Long Outgrows Poems
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They cradle absence in inherited creed,
A sculpted sky of words they never test,
Where certainty outgrows the need to read
The fine-print silence lurking in each rest.
They build a Heaven stitched from stolen light,
A fragile citadel of borrowed breath,
Where doubt is taught to bow and step from sight,
And fear is softened into faith till death.
For Heaven lives in language, not in ground,
A story tuned to quiet human dread,
A place that only ever can be found
Within the living, not among the dead.
And when the final pulse gives out its claim,
No gates unbar, no choir bends the air;
Just vast unlit indifference, no name,
Where belief fades into a wordless stare.
Sitting at a bus shelter
hoodie baby, skinny, drab,
denim-discount.
She could be a female me fifty years ago.
Elfin face, the nose ring an ugly brand,
then again I'm an old bull - my nose ring
is invisible.
The kid has a standout feature of mine;
alien eyes that always must seek out more alien eyes.
She's been staring at empty walls lately,
I can tell, I’ve been staring
at those same walls.
I am guessing the weight of her solitude will increase.
I hope she finds someone to be with,
to share the load.
I want to tell her that life
outgrows itself, blooms and becomes.
Yet I know she will see through my lies -
she has my eyes.
A young man bought a tight pair of fleeces,
And their stranglehold filled all the creases,
But the fit was so thin
That he couldn't begin
To pump blood to his bits ... and his pieces.
Well, they made him look chic as expected,
Though his girlfriend was feeling neglected,
Cuz from belly through bum,
His poor junk was so numb
That he just could NOT get it ... erected.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "What's Bugging Me" Poetry Contest, Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Bawdy Limerick Contest - Let's Keep It PG-13" Poetry Contest, Tania Kitchin, Judge & Sponsor.
* One of my weaknesses is expensive clothing, and my pet peeve is the new "slim fit" men's suits and clothes - I hate the way they look and feel, like a little boy who can't afford new clothing and outgrows them. I can't WAIT 'til they go out of style! * ;o)
("The World's Greatest Toy" is the motto and ad line used by the makers of The Erector Set, which I had as a boy and remember fondly ... though the word later took on much "grander" meaning, lol)
* Syllables - 10, 10, 6, 6, 10, counted at HowManySyllables.com *
Fate was cruel when you broke down the walls
I’ve never been shattered in midst of the rainfall
Was my life meant to be celebrated with love and joy?
As hasty as a thief, you took away gaiety; left the lost boy.
Nix of your shadow, a nick of your smile,
Only in good night, I see you in life once in a while.
Fury was my ally but was never my best friend,
What remains true is my hope; outgrows in the end.
Behind the window curtains, I spelled out your name.
Watching outside my dried leaves that are wistfully aflame.
A figment of my thinking becomes an archaic chance
To see my living folklore alive; my family romance.
Lei Strauss 2021
( a father's day poem)
To you, O women great, in obeisance, I bow,
For your primary forms of mother, sister, mate;
Full of love, patience, kindness and compassion, how,
The almighty has adorned you with goodness great;
As planners and arrangers, today, you excel,
As big bosses chiefs and heads, powers vast you wield;
Teachers, officers, authors - In all you seem good,
Care, caution and concern - with you go very well,
As economists, to homes and globe, wealth you yield;
In your head and heart, virtues reside as they should...!
Incarnation of love! You’re my inspiration!
Visionary you are; your views always outshine;
So beautiful! True jewel of any nation!
In forms of goddess, you dwell-in many a shrine;
Your perfection permeates limits of the sky,
Your determination deepest of depth pierces;
In patience is like the forbearing mother earth!
Your optimism outgrows the very palm tree, high,
Your trustworthiness, every painful hearts, nurses,
Honesty and loyalty, in you, find no dearth...!
In integrity, O women, you're never less,
Sense of wit and humor in life you never lack;
With grace of forgiveness you raze all hatred-mess,
Your nature of nurturing heals each psychic crack;
Your encouragements make the humanity grow;
Your fun and frolics, happiness in hearts, blossom,
In facing hardest of challenges, you've no match!
Thoughts and feelings in you, like the gentlest breeze, blow,
There lies constant comfort in your benign bosom;
Wisdom and wit, with you, merrily, get attach...!
