Long Prodigious Poems
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Why do you always forgive
and invite me back home?
Why do I respond to my Prodigal Son
with prodigious love?
I guess.
Because we share an Older RightBrain Stem,
right down into our DNA-drenched bone marrow,
that always feels cooperatively drawn toward trust,
and dissonantly struggles
with competitive Me-Win v We-Lose compromises
with how ecological NotSelf
and ego-logical Self would prodigiously thrive
if we all could remember
we all have been the Prodigal Child,
if only in our rebellious imaginations
And we all have potential to be Prodigious Elders,
not choosing between
growing natural health
and starving familial wealth.
Like wanting your LeftBrain logical wellness cake
while RightBrain eco-dislogically over-eating it too.
Said like a Win/Win
prodigiously thoughtful
prodigally intuitive
neurosystemically wise Elder.
I guess,
for the best.
Prodigiously.
Appreciate your reunion invite
but this annoyingly prolific habit,
always needing the last polysyllabic word ,
continues driving me prodigally away.
What can I less prodigiously say
to help you feel better
about this run-away compulsion
of mine?
Preferably,
and parabolically,
nothing.
Lightning flashes, followed by thunderclaps,
dominate the scene, dispersing the crowds.
And the night sky's twinkling stars stay hidden
behind prodigious banks of sullied clouds.
Brisk breezes tussle the tops of the trees;
branches bending as the wind increases.
And a mixture of rain, sleet, and hailstones
tears loose leaves into fragmented pieces.
Ebony shadows merge with the darkness
when Lightning's fiery gaze burns its way through.
And as raindrops dim Lightning's jagged eye,
Thor's magic hammer forges sparks anew.
A part of Nature's natural array:
thunderstorms feel like a surreal dream.
For when Lightning's hypnotic flash ignites:
amidst the charcoal clouds, wailing banshees scream.
PRESERVED FOR POSTERITY
awesome sensations
compliant
rapid
prodigious
astonishing
a visceral
drifting into irrelevance
a cluster
of strange nostalgia
into memorys lane
a fragility
of existence
fusing emotion
a meditation
on mortal
summoning subtlety
with a distracting
aura
such allusions
of grandiosity
manipilated
recalled
by
experience
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
I curse with all vengeance
the undeserved desperation
that fate chose me to bear;
and I've asked myself
if ever there would be a sudden death
to this so-called affliction and fear...
Will I endure this unneeded pain furthermore
and suffer uselessly in discontent,
not to have accomplished more
or been restrained by any event
throughtout the duration
of my consuming contention?
I swayed from all gladness
with doubt and uncertainty,
gratifying myself with little or nothing;
all thoughts were constringent,
clinging to hopeless consolations:
I lived in sadness...unsavoring life
in all its wonderful and blissful ways,
not conjoining them to a congruous laugh!
Did it save these dark thoughts from dying,
when I could have been living?
Up to now,I had strongly believed
I would have seen a light
glimmering, where darkness gathered,
or an anticipated delight
awaiting to quench my thirst;
uneasiness and distrust don't conciliate...
Swelled clouds bring rain and sobriety,
reality brings out conscious regrets
that conjure up a past worthiness;
a struggle measured by audacity...
Prodigious words rejected by intruders,
true words prohibited to be spoken by me;
I was given lips to fling them...
not to fearfully oppress them,
but to be present in image and dexterity:
unlikely soggy flowers drenched by storms...
lacking the stamina to stand on their feeble stems,
I must stand up to my creed and truthfulness!
Beware the perils of the golden asp
whose world is of dust and death
he moves as smoothly as satin
and is as deadly as anthrax.
How he writhes upon his belly
intent on catching his victim
ever searching, ever hunting
preditory, with pure blood lust.
In the apex of a dark night
that is blacker than India ink
the asp spies his helpless prey
with distant, unblinking eyes.
How he hisses, a heathen sound
then flares his upturned nostrils
how he flits his forked tongue about.
Sharp fangs boldly appear
from his scaly, snake mouth
then suddenly, the asp leaps
striking with prodigious precision
paralyzing his prey.
How quickly he hastens its demise
ushering his catch through death’s
distant door.
Oh, beware the perils of
the golden asp!
Written on 5/2/2018
His eyes were totally devoid of empathy.
No one has eyes as vast as all humanity.
I've been living in denial that he's the Red Skull.
Rebuking that my vexing foe has lived but is dull
From a plane stuck on the Arctic ice during WWII.
Schmidt was the Red Skull, the Nazi commander.
The rare celestial artifact Tesseract was taken too.
Sought to funnel harm into the world through slander.
Hitler, who saw him in his rage, was his evil mentor.
Led Hitler's global espionage and terror strategy.
If Hitler was hailed, his crimson skull mask just tore.
America built a chief rival to the Red Skull's raggedy.
Steve Rogers was a plebe with military dreams.
He was selected after a number of initial setbacks.
This US military endeavor is unique in its deems.
Serum and premix made him Captain America hacks.
Rogers displayed prodigious acts of heroism.
When he alone could free all the prisoners of war.
