Long Rain or shine Poems
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Rosebuds draft in scarlet, crimson, or maroon,
dreams to capture the viewer's point of view,
as its blossom's sheath their basis to its prune,
magnificent achievers rise in rows queue,
as the loss of age cast their field of thorn strewn,
shadows the facades to pipe a distinct tune,
shear away those sharp pokey points of danger,
and frail petals to amend its life-changer.
Amendments trail the housed maxed of tabletops,
of revived rosebuds claim a home as their own,
a treasured wealth trades with the town's floral shops,
then set at one's front wicket by an unknown,
or adorn tombstones as floral wreaths that props,
and crowned on a princess who sits on her throne,
a taxing burden to detain the death masque,
not tiny but thornless as Bonsai craft's task.
The Pyramid steps like the Baguio steppes,
where Filipinos view as their time-out spot,
the other is ancient for tourists who peps,
while an isle serves the rosebuds to sprout and squat,
nature confides stemmed thornless maroon by reps,
students check articles of the course they plot,
as a new breed of rosebuds shelved a terrace,
elegance embrace the solitaire heiress.
Loosely sketched parcels that the rosebud dwells in,
fresh sod fertile and well-sopped sealed neath the sun,
from its current strain, since its birth in Eden,
inspire blossoming with faint buzzes outdone,
coy rumors, green greener, red redder, seeds in,
East rises, and West sets, how the rosebud won,
Bonsai is an ancient craft not deemed as new,
man named rosebuds since their virgin birth, it grew.
Spring sprung sprouts as their healthy roots hug the ground,
a wealth of newborns reach for the warmth of skies,
its outstretched stem hardens merely being gowned,
a promised promenade paramount to rise,
by patrons, the sun, moon, and earth make their round,
a glowing shape as a rosebud is its prize,
the fields are graced with rosebuds color-filled rows,
as they grow in opened splendor till it snows.
Botanical Society best: Sowers.
ranked by their breeds and regions where they were raised,
down to idyllic truths, forthcoming growers,
who take pleasure in their leisure being phased,
where growth is best tended as their height lowers,
promised its dowery by virtuous praised,
reach prosperous glory in you or outpours,
rain or shine achievers within or outdoors.
PROLOGUE
Biographies are for men who have a need to cry
To spell out what we remember is to subtract all
We forget, for knowing then nothing knew, a lie
Conjured by history, there's no a priori here at all
If you will not abuse my love
I will dive for you deeper forgotten things, bring
Up from bottom hate to prove
To be a better god we gladly, boldly took the sting
And could not have merely comprehended joy until
Our serpent made the safe-God to repent of his will
Here is my life strands of sands upon your windy palm
I'm the syllables of every gospel, beginning at the Psalm
Proverbs skinned like rice from the shaft, seeking balm.
History immaculate pristine in no myth ever shall sleep
Introspection vigils struggle between words and memory
Philosophy is a dream, not I, who numbers days urgently,
The sleeping dog will sleep, but my promise let me keep.
i
IDENTITY
I do not even know how it began, night or day
Rain or shine - nor what season they had interplay
I only know that nine must have been too long since
I overstayed my time and made her grimaced, grunt
And groaned to push me out. So of course, I wince
Privy to so much uncertainty. I have a given month
A date, but what is time alone for anyone's beginning
I want to remember the pool I paddled in the flesh
The long rope that called my navel a primal mouth
The red tide of mud from her veins which so much clout
I was hooked on it, around the perimeter where I thresh
So much more can come from a real truth of beginning.
I mean, how comes we have no control over our beginning
And you expect me in the middle to give you meaning
I will not buy the lie, I choose allegiance but know not how
The end shall fufill its promises of me. The air burns still
Like an acrid vapor on the lungs, and not yet I shall spill
The anger from the fumes of air, nor low ever can I bow
Before the hand that slapped my butt and told me scream.
You say indecent, I say unjust, for he proved no love so
Soon nor knew of me any wrong. The conspirators team
Around a common cause: a man must cry so they know
He has life; my kicking legs were not enough. The water
Suddenly left me swaddled in air and just a little laughter.
I do not take kindly to being whipped, nor did I protest then
About my eviction, and the sudden weight of many things.
He’s got holes in his boots
and he’s wearing tattered old jeans
The state of his worn-out clothes
borders on obscene
He hasn’t had a home-cooked meal
in more than a year
You’re just too busy gambling
and slugging down cheap beer
You haven’t said you love him
or given him a kiss
without asking him for something
or giving him a list
You haven’t slept together
or gone out as a pair
and all those times he’s needed you
you were every where but there
So if you want to charge me
with stealing your man away
I think you ought to listen carefully
To what I have to say…….
