Long Incalculable Poems
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LOVE IS......
Love is the greatest of all virtue;
is greater than anything you know is great,
bigger than better than biggest best,
richer than any natural resources,
deeper than the deepest of all oceans,
higher than mount Everest.
love is everything and equal to anything,
for nothing is stronger than it,
is the greatest force.
love is the character of divinity express in humanity;
emotion can create friendship but through love relationship can be establish,
love is the weapon of the strong.
love is all; it abilities are in-comprehensive and incalculable,
it boundaries are unlimited,
it potential 'are' inestimable,
many water cannot quench love neither can the flood drown it.
love is like a candle light which shines through the darkest
of night with bluest flame piecing through the thickest of moments
ready to accept everyone unconditionally.
love endures in patient, kindness and compassion,
is never nor ever will boils over with jealousy,
is not selfish/self seeking,
it does not keep record of ill,
neither is waiting for apology for fault committed,
it doesn't strut,
it doesn't celebrate injustice.
love is strong;
its hope are fade-less under all circumstance,
is joyful and confident toward all equally
without any negative expectation,
extravagant are its wishes,
I owe a debt to you, do you?
love is the medicine our world need today.
R andom radicals rush rip-roariously on ward
O nerously oggling on-lookers abroad
A nnealing axle-grease atop ankle-high boots
D eliberately dashing dilettante seekers
T raveling tenaciously toward tree-lined detours
R oad rage roars, racers recline, rear-wheels wheelie
I mprobable instances intoxicate incalculable intensity
Probably, they'd get there alive!?
S irens sound
E mptiness emanates extravehicular extemes
N ickle-plated, nonentities now
D eath, death, dangles
I nsanities inane inference
N ickle-plated, nonentities now
G one.
Contest:GROOVE IT ! Free Poetry Contest Details
Style: Heavy Metal
Date:10/9/13 revised
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
The numbers of hope
Show me the real reason I can cope!
Throwing me a rope
I grab it with both hands
Knowing without Him I will sink into the sand
I look to the twenty-six-word parade of hope
These are the numbers for winning any race
It is the alphabet of Grace, and Love is the major Element!
This is the One and Only I need to see
This is the One that can free me
Love was revealed
This was concealed before Time—
The Love of God the Father given from Above
His incalculable sacrifice stretched before us
As a symbol of Divine Love
God the Father Loves
God the Father Gave His Son
God the Father Saves
In Jesus’ algorithm
The flow of Love invades any darkness
The spark of this verse
Will break any curse
Whoever thirst will burst with the Joy of Hope
While receiving the power to cope in any situation
God the Father Gave His Son
This verse is an alphabet of Grace
Everything can be traced back to this sacrifice!
John 3:16 remain the Numbers of Hope
Mark Frank
Copyright 2022
I could feel it building before she even spoke. The pressure in the air, the deep regret. I recognize the look, the shift. It’s strange how familiar it feels. How easily my heart plummets to the floor. How loud the silence grows before everything shatters.
I spend most of my days translating, reading her tone like the weather. I rearrange my thoughts before they reach her, as if one wrong word might detonate the world.
What am I supposed to say when she asks if it’s normal, if the anger is justified? Admit that I flinch sometimes? Admit that I hear my father, incalculable and groundless? No, she’s not asking for the truth; she’s asking to be soothed for what she’s done.
Then comes the warmth, the soft embrace, the breakfast in bed. So I forgive her again, watching her form a trashy mosaic from what’s left of me, my pieces pressed together with cheap glue that never really holds.
It’s not all bad. There are still mornings that feel safe. I stay for those small reprieves, the moments she’s gentle enough to make me question my own memory. I stay to hear her whisper reste avec moi, but I’m not sure I understand the language anymore.
A quiet voice asks if I should go. Give up justifying the cage she’s put me in. Give up waiting for the love she’s saving for someone else. But I’ll stay, if just for the strange comfort of familiarity.
Incalculable sheets of thoughts hidden
Boiling brain,mimicking sharp gnawing pain
Pretty soul lay there quite sick, bed ridden
Entrapped by deep surges of bloody bane
Her stamina, sleekly started to wane
Stepped in, her beloved from a far land
He sat beside sobbing and picked her hand
Stroking it gently, enquired the reason
She lay still, with expression being bland
Untold she croaked, in bleak winter season
Aug10, 2020
First Place in the Contest:-)
Note:Pick-A-Title, vol 21,Dizain Poetry Contest.
Title chosen:1)UNTOLD
Checked syllables:Howmanysyllables.com
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh.
As I listened to Eric, Shane, and Jacob,
I also heard another still and loving voice.
As I sat and listened ever so INTENSELY,
I sensed the voice of God IMMENSELY.
Two words to me were clearly SPOKEN,
And my spirit was more widely AWAKEN.
If such treasures should be forgotten and LOST,
Incalculable and immeasurable would be the COST.
That is why I now record those two WORDS.
For surely their loss I cannot AFFORD.
The first word I heard was, 'SEASONAL'.
