Long Gladdened Poems
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Roses and Sunbeams
Her scent wafts alongside her and sinks into my heart;
For I have become fixated, by a desire for her touch.
She was glorious and overpowering, from the very start;
I am hooked and addicted to her love; she is my drug.
She leads me to distraction, for in her I eyes I am lost;
Hopelessly infatuated with her, I see only roses.
She brings me to Heaven and my trust is all it cost;
For she believes in my faithfulness and in her pocket are posies.
Her words are like sunbeams, bringing light to my darkness
And our candlelit romantic nights; shall never be soiled.
She can remember my love and forget any bitterness;
For I am here to cure her heart and our love can never be destroyed.
She is eternally locked, within a memory of happiness;
For she brings me warmth, when all else in the world is cold and black.
I am alive when our hands are together; embrace me my Goddess.
For I am enslaved by your beauty and I shall never fondness lack.
I have no need to speak to her of my lust for her body;
Because she can see clearly how much I love her; I glide.
In her arms I am forever gladdened, by her proximity;
But if she was ever taken from my eyes, I would surely die.
I need her presence beside me, to guide me along;
This story of a life, as of yet unseen by the world.
But inside her I find, I am locked forever, she is our song;
She is a poem, a poetess, a masterpiece…she is my girl.
She is the flick of the last paint stroke, on the Mona Lisa;
She is the full stop at the end of a play by Shakespeare.
She is the last chip off the shoulder, of the Adonis sculpture;
She is the seal to enclose the writings of a scripture of literature.
She is the last second of pregnancy; she is a new born baby.
She is the last, she is unique, she broke the mould; she is reverie.
She is the Gateway to Heaven; she is the perfect lady.
She is Gods day of rest after a week of creating humanity.
She is the last heartbeat of my life and she is love…
She makes me complete…she is the perfect finishing touch.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
HEY! IT'S CHRISTMAS
Kere si mesi, odun de.
Odun olola.
A season of remembrance.
Eliciting avid memories of our deliverance.
Evoking the thoughts and purpose of His birth.
A season of love.
Into a sinful world, a saviour was born.
Unto a redemptive purpose, God came.
Upon the despicable humans, His mercies rained.
Into a chaos laden world, the Prince of peace.
An arrival that transformed judgement to a courting.
That saved we all from falling.
That changed our hearts from sinning.
That forged our faith from doubting.
A season of impartation.
For His birth ushered in life.
Rendering of our filthy garments.
Bartering His life to guarantee our victory.
A, despair halting, hope for the after life; His birth brought.
A, fear repelling, hope for tomorrow, His birth gave.
Incomprehensible joy to all, He brought.
The angels rejoicing at the salvation of man.
The earth gladdened at the sight of the King of kings.
The cockrels, crowed with a cry of Hosanna.
The trees swayed and bowed at the tune of Heavenly timbrels.
The elephants shook the whole jungles with loud trumpeting of joy.
The lions roared in acknowledgement of the true Lion of the tribe of Judah.
The roses radiated a kingly aura.
The stars danced with reckless abandon at His first cry.
Unto Mary; a child was born.
Unto David; a promise was fulfilled.
Unto Israel; a king had come.
Unto Hell; a terror was born.
Over death; life had overcome.
Into darkness; light had shone.
Unto us; a saviour was born.
Come.
All ye heavy laden.
All who trudge the paths of despair.
All who whimper under the scourge of shame.
All who wander in the wilderness of fear.
All who have been felled by the traps of the enemy.
Come and see.
Gaze on the cross and be free.
On this day I offer you a deal.
A confession to write off your bill.
A profession to keep you off the pill.
A progression confirmed with a heavenly seal.
The way; Jesus is.
The Truth; Jesus is.
Everlasting life; Jesus gives.
#Bashorun
"When festive seasons come, I can't but slip into memories of the time I lived with my parents making me feel that unlike photographs, memories never fade and into their faces framed and hung on my mind's wall, I always peer."~ By Poet
Once again Christmas is here, the merry Christmas time,
When the church bells at midnight sweetly chime
I see streets and houses with Christmas stars adorn,
To receive infant Jesus, who in human form was born.
As Christmas has come, I think of the vanished bliss,
Of the days when life moved like a gentle wind with a sweet hiss,
And for us kids, with no trace of sorrow, it was all fun.
A time when we got love, care, and attention in ton.
Of those days, what all sweet memories I still can weave.
All our dear ones from far and wide used to gather on Christmas eve.
My mother would be busy cooking the Christmas meal.
The aroma of cakes being baked, even from far we could feel.
Though there were no presents under the tree to be opened
And no fanfare as of now, we were all gladdened,
By a pair of new dress for each to be worn to church
Over which my siblings and I were excited so much
In new dress, it was bliss walking with our parents along the street,
For the midnight mass, unmindful of the pain on our feet.
Now as Dad and Mom are gone, all I can do for them is to pray,
And remember with a thankful heart their love, I can never repay.
