Long Interspersed Poems
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Special… midst quirks of sheer mirth
joyful child is God’s blessing
greeting family members with glad smile
marked by good morning of sign language bliss
radiating cheers that champion hope.
Special son spells victory
gesturing double thumbs up
interspersed with spastic praying hands
as he seeks for God’s favor and guidance
toward triumphant day worth thanking for.
His special needs require love
as well as patience and care
meeting demands challenging parents’ role
to stay sober, serenely strong with poise
vanquishing panic against frantic sigh.
Special kindness always reigns
since home begets charity
where safety fortress towers, smiting fear
propelling members toward faith ventures
especially in reaching-out.
Special child exudes good heart
Grateful for supportive souls.
Motherly Love and Frowns
Treading down the memory lane streams to my mind
memories from far yet near, some sweet, some sour,
memories preciously shelved in the precincts of my inner sanctum;
so sweet were the mindful motherly hugs of love
like the embrace of a divine angel
so serene soft and self-assuring her smiles
like the spring selfless sunshine
so delicious her warm kisses on the forehead
that no other feel can replace,
yet interspersed at times with some harsh words
for playing hide and seek on the sideway street;
so soft was the caress of her hands on the cheeks
that not even a beloved can bestow
so cool and compassionate her cuddly care
no considerate nurse can dispense
so pleasing to rest on her merciful knees
more so after a hectic day`s fatigue,
yet interposed often times with some scowls
for dusting my clothing or getting home late after cycle rides;
In afterthought, her love and frowns have made me the man I am.
(Land that doth marry mother lode
of sublime earthen land and sea).
Age of exploration
ushered cruel fate
against “red” men living
in bliss by agents
patch of eden north
o the Mason Dixon line
latitude: 39.64839
longitude: -75.95591 alee
perchance designed
by divine providence
with dyslexic humorous bents
Cecil county Maryland
lies like plump backward letter “e”
witnessed topographic erosion
pocked imprimatur marked
meteorological dents
thru inundation of
oceanographic propensities
melding coastline like the Galilee
in particular by Chesapeake Bay,
that body of water
abutting like natural fence
first witnessed by captain
John Smith in 1608
mistaking himself tong tied
in sole of Italy
learned faux pas, when crossing paths
with Susquehannas hence,
offered tobacco sticks to natives
while recovering
from injured wounded knee
said other sundry tribes curiously eyed
then (I utilized poetic license)
took smoke from packet of Kents
which twist on actual
historical facts manipulated by me
but more truthful account awash
and replete with more
than interspersed nonsense
and incorporates tract situated
in so called Fertile Crescent – see
settled by Europeans of English stock,
who emigrated with nary a pence
“taming” shrew like “noble savages”
plied Leviathan sized ukuleles
whose might exploited for felling forests,
which timber built cabins with vents.
Each and every day, whilst still in bed, she was delivered tea and toasted crusty bread
at the end of that consumption, she'd light up a deadly phag
Then drop the butt to mix with tea leaves at the bottom of the cup, On removal of that cup
by an eight year old son, the sight of that mix, would often make him gag
From both of his parents he keenly had observed,
how they did the drawback, on the substance from which he was strictly banned
Inhaled the toxic smoke, deep into their lungs,
he had practised many times without a cigarette in hand
At the tender age of ten, he decided
he would steal a cigarette or four
From the supply that his father held which he would then furtively smoke,
behind the toilet door
So now he lit the match to ignite that ciggy stick
took some puffs, inhaled the toxic smoke,
unexpected outcome, his head began to spin, he was also feeling rather sick
Subconscious mind to conscious mind
it sent out a stern warning, in which it did implore
It's a dirty filthy habit
it's one you must ignore
But the smoking it continued
interspersed with bouts of coughing, every single day
Until the age of twenty six, the penny finally dropped
this intoxicating habit, you must give it clean away
In those days there were no vapes no nicotine patches
it was the art of will power upon which he must draw
Visualisation of the bottom of the teacup that used to make him gag
was the image once again, that was what he saw
Fifty years have now elapsed since he decided
that he'd finally had enough
Withdraw from the weed which for fifteen years
he had always endured a daily puff
He finally could relax, no craving for the habit
disdains the smell of ciggy smoke
At age of three score plus seventeen years more
he has now become a so much fitter bloke
How fortunate that I, correctly versed,
knew hand-grenades are passive. At their worst,
they maim and kill. But this is interspersed
with usefulness: defenders have no thirst
for carnage. Since the enemy had first
used violence, they had to be dispersed.
It fell to me. How often I’d rehearsed
in nightmares what came next, how often nursed
this killer in my hands. Like Damien Hirst,
I knew that I was certain to be cursed
by those who only see a shark immersed
in urine, not a work of art. Lips pursed,
I threw my bomb, and squatted, for I durst
not look upon the mayhem, when it burst.
