Long Finishing touches Poems
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I picked up some words,
From an over heaped pile,
Words which impressed me most.
Put them carefully onto a blank paper,
Like a practiced player placing,
Rooks and pawns on a chequered grid.
Seeing page after page getting filled
With a deluge of words, I felt thrilled,
Viewed it casually from a distance,
Like an artist looking at a painting.
I saw words become colors,
My prodigality with words impressed me.
I gloated over my ability as a writer.
Lo! A work of literature in crude form,
Stood ready, willing to be chipped and shaped.
All left was to give it a form,
A stroke here and there,
Some finishing touches!
“It’s all so damn easy,
I shall keep the thing aside,
Ample time lies ahead.
I can now relax, take a break”.
I said to myself, complacent.,
Days slipped by and months rolled away.
One day I took out the scroll,
Wiping the dust and cobwebs away.
Read through it slowly,
My former illusion just faded away.
Its stale familiarity repelled me.
Words stuck out here and there,
Making no coherent sense.
All I found was a jumbled, jotted mass.
To me, ere they looked like lovely dames,
Colorfully dressed up for a mega show.
My eyes were dazzled by their costume,
But now when I wait for them to fall in line,
Gyrating in rhythmic steps
They stand still as a disorderly mass,
Refusing to budge an inch,
Unwilling to sway to a rhyme.
Lost in a barren desert of words,
With each grain of thought
Looking so similar, lacking uniqueness,
I set aside my empty new canvas,
Which I had kept ready for re-entering.
Until the artist in me comes up
With a new configuration of colors
Let it rest in the drawer of my shelf.
Don't waste time,
On holding grudges.
Always make sure to add,
the finishing touches.
Say you're sorry,
When you should.
If you make a bleep,
Knock on wood.
Let go of things,
You can't change.
Stay clear from things,
That are pre-arranged.
Forgive,
If at all possible.
Think before you react,
Be responsible.
Your darkest hour,
Can be the brightest light.
Never give up,
Without a fight.
A new beginning,
Comes from a painful ending.
Try to complete the task at hand,
Try not to leave things pending.
All the painful lessons,
It makes you strong.
Helps you out,
keeps you plugging along.
Betrayal can make you,
More intelligent.
Only put effort into,
Things that are relevant.
Be quirky,
Attract the unattracted.
Stay on track,
Don't get distracted.
In the face of adversity,
Don't hit below the belt.
When you leave,
Let your absence be felt.
Some days go slow,
Others you make progress.
Believe in yourself,
Trust In the Process….
Turbo1904
Ive invested serious time
roaming the corridors of my mind
trying to design a portrait of you
and I've come up with a blueprint
that I think is right on time.
So if you would be so kind
as to allow me to sketch your outline
to be your personal Micheal Angelo
it would be my honor to let
the world know you are a Masterpiece
and when this portrait is released
it will render men speechless
and this visual rendering
will only increase in value
because the portrait in my mind's eye
is only one of a kind
therefore priceless
So allow my hand to be the brush
and you the canvas
first I will use the softest of tints
to represent your buttery skin
and even softer hues to represent
the beauty within you
then I will use a special brush
and a delicate touch
dipped in sprinkles of Heavenly dust
to represent the workings
of your heart
and maybe bolder colors
to emphasize your mystic aura
then I'll use colors that are subdued
to highlight certain aspects of you
such as your precious smile
dimples, nose, and lips
and then I'll paint your ears
with a special brush
so you can hear an angel's whisper.
Now I'll need a rare shade of gold
to paint the splendor of your soul
believe me
you will be my work of art
stroke after stroke done to perfection
and this is only the start
for God promised me
He (or She)
would add the finishing touches
to guarantee you will be that work of art
I rave about
beyond the shadow of a doubt
you are a Masterpiece
life is understood backwards while it moves forth
memories epiphanies hindsight and full vision
the hand of the clock relentless and counting
a watchtower of impatience scaling new heights
beacon of darkness harbinger of blinding light
church bells contest irretrievable moments
some dial or other on unchangeable scales
an escape wheel hidden in an intricate case
on the face hours pass by until time arrests
crown bestowed by unsurpassed eternity or standstill
a bezel keeps track of infinite minutes in past sorrows
when the future claims the present from it’s shadow
lug width frames the buckle wearing thin from use
a free loop attempts to keep its grip yet surrenders
gives way to renewal and fresh marks on the wrist
one day I decided to put the timer to rest and
live in the moment unperturbed by procedure
free myself from constraints and computation
when I dismantled the chronicled ticking for measure
gave equal proportion to dissimilar concepts of tempo
I discovered rhythm and flow beating its own cadence
simply being I lined up new finishing touches of joy
endeared by leaving the rat race of pressure behind
I capture the here and now and laugh at the ticker
10th June 2020
I was a member of the "era", good times during the "Jazz times" Coltraine, such a great
musician....
Oh, and I will never forget the "Millennium"...Whew, 20 years old in S.L.C. in a two room
combined suite with projection screen T.V. and loads of women...Booze, friends, PARTY.....
Drunk driving on the wrong side of the road at 5 am for a half a mile... Just to give you
an idea of my blood alcohol level.... I had to do inventory at 7 am that morning......
AWESOME night/day...... { :"Sweetheart":}
These were the times when poetry was still in the developmental stages.... I had yet to
find my "Swager" in writing... I have always had a voice, just needed the right mentor...
Her name:
Consuelo', "Exotic Miss Caramel Swirl". Much older than I, with a girlish quality I was
attracted to...
She was my superior at this communications job I picked up for extra cash. I remember the
day she breezed into my cubicle for my Q&A reports, smelling like my grandmothers backyard.
A mixture of erotic scents, appealing to my unique desires...