Festive occasions spark such nostalgia that I always crave for,
The warmth I got as a child from my parents who are no more.
When I think of my siblings scattered in places, out of reach,
A lump forms in my throat that leaves me numb without speech.
Our home had been such a beautiful place where there was only light.
And the sweet faces of my dear ones for ever stay in me so bright.
As waves of memories from the past relentlessly throw back and retreat,
Blood calls to blood and their echoes beat hard on the walls of my heart.
The vividness of the dazzling tones
of an Autumn's landscape is alluring,
making the beeches gleam when it rains;
it has captured me into the realm of fantasy,
as I am taken onto a road walked by a couple
that strolls side by side so gladly and serenely.
Gogh's ghost speaks to me from a gilded frame,
he invites me in to accompany him to his home...
down a path that he has walked before;
he senses my contentment of wonder,
so gladdened by his September landscape,
then slowly he unfolds his mystery to me."
He explains why he painted the flamboyant scenery,
" Any man affected by such a vision
must not stand still and contemplate it;
he must grab brush and paint and live
his last noble moments in the shadow of solitariness. "
" After I died, my paintings have made fortunes,
I was paid little, not enough to survive my day;
at times, money was scarce even to buy
a canvass, but relying on providence
I have been rewarded for my patience,
and seeing you admire what I've created,
makes me happy and worthy of my accomplishment. "
" Thank you, kind friend for your valued company;
I am a few yards from home: a grave with a granite
headstone is the coldest place in the depths of the earth!
Here, I'm warmed by sun rays...a return to a past life;
may I ask you to take me back to my gilded frame?
I feel a complete stranger after a long absence;
my real home is not where I was born and painted...
it's there in that landscape I call sweet refuge. "
I walk him back as he straddles on his tired feet,
and looking at me he warns, " Aspiring artist,
don't let time be your merciless foe, defeat it
with every ounce of courage, get to work! "
I heed those prophetical words and ponder
them along the lively path that resembles the one
he had painted for humanity to appreciate beauty.
Painting: " Les Alyscamps " by Vincent von Gogh
Written on 5/6/2016
"Though passing through sad and sombre times, let us be gladdened by the joy and peace Xmas brings"- by Poet
She felt the kicks, this time more intense
A mother’s primal instinct told her thus;
‘Can travel no further, need a place
To rest and ease your birth throes’
Mary and Joseph at last spotted a manger.
Temporarily secured from imminent danger
Sheltered from the gaze of the ruminating herd,
She delivered the babe when darkness still hovered
There lay on the hay, baby Jesus haloed in glory
The one who came to script a new story
Singing with cymbals on that wintry night
His birth was announced by angels bright
“Glory to God on high and peace on earth”
Its intonations creating rising waves of mirth
The shepherds, getting that message divine,
Came in hordes to behold the face benign
They knelt down and worshipped the King of kings
While seraphs hovered around on petite angel wings
On every Xmas, His nativity is duly remembered
And in all corners of the world it is joyously celebrated
On that night the star spangled sky glowed radiant
Sending out a light- luminous and lambent
All was bright and calm that serene night
A rare tranquillity drowning every nook in delight
Waving a magic wand, he has come to reign
To liberate mankind from the bondage of sin
Across the noise and strife of today’s weary world
A festive scene of celestial joy is unfurled
The peace of Xmas, as it sifts through the air
Fills each and every heart with overwhelming cheer
Placed First in the contest
Nov. 28, 2021
“X” Contest, New or Old Poetry
Sponsor – Constance La France
A woman’s spirit hovers
above an inert body that is hers.
She sees the surgeons cutting
and then sees their frantic efforts
as they try to bring her back to life.
She had died and yet is able
to describe exactly everything
they’d said and done
when her anesthetic wears off!
Others – many others – have had
similar experiences called NDE’s.
Many see a tunnel or a light,
and some with loved ones long departed
may briefly unite.
Their hearts are gladdened.
They wish not to go back to this life
that most of us fight so hard to stay in.
But God alone determines when we die,
and so we know it was not time for THEM either.
Science cannot prove the afterlife,
nor can it disprove it.
How can anyone explain NDE’s
wherein the subjects’ hearts stop beating
or there is no brain activity?
They try to say the mind hallucinates
when on the brink of death,
but how can they account for miraculous recoveries?
And how do they account for the utter joy and love felt
by the many who get that precious glimpse of heaven?
What kind of light of such resplendence
could make a person wish
his soul had not even been returned to his earthly body?
Things that mortals cannot understand
in time (and in death) will be comprehended.
Lucky are the ones for whom
near death comes to them,
for death to them would have to be
a thing never more to fear again-and instead-
would be a thing to live for!
N/A April 27, 2022 in Chantelle Anne Cooke's Near Death Experience Poetry Contest
Submitted Sept. 18, 2022 for Sotto Poet's Your Second Chance 2Nd Submission: Poetry Contest
BONJOUR, MA CHÉRIE!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Val was a young French squirrel, a model quite chic
Who shopped at only high-end, fashion boutiques.
