speak with a hiss.
Nancy! I was delighted, she was my best pal at school.
She had a lot to confide about our nemesis, Mr. O’Toole.
O’Toole was walking around saying dumb things to everyone.
Speaking with Nancy about him was incredibly fun.
My husband was devouring everything off a huge silver tray.
Tidbits and appetizers in black, orange, yellow, and gray.
two jack-o-lanterns were giving me a clever candle wink.
I felt cute tonight, happy, totally energetic, and in the pink.
we had a sitter that night for the first time since our second baby.
Do you want to go home yet? I stared at my man. “No, yes, maybe.”
With two children at home under the age of two, this was a delight.
A marvelous Halloween party that made me feel happy and right.
November 14 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on 2Corinthians 5-7
Key Verse – 2Corinthians 5:1 For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY EARTHLINESS’ DISSOLVER
Lord God, You are my earthliness’ Dissolver,
ready to clothe me with Your divine immortality
Thank You that You assure me Your Word’s immutability
For my faith’s steadfast stability of unwavering certainty
When I appear before Your judgment’s verity.
Lord God, You are my earthliness’ Dissolver,
ready to persuade me to trust Your generous goodness
Thank You that You uphold me by Your precepts’ truthfulness
For my confidence-sobriety midst Your constraining lovingkindness
When I rise against flesh-inflicted weakness.
Lord God, You are my earthliness’ Dissolver,
ready to make me a new creature to enjoy Your green pasture
Thank You that You transform me by Your reconciliation-gesture
For my trespasses’ pardon with Your compassionate posture
When I confess to You my sins, aware of guilt puncture.
Lord God, You are my earthliness’ Dissolver,
ready to work through me by Your abundant grace
Thank You that You enclose me within Your salvation’s succouring embrace
For my honour’s good report in terms of patience along life’s race
When I behold Your beauty against pride’s trace.
Lord God, You are my earthliness’ Dissolver,
ready to comfort me with Your triumphant rejoicing
Thank You that You cheer me along my heartfelt praising
For my attitude’s straightening and bad motives’ cleansing
When I obey You sincerely, separating from rebellion’s cursing.
Lord God, You are my earthliness’ Dissolver,
ready to mold me in Your holiness-perfection
Thank You that You strengthen me to combat filthiness and corruption
For my life’s boldness in fighting carnal disposition
When I submit to Your power toward servanthood action.
Lord God, You are my earthliness’ Dissolver,
ready to uphold me by Your revival zeal
Thank You that You protect me well so frustration I can’t grievously feel
For my joy’s refreshing gladness and exuberance-deal
When I come before You in prayer every time I humbly kneel.
Poetry knows no age, as thee Marcia
Abramsohn (the former ex lady friend
of my late father corresponded with me
some years back)
wrote (by hand nonetheless,
a long lost art) inlaid with ambidextrous
zealousness impossible to identify,
which hand crafted artistically colorful
epigrammatic ghostly hint emblematic
of former exuberance toward English
Language..., perhaps other once
vibrantly familiar tongues wagging
less as tempus fugit slithers unseen
stealing most cherished, prized, savored...
commodity set to countdown immediately
post parturition, yet blessed for thee
to be gifted your then four score plus four
amazingly graceful journeys celebrating
your existence replete with handmaid's
tales chronicling quotidian trials and
tribulations, yet still adept, buoyant,
cogent, diligent, eloquent, fervent,
gallant, hellbent, intent, jimmying,
kindling, loving, mustering, nursing,
outlasting...Methuselah (ha...if only)
lucid moments nudging awake
memorialized occasions, where once
upon a time (seems bajillion years ago)
innocence concomitant with naivete
throve, wherein unfettered dalliances
found untrammeled lasses and lads
absorbed with natural unbridled virgin
love – gathering rosebuds while they may
whispering sweet nothings strictly
for respective paramour, (this of course
hearsay and speculation) promising each
other moon and stars ah...dusty fading
memories, yours truly can never recount,
(cuz mental illness co-opted, hijacked,
up-ended...adolescent maturation,
whereby agonizing crippling forfeiture jabs
silhouetted illusory oasis peopled with
all the golden opportunities left to wither
on the vine o'mine youth, which mirage
mocks escapist attempt into literary realm
invisible dead poets society regale an
existence bereft nope, no App could
ever even virtually duplicate (even
approximate) sidelined unrequited love,
and no this marriage yielded scanty
satisfaction, which fantasy life as
Norwegian bachelor farmer
(within mine imagination) solved,
where living off the grid remedied
forever being pennilessness, day late
dollar short dime a dozen dirt poor
dude dulling dufus...that's the news from
my Lake Woebegone...where all the
women...and children above the law
never get reprimanded.
