Long Obstinately Poems
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We big, tough, well-thinking male bearberries blew and we snarled and we spouted and we blew.
But those danged dandelions obstinately kept their tops on, no matter how much we did fuss.
Come on fellas, I said to my fellow bearberries. Here is just what we’ll do…
“I’m not taking them!” I screamed at B.B.2, our leader, a passive little cuss.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
I am so sorry Tiger Lilies, he told them. It’s just us bear berries today. He shot an apologetic look to T.L. 1 and T.L. 402.
I am sick and tired of my whole life being video- recorded by those selfie-taking nut-buckets, I told him, indignant, and with an angry face.
They will clean your house, wash your floors, pay your bills, wax your car, and do your laundry, said B.B. 2.
I don’t care if my house implodes on its dirtiness, I retorted. Just keep them in their place.
I was talking about those damned tiger lilies, our groupies.
Tiger Lily 58 sneaked back into the Bearberry Lodge, where Tiger Lilies are never supposed to be.
We did not see her at first as she used her invisibility tablet to reach us; I felt her heat on the back of my neck, before I saw her.
She began to give me a really nice, warm, massage and sweet backrub which was the best I had had times three.
Wow! What is that? I asked myself, as I began getting tingly and happy all over, and down under.
I guess I was talking about these wonderful tiger lilies, our allies.
My dad had told me a long time ago that the best pairings in the meadow was always a BB and a T.L.
Who are you? I whispered to Tiger Q. Lily 58. I am your soul mate, she responded, can you please meet me at 2?
Where? I wondered, and she immediately conveyed that she would be at northern rise of Bunny P. Hill.
I will be there with my matching rings, I told her. Are you ready? Yes, she agreed. No one else will do.
I am now hitched to a wonderful tiger lily, and all my mean thoughts
toward T.L.'s seem pretty damned silly.
(And I don’t care whether or not the dandelions ever lose their
tops. They are of no use to me now.)
Dated: May 12,2018
Drop dead gorgeous dark eyed bus boy chased
Peer assured status, focus of my fascination
High fiving idol guffawed and elbowed adjacent
Mates in droves, admirers in rows, dreamy Damon
Enriched to glimpse soap opera face as I boarded
From boys' school nearby, the greener gender pasture
Glance at my rolled up skirt spoke to thoughts sordid
His fleeting grin sent collapsing knees, mates' laughter
In typical teenage fashion for the times, mid nineties
Before social media blinked million comment designation
Our exchange over months limited to several niceties
Emptying bus afternoon he asked me out, supreme elation
Profile examined in mirror the evening of our due movie
Re primped the pair of socks boosting breasts non existant
Had my (only) half decent outfit chosen for past two weeks
Prospect of dating Damon held no heart slowing assistance
Uneventful night pursued, spun by overwhelming innocence
Being too naive to encourage moves, nerves running riot
Our chaeffered lifts to cinemas knew no lip warming kiss
Closely guarded phone each evening, obstinately quiet
A month later, bus reverberated his revised standards
Update explained to his mates, his tastes were narrowing
One percent of girls bore requirements Damon demanded
Variety other than curvaceous blonde, saw attention souring
Perfunctory level of awareness, lack of inner dignity
Allowed me to continue, lust bound, blindly desiring
During next year, Damon must have woken to scarcity
Blonde eligible youngsters for his affection aspiring
Mirror had become a somewhat closer companion
Make up added maturity, curves came, and confidence
Outside brick walled front of school, squinted in sun
Damon boldly suggested our courting should recommence
Sideways glance with my fiend, Suzie, enclosed chapters
Desperately I pleaded with my fifteen year old foolishness
To keep a straight face as I turned him down, lustre lacking
"I don't know, " faux deep thought, " Chance is one percent"!
2nd August 2020
Dusty Old Memories Poem Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
REFINING AND MAINLINING HYPERBOLE
Something reliable, desirable, easily obtainable and consistently good
So a junkie best know the right neighborhood
The right junkie to see who won’t stab you in the back
And who doesn’t have a deck of five aces to stack
Some junkies have held eights and aces and lived to tell the tale
When the “dead man hand’s” reputation came to fail
But tragically the guy with five aces came to die
It seems the number five was one digit too high
And that’s simply what happens when a junkie plays poker and bets too steep to boot
This, of course, is all hypothetical hyperbole for a hypodermic and the dope that some junkie wants to shoot
And a junkie who won’t shoot him in his attempt to shoot his way out of a showdown with death
While a junkie named, appropriately enough, “Junkie” on Eighty-Ninth Street and Lex takes his final breath
Because his old lady named, appropriately enough, Lady
As I always suspected, turned out to be Lady, a lady who was shady
And I find it unspeakable that a junkie wouldn’t warn another about a hot shot
Which, in junkie parlance, means the shot is hot but his body will soon be not
Because one grows room temperature rapidly after a hot shot amidst the stench of rotting flesh and muscle melting into a putrid mess
But don’t expect Lady, the shady lady, to ever confess
****….that junkie named Junkie owed Lady’s ex-old man too much money for a junkie named Junkie to owe
And Lady knew where Junkie hid a kilo of blow……….