Clerks greeted her, “Bonjour, ma Chérie!
Vous avez l'air belle et aérée!”
“C'est vrai, mes peeps. Wearing Dior gives me a mystique.”
Val struck a pose, paparazzi's camera's flashed,
For being in the limelight she was unabashed.
With a slow turn and flick of her tail,
“You’ll find me trending 24/7, where ‘likes’ prevail!
Look how many followers on Insta I’ve amassed!”
But then the unthinkable happened~
A vile act, a digital fate that had Val saddened.
Poof! In an ‘instant,’ her ‘gram’ account vanished,
For which her digital famish could’nt be vanquished
“Oh woe is me! My heart can no longer be gladdened."
“Lord a mercy, you’ve been hacked!” her publicist did exclaim.
“Tell me, tell me! Who’s responsible for this digital pain?”
“Must ‘a been a hacktivist, a cyber punk perhaps.
Or….did you let your cyber protection app lapse?”
“Oh, no! Hastag #Bonjour,mypeeps, my digital claim to fame.”
*Note: "Instagram is an American photo and short-form video sharing social networking service owned by Meta Platforms. It allows users to upload media that can be edited with filters, be organized by hashtags, and be associated with a location via geographical tagging." (Source, Wikipedia)
During my poetical career I had never received a trophy,
I exploded with joy when I received it by first class...
"Enjoy your reward!" read a note signed by Laura Mckenzie;
and this first prize is my achievement for future success!
Entering poetry contests is fun and rewarding to a greater extent,
and any price is a rare opportunity to bask in your talent;
poets never get rich in this non-lucrative trend,
but satisfaction and accomplishment go hand in hand!
Thanks, Laura for the beautiful and glittering trophy, which I have placed on
my highest library shelf for all to see and admire; it actually seems small...
compared to those given to movie or music stars,
but it is the grandest and preciousest by all means!
Like a gladiator in Ancient Rome winning that fierce fight,
standing in front of a wooing and delirious crowd before dusk...
and being honored by the Emperor with the gift of freedom,
I am also set free by the excitement of my enthusiasm!
Yes, my trophy has gladdened me, and one unexpected day,
I may win the Nobel price, too...who says that's an impossibility?
More passion and desire I will put in my work, and I will not fray!
My confidence will feed that fire and with undefeatism I begin today!
My poem is dedicated to Laura Mckenzie, who was the source
of my inspiration.
Copyright (C) 2010 by Andrew Crisci
Since I began my poetical journey, Mister Guest has been my inspiration.
To emulate this extraordinary poet has ever been my motivation.
He had that rare ability to portray the ordinary wonders of every-day life;
Impish children, the warmth of home and an occasional shrewish wife!
'Twas in my high school English classes that with him I was smitten.
Since then I've enjoyed nearly every poem that he has ever written.
He has gladdened my soul with his wide range of emotions.
His is poetry that has touched hearts here and across the oceans!
"It takes a heap o' livin' in a house to make it home!"
Ah! That splendid line of his evokes warmth of family in my dome!
His is verse that folks can associate with that will stand the test of time.
No haiku or blank verse for him - he wrote with rhythm and rhyme!
He wrote about the joys of youth and the contentment of old age;
Of the vicissitudes of life, dispensing words of advice so sage;
Of the value of work, of beggars and kings and the miracle of love;
The camaraderie of true friendship and guidance from Above.
Dear to my heart shall always be the poetry of Edgar Guest.
His works have inspired generations and we've all been truly blessed.
His legacy will every be the poetry he left behind for the human race.
He has crossed that mysterious veil and now rests in God's embrace.
Devastated and delirious
Feeling so suicidal
feeling so devastated
devastated and destroyed
devastated and ravaged
ravaged and ruined
ravaged and wasted
wasted and inconsolable
wasted and brokenhearted
brokenhearted and afflicted
brokenhearted and grieving
grieving and mournful
grieving and anguished
anguished and in despair
anguished and despondent
despondent and dejected
despondent and depressed
depressed and disheartened
depressed and downcast
downcast and gloomy
downcast and saddened
saddened and pitiful
saddened and pained
pained and anxious
pained and moody
moody but encouraged
moody but heartened
heartened and comforted
heartened and hopeful
hopeful and reassured
hopeful and contented
contented and cheerful
contented and happy
happy and merry
happy and joyful
joyful and delighted
joyful and radiant
radiant and jubilant
radiant and elated
elated and exhilarated
elated and exultant
exultant and gladdened
exultant and blissful
blissful and ecstatic
blissful and enraptured
enraptured and transported
enraptured and delirious
delirious and walking on air
delirious and transcendent
transcendent
air
50 line blitz
emotional roller coaster what a ride!
John Derek Hamilton
July 26,2016