Long High hope Poems
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The gulls are gathering,
they mob, they scream,
they vie with each other
to lunge upon the unseen.
America, those first bold steps
of your eventful arrival,
your first imprints trod
upon this great land
are beginning to surface
here on the beach -
but now there is a whiff,
a stench of much heaped decades
of betrayal and corruption.
Those inaugural shoeprints
of imperial venture and high hope
are surfacing to be seen;
like dead fish they appear
upon the tainted shingle and sand.
There is a stink America,
the rapacious gulls are gathering
they swoop upon the long lamented,
feed upon the ghostly whispers
of what could
and should have been.
One day, one may go
In places we don't want to know
Just assure that your name is written
Embossed in gold shining in heaven.
Yes, I'm preaching
To the soul that's needing repair
I'm talking to all who hears His teaching
To warn a deluge will come so each life may spare.
The world is delicate right now
Rumors of Armageddon is creeping
I do hope Moscow show love somehow
So we can live a life we want for keeping.
Somehow Nostradamus has more to say
Than the Political Analyst wants to debrief
Believers of God and Peace Makers always pray
That all is well that ends well finds a relief.
I have high hope that World Leaders do good
So United Nation not bedeviled and not be unguided
That life may continue to thrive and not be booed
By Devils who want this world to be divided.
The Second Coming is here then
If you just know it in your heart
He is now intervening the affairs of men
We just have to chose our role and take our part.
Moon Tuning…
Peeping down through
the closed blind,
reflecting moon spy-tease
the created mind;
manipulating the running
of ebony-hued time,
trying to canvas a poem
with lines that rhyme.
Now if you knew how to rap,
this would be a snap
but it’s not so easy
in the wee hours, without a nap.
Yet, when you’ve survived
the trials of another day,
It’s not really that hard to scribe
what you need to say.
Here in the home of the brave
and the land of the free,
we have yet to cave
racism and abject bigotry.
While cold war debates
continue their drum major runs,
sacred lives remain, victims of hate,
and free-firing lawless guns.
No longer can we let the fearful minority
keep us in such dire calamity.
Like the ancestors dead and gone,
we too must fight against evil and wrong;
rising up and claiming our prized liberty.
Let us not leave coming generations
without worthiness and high hope.
Let us not insult our ancestral patrons
who fought and won the right to vote.
Today, 2025.3.09@08:46:00
Here I am again at Geelong.
Not only I am alone, but also unhappy.
My trip over the long weekends had been altered and changed,
Not by the weather nor a new plan,
Simply by some body who has no sense of responsibilities.
I shall not loose any of my time and energy,
On a person like this.
He gave me a book,
In which he described himself as a loner.
And disclosed so many of his unacceptable behaviours,
But not a word of his selfishness nor breaking promises characters.
By now, I am happy and relief,
Visiting one of my favourite beaches.
The Geelong icon, "Manningham" pier,
The newly built hook shaped Yarra Street pier,
In less than 90 minutes,
I shall be on my way to Apollo Bay.
I do not know if I am going to have big waves,
Which knocked me to the ground and hurt my knees,
I do not mind at all, because
I was not promised by the nature,
I will embrace what so ever,
Big or small, rough or gentle,
Not like some people,
Give you high hope and drop you like hot potato.
I knew I was a loner, but I will never be a loser.
Flapping gay garment hung on balcony bannister
Trots obstinate flung spun over railing
Fixated brazen Brigette immune to embarrassment
Boosted bemuse formats never failing
Composed to procure prominence, step with stars
Stage bound show must go on motto
Constellation shift slides velvet curtain aside ajar
Planets orbit origin wins Lyceum lotto
Horoscope high hope performs fame premonition
Bright light box office tickets Brigette
Halcyon sky spiral beehive secures each audition
Sixties seductress frequency fills seats
23rd June
Absurd Truth
Grim reaper scion donned as nodule on lung...
Lodged squarely upon corporeal property
(i.e. necessary soft tissue)
of Amelie Beth Harris-McGeehan
mine eldest sister,
when medical technician informed
aforementioned unpleasant tidings
earlier today February 25th.
Utmost grievousness grips
analogous to invisible
strong hands strangulating
"I can't breathe"
while grappling trying to process
apocalyptic forebodings
(impinging on mine corporeal
fifty plus shades of gray matter).
Impossible mission
(insync with absent impetus),
thus renders feeble attempt
crafting poem,
yet unbridled (hyperbole
employed to accentuate emotion)
regarding brotherly love
upon being informed
most unpleasant tidings.