To this day Lady the shady lady will tell you that she had no choice
And of course blames it on a chick no one but Lady seems to have known named Joyce
Whose dad owned a Rolls Royce
And whose half-Asian half American Indian step brother had a beautiful soprano singing voice
But that’s neither here nor there
However, I will tell you what is obstinately and obviously clear
A junkie better know the right neighborhood
Because the acrid aroma and stagnating stench of rotting flesh don’t smell very good
© 2012……free cee!
My heart*, God wants you to be under His control surely
For out of you come issues of my life tremendously;
Your evil motives provoke me consciously
Enabling my will to harden obstinately.
My heart, to God do I entrust you with earnestness
For you must be changed from your deceitfulness;
Your negative reactions lead me toward faithlessness
Drowning my soul into depths of doubtfulness.
My heart, I give you to God for His direction
For you ought to follow biblical instruction;
Your foolish counsels pull me down to frustration
Causing my spirit to wallow in desperation.
My heart, you need God’s discipline for your molding
For you become so stubborn and unbending;
Your proud perversions keep me unyielding
Weakening my convictions’ from their firm standing.
My heart, your confidence in God must always be constant
For you easily waver that makes me futile and dormant;
Your unstable ways confuse me in every instant
Robbing me of His joy, peace and blessings so abundant.
My heart, keep submitting to God’s commandments
For you, by His power, can help me reach heavenly attainments
Your willing attributes propel me to comply to godly agreements
Driving my persistence to pursue after eternal achievements.
My heart, victory in God awaits you in your humility
For you can be perfectly wholly for Him in His working ability;
Your unselfish desires push me to seek His kingdom’s priority
Moving me to serve Him with truth and sincerity.
*Proverbs 4:23 "Keep thy heart with all diligence;
for out of it are the issues of life."
April 11, 2018
Edited on February 4, 2019
Dramatic Monologue with Rhyme
10th place, "2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 16" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Mark Toney; judged on 2/6/2019.
Featured poem of the week, May 23-29, 2021
Oh, heart*, God wants you to be under His control surely
For out of you come issues of life tremendously;
Your evil motives provoke consciously
Enabling the will to harden obstinately.
Oh, heart, you must submit to God with earnestness
For you must be changed from your deceitfulness;
Your negative reactions lead toward faithlessness
Drowning the soul into depths of doubtfulness.
Oh, heart, obey God's direction
For you ought to follow biblical instruction;
Your foolish counsels can pull someone down to frustration
Causing the spirit to wallow in desperation.
Oh, heart, you need God’s discipline for your molding
For you become so stubborn and unbending;
Your proud perversions keep many unyielding
Weakening convictions from their firm standing.
Oh, heart, your confidence in God must always be constant
For you easily waver making the anxious futile and dormant;
Your unstable ways confuse them in every instant
Robbing them of joy, peace and blessings so abundant.
Oh, heart, keep submitting to God’s commandments
For you, by His power, can help the brave reach heavenly attainments
Your willing attributes propel them to comply to godly agreements
Driving their persistence to pursue after eternal achievements.
Oh, heart, victory in God awaits you in your humility
For you can be perfectly wholly for Him in His working ability;
Your unselfish desires push the meek to seek His kingdom’s priority
Moving them to serve the Lord with truth and sincerity.
*1Chronicles 22:19 Now set your heart and your soul to seek the LORD your God...
June 22, 2018
7th Place, "Ventriloquist" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Slausin; judged on 6/23/2018.
All avenues are amphibious arenas
Bubbles belch-burst, bitter Bacchanalian bombs
Clouds' cast-iron crescendo creates cold cantankerous caricatures
Drenched - darkness descending, daylight dying, disappearing duskwards
Every eye echoing every eye, emotional evidence enveloped
Fake furs, fashionable fools, firm friends fleeing flowing firmament
Garrulous girls giggle, grizzled gangsters get going, gravity gyroscopes - ginormous gloomy grey gusts!
Hapless Harry's hairpiece hovers, hesitates, hovers higher, hurriedly he hopes he has his hat,
Intimate iciness infiltrates irrepressibly inside,
Jaunty Jack's japery, just jaded January jokes - jigsaw justice
Kilted killers, kleptomaniac kangaroos...
Lame laughs, low lamplight, laser liquid lines lash lustfully
Mercurial miasma mercilessly merging, mournful men mutter miserably
Nobody needs niceties, navigating newspapers, nothing new now
Ordered out over oof owed, obstinately offering old objections
Pavement pool-puddles pose problems, precautions probable, prayers perhaps...
