Long Linger Poems
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Your priceless words still sit in my heart,
Your voice resonates in my mind,
They're the happiness I find
as I sojourn along life's weary lane,
I follow their guiding light.
The memory of our evening walks is my keepsake,
An ode to it I desire to write,
Your smiles linger in my chamber
despite your years of slumber,
An evening walk I have found to be a healing stream.
Your silence has taught me that
the unheard breaks dawn's ice,
It has taught me that
the unspoken traverses untold mileage,
I now understand
why you sometimes routed that way,
I now understand
why you embraced the face of its sunlight.
I'm forever grateful for your tutelage,
You held my hand from cradle age,
Though our time together was short,
The memories are forever treasured,
These I'll bear across the seas of my sojourn.
April 28, 2023.
"Come lovely and soothing death, undulate round the world,
serenely arriving, arriving. In the day, in the night, to all,
to each, sooner or later, delicate death."
_Walt Whitman
_____________________________
On gossamer wings my life floats into my mind,
cloudy shadows vague, puzzling and perplexing;
it seems my life has been more like opaque chapters,
sometimes the darkness, is fogbound and murky.
Yet, some unfathomable reverie brings me sweetness,
clouded in dimness, blurred and hazy and beautiful;
I linger in my reverie, in the mystifying mist of time,
and when it clears, I am left weeping with the love.
My life from birth to death is a book closing forever,
and my reverie will soon be opaque on the pages;
not penetrating the light again and non transmitting,
for I will be gone and all that I was will be obscure.
_____________________________
November 24, 2019
Poetry/Verse/Unfathomable Reverie
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1201-863-02
All Rights Reserved, 2019, Constance La France
Are we really free?
Free to chose to:
Go wherever we please?
Do whatever we desire?
Be with whom we wish?
Pick whichever thing we fancy?
Without coercion
Without ever being obliged by an unseen force in
A predetermined or predestined way?
How?
How can we have free will to be wherever we
Wish to be
When:
Bound to earth we are with the
Heavy chains of gravity
Obliged, incessantly to follow it
And move
Around its circumference
Around the sun
Around the galaxy
Around the universe,
Having no chance ever to escape its
Deterministic laws?
Are we free?
Have we got a free will?
If yes, when did it start?
The day we were born or later on?
For the day we were born
We knew nothing of:
What we were
Who we were
What we wanted
What we needed
What we desired
Subject were we to our bodily organs and
Their functions
No control had we over:
Our heart
Our liver
Our kidneys
Our spleen
Our blood circulation
Our brain
And had no idea of
How to defend ourselves against
Deceases
How to produce blood
How to digest
We had not any control then and we have
No more control now as adults
How then are we free?
In what respect?
Is it because we choose A over B?
To be here or there?
To do this or that?
What if our choices are just the
Result of the working of nature in us?
The outcome of ideas and tendencies,
Implanted in our mind and soul by Man or
Mother nature?
Doesn’t our acceptance of free will seems
Like declaring:
The earth goes aroud the sun because
Of its free will
Or
A stone falls as a result of
Its free will
Or
A seed spouts because of its free will
Or
The salmon, after venturing for years in
The ocean, returns to the river it came to life,
To lay its eggs, out of free will?
Or is free will the result of
Our Lord the creator and creator of the universe
As they say?
If that is the case then we may ask:
Would the wisdom of our God entrust His creation to us?
To our free will to do as we please?
If the answer is yes, then
What the result of such freedom would be on
The world God has created?
Whatever the answer may be, the mystery
Will linger
For
We, know nothing for certain
Hence
We just believe!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
13 OCTOBER 2014
Let gentle words on wings of verse take flight,
Unveiling truths to guide us through the light.
As whispers of truth on gentle verses sigh,
Belief blossoms bright, where shadows used to lie.
Compassion's gentle touch, a balm so kind,
Devotion's flame burns ever bright within the mind.
Everlasting hope, a guiding star above,
Fragile dreams take flight on wings of gentle breeze,
Gratitude's embrace, a comfort that appeases.
Healing hands reach out, to mend what's torn and frayed,
Inner light ignites, by wisdom's touch displayed.
Joyful laughter rings, a melody unbound,
Kindred spirits meet, on common ground they stand,
Longing hearts find peace, in love's eternal hand.
