Long Intimated Poems
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Aye pride myself
being sui generis
verb hose subject for a zoologist,
cuz webbed phalanges
branch handsomely
from mine feet and wrist,
where perforce great expectations,
asper the next greatest (I SCREAM)
scoop of the month intimated,
conducted under top secret
controlled laboratory conditions
with yours truly (as the de facto
par excellence)
rodent named "Oliver twist"
Lady Dedlock key ping
watchful eye within bleak house,
while Thomas Gradgrind
feigns tubby bad company
during these hard times
temporarily all quietest
lull on the western front
since Donald Trump
detente foretold by a palmist,
whereby said President
of the United States
feeling as an optimist
met with Kim Jong-un,
(cautiously side stepping morass,
viz hit blind side dare devil hoodwinking,
via awe shucks faux bully)
suspending noninterventionist
impact unexpectedly witnessed leader
of North Korea as multilateralist
on historic June 12, 2018,
summit minus linguist,
where fist pumping in Singapore
for unilateral negotiations
offloading nationalism
weighing down
figurative chest i.e. kist
by resplendent sun, where ma lounge
sotto voce, somber solemnly
sober ensemble re: joist
uniting this stately isolationist,
whose approximate
ten stone heft easy to hoist
merely sustains purposelessness
this poem without a gist
hence if Yukon spare one
(or more cruxes) lemme be fist
in line, though first, aye
would need to convince thee
this scribe doth exist!
I remember the first time I saw a ball,
Those exquisite black and white pentagons ...
The geometric excellence that intimated such mystery and excitement ...
I HAD to have one, and started saving my money that very day.
I was only eight years old, and football wasn't big in the U.S.,
But I still wanted that amazing ball ...
After a few weeks of saving and doing extra chores,
I finally held my own ball in my hands,
Turning those five-sided panels over-and-over,
Smelling that glorious leather ... I was in kid heaven!
When I took it to school in my backpack my friends went crazy,
All having to hold it and smell it, all filled with the same energy as I,
My gut tumbling in anticipation of what amazing things might happen!
My little town had no budget for American "football" -
With all its pads and expensive equipment, but we did have "soccer" teams,
And I joined as soon as I could, for the sake of that amazing ball!
We didn't get to see the World Cup back then ...
The 60's and 70's being very limited as far as TV sports,
But we all followed it in the magazines and papers,
And when, years later, we finally got to WATCH the World Cup on television,
It was the substantiation of years spent loving a game
That not many people even TALKED about in the United States ...
A game that my friends and family and little town had loved for years,
Now birthed to fruition and delicious reality right in front of our eyes!
My friends from other parts of the country had heroes -
Heroes like Bart Starr and Bill Russell and Micky Mantle, et al,
But MY hero was PELE', though many here didn't even know his name!
When TV brought the World Cup to kids like me, the world became bigger,
More exciting, and more joyous, all because of that wondrous ball ...
So many years before!
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "2018 World Cup" Poetry Contest, Mark Toney, Sponsor & Judge.
Twas the night after Christmas
Alone with my tinder, ex-spouse
Holed up with this fumigating grouse
Trite presents with her I did douse
Wrapped with old newspaper that she did delouse
With boiling anger she did fumble then browse
From recycled boxes pulled a dingy sweater and moldy blouse
Fueled by spite she began to spew and touse
When to her glee, she my present did espouse
An unwrapped cask of cheap wine, she did uprouse
She intimated that I could now intox and bouse
While she with a better man did carouse
After a few drinks, the blanched holly and mildewing mistletoe did
arouse
A tender feeling for that renovated louse
As a child and a teenager I used to attend a mission-hall,
Which had an outreach to the homeless of Edinburgh;
And every three weeks until I was about seven,
They would give the last call so that god could your soul deliver.
They said at the end of every sermon,
Every three weeks in the evening,
“This is the last call!” and they meant ever,
‘Cos Jesus could return any time for the believing.
I felt so intimated by it, this unkind presence of mind,
That I could not properly sit on my seat,
But I knew that they were insane with melancholy,
And that it was the real dynamics of life that they could not heat.
