Long Goads Poems
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this spine tingling reaction that flushed testosterone from heads to toe
sketched out sometime from ~july or august 2012
and triggered a chain reaction
of wishful desires in overdrive seeing this aesthetically pleasing gal
in the summer of her full feminine bloom
(and yes, young enough to be me an splendid supreme offspring
of this gap toothed fifty three year old simian)
whose primary purpose comprises tutoring my daughter
born with cognitive plus developmental delays
and whose academic weakness qualified her since birth - or soon thereafter
to receive intervention to allow, enable and provide her with life skills
so she can become self reliant upon an adult
thus bringing this papa thru the aegis of said progeny
exposure sans young women (who seem prominent in social service field)
many blindsiding these myopic eyes with hypnotic trance
conjuring up illusions of grandeur
kept under lock and key lest detriment
comprises instructing requisite basic skills per youngest progeny Shana
the punim in question recipient of private lessons
in the rudiments of classroom ABC's
yet a quiet riot along the super hidden highway within my imagination
achingly longs to compose a poem for this righteous dignified dame
whose voice like melody ineluctably seduces me and athletic physique
goads this married father to attempt some organization of his awakened
dormant libido (bereft within thine marriage) toward some unknown outcome
without intent to convey other than a message of unequivocal charm
minus any additional intent for physical interaction.
Journey Journal
KNOWING
By Leon Enriquez
You know the feeling
A deep kind of knowing
A true feel of being
A certain kind showing
Knowing can now tease
A flamboyant life lease
A panache of taut ease
A flavour of plush peace
~~~~~~~~~
Heed if you can bind
A primal peace of mind
A sensuous poise that grinds
A profound touch you find
Seed the idea well
A piquant precious tell
A sanguine rustic spell
A mellow thought that dwells
~~~~~~~~~
Knowing that you know
A vibrant voice vets flow
A steady surplus show
A lavish love lifts glow
Sense a sight of proof
A deeper surreal truth
A fancy frame that roofs
A still dance in a groove
~~~~~~~~~
Feel that mystic cheer
A zest that clusters near
A zeal that fields good cheer
A rainbow that draws near
Glimpse in moments still
A blessing of goodwill
A gentle touch that heals
A pulse of deeper feel
~~~~~~~~~
Here the still point turns
A dance that swirls and churns
A feisty soul that burns
A fleeting feel returns
Poise of simple things
A charming voice that sings
A hundred complex flings
A posture of lost springs
~~~~~~~~~
Whiskey for the road
A toast beyond life loads
A tryst with choice that goads
A prince in guise of toad
Wonder wears a face
A splendour of good grace
A wandering in space
A grandeur of fine trace
~~~~~~~~~
To see in that look
A sensuous breath that hooks
A blessing in a book
A tryst by that old brook
Here with austere feel
A loving-kindness heals
A sparkling touch that thrills
A guiding of goodwill
~~~~~~~~~
Here in passage fine
A message in the wine
A saline stock of brine
A wellness in a mine
Now here with good cheer
A meeting that seeds clear
A voice that thus endears
A sacred space right here
~~~~~~~~~
Watch that movie show
A feisty fleeting flow
A journey quest you know
A feeling impulse grow
Trust true love right here
A poignant pleasure cheers
A profound treasure dear
A primal passion steers
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
27 December 2024
Singapore
Courtesy the mighty Amazon successful deliverance reported...
Regarding unexpected Gadshill gift
(as if delivered from Magi)
tamper proof wrapped,
thus an obligation goads me
to communicate following
trademarked™ poetically apt
reasonable rhyme capped
with feeble airborne attempt,
no matter arms waved futilely,
madly, and ridiculously flapped
fortunately I eluded being kidnapped
by men in white coats
spellbound and rapt
before arriving at 20965 Young Avenue
Bend, Oregon 97703-8461
without energy being zapped.
The abovementioned transmission to whit
hesitantly, yet immediately, wisely scuttled
cuz analogous to Icarus, a free spirit
ignoring Daedalus warning soaring
too close to the sun
earning stronger epithet than "you nit"
true to adolescent hubris,
the son blithely ignoring
his father as a hypocrite,
but honest to goodness truthfulness
of above line entails
caution and discretion I readily admit.
Just now, I sample
Navitas Organics blueberry
hemp power snack(s)
wondering how many chewy squares
yours truly needs to consume
before me noggin
goes wickety wickety wack,
but... just maybe amply ingested
cubed plant based superfood
could allow, enable and
provide me means to take flight,
whereby off gray carpeted tarmac
goes Matthew Scott Harris.
So best be on the lookout okey doke
for one nondescript buzzfeeding bloke
long haired pencil necked geek fella,
who juiced awoke
and suddenly found himself at Trader Joe's
(with a twenty dollar gift card)
among garden variety generic folk
such as special people spanning Costco calendar,
who sport and trumpet surnames such as
Dunning, Harris, McGeehan no joke,
yet amidst madding crowd there could be
spy versus spy donning dagger and cloak.
anyway hoop fully thee above laughter did evoke,
perhaps e'en yar own literary juices
I didst unwittingly stoke.
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.
True, Moses wrote of righteousness, one based upon the law.
But Paul proffered an alternate, eschewed the tragic flaw.
Salvation based on works alone: a concept misapplied.
For all, not most, have fallen short; to live thus was to die.
The argument that he put forth: the wage of sin is death.
The proof that all have fallen short: each takes a final breath.
The second Adam changed it all, met on Damascus Road,
His work, reduced to rubbish, trash, and kicks against the goads.
A righteousness that's based on faith asks not who will ascend;
See, Christ has come down to the world, and faith thus comprehends.
And neither does a right faith seek descent to the abyss,
For Christ has risen from the dead, a point some seem to miss.
