Long Picture perfect Poems
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Sometimes
I look at her, and I think,
Could she be anymore perfect?
Though not everyone may agree, but still
I believe that only she could make me happy,
despite all my imperfections and insecurity, and
so for this reason, and many more, I do not care
for what they say, because they can’t understand
the way I feel when she’s holding me, when she
chooses me above all others to be with, as if it’s a
perfectly natural, normal thing, and though she hates
being photographed, she’ll do it for me, and she will
try to scowl but I can always make her smile, and it’s
always worth my while, for now I can paint
her with my words, her beauty a
poem for the world to read
and in my heart,
I know that
I will for
always stay
this way, devoted and
deluded, but if
that’s the life I choose
then why should they stand in
my way? I can feel
just how I like,
and if it all ends
in tears, so what? For
still I will
have had
an amazing time.
From sagging huts up in the hills,
We watched the tourists flash their bills.
They piled our harvest on their plates,
While soup and scraps were all we ate.
The flames lick up from garbage cans,
Burnt brown like every working man,
Who shouts or sings or mutters low
Of the calluses that come and go.
They toss in straw, more flames shoot up
To light the faces, hewn and rough,
that need a creed, some faith to hold;
to make their insides proud and bold.
Right then and there, I stand to speak.
I will not play the lamb so meek.
The time has come to take back ours
from the wealthy dogs with fat cigars.
First cans, then cars, we overturn.
Now the boulevard begins to burn..
The fools shoot back, forget the cost,
The naked rage must not be lost.
We win ourselves some new recruits,
Some young; some old; some simply brutes;
I do not care where they heard the call.
The revolution now will need them all.
Our cause will die if all stays calm,
So I send out Juan with sweaty palms.
He won't come back, farewell, my friend.
Your blood will flow for greater ends.
Worn out, weary, our morale grows thin.
The feeling grows that we can not win.
We need more guns than we can steal,
But we do have one crop we can deal.
The rifles have arrived now. Good!
Excited now, they crack the wood.
My loathing of red, white and blue,
is spreading like the jungle flu.
Their army scatters, their leaders flee.
We've brought the country to it's knees.
With the capitol dead in our sights,
We'll soon assert the people's rights.
The grainy film does not portray
That it was a picture perfect day.
My second stands there, smart and trim.
It might pay to keep an eye on him.
We march them out in single file.
No need to bother with a trial.
Their baggy shirts and peasant lies
Betray them all as filthy spies.
Yes, the people had decreed this so,
I speak for them so I should know.
Your crimes have brought you here to die.
The people speak through me. Goodbye!
Their bodies jump in crimson leaps,
then tumble down in tangled heaps.
Scarlet skulls and splintered chests,
They'll surely air this in the West.
Bulldoze the bones and spread the lime,
For we all are on the side of time.
And tonight, we gather in the square.
Their blood has paid my ruling fare.
My wife and I have lived in our present home for more than 14 years, and I think that the loveliest time of the year in our community is the fall season. One look at a tall leafy tree can take your breath away. One such tree is just across the street from our house. When I saw it, one word sufficed. Wow!
Although I am certain that this tree has grown taller and broader over the course of fourteen years, there were years that transpired before I even noticed it's beauty. For years, it's beauty was more than 'bark deep' and staring down at me, but I never noticed.
It was only about four to five years ago that I was walking down the hall on the second floor of our home. When I looked up, I was deeply moved by the sight of the tree. It seems that all things simply came together at that particular moment. Both the door and the window blinds in that North facing room were open, and I was treated to the awesome sight of that tall fall tree.
It was as if I had just awakened from a long sleep, or had hidden in a cave. The summer green had turned a beautiful golden yellow. It was as if a voice yelled out and said, "Just Look At Me! ". The power of orange captivated me, and I was arrested by a live portrait, painted by the hand of God. I have looked forward to the sight every year since.
The tree did not have a facelift or makeover, and it had not moved closer nor farther away from my view. But at that moment, it cried out for me to notice and observe its stunning beauty. With pleasure, I was mesmerized and beheld its awesomeness. On that occasion, I did not glance or pause for a quick look, because this time I was not hurried or too busy to look, as I must have been for so many years prior. I was stopped completely in my tracts and drawn toward the tree for a closer view.
