Long High spirited Poems
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What formerly got celebrated as adventitious age of exploration...
1492 unleashed, jump/
kick started, and downloaded
a bittorrent götterdämmerung
spelling genocide of indigenous peoples
occupying Turtle Island,
now surviving tribes
just a shell of their former grandeur.
At present Columbus day
linkedin with high dudgeon
courtesy scattered remnants
of once proud nations
occupying contiguous United States
plus calling Alaska and Hawaii
their happy hunting grounds,
enshrine actual or mythologized
spectacular pièce de résistance
instances when counting coup.
I recollect needing to know
scores of years ago
when a student attending grade schools
within Lower Providence District
as an important bit of information
contributing to (white washed) history
of western civilization
(and never forgot)
recalling the names Nina, Pinta,
and Santa Maria associated
with heroic measures undertaken
by Cristóbal Colón,
(but also been referred to,
by himself and others, as Christoual,
Christovam, Christofferus de Colombo,
and even Xpoual de Colón)
five hundred and thirty years ago,
who purportedly "discovered"
the Americas, when in
fact native occupants of the land
already dwelled upon
the then island paradises.
He/him and subsequent swashbuckling
gung-ho high spirited men
set sail across expanse of ocean(s)
exhibiting eager intent to claim
untrammeled storied quintessentially
opulently magnificent kingdoms
intoxicating greedy Europeans.
Blatant exploitation inexorably nudged
courtesy trickery vis a vis hook and crook
to grab good & plenty treats
forcibly wrested by violence
sabotaging the delicate webbed wide world
constituting millenniums of heavenly bliss,
where marauders wantonly ransacked
indeed lacking absolute zero selflessness
forcing diverse autochthonous nations
to acquiesce and surrender
ancestral grounds to aggressive, coercive
and offensive Europeans hell bent
to populate occupied territory
commandeering, humiliating, manhandling,
poisoning, subdividing, triangulating
every square inch
encompassing fruitful grand home
of rightful heirs to stolen
near boundless tracts
eventually hashtagging uncharted
pristine green acres
spanning from sea to shining sea
becoming commercial real estate
falsely claiming a haven
housing home of the free
land of the brave.
Part 4 of my "Image" series..
Treacherous, back stabbing,
a troubled changeling.
no host, pure demoniacal.
Mit Wobet,
begins his vicious cycle.
Monica Mcmichael,
high spirited,
humble.
She stumbles upon
this pretty man,
smooth, well educated
with a staff in his hand.
The foundation was set,
for Mr. Mit Wobet.
Mysteriously grand,
attentive to his commands.
lost within a series of dreams.
She seems to be free
But
limited within these dreams.
soon she will realize,
soon she will scream,
comatose, lifeless
now part of Mit Wobets'
supremely extreme regime.
abduction into this production by
Mit Wobet.
Sexually induced seduction,
chemically explosive mental eruption.
Held captive,
spent,
another mindless,
soulless pet.
All she does is wonder why.
why was she chosen?
who is this guy?
Why?
And what is the significance
of that awful crimson tie?
Come back for the conclusion "Random Thoughts *31* Double Acrostic to Rictameter.....
Jared Pickett
11/9/09
Asavvy1
Love is the splendour that mystifies me
A rainbow in the sky colours my mind
Rapture bosom in high-spirited glee
Blind by passion, beloved we enshrined
Romance, Zephyr on a hot humid day
Dawn of spring after each winter season
As butterflies draw toward flowers way
Lovers seek closeness for any reason
Amor, a warm bright light within our heart
Set ablaze or calmed at our partner’s touch
Twin flames share deeper connections by heart
True love grows yet stronger with time as such
Two souls entwine kin to fine tapestry
Soul mates share eternal love happily
The loss of family or friends is hard to just set aside,
our lives have been changed forever,
we grieve for them a little more during the holidays.
Quote By: Poet
Merry Christmas in Heaven,
With a snowy winter outside,
Nature in white, no place to hide.
Neighbors decorate their yards to
Rejoice Jesus's birth in yuletide.
Family home for Christmas Eve,
Happy and high-spirited, weave
Through sweets, drink, crackers, and cheese.
