Long Overzealous Poems
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Early This Morning,
I observed a little black and white bird perched on a dry tree limb,
Without a care, without sentiment, nonchalant as ever.
Was it a he or she I could not tell, But He/She was very relaxed and unafraid,
Exhibiting the Emotion of sweet Happiness; And also one of of Pristine Peace, Peacefulness, Peaceableness, that transcended throughout my tender and welcoming Heart and Soul at that tender and welcoming moment.
And That Happiness transmitted to me like an electric wave.
I felt an electricity so strong that I felt like passing it onto someone else.
I felt the strongest inspiration, AND irresistible Urge and Motivation to pen this poem.
And Then out of the Bule all of sudden, It Started Chirping.
The Sweetest Music to my ear.
Like a beauteous and harmonious trumpet in A-Minor, or a resonating Orchestra,
That had me so soo Spellbound.
Who says we cannot learn from a Bird?
Here's proof, that's a falsity...a fib...an empty fallacy or farce.
When One Can so deeply appreciate a scene like this,
There is Beauty in the Day.
And these simple little observations and appreciations help us to survive well,
the inclement vicissitudes of this lovely but unfair life.
Blessings like these take away the stresses.
And for these small mercies we should be forever grateful.
Much better to spend a little time appreciating the good of this world,
Than to be locked in some frivolous overzealous and unnecessary fruitless, useless
And Pointless Argument with some moron.
Or repeatedly murmuring and grumbling miserably in utter misery about something gone awry.
Not realising that miserableness and negativity and stressing are catching like coughing and yawning, Just as Positivity and Happiness are.
"Every year since I've been married, I'd rise
To a tapestry of color and cool embracing feel.
To the rooster crow so, family can feast their eyes.
I'd work for two days preparing thanksgiving meal."
~
Thanksgiving Day prayers of thanks and blessing.
To warm amber scarlet tree canopies losing
Their flaming feuille morte leaves beneath drawn trees;
An emotional overzealous sun sees.
Fresh early jump start, baking food for the heart.
Huge turkey and dressing, lamb, cranberry tarts
Cakes, pies, yeast dinner rolls, vegetables, yams,
Potatoes, gravy, green bean casserole, ham.
As they step into grandma's old fashion home
Smells of savory aromas round the home.
A formal table in bright autumn accent,
Cornucopia, with pumpkin candle scent.
Family gather from close and distant parts
Their thrilled children dart as joyful as our hearts.
Time to share memories with laugher till it hurt.
At the last there's still lots of food and desserts.
Grateful of bliss and blessings dear family
And friends bring, then back to life's reality.
10/28/2019
Poetry Contest: Thanksgiving Memory
Sponsored by: Regina Riddle
Merriam-Webster
Definition of feuille morte
: a brownish orange that is deeper and slightly redder than leather, yellower and deeper than spice, and yellower and deeper than gold pheasant
— called also autumn leaf, dead leaf, foliage brown, leather lake, oakleaf brown, philamot, withered leaf
If I crash-out of this med-school thing, I hope it’s a gentle spiral.
Upon a trembling wire I make my stand,
a Flying Wallenda, knowing no other life.
A deep and quiet moonlight, well flatters the mind's labour.
So scholars' efforts are commonly crowned in sleepless industry.
Coincidentally, those same treacherous moonbeams
dubble-dip as lover's ambiance.
Those that study flesh, may find their own poorly mastered,
as it conspires - in want - and distracts with fancies ill-timed
- as if desires were somehow exam-unaware.
Ambition ties me, with strings, to ever-urgent examinations,
while desire, that merry thief, giddily unlaces me.
Between love and ambition, I dance a careful step,
half-architect and half-willing fool.
Should I fall - as other highwire walkers have,
let it be said that I fell with blushing grace
- not by neglect, or overzealous reach,
but by the tragedy of earnest and impatient love.
Exams start in 2 hours. It’s hell week. Wish me luck!
.
.
A song for this:
Tiger, my friend by psapp
behold, the Paranoid Schizoid.
lost in the void,
he’s an android.
the Victim of a cruel trick,
a tragic sort of magic,
there was no favorable pick.
i can see it in your eyes.
they don’t speak lies.
we were caught off guard.
oh, my life, a splintered shard.
during the sunshower,
i confided in the loudest flower.
and just like that, said the Bard,
i’m somebody else’s card.
fall into, out of, orbit
your perspective took a hit.
strangely, we might be in pain.
call your name in the rain.
“listen to the radio man.”
“radio man’s got a video plan.”
my common sense speaks louder,
“you’re just a creepy stranger.’
just bit overzealous,
with a tad bit of malice.
i acted too strange.
it pushed you right out of range.
i wanted to write a song.
no, wait, i see where i was wrong.
dangit, it’s rock or bust.
but i really like this dust.
this a careful path.
i don’t want to feel this wrath.
but if the Schizoid’s left to rot,
we might dare to strike back, slingshot!
this thing’s a failure flight.
this doesn’t seem too right.
i’m afraid to die alone.
but now you’re gone.
now we sit in this bar car
singing “won’t you take me far?”
but honestly, this isn’t okay.
i was horrible; i’m not okay.
Have heard the tales of thee,how the
emotionless night of thee capsize the ship,how the mountains and sea shake at your voices .
Have heard the tales of thee ,how the red banquet left no survival
Have heard the tales of thee, how the ship divided into two and brothers went war with another.
Ojukwu and Gowon lead the liberation
war come and go, but the flumes are close to our eye full with smoke of
emptiness and pains .
You took much with you to the battle that you never came back home
Your mother waited for thou arrival but heard the echo of thou funeral.
Your overzealous, worrisome, soldier.
