Long Indulgences Poems
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I’m a tightrope walker, strung between
the hedonistic abyss of winter break and
the unforgiving canyon of organic chemistry.
The stack of spring syllabuses are a prophecy whispered
in Latin. The story they tell haunts my dreams - wherein
each biochemical is a monster lurking in the shadows.
“I’m not in a tailspin, that would be unfair,” I tell Lisa, “I’m in a lull.”
“It’s like that awkward time, between a hangover and drinking again.” she laughs.
Sure, I envisage late, week night study grinds, and sleepless
hours, but the price of serious things isn’t trivial - success and hard
work are, unfortunately, yoked together, like Shakespeare’s double shadow.
A tough spring curriculum won’t stop me from
taking 3 or 4 minutes to dance with roomates
when a head-banger like ‘Spiral City’ plays or
enjoying sudden, late night jelly bean melees.
And then there are the spring things that spark joy.
Walking to class on a brilliant spring morning,
with birdsong, a warm sun and fragrant breezes.
Laughs stolen in the back of classes,
gossip and secrets exchanged over
guilty coffee and croissant indulgences.
Skipping through crowded halls, drawing looks
‘cause we’re clapping aggressively to each other, singin’
“You got the swag sauce, she dripping swagu, ooh!”
“Ok,” I think to myself, putting my hair in a ponytail,
“I’m ready for spring semester - bring it on.”
.
.
“You got the swag sauce, she dripping swagu, ooh”
Are lyrics from the song “Party” by André 3000 and Beyoncé
Written: May 05, 2024, For Jaymee Thomas Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Incessant ticking of timepieces,
reverberating clatter of a mallet in motion,
the whole thing testifies to an illusion.
Time,
only a delusion
Its sole goal is to decay and degrade,
the surplus is as worthless as our frail cells
Inward metamorphosis is what truly entices.
There will be a sunrise
once you cease to exist,
but fodder for maggots.
Yet,
from their perspective,
your remains,
provide a sustenance for survival,
their growth,
and their eventual ascension
perspective,
an invaluable commodity,
yet,
stay ignorant of two sides of a coin.
tales spun from our ignorance abyss.
Is love a reality or a falsehood in society?
a tether to maintain their focus,
how can they hinder their whims?
what else might motivate them to squander
indulgences such as candies or blooms?
leverage of greenery,
similar to the cost of water,
twisted nature repulses my senses.
Being a societal outcast,
do I not deserve an ample resolution?
at the pinnacle of my tale,
will I be restrained with shackles?
due to repugnant acts of cruelty,
your detested species has wrought
on my turbulent figure?
Ignite your wake pyre,
should you require a tan?
O my (Eternal) God
I offer You all my prayers
Works
And sufferings
In union with the Sacred Heart of Fr. Christ
For the intentions for the intentions for which He pleads
And offers Himself in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass
In thanksgiving for your favors
In reparation for my offenses
And in humble supplication
For my temporal welfare
For the conversion of sinners
And for the relief of the poor souls in the purgatory
I wish to gain all indulgences
Attached to the prayers I will say
And works I will perform this day
Amen
Poetry Form: Free Verse
Date Typed: May 20, 2025
Time Typed 6:14pm
The ultimate compassionate
sensation resonates beyond
daily circumstances, travails
It is calming serenity
tapered by lustful indulgences
tempting peacefulness
You wonder how such blessings
could have been bestowed
upon a common utilitarian
personality rife with imperfections.
It's mind boggling
how forces intermingle
creating spheres of happiness.
It dangles illusions
of utopian perfection
transforming everyday misanthropes
into circumstantial bliss
that encapsulates illustrious
transcendental thoughts.
Mind altering realities
bestowed upon simplicities
of thoughtless ramifications
turning lackluster days
into something magical.
