Long Foreseeable Poems
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Offering
Another night as oft descends,
As love ere me offends openly neath an errant moon,
That hopelessly gaze down on a whimpering fool,
For there is no escape of it,
For me or on that foreseeable floating orb so many points their fate,
Lest I find the strength to stir some surface dust on it,
Yet we are both remote in time and space,
And that I of insignificance had a gift with words speaketh the truth,
It would be called a tale, and I wouldst be as diminutive as ere,
Albeit, my friend as a wandering you go,
Make mention of my existence to the many like me below,
If we are so defenseless, how be it so our numbers grow strongly?
2020 February 20
the news resounded
through the land
everything coming
abruptly to a halt
no gatherings and no exceptions
it’s most regrettable
to give in to this lull
there’s never good timing
it is with much dismay that
Poetry 2020 Olympics
till further notice are postponed
spoken word is silenced
for the foreseeable future
keep sending
all express wishes
your hugs and kisses
via internet
Read on air by invitation ~ August 18, 2020 'TWISTED TUESDAYS'
In March 2020 when the Covid alert broke out, I was scheduled to volunteer at our local annual 4-day Versefest, I’m sure I was not the only one to be extremely disappointed.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
In my foamy bubble there 's ample room for
free-floating and even, once in a while, submerging for a while
beneath the surface, where the wild things are and disturb
tranquility.
And when I free-float my head spins in only one direction, peace. It's quite
comfortable inside my bubble, and nothing can burst it, not even the bullets and bombs and, certainly, not the usual drumbeat of words, such as get a hold on your life and or stop deluding yourself. I've put a tape on my ears and, thankfully, am deaf to disheartening needles aiming to burst my bubble.
In your inner paradise find a priest to wed you to yourself and wish you eternal happiness. Barely I survive my own demons sometimes, and today there's no sign of them. Surprise, we 're off to a long vacation and you can come along, as long as you don't bump into my bubble and drag me to the real world, okay?
I have received many assurances and can rest now knowing my bubble is for the foreseeable future fully intact.
No need to worry about the day after, it will hit you unaware.
Home for now!
The coffee is cold,
even though I used the
microwave.
Funny.
I was around
when the first one
was sold.
We were so amazed!
Magic in a box...
but not a miracle.
My guy is home,
but he is still sick.
I can not beat the phantom
of bad with a stick...
or I would!
A lot of times,
I would never stop.
I pray now for all that is to happen.
Each day a gift to be opened anew.
Every part in my heart stable,
but un-accepting of the inevitable.
The predictable,
the foreseeable,
the expected...
denied!
Cherished small talk.
Skipping stones,
and long walks.
Summer breezes,
until the winter freezes.
That is the "gift" of now,
and the promise of...
forever.
A. Foster, Ann Foster, Annette Foster
As though there existed some thin gossamer veil
Drifting down from an unheavenly trail
First just a twinge ,a touch or a feel
A feeling of loneliness one cannot conceal
Leaving one melancholy, broken and frail
Piercing ones heart like an old rusty nail
Senses of unhappiness dost hang like a cloud
Chokes out this victim in depressing dark shroud
Sadness and angst attack easy prey
All signs of joy slowly slipping away
Beauty and happiness also recede
As depression takes hold begins to impede
All hope seems now to be fading away
Soon thought turn to acts sane people ne’re stray
Thoughts of escape, of end of release
Pondering how to make the pain cease
Oh why does this fog devour my soul
Why does this aching take such a toll
Affliction still lingers well after my prayers
Pain like strangers heart-piercing stares
Pure agony paralyzes my very soul
Then near paroxysm out of control
IS THERE NO FORESEEABLE END?
… alas as I plead my pain doth descend
*Dedicated to all who suffer
Our world of innocence is caught unaware,
Taunted by a nightmare,
An experiment gone wrong; a distorted sculpture,
We're locked inside for the foreseeable future.
We wait for that day of relief,
Citizens get themselves into a psychotic state.
"Lives have been lost" says the news,
Coronavirus is sending people mad.
Where to we go; what do we do,
We try our best to struggle through,
The roads are clear from cars and bikes,
No long walks in the country or hikes.
Isolated from family and friends,
Trapped inside till this crisis ends,
Can we survive this helpless attack?
A life without colour.