Perhaps this fall tree encounter speaks so much about my life and thinking that has slowed and changed over the last few years. Perhaps I can see and feel more of what really matters because the pace of my life has been slowed. I have a much clearer view because the hot summers of my busy life have departed. I am no longer blinded by the forest because a single, exquisite, and distinguished tree has yelled out to me. The tree of picture-perfect orange has ordered me to stop and stare.
11212011 PS Contest, 09142017, Autumn Colors, Nayda Negron, 2P
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Sun Of Summer
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: June/2015
Winters gone now, and its falling
snow, and icy crystals, have liquefied
to its watery grave.
The once hazardous black ice
that bedded atop the slippery asphalt
streets, is gone too.
Spring, is here, and the late March
Sun, is still ninetythree million miles
away from earth; rotating around a
silver moon-
Flowers are in bloom, in all their
splendour, Cherry tree blossoms are
budding, and the once dormant grass
in winter is now green again.
The familiar gradation of the late
Spring hazy day sky, is slowly beginning
it's change to a cloudless oasis, in the
blue hues of celestial space.
Soon, it's picture perfect looks,
will give way to the relentless dog day's
of summer, and the sweet sounds of
chirping fledgling birds, singing in the
breeze of spring, will migrate to some-
where cool.
Make no mistake about it,
Summer is near, and the invisible
celestial rays of heat, are slowly
beginning to spiral down out the
Sky.
Any day now, the ball of fire
in the universe, will farther distance
itself from the silver moon; moving
closer to earth, to send it's infernal
rays through the atmosphere.
Winters - slush, snow, and ice,
and Springs, beautiful colours of
carnations, and daffodils, will serve
as a far distant memory, that
succumbed to Summer's Sun -
And from henceforth, the planet
will burn, and silhouette's from Sun Rays,
will shadow the orange/blue hues of a July,
August, and September sky -
Earth's axis now rest in Summer;
some will welcome in the most sweltering
season of them all, with beach fun, bbq
party's and family outings in the park -
However, not everyone will welcome
the three months of scorching heat, as the
Mercury Index reaches above three digits -
Nonetheless, the Equinox, will spin
the sun closer to earth, to reach fruition.
and all will know that the Sun Of Summer
has arrived -
(C). Copyright 2015 all rights reserved
Nearby runs a mountain stream, purified with crystal rays
Of sunshine, in the pines a wild wind flows downwards
Brushing against the thickets, oh what a beautiful country,
For which I dwell in, at serenity’s farthest edge of tranquility!
In this wilderness of spiritual wonderment, here I’m free
A wondering rambler drinking in the brilliance of the far off
Thunder, as a mountain storm breaks the hushes of the
Afternoon!
Let this castaway of reality dream forever, in this hidden
Valley of the timeless, never to I want to awake from this
Picture perfect postcard of the imagination, just me free
Float lost in thoughts of this paradise lost!
Eagles fly amongst white powder clouds without interference,
Gliding on currents of freedom, as the night crickets prepare
For their twilight symphony, and the wolves howl in the vast
Distance!
Oh here stress has no place, and the city life seems as if a myth,
What else could a soul ask for, but such simply bliss as this,
To know the call of the wild, and experience it!
At the babbling brooks head waters, I sit pondering just this,
As the wild creatures rush along a hidden mountain trail,
Lord this truly your country under heaven!
Amongst the stars I feel so small and insignificant, yet I’m
A part of this environment of splendor in perfection,
One signal note in the rhythm of this mountain lullaby,
Of simplicity’s musical chorus!
Within this cabin I do listen to the rheum of the rain,
It patters against the tin roof of reality, sliding down
Filling my imagination with the comforting sounds
That no matter what, this storm will pass by me,
And tomorrow starts another day of freedom!
Free falling into a blanket of stars, I’m as a
Child again swept away in this world of fantasy,
Awakening to the glow of a sunburst, striking at the
Horizon, splashing it with the color pallet array!