Incognito
( by Joan Donnelly Ellis Oct.23, 2015)
Little girl in updo hairstyle and suspension earrings
Mommies shiny red pumps grace her feet
Nana's garden party bonnet is settled
Almost ready for a walk with baby doll in carriage
A Sunday morning stroll down Hickory Street
She seats herself in front of the vanity mirror
And paints her lips, cheeks and lashes once and then again
She smacks her lipstick in place, smiles at her just pretend face
Playing grown up is her favourite game
All the neighbours greet her as Mrs. Murphy
And they fuss over her new born baby, Jill
On some occasions she will be invited in for tea
Mrs. Murphy is delightful company
And she will engage you thoroughly
With stories of her poor family's indulgences and sin
Rows of assorted necklaces sparkle
As from her throat they dangle showoffishly
She raises the skirt of borrowed dress lest she trip
Grabs the handbag with the zip
A child of seven going on thirty-three
Just because I can
Don't mean I should
Or is any good
Is of little use
Or burdon of proof
Leading to a headline breaking top story
On the News at 10
But then again
So aren't the indulgences
Of what passes for news
On the day to day
All consuming want for gossip
That prepositions truth is boring
And the only thing worthy of reporting
Is if another anonymous insignificant reality star
Is planning a fake marriage
Or pregnancy number 5 with spouse number 6
And the Facebook's clicks
Or Twitter followers
With lives so empty
They read while driving
Because nothing is more important
Than sharing senselessness tat
That if we readed back in the cold light of day
Would make anyone have a good long rethink
About the direction life has taken
If this is how one is to spend time
Rather join a convent or a cult
At least they have a point
Because to be both frank and blunt
Wasting time being a sheepish runt
On Social Media
Is about as fulfilling
As salad on an carnivorous diet
Don't buy it
Don't try it
And just maybe it will go away
And reality will forgive us and come back
surreal
fragments
from the past
visual
encounters
with dark fantasies
plots
without dialogue
small drama
with
strangers
on the
seashore
coincidences
chimed
in passion
desire
& indulgences
in virtue&
vice
pursued
by umbrellas
&trilbies
by ladies
of the night
in mackintoshes &
braces
meditations
in
sunshine
reflections
in
mirrors
of bowlers&
beaches
melancholia
in moments
of colour
veiled
in the enigmatic
longings
for yesterday
today
in nostalgic
roads
to nowhere
of quietudes
in hidden
stylistic
wistfilled
narratives
I start my day with bubbles on my skin
and water nearly hot when I jump in!
Replying to friends' emails makes me glow.
A quickie breakfast; off to work I go!
My work is pretty nice; I teach each day.
I can't imagine any other way
to earn my keep; my job is kind of fun.
I'm sure it's not like that for everyone.
I make a big production of my lunch
by heating soup or popcorn I can munch
while reading poems online here at the school.
By 5 or 6, I'm home. My nights are cool. . .
I fix a lovely dinner for my honey.
My sweet indulgences don't cost much money.
We chat and watch TV. I feel extremely
content with things I simply do routinely!
Written 2/3/15
"But love's a malady without a cure."
-"John Dryden"
Forbidden Song
The jury sits, pallid and grave,
well versed in the ways of "society" and "correctness",
he appears, drowned in confusion and numb to all else,
convicted of the dreary charge of "forbidden" love.
No words exchanged, for there is no need,
the sentence rings forth, pierces his breast like a dagger,
"Your love is a mistake, your mind a mess,
listen to the wisdom of the ages".
And it stings, it burns,
but he is not one to show.
Take my arm, take my leg,
but I cannot live without my heart.
And take away all I may need,
food and drink are careless indulgences,
but allow me the liberty to, in those dying moments,
find warmth and hearth in the home of my heart.
And lock me up, lock me in
in the darkest places deep, deep down below.
Though I may live amidst the unknown, scary and dark as it is,
the light of my heart shall guide me on.
Do it all, punish me so,
but for the love of God, let my heart go,
hearts are necessary, hearts are indispensable,
how can you perceive the love of God without them?
The eyes scan the murky darkness,
there are people around him, but they live in a different plane
his lover in his eyes, somewhere far far away
from the island moored by "society".
For love he chooses to go to the farthest points,
his world is that lover, unknown to even him at this point,
yet all he needs is love, the oil for the lamp of his heart,
a shame indeed that that love is forbidden.
And woe be to love, woe be to its permanence,
its rigid adherence to the faculties of the heart,
we hope to break free of this, to untie its grasp on us,
but love's a malady without a cure.
Date: 15 October 2020
Quotable Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
While sighs arose from dried marsh and clay,
the girl in me embraced an amiable virtue
born out of an affinity for our town’s revelries :
Oh those bouncy play with cousins
when burnt dusk kindly taught me
the wisdom of moon’s varied phases, fables,
then a soul tamed through older clans’ demise
as this ancient realm became a night keeper,
leading me unto stages of womanhood
Today, I am older, perhaps more dauntless…
yet nostalgia seeps into these heavy eyes
where youth’s indulgences
are now gone, damp, acrid...
A bushfire searing our farmstead
like cinder on my hands bolstered my spirit
Though parish bells knell afar,
long gazes of abode ‘s remnants tear my flesh,
mirroring portraits of youth epiphanies
which now mold my present life's outlook…
a kind resolute amidst triumphs and hurdles.
Brian Strand’s Completely Your Choice 17
~ format and spelling of ' girlhood edited
due to bad internet
9/27/2020/em>