The home alive as the world in glamour.
A small tree, a warm drink, and plate of treats to thee.
My love, I believe you'll never leave.
A tear of grief, as we were wed on Christmas.
A gift of love to each other we received.
A day I can never let go.
A day I will never forget.
Merry Christmas in Heaven.
12/16/2022
Christmas In Heaven:
A Focus On Loved Ones In Heaven
At Christmastime Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: BJ Legros Kelley
Remembering the days
when I was loved by friends
while memories are vividly seen,
as if they are woven into reality...
Living in the past,like a dreamer,
won't change a thing;
In spite of distance,
I still find delight
in their joyous faces;
deep wrinkle and gray hair
are the enemies I can't fight!
I'm getting older by the day,
as an awareness
and earnest warning
not to dispose of this age,
but to learn daily from it!
Trustworthy and reliable friends,
I would like to possess
your strenght to cope
with an unspeakable tragedy,
a loss or a doleful defeat;
are you like me: twisted by dissent,
judged and treated unfairly
or completely misunderstood?
One can't be too demure or innocent
to let those facts control your destiny;
if confidence and self-descipline
aren't instilled within the adolescent years,
hurt,rejection and impelling sorrow:
lift up hurdles you can't bring down
with the speed and force of an arrow!
Remembering the days
we conquered life's joys
with the zest of warriors;
remembering the days
when the enthusiasm
made us high-spirited
and indulge in pleausures
that cannot be described...
to go beyond the unforbidden limits,
to know what laid ahead of us...
raptured by an ingenous realism!
Admired and missed friends,
it should be joyful to remember you all,
good friends always offer solace...
when words seem not to flow
and thoughts are locked up in deep silence;
here,with lively and subliminal visions,
I cross the void between
absence and distance...
to be a part of you again!
It doesn’t matter if I ruined myself from intoxication,
even for a moment, as long as I can get drunk from
the wine named arrogance.
Although arrogance is the robe so colorful
that it blinds ordinary man accustomed only to a quiet color
and it’s conspicuous vividness stunning onlookers and plumps down
to become a lame, doesn’t matter its consequence, I would like to wear the robe of arrogance because most people think not only that it’s proper to honor and admire arrogant one but even respect, awe and consider him holy.
Because the audience overly admires arrogant one,
speak highly of his every movement and daily activities,
moreover, audience welcomes the arrogant one with thunderous hand-clapping, jump up and down with cry in excitement and even tear impressed by his lordliness.
The audience praises arrogant one from the heart with great admiration, uttering, he is a broad-minded noble with a high-spirited appearance that only strong one can display, pure like clear dew reflecting early morning sun-ray, and more.
Nevertheless, you shouldn’t have hatred for the arrogant one because
he is a snob just like the emperor* who struts on the daylight way
surrounded by his dignified chamberlains, wearing priceless silken gown
trimmed and woven with gold threads and uniquely tailored for him.
I wonder why I have a keen desire for glorified moments
like an arrogant one, and behave in a lordly manner
intoxicated by wine of arrogance though I know
the cost of pomposity very well indeed.
*ref: Hans Christian Andersen’s the Emperor’s New Clothes
Breeze, storm, tempest, tornado, wind,
Typhoon, you are named, yes, whirlwind,
Yet, you have well compressed yourself;
In me, into a gasp, named breathe,
Without which I have a mere death,
Thus commanding terms on myself...
I could hear your voice utter once,
In a debate of unique sense,
Your whisper was serene and sweet;
Admirations on you I poured,
As the plants and trees applauded,
In a richly rhythmic movement...
'Lovely you are, I commented,
Lavishly cute, high spirited,
Gracefully sweet is your murmur;
Yet looking into your movement,
I often tend to calculate,
You are a nomad, wanderer...
It's then lightly and politely,
Talking to me rather freely,
You'd told me many a secret;
Authentic, spiritual, pure,
That makes mortals feel sure secure,
Realistic and innocent...
Just like breathing, indeed, breathe's sigh,
And her loyal philosophy,
Fascinating, enlightening;
Nomad, gypsy, and traveler,
Migrant I am and wanderer,
Enthralling, real enchanting...