I refused to chat with them after services and at the youth club,
About what I believed and about the in and outs of my thoughts,
But poignantly sat down with the Youth Fellowship leader once,
And talked to him about what in me life had very clearly wrought.
When I said outrightly that I did not believe in the Second Coming,
And that life was for keeps, give or take a few possibilities,
It was as if his world crashed down disarrayed in shambles,
As he was shattered by my philosophical sway and confident amble.
He realised fully that I was damning their last call,
The pressure of it and how it riled, writhed and tormented;
That it was for no good reason, for no universal moral principle,
For no disciplinary cause and for no complimentary angle.
So he arrogantly walked away from me, rudely with passivity,
Not aware of his own need of polity, sense and direction,
But it was a triumph for that mission-hall boy worker,
To react to an objector so firmly and not himself recapture.
They were generally unresponsive and indifferent,
To intelligent objectors who had a righteous way,
Because this left them with their day-to-day lunacy,
With reality dressed for them to face another day.
That mission has changed today into a Christian centre,
Bright and refurbished and selling lunches in a cafe,
And I am proud of its journey, how far it came,
Because the transition was by no means lame.
O God of the universes of Creation as a whole
I raise my hands; and open my heart and soul.'
Prostrate I call upon your power, to bless my
Friends in these long dark hours' these days
Long abhorred stand now at their doors, I ask
You gird their spirits with strength; enlighten their
Minds that they drive hence' each evil time that
They may face, pray turn them into typhoons
That will remove each trace; those of fear, of doubt
and all false pride, beside them; I ask your power
Resides, of your angel throng assign to them
More than they ever need, these women and men.'
Andrea Deitrich Michael Tor Heidi sands Connie
Marcum Wong Judy Ball Bill Baker Robert Ligouri
Joseph May Harry Horseman Brother Jacob
Sally Eslinger Sara Kendrick Sam Kaufman Joe
Dimino Len Gasun Pangiota Romios James
Marshall Goff Billy the Kidster Vince Suzdail
Jnr Kim Rodriuges Beta Augustin Rob Carmac
Robert Lindley Brandy Nichole Laura Leiser
And last, but not least B J Legros Kelly '
Much Love to all.'
May they each put to flight any 5000 that come
Up against them in any honourable venture they
Embark upon, be that written spoken or intimated
May you be with them each one dear Lord in Jesus
Name with the Holy Spirit as witness.'
Linkedin thru tenuous
webbed world wide
electronic thread defied
no matter flurry of emails/
messages exchanged flattery applied
courtesy transient online
tête à tête downside
cyber venue offers convenient exit
personal aversion, I chide
brevity figurative thorn in side
futile effort Androcles tried
I haint lion, familiarization denied
fledgling cyber acquaintanceships
dead on the vine, yours truly sighed
potential friendship never fortified,
cuz immediate value judgement cast,
instantaneously prejudiced aversion
perhaps hidden agenda implied
maybe intimated illusions of grandeur
netiquette nuances overstepped, I chide
yours truly vouchsafe
absolute zero great expectation
love smitten wounds pride,
the Italian girl in Algiers
inchoate mystique forever unknown
nonetheless fantasize bartered bride
figment of overactive imagination
hence grist for poetry mill
grateful fleeting rapport tried
to take flight before sputtering
doomed to dustbin of history (mine)
filed within memory as template guide
against future unnecessary disappointment
best stick to your guns abide
against infatuation lest
conjured lass doth override
focus on reality no matter who espied
Facebook post, tis foolhardy
to allow, enable, and provide leeway,
hence aimless thoughts elide
dear boy, ya never learned always denied
rapture becoming ensnared
noose sense and sensibility stride
ding blindly, dumbly, foolishly...,
into own perilous entrapment, verstehen?
I wish I’d had the courage to ask you
why you treated me so differently to my sibling
You gave her private education at Norland -
yet I did the same course but at the local technical college
You purchased a house for her -
yet I had to save up with my husband to buy our own
You paid for her driving lessons, bought her a car
whilst I had 5 casual jobs and paid for my own
You gave her money on tap
yet I’ve have had to work for everything we own
At the end of the day
you never treated me like I was your daughter.