Laughter and sunshine
eradicated in one fell swoop
absolute zero peace of mind
until fortune teller
peers into crystal ball
and invokes divine intervention
whereby life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness
buffets thee along
countless additional Earth orbits
around the sun
granted second lease on life.
Auspicious signs of
early birds taking wing
(in an effort to feast
upon diet of worms)
to celebrate advent of Spring
will be uber twittering
glad tidings of your
clean bill of health
ditto chattering squirrels
buzzfeeding unearthed
soil, mushrooms
and animal bones,
while yours truly delights
reading within partially secluded
outside triangulated nook,
(a favorite alcove of mine)
to bask under sheltering sky
feeling restoration of vitality
courtesy Herculean strength
of Mister Sun's powerful solar rays.
PostScript: my humblest apology
if word first choice constituting title
caused undue agitation,
cuz only genuine expression
courtesy unwavering optimism
insync with sixth sense intended
to trumpet Taj Mahal high hope
buoying your body,
mind, and spirit triage.
Part of being young
Is a belief in the power of hope
Part of growing up
Is the realization that hope
Has nothing to do with actual life.
Like Yoda said, you either do or don’t do
There is no try, as there is no hope.
This is just part of growing up, but
Some of us have been dumbed down
So our growth has been slowed
And so our idealism lasts well into adulthood.
It takes a combination
Of high hope and low IQ
To support communism, you know,
The political and economic philosophy
The depends on other people’s money.
Its supporters are usually divided into two groups;
The poor without much to lose and lots to gain
(Or so they hope)
And the elite who know wealth concentrates at the top
No matter what economic system is followed.
Low IQ is essential,
And sadly also accompanies being poor,
Because the actual result of communism
Is just more poverty and less freedom.
All around the lessons of history are clear
And yet all around its students put on blinders
Hoping, against all odds, with their stunted IQ
That this time they will get it right.
(8/20/26)
Why would you candidly care who you beat?
Let them sigh and squirm, no need to retreat.
Are you one of the ones willing to cheat?
It makes the elitist's pain more replete.
The Founders thought fairness helps all compete,
cheating, the word we dassent dare repeat.
Many march on, there can be no defeat;
this passion makes lives forever complete.
Self-righteousness is the high hope we heed,
even if it will not serve every need.
When we win, we will then soundly succeed;
rightfully reaching our true status, creed -
for those part of this tribe, like us indeed.
Bold fallen foes surely deserved to bleed.
This is the fresh start of a brand new breed,
from their yoke we are all finally freed!
Contrarian concepts should be banned,
let us go back to times things were once grand.
Free up our spirits let pure hearts expand,
all shall strive to the death, never disband!
We fought for this, it ought to be our land;
with God's rules they must meet every demand.
This Union will fail, no way it can stand;
as we cheat, it shall soon be well in hand.
Peeping down through
the closed blind,
reflecting moon spy-tease
the created mind;
manipulating the running
of ebony-hued time,
trying to canvas a poem
with lines that rhyme.
Now if you knew how to rap,
this would be a snap
but it’s not so easy
in the wee hours, without a nap.
Yet, when you’ve survived
the trials of another day,
It’s not really that hard to scribe
what you need to say.
Here in the home of the brave
and the land of the free,
we have yet to cave
racism and abject bigotry.
While cold war debates
continue their drum major runs,
sacred lives remain victims of hate
and free-firing lawless guns.
No longer can we let the fearful minority
keep us in such dire calamity.
Like the ancestors dead and gone,
we too must fight against evil and wrong;
rising up and claiming our prized liberty.
Let us not leave coming generations
without worthiness and high hope.
Let us not insult our ancestral patrons
who fought and won the right to vote.
As when you wake upon the day smoldering
Aware not yet, quite yet sad burdens shouldering
Skies light white wisps float high, hope new again
Motion ignites the soul that feeds what’s been
All conscious now of eternal recurrence
And returning to returning the groove
Set golden and red fires to my thoughts
Of all things that’ve been and all things that’ve not
And the perpetuity of it all doth soothe
The intricate patterns the webs unseen
We rise, we fall in small circles and grand
Repeats to each all time n’ over again
And we, you, I, they all follow refrain
And succumb we must free will to fates plan
I’ve seen it all at ONCE they come they go
Upon a mountain top the Fakir cries
And rounds back vibrations to the skies,
I’ve seen it all at ONCE they come they go
We rise upon golden suns forever
This thought survives my death, dies never
All lives fixed and lasting eternally in the hope of new lives