Melodies of hope on silver moonlight play,
Never-ending quest for knowledge leads the way.
Open hearts embrace the wisdom yet unknown,
Pathways to understanding, gradually unfold,
Quenching flames of hatred, with stories yet untold.
Restless yearning stilled, by solace love imparts,
Serene whispers guide us, towards enlightened hearts.
Triumphant spirit soars, on wings of love's embrace.
Unity's symphony, a chorus strong and clear,
Victorious souls arise, casting aside all fear.
Wisdom's echoes linger, a treasure to hold dear,
Xylophone's sweet song fills the atmosphere with cheer.
Yearning hearts find solace, beneath a starry night,
Zeal for truth burns bright, a radiant guiding light.
May these words inspire, let the journey begin to take flight,
Embrace the truth, and let your spirit win the light.
Was it his head tilt that stumped me—
Was it his keen variations of hilarity,
Was it his words—wild, strange, free,
Like a bird straight out of captivity?
He had a frisky, playful tongue
That sounded like a friend
With no limitations save the time span
Of sixty seconds—
There—none wasted—
No—a wit sharp and full enough
Uttering colloquial meanings I could only dream
To attain through a matter
Of a downloaded app
And yet—he needed only sixty seconds
—on the spit and spot—
To relay inch by inch
A soul so beautiful and rich,
Creative and lovely,
With flawless bite and light
Smart phone readied,
His big toe hit the record button
As he played his tunes,
As he always had
And always will.
He called it the Toe Jam Jamboree,
And I applauded ever so inwardly
With a smile of awed sincerity
Sixty seconds and it ends,
Cut off too soon—
The limitations of fellow man
And fellow receiver
Playfully cruel
Ever playing through
Maybe the thick sail of tunes reached my ears
Beyond the time of the app’s snipping jeers
I told him—ever so inwardly,
His Toe Jam Jamboree was symphony—
Onward with sovereigns in silver harmonies
Reaching a peasant’s light and a warrior’s fight
Straight to a lone cock with feathers too bright
Beak strong-held high, and sharp
Ready to peck his way out of the coldest of hearts
And into ripples of rhythmic paradise
Where there breathes
The guy who attracted me,
With his tilted head,
His words of glee,
Flipping off every useless ad
And sifting words and airs like mad
Toe Jam Jamboree, he called it
And I call it symphony
With a steadied foot
And a readied middle finger
It’s his difference that will always
Linger
Modern man has less dexterity.
I think I know one reason why,
The replacement of the button
With the zippered trouser fly.
It took some finger manipulation
To keep each button firmly seated
Just a brief tug of the zipper and
The manoeuvre’s now completed.
No exercise of the fingers or
Checks on leaving the loo
Just to ensure that no button
Was fastened slightly askew.
Modern man can have confidence
Nothing untoward is left on show
Just one pull of the fastener and
He’s concealed and ready to go.
But, has he paid a prince by not
Having to stop and linger
To correctly place each button
And thus exercise each finger.
It didn’t burn many calories
Maybe not even a couple
But it required coordination
And it kept the fingers supple.
A lost trouser button could
Very easily be sewn back on
A broken zipper means use of
Garment at least temporarily gone.
Yes, there was a lot to be said
For the buttoned trouser fly.
I suppose I’m just a relic
From times long gone by
When the world was less hasty
Without this modern daily stress
And a man had the time just
To pause and check his dress.
In chambers filled with laughter, light, and carefree sound,
A discordant echo hangs, heavy and unbound.
A specter in the corner, draped in deep shadows,
A chilling truth the merry words refuse to keep.
The body lies unseen, a weight upon the air,
A stark reminder whispered, a burden hard to bear.
Yet mirthful sounds erupt, a careless, joyous cry,
A dissonance of spirit, a question in the eye.
Is laughter then a traitor, a mask we wear with ease,
To shield the fragile heart from truths that bring unease?
Or is it life's rhythm, a counterpoint to pain,
A flickering, fleeting candle in the pouring rain?
Perhaps we are a canvas, where darkness meets the light,
A tapestry of sorrow woven with threads of brightness.
The human heart, a vessel for joy and despair,
A dance of contradictions, a burden all must share.
Do we compartmentalise, these feelings we possess,
Divide the light and shadow, finding fleeting peace?