At the time I was studying for my associates degree!!
In between work loads, I began to put the finishing touches on a report that was due..
As she waited, she watched me write, rub my forehead. She asked if she could take a look...
"I am a writer, college graduate" she said...
"I would like to critique this, is that okay"
This thought inspired by Consuelo'... If not for you I would still be a nobody... I will
never forget the wisdom you were so willing to give... You brightened my life with your
intellect and love....
Much love from this poet... Until we meet again:
Jared Pickett
11/24/09
Asavvy1__________________________To Be Continued.......
I said I would create a painting for an auction.
She wanted me to include the school mascot.
I thought I did, but I didn’t.
I accidentally included the biggest rival’s school’s mascot.
Iowa, and Iowa State. Who knew?
I thought I did, but apparently I did not and I am from Iowa.
My twin who knows a bit about sports thought it was hilarious.
I had already finished all three paintings, I was not as amused.
I had to turn the Iowa Hawk into a cardinal.
I did it too; it is not perfect but it is what they are getting.
I had spent a week on these, a do-over is not something I can face.
Not this week at least. Not after putting on all the finishing touches.
The door will not budge
It’s locked and bolted
Doubly secure
It was once wide open
He was waiting at the door
To welcome me in
Arms outstreched
Love shining in his eyes
His heart home
Decorated in all the best
Waiting for me to come in, to rest
To relive memories
Of a young love
After all these years
His heart home
A refuge a comfort
Warmed by the fire
Of glowing embers
Now bursting to flame
Of a love never gone out
A love still the same
After all these years
Having found him again
I was a welcome visitor
I stayed, I loved, I lived
In the heart of his home
But I was overwhelmed
Giddy, delirious
With his love
Sure it was not real
How could he love
Someone like me
After all these years?
And so, the moment he looked away
To give the finishing touches
To a love feast
He was preparing for me
To feed my famished heart
While his softly uttered words
Were hovering around me
Kissing and undressing me
Melting me to the core
In that moment
I slipped out through the door
Afraid of what I’d do, say
If I stayed too long
By the fireplace of his love
Leaving behind me
His broken heart
And now
A weary traveler
Filled with regret
Not finding any kindness
Any welcoming embrace
Or any heart home
With passion ablaze
I come back to the door
Only to find it locked and barred
But I know he is there
I see the dim light
There…he looks out from the window
And pulls the curtain tight
I knock and I knock
Till my hands bleed
And my eyes run out of tears
But the door stays shut
Firmly shut
And day upon day
I wait and I pray
Squeeze bloodied love letters
Under the door
Beginning, pleading for more
Another day ends
And nighttime descends
And here am I
Here am I
Down on my knees
On the other side
Of the door of his heart.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Welcome to Yellow Woodpecker Farm where the incredible food slaps you.
The cows bark, the cats bellow, the dogs mow the lawn, and the birds moo.
Let me talk! Let me say something! Put me in couch! It is our talkative doll.
She does most of the talking for Lucia. Pushing me right now off of this stall.
Lucia is busy, and Pedrinho too at magical funny Yellow Woodpecker farm.
Invented by the curiosities of a studier of children, who meant no harm.
Here is original intelligent man of the hour, our own Viscount of Sabugosa.
He knows more than many, and I know pretty much most-ah.
Where is the old lady? Viscount asks upon his maize-infested arrival.
You see he is made of maize, and depends on its health for his survival.
I am not sure, but Aunt Nastacia is putting the finishing touches on lunch.
Let’s eat some cucumber sandwiches. They will pinch your face in a crunch.
Yellow Woodpecker Farm is a place you have to come see for yourself.
Magical things happen in the forms of gnomes, gargoyles, or Charley elf.
Do not let Mrs. Benta catch you if you wish any harm to her boys.
They are protected in every way here, by her and their magical toys.
So as the fauna flakes into flasks and the distance is at ease,
so as the forgotten fallen ones are at peace and you and your life are crease,
so as the harrowing start and a seasonal bar goes into the yonder park,
and an endimony of our presentation is falling into desert art-
I am pleading that you start speaking to them all in a heart-
I am donned to be peaking as I am just about to fall off the energy's leaving one little diamond in the war-
I said I wanted to fight, and became broken in the hallway,
it's O.K, I am only as ready as the unrealized baseness of seeing the future so stark,
let's let them off as we go because I have no other wool, and the only history of time is the glittering wine in the standout cottage on stage street where I round-about all hairy lore,
stupid as I can't breathe the only time I say please is honorary a beast so let's wonder about the finishing touches now heavenly and...
if necessary applying pledged finishing touches
repurposing third rock for another species slated
to inherit pseudo tabula rasa after Campbells,
and broth hers detox polluted primordial soup
i.e. once cleansed of poisons, thus...I condense
my Green New Deal spiel!
Midwinter night dream filled
with balm of June solstice rays
lackadaisical and carefree months ideal time
to while away pronounced illuminated days
outdoor sports a favorite choice
occupies athletic population
which venues witness frequent surge
and spill of overtime plays
another popular milieu
favorable climate awakens
constitutes habitués vacationers visit
ashore popular waterways
beachfront shoreline inundated
by mass exodus of sun worshippers
tidal seaboard awash
along every square inch
human species splashes to keep cool
within ocean and bays.
Six months ago bitter cold
and dark snow filled skies
wrought undeserved vengeance
viewed from these eyes
who after each and
every major winter storm
donned proper attire
to stay warm outside
while clearing walkway
with shovel in hand
executed repetitive motion
akin to how boater plies
similar (yet reversed)
bodily swing of arms
now readily prepares for execution
of most difficult seasonal task
requires usage of most complex muscle
the source of poetry witty and wise.