You've been the source of all human origin,
Wombs that have given birth to global history;
In, form of, immaculate virgin with no sin,
You've brought the redeemer, full of mystery;
It's hence; I extol you, dear women, to the heights,
Strength and power of the universe hides in you;
Creating, protecting, destroying each power!
Hills mountains, vales, landscapes and all marvelous sights,
Earth and ether were born by feminine strength too,
My wish is to be your friend each-and-every hour...!
23 March 2022
TRIBUTE TO WOMEN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Beata Agustin
I’ve written many forms of verse
Sometimes bad…sometimes worse
For poetry it seems….a curse
Word shopping with an empty purse
For years before I ever spoke
My poetic crayons broke
The dog ate two, several melted
Yet, without voice I truly felt it
By accident I wrote a Sonnet
‘bout an unseen passing comet
The colors set the page ablaze
In passage through the crayon phase
I now share on silent keys
My Crayola memories
Etched in ever-changing lies
For no one truly owns their skies
So be it crayon, keys, or pen
A search for forever’s now and then
Give thanks for crayon’s simple truth
The poet never outgrows youth
—Lingers in Nerves—
Thou say’st that less is more; I bow thereto—
yet silence, once begotten, will not cease;
for what thy lips deny returns anew,
and what was once a hush devours my peace;
till what was but the little hush of breath
outgrows the tongue, and speaks beyond all death.
My cedar-born quill, once quick with vernal flame,
could summon dawn from darkness at my hand;
now grey comes creeping where the colours came,
and leaves no kingdom bright enough to stand;
yet, bleeding inwardly, it makes no plea—
but spends my briny blue obediently.
The page once opened like a sovereign gate,
and every letter entered it like song;
now whiteness guards an inviolate state
where even light seems trespass all day long;
and every stroke that falters on its skin
seems less a word than silence entering in.
Still do I write—for love, when answer’s fled,
becomes the hand that writes against the void;
one syllable survives where ten lie dead,
and one more follows, though the first’s destroyed;
for what returns is neither thine nor mine,
but silence wearing language as a sign.
Thou hast but said be still—and stillness grew
until it filled the empire of my speech;
it drank the names by which I summoned you,
and drew their buried meanings out of reach;
till less, which seemed so little when begun,
hath so consumed the word that none is one.
Now watch the cedar yield—not unto age,
nor grief, nor any wound the years can heal,
but to the dark beyond the final page
where nothing waits that it is sworn to feel;
the last stroke stills the worlds it might have sung—
and unborn songs die wordless on the tongue.
Sunshine and Showers
Gardener stands with a watering can,
in hand. Sunshine and showers begin
with a drizzle on forgotten flowers,
refresh from the rain showers.
Patience, time doth thy beauty does also grow,
always very slow, sunshine does show.
Gardener towers with song during evening hours, shy,
it lightly falls, rain from the sky.
On summer's windswept day,
creation took clean away.
On faces so fondly strain,
up towards the sunshine rain.
Through lacy and delicate Lilac tree,
showers wet the bowers familiar filigree.
It's ever rare, and wondrous there,
the summer sun dries each upturn faces, it does dare.
Garden's magic, through the sunny hours
tend outgrows his flowers
and hid away from his divine
gardener, tends to shine.
2/20/2018
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The seed planted in frozen earth now grows,
through storms and time, its tender stems arose.
Once choked by thorns, stubborn, toward light it goes,
No pleas for light—it takes what sun bestows.
The moth unfurls from silk it once outgrows,
the river carves the rock, no hammer slows.
Wounds I wore now bloom in the vein I chose,
old meanings dissolve where deeper Knowing flows.
Stars fade as night gives way to dawn’s quiet repose~
my former self decays, unmourns, and does expose
my ego, that internal script that age and turbulence depose.
soul reshaped—my life is now stunning prose.
are in the subjective eyes
of lonely-hearted
women like me
whom identify the imperfections
of pollen-coated surfaces
where the still water lies
before June
has made it too hot
for thought and reflection
I can clearly see the ripples,
the wrinkled clarity
where ducks
and water birds
disturb the calm
of a perfect surface
for their babies
mighty splashings
I see the remnants of yesterday
peeking through
and the remains of myself
I will try for tomorrow
recycle hope
and I won't cut my hair
when it outgrows its time
because I love the history
these are the keepers
the dead bits
of myself
Requiem in D Minor
is playing
and I am listening