Nearby a mountain stream, purified with crystal rays
Of sunshine, in the pines a wild wind flows downwards,
Brushing against the thickets, oh what a beautiful country,
Which I dwell in at serenity’s farthest edge of tranquility!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Last year’s alarm clock by my beside silently, vigilantly ticked away until 4:02 AM
In the hour of Platonic picture-perfect darkness kept company solely by the bloodshot red
Of the alarm clock reading 4:02 AM
And a suspicious newcomer, causing panic like a foreigner in a shtetl, arrived
In my abdomen, pain, as from machete clutched by any modern horror-flick fiend
Or ancient Mayan warrior bronzed by the timeless sun, who had seen it all by then
Pain induced, and the panic of ignorant xenophobia at this alien agony, nameless
Causeless, baseless
And I, car-less, helpless to the whims of any pluricellular stowaway aboard the meals I ate
Or long-waiting malcontent festering quietly at my expense, awaiting my moment of weakness,
Before crashing the drums of revolution,
Or even maverick cell born of my own body, swearing me the true enemy
And the alarms are sounded too late, or rather too early, before any outside force can be
called
So I collapse into the indifferent suede of the sofa,
With mutable chestnut Rorschach blots on the cushion shadowing our past encounters,
And I conduct the grand electronic symphony that permits the tinny notes of
Arlo Guthrie’s guitar, which shoot like bullets, speed like beams of light
Across the years from 1967 to today, from Stockbridge to my apartment
To me, son of Abraham, of Isaac, of Jacob, and of a thousand other fathers
My world defined by pasts, by traditions, by the presents of others.
The pain subsides like the tide, backing away foot by foot as it glares me in the eye
Grudging me victory, in the battle, anyway, though the war may be yet begun,
So I nestle in my quasi-significant nook in time, as in the hug of an oversized sofa,
Between the aftershock of near-death and the afterglow of “Alice’s Restaurant”
And I hope my present may too hurdle across impossible chasms
Like Wells’ Argonauts, my presently unknown gifts,
May suffice as to be a past for the present of another
To voyage to the future to comfort their solace, though my hand may be eternal still,
Like the acoustic guitar that had its day in 1967
Journey Journal Page
A.I. BEAUTY
By Leon Enriquez
A compelling form:
Art by new means comes
In a causal norm
As beauty now sums
Charm that thus informs
A candid road bump
Light pixels now tint
Allure and fine shades
Colours etch new mint
In charming new trade
As warm visual hints
Convey lot man-made
~~~~~~~~~
Visual media facts
A certain sure poise
Defines a bold tact
Mimics nature’s voice
Lovely light enacts
Volition by choice
What you now can see
Is awesome visage
A crisp certainty
In rites of passage
Fantastic beauty
In thrilling message
~~~~~~~~~
And yet the picture
Sparkles deficit
Incomplete fixture
In movement tacit
That vibrant texture
Flings soul debit
Too good to be true
A picture perfect
Finesse right on cue
Flawless on neglect
Beyond me and you
In stance and in slack
~~~~~~~~~
A.I. Beauty glows
To mock mortal flaws
To argue and show
Human nature raw
As time ever knows
Our corrupt sure thaw
Yes look now and see
The real from the fake
Brisk passing beauty
That nature re-makes
Recycle and be
Earth gives and then takes
~~~~~~~~~
So let change reveal
How time brings on fate
No need to conceal
Destiny and state
Appoint death’s goodwill
Beyond Use By Date
So take the high road
To live your fine spark
With soul and with load
To draft your own mark
Here as time thus goads
Sing you spirit lark
~~~~~~~~~
Let the truth guide you
As you take your place
Mortal fest on cue
With your changing face
Fashion in fond due
Your passion and space
Pixels and tints draw
Upon nature’s grace
In heat and in thaw
Know your time and place
New or old or raw
Here and Now dare face
~~~~~~~~~
Look to true beauty
What nature now shows
In pause or tarry
Where your life path flows
With change you ferry
To live life you know
In imperfect form
Lives undying soul
Astound the brisk norm
As you glimpse true whole
Concord despite storms
Describes pole to pole
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
07 January 2024
Singapore
Everyday when his dad came home he was waiting there
This was the special time that his dad always had to share
He taught him to throw and to catch how to swing his bat
Every game he played front row is where his dad was at
Started off with tee ball and even then he was a superstar
Not one of the older kids could hit the ball near as far
Then he moved up to softball and what was clear to see
The boy had a natural gift as natural as a gift could be
When he made it to hardball believe these words are true
Matt was one of the best pitchers the world ever knew
Through school and into Collage there never was any doubt
Their best player step up to the plate, Matt would fan them out
Sometimes in life just when we start thinking everything is great
Whether or not we deserve what happens we meet a divesting fate
Matt was out on a Friday night after pitching a picture perfect game
With the stands full of pro scouts promising him a career and life of fame
His fastball clocked at 98 and his control was pinpoint on the spot
After every game he would hug his dad and tell him “Dad thanks a lot”
A drunk driver ran a red light and ended Matt’s career that night
Being left a Paraplegic as it turns out would be Matt’s final plight
A lesser man would have been angry he would wallow in his hate
But that path was not for Matt he just stepped right up to the plate
Became one of the worlds greatest sit down skiers, the first to do a flip
Matt didn’t just come back swinging he was swinging from the hips
You see Matt’s dad didn’t just play with him he taught him the game
He taught him how to fully believe in himself, the W by his name
What Matt learned from Baseball he taught to you know who
Long as you believe in and assert yourself, nothing you can’t do
Written in honor of Matt Oberholtz
who I was fortunate enough to meet
because my friend Nick Jenkins was
his roommate. Want to talk about a
cool guy ice cycles shot out the back
of his water ski. Oddly enough I wrote
Matt's poem for Matt's contest.