Quintessential questing queens querulously quarrel,
Rain rushes relentlessly, rudely, rapaciously
Sizzling, steaming, slip-sliding silhouettes, soaked saturnine suits seething
Terry the tiger-tamer, tastefully tattooed, taking time talking tactfully to trembling tramps
Undernourished underpass underclass, underwhelmed under useless ubiquitous umbrellas
Vulgar victors, vim-vigour-verve, voraciously vanquished, vanity virulently violated,
Waistless waifs, wasted wastrels, wrestle with wicked westerly winds
X-rayed, X-rated
Yesterday's youngsters yellowing, yawning, yearning
Zero zest. Zilch.
Mind often makes a circuitous pilgrimage
Sliding down and going up the banisters of time
As I hear the grating sound of worn stairs behind
Memories come darting in and out of shadows
From childhood’s flamboyant days
Mind scuttles between the past and the present
Skipping over the bliss of buoyant youth
To life’s present weary days and to the future
Life’s train has sadly changed its track
Years, like torn pages have flown away
But the frivolous inner child pines
Obstinately for all that once held dear
I remember having run over plains n’ paddy fields
Trying to cut across their widening margins
Brushing past brambles and thickets
To chase butterflies that came to molest the lovely blooms
How I went on a search to meet the winged seraphs
That I heard, sang in chorus in Heaven’s gilded halls
Looked for God, amid scurrying clouds,
To slay the ghosts, I believed, hidden in my closet
I remember my youth of squandered passions
When I scrawled love’s graffiti on my mind’s wall
And carried my beloved’s picture in my mind
So flawless that no artist could ever conspire to alter.
Now I constantly wage a losing battle
Against forces that threaten to take away my calm
All I see is pain, death and human suffering
And life sadly getting lost in meaningless strife
Age has burdened me with a deadly weight
Fastening chains on my once supple feet
All I pray is – Don’t let me be a burden to anyone
And give me a mindset to accept all that comes my way
--------------------------------
April.13. 2023
Open Poetry. 6. Poetry Contest
Sponsor. Charlotte Puddifoot
A trifling sum of clamour during the crisis of my faith
Bedazzled by immortelle, or steamed away by Nuevo Fidelidad
Down the muddy river where splinters in the brain
Carry-on my thoughts a hundred leagues away.
Within the walls, among the stars, there’s nothing to afford,
As I retrograde and ossify the obscene habit of self in its stride,
The eternal nothing of me that masticates own pride.
Obstinately, I limit my time, as a proof of destruction, a hard sell,
Giving the emotions a repressive flight over the 90-yards-in-hell.
In the palace of intrigue I’m fixated on the cannon-balls of life
That morph piety and devotion into an undying realm of charm.
Hey stranger! You, in the mirror, where hope transcends itself,
Use the claws of measureless love gripped by the scent of an unlimited desire,
In the deserts among the skeletons who have become the guardians
Of your grief, that encompasses the being itself, every time the mirror is passed by.
I yielded to the cautionary evil by being smithed as a human anvil,
Enduring myself in this scanty world of greedy dwarfs pretending to portray the class.
As docking into own despair, now and henceforth,
The avenged is avenged,
The killed is killed, the loved was loved, the remorse always felt,
Deep, deep in the heart and as far-further than the asteroid belt.
PRAYER FOR MY HEART
With evil motives provoking me
Hardening my will obstinately…
My God, I entrust my heart to Your control
For You indeed know that out of it are the issues of life.*
With negative reactions causing my faithlessness
Drowning my soul into doubtfulness’ depths...
My God, I submit my heart to Your grace
For You alone can thwart its deceitful schemes.
With foolish counsels pulling me down to frustration
Leading my spirit to wallow in despair...
My God, I yield my heart to Your authority
For You surely are my Master and Lord.
With haughtiness keeping me unyielding
Weakening my moral-spiritual fortitude…
My God, I subject my heart to Your discipline
For You can smite my stubbornness of arrogance-origin.
By faith in You, through Jesus Christ's name,
I entreat for Your answer, believing...
Thanking and praising You...
...Assured that You hearken to my silent prayer.
*Proverbs 4:23 “Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.”
February 2, 2019
Edited on February 26, 2019
10th place, "Pick A Title - Free Verse" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh; judged on 3/9/2019.
The horse sped by, restlessly galloping
The train disappeared in a blink
The cars are obstinately racing
For a moment, I forgot to think!
The gushing wind is loud and unforgiving
The ground under my feet is trembling.
With an untamed and ambiguous force
Everything is filled with speed and remorse.
I halt to hear, listen through the wildeness
Too slim, too fat, too small, too big
Too lame, too cool, too dumb, too successful!
Too many things, nothing but boredom
Too many restrictions, too much freedom!
Too little time, too much potential
Too ugly, too pretty, too many credentials!
Too mediocre, too ambitious
Too naïve, too pretentious!
Too early, too late
Too bland, too great!
Too timid, too strong
Too right, too wrong!
And I lost the count
When I took another look around.
The never-ending race goes on
So does the constant competition.
Only for a split second, I stopped running
Everything managed to let me down, with the hint of a warning!
This race to please the world is overstraining
You're lost, you're nothing
If you take breaks, you're not the chosen one
The race is ongoing, only focus and RUN!