I shore up my doubt, behind a loosely bound hope
Which in turn is propped up without foundation
Cynical of a life, at the mercy of luck
Collateral damage feeds my reservation
I shore my up tomorrow with what I see today
Without conspiracy or investigation
I place trust in all that’s completely unfettered
For fear, I’m left to this present resignation
I shore up my life with whatever came before
Not hindsight or academic education
The oblivion traversed until I was born
Strings along primal echoes of information
I shore up my conscious with bliss and ignorance
Interspersed with indifference on occasion
It’s not I don’t care about suffering and death
Rather, I’m desensitised by their pervasion
I shore up my denial with an open mind
Which is nothing except raw interpretation
This planet spins correctly, even though tilted
Not by wishful thinking, but strange gravitation
I shore up my boredom, trying to fall asleep
When really tired, will attempt hibernation
Anything to forget this human condition
After remembering, I’m long past salvation
I shore up my heaven, by creating a hell
Balance looks more appealing, in an equation
Gaze upon purgatory, and share what I see
Not because I’m kind, it’s more my destination
I shore up my poem by claiming it’s my own
But in truth, it’s an open collaboration
I conspire with the musings of all that’s unclear
They dwell inside me, in flawless aberration
- - - - - - -
(And as the sky darkened I heard these words)
better to face hell alone ~ than bring the whole world along for the ride
said the moon eclipsing the sun ~ who replied son I’m right behind you
By
David Kavanagh
As I look down and see the ground
On which my feet don’t stand
The light I see is all around
Things haven’t gone as planned
It’s really kweer, I’m standing here
And somehow, you are not
You did your worst, let me go first
Off of that beauty spot
So, was I dead between the ears
Too dumb to see your lies
Or to spot your cunning plan
In which it’s me that dies
Everywhere I look are sheep
On tiny pasture clouds
They’re interspersed with people
Who have wings and wispy shrouds
We didn’t shake on our done deal
We sealed it with a kiss
I would leap, then so would you
To our eternal bliss
The best laid plans of nice young men
Lie face down in the mud
For I chose this eternal light
And you chose my best bud
You schemed to take my life insurance
’pon our rocky shores
Ironic that your latest squeeze
Will soon be taking yours
I watched you in your fancy car
The car that once was mine
But then you took it for a drive
When he had spiked your wine
So when you get here you’ll be processed
Then sent to the basement
I hope it’s not too warm for you
For it’s an all time placement.
ENTHUSIASTIC AMATEUR
I am lying here trapped and need some assistance,
And all because of my husband’s persistence.
“You don’t have to buy any bookshelves,” he said.
“I’ll purchase some timber and build them instead.”
I had some misgivings but he was so keen
That I thought to refuse him would seem rather mean.
He took his tape measure and measured the wall
And said it would take him no time at all
He fitted the roof rack onto the car
And drove to the woodyard, which wasn’t too far.
When he returned he had planks bright and new
And a big box containing wood screws and glue.
I helped him unload it and brought it in doors,
Then he went to the garage for hammers and saws.
An electric drill and connecting cable
And he spread them all out on the dining room table
I heard sawing and drilling and snatches of song
Interspersed with some curses, four letters long.
I wasn’t convinced that he knew how to do it,
But I made myself scarce and just left him to it
Seven hours later he emerged with a grin
And, taking my hand, he invited me in.
I looked in amazement at what he had built.
All perfectly level, no sign of a tilt.
I started to stack my books, one-by-one,
Still hardly believing how well he had done.
After book twenty-four, came an ominous sound
And I suddenly found myself pinned to the floor
Although the bookshelves were seven feet tall,
He’d forgotten to screw the things back to the wall.
So I’m lying here trapped and in need of assistance.
And all because of my husband’s persistence
18th June 2020
Write a poem about Enthusiasm contest
Sponsor - Caren Krutsinger
Since leaving Banff we’ve driven 1200 miles
(as a nod to Deborah’s dad we drive only during the day!)
and we’ve stopped for the night in 6 different spots along the way.
So after driving 260 miles today…we were happy…that’s the truth!
to be spending the next two nights in a hotel in Duluth.
Today, just like the other days when it came to roadside attractions we got our wish.
We stopped at the biggest ox cart in the world…and stood inside a 65 foot long fish.
This wonderful trip we’re on which is now only halfway through
has been interspersed with a host of surprises and many spectacular views.
We’ve touched the Pacific Ocean…where the mountains meet the sea
It was too cold to go swimming…on that we both agree!
We drove around and over those mountains…saw a hundred or more trains
Then headed eastward on our trip to where the mountains meet the plains.
Today we again drove over the plains…wherever we stopped the sun was shining
and we were cooled by a summer breeze
Today’s trip took us to into Minnesota where the plains give way to the trees.
As I reflect on the 4200 miles we’ve driven on our Great Northern Road Trip
I wouldn’t change a thing….
And I can’t wait to see what what the second half of this wonderful trip will bring.
The restaurant was wonderful;
The food was well prepared.
The atmosphere was cozy
And I liked the booth we shared.
The waiter, super-friendly,
Was attentive and the beer
Was a local IPA, which made
Me grin from ear to ear.
Yet glancing at the other diners,
What I noticed first
Was the fact that everyone was old
And what was interspersed
At their tables were their walkers
Or their wheelchairs or their canes.
Still, they ate and drank and laughed and maybe
I can’t quite explain,
But it made me understand how life
In Florida is sold -
Not to get away from winter,
But to join your fellow old.