Since you died …
Mum’s intimated you weren’t my father …
I wish I’d had the courage to ask before you died
NB Neither myself or mum have grieved in the five years since he died - as for my sister I have no idea, as she cut all contact with the family after she inherited part of dad's estate from me and mum.
Norland is a private college in Berkshire - it's where the Royal Nannies come from
awarded poem of the day 9/10/20
awarded trophy 9/29/20
Previously received n/a in courage Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cook
09/09/20
while soaring the heavenly heights
many hours ago
every major metropolis appeared
about a million miles below
the rarefied atmosphere
ideal composition beckoned angels,
who bustled, hustled, and jostled elbow
(which bedlam, flimflam, and mayhem
intimated Hells Bells)
wing trying (heavens to Betsy) to flag attention,
and snag coveted soundcloud Netherland Award
cap ping bulging port folio,
which hubbub charged crackled, popped,
snapped amidst light emitting diodes
with a snazzy aura, charisma
harp pulling, piping, and chiefly
paying praise (CI years post haste)
to William Henry Perkin
whose credit able karma
(and unwitting) claim to fame didst glow
purple, which jumpstarted incandescent halo
couture culture club, via constant comet inflow
of Plasmodia vaguely resembling microscopic red Jello
illuminating swath of dusky
shutter flying sky sustaining
self contained feedback instagram loop know
wing lee broadcasting mauveine staccato low
to the groundswell of chemists dyeing, Googling,
and gratefully huzzahing insinuating
killing, kindling kissing
malaria goodbye, an outlook
(nee a once in a lifetime moe
mint - je nais sais quoi) win out loud
respectably sedulous honoree, a no
bill sine qua non bit player aniline
(to conclude this short poem) about his oh
penning accidental discovery kickstarting pro
noun est contribution to the fashion industry.
She!
Intimated by guilt broken by perplexity
Waiting for the love her life but until then,
committed to memories of forlorn moments
Threading on the joy rides of halcyon days.
Her!
Heart of a woman in the depths solitude
Plunged and played by people she called friends
Lonely soul tormented even by happy melodies
In her emptiness void her soul forever shivers.
He!
Four and half years in self enclosed walls
Loosing very essence of youthful love in a rage
Finally tumbled down the walls of solitude blind
Enclosed soul spirited away into the blues
Man!
Living in the love of the common people
Somewhere in the back streets of the slums
Upholding the dream of becoming a hero
With nothing more than hope and love from above.
Woman!
Years upon years of sitting at lecture rooms
Graduated with a class but no pass for a job
You know the norm of the day
If it’s not in she won’t be on board
Keep calm hold onto your faith
God is at work .
You!
Balancing ambition with conscience
On the road less traveled.
A tapestry of soul breaking fortuity
That eyes the very core of your maturity.
The start ups ,the gigs and realities you quest,
Gradually you will get there .
I
In my simple form in rolling waves
Light hearted or heavy ladened
With poetry or with spoken words
Even in my nothingness and in my woes
I will forever defy the cryptic void of silence.
She will smile .
Her heart will find home .
Man will find love .
She will be a wife ,A woman of dignity.
His dreams will come true.
Hold on to you faith and let’s go and get it,
Everything we’ve been dreaming.
God have our backs
We!
We are a work In progress
There will be fails but we will never regress
Steady and gradually we will evolve
In love and in laughter all the pain will dissolve
In due time when we are done,
They will thread here to see
From far and near they will travel over the seas
The atheist will sing hallelujah
The doubters will lurk in their disbelief
Our tales will be history
Our memories will be legacies
For we are a work in progress; Winners
within.
Night's mystical Silence is disrupted
by the melodious tunes of birds.
Grey sky doffs its boring dress
and dons the bright orange hues
The advent of our glorious king,
intimated by the enchanting lights,
that demolish the persistent darkness
and liberate the frozen plants and trees
The fiery rays accord robust zest
make the young poor buds smile,
create the divine music, dawn chorus
and give new hope to all of us.
Thus our majestic king is enthroned
wearing a bright red attire
in the midst of yellow-orange sea
and starts off his generous journey
He toils hard from the dawn to the gloaming
just for the welfare of his fellow beings