What's done in the processor is never
to be continual, but like the four seasons,
they do their job well and leave till next time.
The second was the short 4-letter word, 'LONG'.
Sometimes, Our stay in the processor is long.
In the natural world, each of the four seasons
has a fixed duration of three months, but there
is no comparison in their force and intensity.
Some are inviting, nice, and mild, bringing a gentle
BREEZE, while another may bring a deadly FREEZE.
Sometimes the seasons are long, not in terms of time,
but in sorrow or misery; in PAIN, taking away all our GAIN.
The comfort is in knowing that, like seasons, the processor
never came to stay, but God designed us and the processor
to be obedient and faithful to do His work His way.
060821cjPS
Saturday musings~~
The
dance of seeming
opponents
which separation
makes apparent~
may suggest the
end of the gold
sought in separation~
Blood
flows apparently
and does not~
without not
the flow is lost~
Nothing
cannot be named
but the naming
of something
may seem
good enough~
Everything
is incalculable
even something~
consequently
not knowing is
free to know
and not know~
Doing
is the suggestion
for progress~
working on a path
to the better~
it appears that way~
Faulty
are all words
in expressing
the inexpressible~
the prison bars
of confinement
and freedom~
Clockwork
seems the story
which time
captures~
interpreted as
suffering and
freedom
without escape~
religion
often compared
unfavorably with
nature~
and of course
the same
in reversal~
until both are
found as
appearances
simply arising~
electricity
has never been
identified but
as unknown~
neither has
anything else~
nightfall
suggestions
of rest and
romance~
an emptiness
brimming with
stories~
AI
is sweeping
storyland~
telling tales
seemingly
without effort
and time~
nothing may
seem new~
permanence
may seem as
an anchor to
incessant movement
and insistence~
these words reflecting
turmoil and hope
standing for all stories
seeming to mask
unconditional freedom~
experts
seem as plentiful
pointing to paths
for fulfillment~
and sometimes to
paths never ending~
undermined it seems
by an emptiness
of all words~
faith and works~
death in
separation~
and life as
both and neither~
birdsong
a pleasantry
of a moment~
a deception of
its eternity
or not~
When little human babies are told at birth
How stupid, dumb and ignorant they are
Incalculable damage occurs even if done with mirth.
Feelings of worthlessness follows their star.
Damage like this is not easily undone.
Being called mean words is truly not fun.
It remains with you for the rest of your days
Especially if it came from those who were given you to raise.
So if you are hearing parents call their children names.
Please let them know the damage is no kind of game.
These angry words could cripple them in all kinds of ways.
Much better to risk overindulging and give them some praise.
Non-essential! It takes time to
digest the public offense, bruising the poetic ego
essential only to itself, as broad as the world.
Howling winds, dark clouds, ghost cities,
horizons overbreaming with despair, the low
widespreading doubt and the high feverish days
filled with progressive red dots on world map, the
incalculable pain, spirit out of sight, from my home
so far away from and yet so close to work, I run
hope's high tide hour, caught on its windblown antenna, its gentle touch on my parched lips, manifesting in form God's grace like raindrops on
windows' pane, a poet's disease of tides, insisting
on poetry's essential nourishment of the soul, with lion's pride, uplifting earth's exhausted staff not knowing who'll feed the hungry and the birds – poets
decree their own confinement to rules of beauty, unhinged freedom,
requiring no appeal.
(hub bur rigid version.)
All la names bespeaking deity froom
Noah Mo' Room India Arc
of Covenant to Blood
(sweat and tears) of
San Gennaro devout wowed,
and/or Turin shroud
consonantly demonstrably,
desperately, faintly, glumly
yet plaintively, muttered aloud,
no evading the steadily avowed
Atheist approaching funnel
(dum mental) stormy cloud,
cuz far as the eye could see -
at least by this Beatle browed
bipedal hominid (north, south,
east, and west),
the conical, demoniacal,
and elliptical endowed
sky high reversed cone, bow wowed
wailing 10,000 maniacs +
same number of banshees
wove weft and white
across wide whirled web
whereat, the black vortex
vacuumed everything
in sight (chowed
down) with loud violent row
dee earsplitting sound everything
within a vast path got plowed
obliterated, and annihilated proud
lee into bajillion smithereens,
hence mine entire being
held spellbindingly agog
frozen in place ruff akin
to well trained dog
without a chance to bark a blog
mired stock still courtesy, sans
extreme fear comp
pounded (zero apr) via
quintessential supreme tear
roar immovable paralysis
plus helpless as pollywog
lacking seizure of critical
whatsapp cerebral cog
as if blinded by a mental fog,
cuz nothing withstood
the incalculable suction
emitting barrage of sounds -
hmm...methinks or imagined,
I heard cry of a hog
amidst the pandemonium,
plus uproarious, ominous,
and insidious howl,
though still some
scant miles removed,
the deafening roar
felt like top of my head
blasted unable to jog
free (like a bajillion trained
thundering monsters at log
er heads) these screaming
quasi nemesis seemingly
horrifically, and directly
into my tender ears.