Combinations of Catastrophy
Combinations of catatstrophic scenarios everywhere I look
Invocations of prehistoric evidence collides with the big book
Complications that are caustic that sit in their niches and their nooks
Calibrations that the agnostic makes as he theologically cooks
Annotations of beauty upon a classical music score
Connotations refuting why there’s so much to be living for
Computations that are computing why we’re always looking for more
Permeatations polluting the old, sick, vulnerable and poor
Believable intonations from a child wanting to be heard
Conceivable imitations from a comedian repeating the absurd
Retrievable limitations from someone trying to preach the word
Foreseeable complications that could be prevented if it weren’t all so ill learned
There’s an evening with a mix of difference, strangeness and the unusual of demeanour
As they’re seeming to play with the inference that they’d prefer a worker to a dreamer
While I sit there in a conference about why the ocean isn’t cleaner
It’s difficult to evade the nonsense while your talking politely with a screamer
Multitudes of humans being just that and trying to raise themselves up from the ground
Interludes of a laboratory rat chasing the wheel round and around
Magnitudes of masses converging that are bordering on profound
Altitudes of heights now deserving of this disconcerting sound
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz
Fear is the feeling of being afraid,
Afraid of what’s said or what’s done,
And joy is the feeling of being so happy,
From living a life full of fun.
Then anger is the feeling of being irate,
Being enraged and livid, full of mad,
And grief gets a mention as a feeling of woe,
When you’re feeling all down and all sad.
The feeling of when something’s nasty or wrong,
That’s the feeling of pure disgust,
While a positive emotion of earned admiration
Is the powerful feeling of trust.
Unprepared and caught right off guard,
Surprise is the mood you’ll detect,
And when you’re awaiting a foreseeable forecast,
Anticipation is what you’ll expect.
These are our emotions we play with each day,
Please balance these to keep yourself sane.
By exercising every emotional corner you turn
You’ll enjoy all there is in your brain.
Sea of searching tore hope without explanation
Crucified crests cascaded, crazed static fall crashing
Thrown spontaneous needs, unclean situations
Wayward waltz of flotsam incongruity, faith attacking
Tossed by tumult of quick duty drifters expected
Wanton women sought whimsy single wave provided
Crudest crass antics satisfied, longevity rejected
Your initial impression of love soured, ineptly guided
Passing storms glinted possibilitiy, gold molten
Tides' turn triggered stability, a precious daughter born
Island high respite bleached prior sin, forgotten
Barbaric baby mother forced ongoing warranted scorn
Struggle to maintain safety, sentry shipwrecked
Shattered bow released soul mate satiate foreseeable
Tormented tiny child splintered fragile prospect
Cuts met welted wounds, salt sterile from recent evils
Collapse on a beach of relief, I'm your purest cove
Bloodied hands bandaged, nurtured with tender heed
Mollusc polished particles to resume trust's trove
Immortal vessel promise predicts turgid tides recede
24th October 2020
Written for Contest: After The Hurricane
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
picture to take inspiration from is
'After The Hurricane, Bahamas',
painted by Winslow Homer
Drip…Drip…Glop…Glop!
Hydrants on – water stops
Scorching heat – summer’s here
Water scarcity paves the fear!
Water for bathing and even cleaning
Ice-water chugging only for dreaming!
No water to wash clothes or dishes
Only dripping drips and glopping glops always misses
The ever-streaming fountain waters of the faucets
Scorching heat has no raindrops to even pause it!
Soaking up the summer sun is drying up the creek
Even birds dive their beak
Into bird-bathing tubs and ponds
To refresh themselves while they bond
With even puddles, swamps, and ponds!
Such is the soul that seeks not the Lord
Spirit quenches; soul deters; loss one cannot afford!
Drying heart and withering mind
Panting spirit; panting soul; never finds place to unwind!
Panic strikes fearful expectations
With no foreseeable explanations
All the signs of a soul’s dehydration!
One may feel a thinning creek seeping through
A trickle of peace painting your blues,
Dripping drops of gladness or cheer
Should one praise and feel God near
For but a single moment ‘til praise arrives to full completion
But, one’s world returns to deterred depletion!
That’s when you know something stones your resurrection!
A little explanation leading to confession is the right direction
To relieve you from further pursuit of your dehydrant frustrations!
If there’s ever a pebble stoning your way
Hindering your peace every day
Blocking your steps to stepping into God’s throne room
And blocking your sunlight with feelings of gloom,
While you find yourself entrapped in a circle of strife and fear,
And can only draw a thin-flowing creek of joy and cheer,
I’ll have you know that sins are lies
That only untie
When sin is confessed and forsaken!
Take the Word…it’s NEVER mistakin’
Truth, then, will shine its light
Forever bright
Floodgates of heaven will burst wide open
Desert Rivers and streams will halt your mopin’
When you elevate your praise to God above,
The Father of Light…The Father of Love….
“Behold! I am about to do something new; even now it is coming! Do you not see it? Indeed, I will make a way in the wilderness and streams in the desert” Isaiah 43:19