By lurking inside the armed Nazi camp of terrorism.
Infamous Red Skull had built in the Hydra lair.
To prevent Schmidt from using nuclear weapons.
The superhero assaulted him in his airplane.
The device's mystic force created rift beckons.
That screwed in the torn body of the Nazi brain.
3rd place contest winner
Written: March 11, 2023
Contest: Marvel Supervillains Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Let's applaud our
Adored Lord Broad
Fame and awards
Crossing swords &
Bossing visiting hordes
Name in the frame
On Lords boards
Cooing..wasn't it grand
Tanned boy with headband
Wooing the fanned stand
No wonder we're so fond
Of this towering..glowering
Powering flowering blonde
Plumping for knees pumping
Hearts a jumping
All a flutter
Tub thumping
Jaffas he's a scrumping
Utter bowling nutter
Batters in tatters
On the ropes
Slain with disdain
Hopes in vain
Dope tropes
Broad roared
Insane hurricane
Yet again
That strength of fine
Alright divine
Line and length
Vertiginous delight
Prodigious insight
Canny..crafty will
Log in to his noggin
Didactic tactic thrill
Found going round
Was gravy..on the money
Crowned genius genesis
Hefty lefty nemesis
Davy Warner..his bunny
Gladly listened to Hadlee
Took note of what
The Goat did float
Shorten your run son
Well must embellish
Relish to hone
To still cherish..own the throne
With Jimmy his friend
Found at their home grown ground
Got their own eponymous end
Game's pantomime dame
If everything else fails
Wrist twist of the bails
Burning beacon flame
What a gusto way to go
For our dearly loved maestro
Bravado even braggadocio
Willy Wonka winning ticket
Plucky...jammy...lucky
Hero cheerio double whammy
As Broad encored..
Last ball bowled..got a wicket
Last ball faced for 6 did flick it
Helluva a way
For our stellar fella
To say goodbye
To Test cricket
A pure grain
fell loose
in the land...
fallen from the hand
of a sower ...
the tender land
as a mother soon
welcomed ...
Quiet,
immobile,
hopeful
the seed
patiently
waited ...
Soon the sun
came...
left fertile ray
in floor...
then came
the rain and brought
miraculous
liquid...
The mother land,
in the bulge made them
sleep, close together ...
With time,
a tip
protruding
broke out,
leaked the
surface,
broke out ...
soon grew
with total
resourcefulness
with yeast
Natural.
Then came
twigs, leaves
and ... fruits ...
tree
strong trunk ...
How fruitful
is the nature !
playing with teeny
cell ... a leafy
and prodigious tree ,,,
it's a miracle ..
of God...!
Education has never deluded me,
it is a rich mine from which my gemstones are extracted;
and all of them can adorn with its brilliance
a king's crown, but the glitter on my silver pendant...
with my natal sign, not with my image, outshines it
and displays it very elegantly.
As skilled hands relied on mental deftness,
I depended on mom's provincial practicality,
not on chances, but on her canonical guidance;
her words told no canards, only truthfulness:
an illunination of beatitude to encourage and fortify...
and that voice taught me acts of benevolence.
Guessing what was the mysterious name it bore,
would have been quite easy to identify with sharp eyes:
examining the deeds I did and the actions I still compromise,
to conclude with certainty
that it fitted me so perfectly...
I learned that art by listening to clever people with more ardor.
This is not a gift which is instilled
in the infant's brain at birth,
it is acquired by growing somewhat old...
who could have such a prodigious knowledge?
The Old Testament prophets for instance, or possibly
every learned man who studied philosophy.
Spend time with me, and observe how I peruse:
listen to the clear and incisive words spoken aloud,
riddling no mystery, or being derogatory...
proverbs might be included to give some clues;
and they were written in an inimitable way
to stimulate the minds of the unlearned.
Is intelligence inborn or learned by chance,
or even isometric to astuteness?
Many admit it stems from accruing knowledge,
to increase the capacity of the thinker or genius...
accumulating their ideas and earning praises,
while the uneducated struggle with rage.
Logical astutness is efficacious when it invigorates ability,
and exhorts a great deal of mental energy;
and will the proper words be used to that effect?
Happy New Year to all the wonderful Poetry Soup members!
Copyright 210 by Andrew Crisci
“Ukraine, Winter of Discontent”
The many winters of our discontents
Lie in trenches with the dead.
Mothers in pain.
Boys lost in vain.
Nothing plainly gained.
What empire will repent?
Saving souls from Hells bloodied gate.
Piled high in trenches is their fate,
As priests lament their deaths
A crown will not relent.
What cause is there so prodigious?
Slaughters all who differ?
Lays waste to metropolises?
Kills without remorse?
From where cometh this hate?
Through what gate?
What kind of man
Leaves babies seeking breath?
Women without life?
Boys piled high in trenches?
Empires laid to waste,
Many without faces,
Many without places,
All for what?
Pride?
Envy?
Jealously?
One man.....
44 million seek redemption.
Let him
Lie in trenches with the dead.
The many winters of our discontents. 3/8/2022