how could a girl so sweet and elegant, like the most beautiful flower to exist, like the sun
that sets in the east, be able to bring me to my knees, with tears streaming down my face, i
look into those eyes, SERENITY, bleeds from the eyes of thee, we built this bridge from the
northwest down to the south, the biggest smile comes across her mouth, we built this on our
own, now we stand face to face, a picture perfect showing, by the grace of the gods, and
with our own bare hands we built this bridge from the ground up, with the finest forms of
gold, now the beauty is ours, for the two of us to hold, don't let go girl, just take my hand, i'll
place the whole world in your palms, you've given me the ability to stand on my own two
feet again, everything is ours! you wipe the tears that fall down my cheek, that have
covered the skin on my face, who knew the void in my heart could be so easily replaced, the
light from heaven lays its hands down on us, the grace of your hands, such an elegant
touch, this means so much, we built this golden bridge from the ground up. Everything will
be fine. your eyes lock to mine, there is nothing that could have the power to bring this
down, we'll stand here till the end of time! don't lose hope. keep the faith. realize that this is
our place. our place in life. the silence exalts thee, not a word needs to be said, i can see the
story written so delicately on your precious face, your smile brings me to my knees, dear
God please, what we've given to save ourselves. what's happened between us, oceans have
bridged us far apart, nothing could separate the passion in our hearts, the breathing never
got too hard, i look into the eyes of an angel, we've written the pages of our own gospel. this
is a story of courage, strength, perseverance, devotion, and and a woman and a man.
whose backs have been pressed up against the the wall for far too long! now we stand hand
in hand, as the sun beats down our necks, the breathing has gotten easier, now that we are
not so far apart.
Umbilical umbrellica of umbral phantanes
"Anjelsmoth Banjitreel Naievae"
These are the spasmodic words you cause in me,
dare to ascertain in my exotic condition
of your cusping contain
My darkroom carotodomy gastronomy
of infrareds and lightwinds, rushing in,
scouts of wrath seeking the four ends
As you pet pet pet care snap twang, mend
"your pretty thing"
KarmaSupra-Natural endear- in me how spooning
feeds bends at my thrashing and gnashing of teeth
where your purring thickens in my auditorium,
arouses condition,
echoes in sonar picture perfect verbatim,
ruins in salvatore partition
Your light-wound
Is it a seizure, a leash
Tourettes syndrome, speaking in tongues?
What is it called, may I know-
I need a name, give me your true name-
and what aim, what precision archery,
what kind of game are you hunting?
Bondfires burning in the Valley of the Kings
Stuck Pig, squealing and turned by your spiteful
rotisserie of baneful spit you leave to dangle
as an apple on your lips?
Mountain Ram, braving the rocks and the heights carelessly of crash-ward depths?
Did I lock horns a moments long locked
on a linger and caught in a snare
of your primal mating ritual of Astuan?
Challenge your beckoning finger
talons of Vulcan Eagle to soar me to the heavens,
how did we get here?
Why must I be your icarus of daring -
savage amusement, knowing
I cannot outstare the burning sun
The melting in your wax museum,
peepshow coliseum, of the lost, you are the acost
of my 'verted musement again and again and again
Libra is scaling taxation, purgatory perdeum owed-
to the shades of Shangri la,
I'd say we, you and me are more than even,
Nefertiri
Will our clashes ever die?
Our gashes ever sustain or lusts
or take the darts from our eyes?
We a gleaming the cube and porpoising the rift
on the lips of
evermore, Eigypsed in the swollen rains
with chariots on fire
At the steppes of our estranged world,
of the law, of desire
...You can feel them on the wind...