Yet, my child, have you realized,
I have you in me imprisoned,
And have kept you prompt permanent;
In my nomadically pure,
safe, perennially secure,
life-giving divine little hand…
It's when I had far away moved,
From the gushy maddening crowd,
And started reflecting calmly;
On the breath's bewildering words,
Dawned on me Gautam the Buddha's,
Renunciation theory...
True as the very Truth itself,
Is breath's unique unerring self,
Does the daylight any lie say?
Who upon this earth so divine,
Or under the gorgeous heaven,
Live without breath a single day?
Breathe is in me; I am in Breath,
It's, indeed dead-sure- till my death,
I can never refute this fact;
Breath utters and breath punctuates,
Breath whispers; breath murmurs and sighs,
Breathing is world's unending act...
I got imprisoned in the breath,
When in my mother's divine depth,
I received charming human form;
Knowingly or unknowingly,
Willingly or unwillingly,
I got surrendered in breath's arm...
Breathe has adopted me wholly,
Affectionately, benignly,
Giving me gifts of the Spirit;
Entering in my every nerve,
And my physique's each muscle curve,
Made me melodious flute, lute...
I play on
I am played on
04/27/2021
Writing Prompt - Breathe - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
I wonder what he was thinking, the man
mounted on a stool, with his elbows resting on the bar,
eating a Big Mac and sipping coffee from a McCafe coffee cup.
The outside view he was watching through the glass wall
is the flickering lights over the parking lot and
the sounds of galloping horses on the road.
As usual, among those galloping horses,
some may be carrying today, which is heavier than the day,
on his aching back, while others run with full speed
looking forward to a better tomorrow;
yet, there is a horse, like one of the remnants of a defeated army
who fought the difficult battle where there is no today, no tomorrow,
but struggle after struggle of dogfight and defeat, dragging his feet
with a heavy burden.
Since there is no color or outline of an object in the dark
you are unable to distinguish one horse from the other,
such as the high-spirited grand Shire, the tiny amiable Falabella,
the gracefully elegant Akhal-Teke, or the Mule, born to carry heavy
load till dies.
That’s why the darkness is beautiful,
it doesn’t have a color like the death; yet,
it’s not comparable to the darkness of the grave
because it’s only the flip side of the day. It will drag
you into the light, compel you to see the sun in the morning.
As coffee gets colder, the smell of coffee goes away,
and further, the taste of coffee becomes bitter with elapsing time.
Then, from the empty feeling of missing something, he bites into
the hamburger held in his hand and hears the “moo…” the last cry
of a sorrowful cow dragged into a slaughter house.
Though death is, beautiful if it’s accompanied by a dirge,
the moment of death by force is, although the soul may be
lighter than a feather, a lot heavier than the weight of the world.
We were all much younger, happier then,
And untouched by heartache, sadness;
In dreams, we go back again and again,
And bring to our hearts gladness!
From Grandpa Frank, father of the Fields,
And Miss Pauline, who married his boy;
The hand of fate's no longer concealed,
As countless descendents live the joy.
When we were young, our parents were, too,
And each day was a new surprise;
When we were young, all skies were blue,
And life was sunrise, apple pies!
In the good old days, we laughed a lot,
And were high spirited and free;
And remembered what time had forgot,
And was unable to foresee.
In the beginning, we were carefree,
Back in those young love days;
I caught a glimpse of all eternity,
Once, in the good old days!
High-spirited sports car enthusiasts, burning rubber
and speeding in the wind. Motorcycle lovers, making
high-sounding noises. Birds singing by day; crickets
by night. Fight off the mosquitoes, wasps, and
all creatures desiring the insides. In heat and
humidity, stay highly hydrated. Drink a lot,
stick with water and soft drinks but stay away
from the hard stuff. Be happy and be wedded,
but also, be wise. Catch a fast plane; be safe
and go far. Or take a slow train and enjoy
the terrain. Her name is Summer, a relative
of April and friends with June and August.
Going kayaking or will you fight the water rapids?
Stay-cations are out; vacations and family reunions
are back. For many a year, the roads always took me East.
But this year, my family is beckoning me to come North.