A right faith knows the word is near, there in your mouth and heart,
Components of a saving grace, the twain shall never part.
For if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is the LORD,
Your heart believes God raised him up, salvation, faith's accord.
For heart's belief is justified, and mouth's confession saved,
And all those who believe in Him are thus no more enslaved.
For there is no distinction now between the Jew or Greek,
For the same Lord is Lord of all, shows grace to all who seek.
But how then will they call on Him in whom they've not believed?
And how shall they believe in Him, when ears have not received?
And how are they supposed to hear, unless someone will preach?
And how are they to preach the word unless they're sent to each?
How beautiful, the feet of those delivering good news!
Not all obey what they have heard, Isaiah thus once mused.
"Lord, who believed what he has heard from us?" the prophet said.
But faith comes through the word of Christ, its hearing raises dead.
Now faith by works indeed is true, a point I must not shirk,
But only faith that's placed in Him, rests in His finished work.
(from Romans 10)
She chose to think his sweet talk lies were cute…
that things he said had value worth pursuit.
that substance would emerge, somewhat astute.
And while his words of love she wants to feel…
she ambles through their world hoping to heal.
She fears his selfish frost is hard as steel.
These past three years recalled with misty eyes…
he goads her daily even as she cries;
he begs excuse but sneers with compromise.
His conversation scars with bogus blame.
it mocks them both for trust has turned to shame;
it gags her voice, so silence is her game.
She made a promise, hoping that somehow
her mate would change. She’ll never break her vow.
While fighters ought to be gracious and calm, feeling fury is a sign of weakness. ( By author )
When everything droops in your wake
Your stance was hollow; it was fake
Your path is fair yet worth the wait
That's where you should wander your fate
I'd cop through a scene of wanton
Key strewn bits are struck by motion
Turn over sadly; roots are hay
I'm vowing my last breath away.
My heart calls for few gouge scorner
Truth spoiled on the side of corner
I am quite keen to accomplish
Fight failed, but never the skirmish
Dread sweeps the sight, and the mind stray
Smile on the lips once sorrows spray
Nose-binds to trust, waive stink disdain
Heart falls with each sight; calm remains.
Uproar warmly greeted my stride
When the grind of routine subside.
The pulse dashed at the sight I view
And heart was thumping in my chew
I breathed to calm my helpless feet
"Stay calm and grow on," to my greet
From inside, mind is home to loads
It's wicked snide skimpy and goads.
Written: January 12, 2022
C Form - Couplet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Knowledge gained liberates or mutilates.
Ramifications of reality’s realm reached
make your insides want to abandon the body ship.
Rocking back and forth as you hurl dry acidic pain
expelled by the force of shell shocked lucidity:
You’re not good enough to be loved.
Breathing in is treason.
Your heart demands release of life’s lease.
On the kitchen floor
crumpled dreams drag to prostrate form.
Alone…..
Every reason to stay is obliterated.
Ascorbic failures scream.
Heart blood transforms to salty rivulets.
Self-loathing usurps the throne of belief.
"Appeasement sacrifice,” it sagely suggests…
"Your life!"
Relevant Reasoning...
For someone for whom love is cell oxygen
grey matter food
supreme soul sustenance,
life without full bodied Love is death.
Might as well...
Cowardice cackles and goads….
The cut isn’t deep enough.
Red streaked line mockery of mental hell feels
abhorrence breathing between the sobs
that one hears …
No one hears
Troubled mind has drained desirability’s delight.
Not strong enough to live not strong enough to die,
you are spent…
negligence purged.
Silence begs to benumb,
yet a reminder remains.
The thorn of truth finds a home.
Embedded in my side,
it won’t be denied.
Removal immuned
it is unseen by naked eye-
exposed to the naked heart.
With every movement of love making
matrimonial mattress yet exudes
the faint scent of virginal dreams...
Pain permeates
It digs in deep.
Nothing will change.
YOU cannot change.
You are unlovable.
You're troubled and troubling brain
takes beauty down to notch of insane.
Give it all away.
Lavish and ravish.
Obsessively bid for love
while you auction respect away,
but herein is the cursed truth:
You are not good enough to be loved.
You never were.
You never will be.
For Charlotte's Heart and Soul Contest
September 2, 2014
The storm stirred…having ingredients our neighbors provided.
Stolen goods, the storm stashed in its wings, and headed East.
The storm boiled in Mississippi - all baby boomers spelled
that state voraciously m-i-ss-i-ss-i-pp-i…the eye of the storm, calm,
while the raptor tore apart lives. The weeping of dark clouds
over smithereens. The storm with a long wooden handle, stirring
hail and adding more broth. No one cared for this stone soup.
neighborly stone soup
NO THANK YOU emphatically
Bless your heart tongue goads
3/26/2023
From wikipedia: Stone Soup is a European folk story in which hungry strangers convince the people of a town to each share a small amount of their food in order to make a meal that everyone enjoys, and exists as a moral regarding the value of sharing.
Prayers for those affected by this terrible storm!
Which costume will she wear tonight?
She reaches for her red elongated plastic clown shoes.
The left one is missing. Did she loan it out?
Maybe she should squeeze into her pink tutu?
The one with the rhinestones in rainbow colors?
She can barely squash her rear and her tummy in
But she finally manages it. When she zips the zipper splits though.
Why not go as a villain? Her internal sneering voice asks her
She hates it when that voice appears; it is always unkind.
She would rather go naked now that as Elvira.
She would rather die than go as a villain.
Great idea! Another voice goads her.
Let’s go as Lady Godiva; where is your long blonde wig?
Maybe I will go as myself, she tells them both.
Grabbing her purse and stalking off.
Unwittingly doing exactly what her guides wanted her to do.