The Peterson Directed Handwriting System...
Tis beyond the depth and scope
of this electronic post,
and author, what triggers deliverance
housing bounty full memory absorbance,
yet no matter how many
heat sinks plumb cognizance,
most ordinary happenstance
often dredge up old nettlesome
rusty mettlesome names
of teachers forbearance
nearly half century ago
recalled in a flash,
and helped birth this poetic instance
break open literary
piece de resistance,
yet I will make
no subsequent reference
albeit once, about Peterson Handwriting
non cursively typed poem
filled with nonsensical abundance
dashed off viz seat
of my squarepants
typed, via strong arm lance
meant tubby considered pure entertainment,
so...,this rhyme merely hints
at cerebral imbalance
as minor rave and rants,
culled from convenient
20/20 hindsight stance,
while this quiet as bobbing sponge
minutely straddled across
space time continuum expanse,
and (analogously, invisibly,
plus quixotically perched circumstance
amidst wide webbed worldly metaphysical,
intellectual, and existential kants),
yet unable to disguise me
porous (poor ass) student advance
barely getting promoted,
cuz sigh re: Seine ed lee
imaged myself prince charming
to frolic and prance,
and dreamt about being in France,
when teacher called on me,
I immediately (whistled like
a little teapot) appearance,
whereby steam issued
out chrome dome
(scanned hull – i.e. numb
skull) affixed on
short and stout genetic grants,
which noggin always
(automatically) looked askance,
while me got alphabetically seated
from grades three to six
(mrs wells, mister stout,
missus shaner, and
miss rinderle respectively)
with absolute zero exuberance
(at Henry Kline
Boyer Elementary School,
I just recalled aforementioned
randomly accessed memory by chance
casually rifling thru
memory bank, freelance
sing, while pissing
away time performing,
"I gotta urinate dance,"
thus rendering painstaking years
perfecting penmanship style
(reference poem title)
executed with Liberace flamboyance,
whereat yours truly obsessively and
compulsively excelled at
duplicating signature compliance
plus crossing T's and
dotting I's with rapacious
perfectly ruled slants.
(Probably more a short story than free verse
In any case it’s true,
seen through my eyes as a child)
He was a heavy smoker sat by the fire
Coughing and wheezing hacking up phlegm
spitting it into the blazing hearth,
that hissed back contemptuously upon contact
On a rare occasion when he’d miss,
the dog would lick up the gooey mass
with a determined exuberance
A filthy habit I heard some say behind his back,
but he was always happy,
didn’t care less what others thought of him,
a real character,
anyway my whole family and I liked him
He was our uncle from rural Ireland,
we visited him and his wife
on their small farm a couple of times each year,
probably more so, when my Dad had a car that worked,
My sister and I used to make grossed out faces
at each other when he expectorated into the open
hearth of the fire,
we thought it was pretty cool, and grotesquely funny
One spit in particular is legendary,
he spat out a stringy length of gunk
but needed his fingers to help pull it away from his mouth
and direct it towards the fire,
some actually made the distance,
amazingly the dog raised his head
and caught the rest of it, happily wolfing it down,
I mean come on!
we were still in tears laughing, on the way home in the car
On later visits it seemed bits of his face
were disappearing or bandaged,
still he never complained,
his voice was almost gone anyway,
and most unusually he wasn’t smoking
I was only a kid and in those days
you weren’t supposed to ask questions,
but it didn’t stop me asking my dad,
what was happening to uncle?
He told me uncle had cancer of the mouth,
and part of his tongue and lips had to be cut away,
warning me never to smoke,
even though he had one lighting in his hand
Innocent me thought uncle’s face would grow back
and he’d be ok,
but unfortunately he died pretty soon afterwards,
Damn I used to be spellbound
watching him trying to catch his breath
and hoofing viscous gunk upon the fire,
even more so when he missed
I tried to copy him on a visit to my aunt
just after he passed away,
of course I missed the fire on purpose,
The dog never budged
My sister shook her head
I was truly ashamed!
By
David Kavanagh