Or does this laughter echo, a truth we can't deny,
The fundamental fracture, the question in our cry?
The echo lingers long, a memory bittersweet,
A testament to duality, a balance incomplete.
For even in the face of loss, where sorrow reigns supreme,
The heart, it seeks a solace, a fleeting, joyful dream.
So let the laughter linger, a reminder bittersweet,
Of life's complexities, the sorrow, and the fleet.
We carry both within us, the darkness and the light,
A dance of contradictions, forever in our sight.
Like, here’s a poem, painting the mood of these vinyl-warmed, jazz-infused Deep House sessions:
Vinyl Illusions
Beneath the needle’s gentle sway, it's big city cool with uptown funk charm/ Grooves awaken dust and dreams, thumpin' for the ladies, at 118 BPA if you please/ the sound as requested by House Radio Miami/ sunrise poppin on a double shot of java brew, AM callin' the funky jazz crew/
Chords drift like fog on a DJ turntable, Jazzo fingers sketching hazy tales, Basslines thick with boom bap rap vinyl, the smell of weed curls through the air like incense trails, tangled in her hair/
We dig on the playlist for breakfast, I be tossin' a snowstorm of thoughts to come up with melodies soaked in 90s underground hip-hop/ J Dilla, DJ Premier, Pete Rock, DJ Muggs, Nas, KRS One, Rakim, The Alchemist, Griselda, MF/ Harmony rising from cracked drum breaks, high hat laced with analog drums/ man, tell bout it/ all the old ghosts and new beats spun/ Tech house, UK garage, classic techno, jungle, breaks, and beyond/ Built for lo-fi radio streams/ Like Mad Hat DJ spinnin' Dark House dance dreams/
East Side stories echo from the car radio, chopped samples with cassette hiss, shuffled piano-driven energy, and classic dancefloor spirit/ man, every loop a memory, every synth a festival of dance attitude/
Let the music linger, as a blunt cools as the sunlight shifts/ so dig this/ groove is the only language here, and today, we speak in dropin' needle riffs/
Here’s a little something I hope, someday, the whole world understands…that we all have been created with magic in our hands.
Mothers and their babies feel it from the moment the mother’s eyes upon the newborns linger…when she touches her hand to theirs…and they hold on to her finger.
And for a moment it seems time has paused…the world has stopped its spinning…but the magic passing between them…is only the beginning.
For anytime a mother holds her child’s hand…to comfort…to reassure…
the magic makes them feel safe…makes them feel protected…and secure.
As the children grow a little older…they begin to understand the magic, too…as their mother’s hands help their hands understand what hands can do.
All the fun their hands can have…all the pain they can help alleviate.
all the things their hands can build…all the love they can create.
When the children are no longer children…perhaps when life is grueling
they will visit their mothers and hold their hands whenever their magic needs refueling.
The magic is still there even as the mother’s life is ending…
when on her eyes their eyes will linger…
when they touch their hand to hers…
when she hold on to their finger.
Even when she’s gone…they will remember how she held their hands…how she loved them…how she smiled…for they know all the magic in her hands has been passed down to the child.
And they will pass the magic…to their children…and when they see it in their eyes…
they will smile knowing, as it passes down form generation to generation,
the magic never dies.
For they have learned throughout the years…they have come to understand
the magic they have shared…that was passed down through her hands…
(Dedication: To the designers who made
the bride and groom sparkle with their
amazing attire. Thank you, Michelle and
Colin.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bride and groom voice moment of bliss;
Rich with wonder, ideas now spring;
Impress with choice, candour funds list;
Dare can wander here with love's fling;
Apt gestures seek emblems of joy;
Lines of pure grace loiter with place.
Vouch for fond peaks: laughter and ploys;
Explore dress space, enraptured face;
In flowing lines hurl fine designs;
Linger with style, unzip your dreams.
Sense joy unfurl in rapture fine;
One lasting smile: mosaic and theme;
Now your big day imaged with zest;
Go with clear sway, note what works best.
Leon Enriquez
21 July 2014
Singapore
(Note: This is an Acrostic Sonnet in tetrameter
containing a double message, the first in the
first letter in each line, and the second in the
first letter of the fifth syllable word in each
line. Decipher what the messages are. Enjoy!)