You left a footprint of immortality
full of stories of different writers
You took hiding things your grave ,so much secret that no one knows.
Should I judge thee by what am told ?
who will tell your story?
So history will be fair to the comers.
who want to open the wound
that the divided ocean?
should I call thee a villain or hero ?
time will tell.
oh! Nzeogwu, Time will tell the true
no secret under the sun.
The blood banquet took us to pain of no return
oh too much pain,so much sorrow
Men fall like trees,women buried their young's , starvation became a weapon
Enable harmless men buried alive .
oh! who will tell the story of umaji
asaba cried of blood ?
Okpanam bath in ocean of blood bcos that is where your kinsmen sit.
Born to oshimili river
not that you leave in oshimili
your heart belongs to the North.
You never saw it coming
not your plan to cause pain.
you never took the shortcut to death,
You mounted to the battle front.
left like the wind,your flumes covers the air.
the smoke you set still touch us in the east
the battle still echo like the ocean.
Am just a poet,writer of true...
I am in a hypnotic TRANCELIKE state, but not a dream.
The pain went away and became a SURREAL discovery.
In these HAZY times, my heart swelled with esteem.
I was in a DREAMLIKE inspired by the natural recovery.
I tumble faint pain, staring at the ETHEREAL paradise.
A yellow dwarf in the SHADOWY flow by a focal spot.
Responsibility outlines our reality until we verbalize.
An overzealous ego caused the IMAGINARY threat.
Hallucinations versus UNREAL degrade over time.
Even though I'm stuck on my bed, afraid of the cold.
A girl using a wet, fluffy towel wiped my tears slime.
I'm so centered today that I can't let my eyes behold.
Dispose of all else, and aid will arise as required.
As I flee earth ties, my vitality and skill grow.
It makes me feel refreshed in my mind.
Spooky areas that reflect the spirits undergo.
Now I'm feeling pretty optimistic and trusting.
My life is back to being fun and lovely subdue.
The natural day is peaceful and hardly reproving
Simply, it's because I was in love with you.
Third place contest winner
Written: May 24, 2021
Writing Prompt - Dreamlike - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Advent Of Spring
Reemerging sunlight magically illuminate a darkened alpine summit
Cloud lingered for an eternity now banished amidst surviving spruce
Spores through withered ground sprout anew like a recurring comet
Pristine water inundates bank of anonymous river nourishing moose
Above urban landscape people taste remnants of a variety of smells
Relishing April showers children emulate elfin leprechauns carousing
Cabs defying limousines vie for fares portraying overzealous gazelles
Memories of winter beneath a bluer sky heralds the advent of spring
01/13/2018
West Palm Beach
Florida USA
Survival of an ultra long week,
finally you see some light at the end;
Humor a little bit tongue in cheek?
Right now could be truly a godsend;
Up late in pyjamas watching cartoons,
always more than a little obscure;
Snacks like sweet meatballs, macaroons,
banana peppers, maybe soup du jour;
Brandishing a spatula around,
it quickly morphs into silverware;
Plates of the Midnight Gourmet abound,
all part of this gluttonous affair;
Box of crackers shaped like a bugle
filled with a huge dollop of spray cheese
lead to behavior less than frugal;
Stop adding the extra mayonnaise!
ALL of the leftovers in the fridge!
Ice cream with a caramel drizzle?!
What’s the reason for an all out binge?
I hope you have some Pepto Bismol;
It is such a spine chilling vision
to watch how quick you can devour
that new culinary creation
and keep going another hour;
There’s no off switch nor any limit,
the speed resembles the Autobahn;
You almost seem to be proud of it
as you open a second bonbon;
The clock keeps moving with a tick tock
as a potato grows on the couch;
Without a morsel left in the crock
sleepy shoulders are starting to slouch;
Quickly approaching a food coma
there’s no way to stop a rushing train;
Sugar overdose hitting plasma,
probably should learn to maintain;
It could wake you up in the morning
and keep you all day in the bathroom;
Up chucking with all that sweat pouring
you’ll feel like you belong in a tomb;
A face now soured a sickly green
seems to be turning a ghostly pale;
Leaving nothing left of the serene
that was there at the start of this tale;
Stuck in bed the rest of the weekend,
which wasn’t where you wanted to be;
Do not let this become a new trend,
to fall off the wagon easily;
It’s great to be fond of the kitchen,
but don’t become overzealous;
The gorge that started with a smidgen?
In hindsight less than hilarious.
In the gentle haze of emerald leaves
Is balm for minds wrestling with unease
With a sweet green goddess solace found
In the garden where anxiety is unbound
She whispers to an overanxious soul
Dancing to a peaceful melody to console
Elevating my spirits to a celestial flight
Consternation disappears into the night
When panic's fierce storm comes near
The green goddess is a repellent of fear
A guardian peering out from a viridescent cloud
Providing respite from an overzealous crowd
Let the embers glow in a serene embrace
In the garden of green anxiety finds its grace
A sanctuary with a heightened sense of calm
The power to reactivate these hues in my palm
I am perhaps a bit overzealous at times
But that's just the way I am and have always been
My love genes far outnumber all other combined
I'm certainly not complaining, my friends
But it can sometimes lead to a misunderstanding
That's the challenge that life can sometimes throw at us
To rise above it all with a "c'est la vie" attitude
Can be a daunting task at times
But the results will be a much happier existence
Does this sound like a lecture
Sorry, I can get carried away at times
Really want to pass along what life's experiences have taught me
As we journey through it, in what seems like
Blazing speed... no one gets out alive
So the best advice is to hang on and enjoy the adventure
It's a one time limited offer that expires far too soon
C'est la vie, mes amis, c'est la vie!
© Jack Ellison 2014