You made it so damn easy
You just have to know
You might as well have wrapped him up
And tied him with a bow
You gave your man away
the day you cease to care
about who he was our how he felt
or what he had to wear
You gave your man away
don’t pretend that he was lost
You gave your man away
Neglect too has its cost
You gave your man away
and now that he is mine
I’m going to shower him with love
each and every day - come rain or shine
He’s needs a haircut badly
He’s got holes in both his socks
He can’t get into the house again
Because you changed the locks
He’s lonely on the sofa
He’s lonely in his car
He’s lonely at his buddy’s party
wondering where you are
You argued when you were together
You complained when you were not
You didn’t give him much attention
and resented any that he got
When it came time to make decisions
you always disagreed
You’ve never seemed to follow
when he tried to lead
You didn’t listen to his problems
or rejoice at his success
Then you have the nerve to wonder
why your marriage
has digressed
You made it so damn easy
You just have to know
You might as well have wrapped him up
And tied him with a bow
You gave your man away
the day you cease to care
about who he was our how he felt
or what he had to wear
You gave your man away
don’t pretend that he was lost
You gave your man away
Neglect too has its cost
You gave your man away
and now that he is mine
I’m going to shower him with love
each and every day - come rain or shine
He’s got holes in his boots
He’s got a big hole in his heart
And I’m going to fill that hole
And I can’t wait to start
Who will I be able to goof off with, at ALL hours, when you’re gone? Who will I be
able to SING with, that can carry a tune, better than anything I can ever do, when
you’re gone? Who will I be able to sit at the beach with for HOURS and stare at the
MOON with, when you’re gone? Who will I be able to sit with under the TREES and
listen to MUSIC in rain or shine, when you’re gone? Who will I be able to have
MENTAL CONVERSATIONS with just by looking at them, when you’re gone? Who will
make me LAUGH at the stupidest things, when you’re gone? Who will I be able to
share CAR RIDES with at 9 in the morning if gods forbid someone where to be in the
hospital, when you’re gone? Who will I WALK EVERYWHERE with, when you’re gone?
Who will be my LIFE CHANGING BEST FRIEND, when you’re gone? Looking back at
some of the memories I have with you, too many to list in one page, I suddenly
realize that loosing you, would be a disaster. I could never regret meeting anyone,
but…regret wouldn’t even come close if the lights went out again. I would lose
myself in the dark forever without you. There’s no ulterior motive in becoming your
friend. But I love having you in my life. I love having that person to goof off with. I
love having that person to go to the beach with and people watch. I love having
that person to sit and listen to music with and sing along with. I love having that
person who can read my mind when I don’t want to talk. I love having that person I
can sit across a table from and laugh my head off without him saying a single word.
I love having that person to talk to when I can’t sleep or am slowly going crazy. I
love having that person who when all my hope is gone who can give me a hug that
instantly makes everything better. I found my light, I found my savior from darkness,
I found him and I might be losing him. So to sum up what I’m trying to say without
coming across insane. I can’t lose you, so I’ll fight to keep you. I can’t imagine my
life without you, so I’ll fight to keep you. I can’t imagine darkness when my best
friend came along, so I’ll fight to keep you. I just can’t, so I’ll fight to keep you.
Love,
ME
Form:
I'm a park bench put here for people's well being. I don't sing or dance, talk or walk, but simply wait. I have been placed near a Christmas tree for many to see. They always decorate and light up the tree and maybe even me. There's beauty all around, but sometimes needy people swing by. Like this man, many homeless ones have come to sit and think about their plight or about their many childhood Christmases, and start to cry. I sit and wait for them to recline and rest themselves from themselves because it's not always what others have done to them. And I don't quiz them about their lives and adverse circumstances that may have treated them coldly. Through rain or shine, sleet or snow, whether male or female, adult or teen, I am here for them. To me, they will often come, discouraged and tired, so trusting enough to fall asleep on me. As they sleep, sometimes in the cold, many will pause and stare but will not give even a care. Still, others will dare to stop and say, "What a shame, but what can I do?", and walk on by. But there are those who will inquire and lend to them a helping hand, showing a little love. Anyway, I just wanted to say, "I'm neither Miss Liberty nor Santa Clause; I'm just a Park Bench for you when you need someone to lean on.
11222018PoSoupContest, The Park Bench At Christmas. Sara Kendrick, Picture #1, Man sleeping on a park bench. 1P
She’s rolled up with patience
dedication and faith in the Lord;
her strictness punctuated a shared vision
that focused on learning acquisition.
Her punctuality, precision, and determination
to teach her pupils with discipline and right focusing;
as a rule of thumb she always obeyed
made the essence of what music means to all.
Rain or shine she’s there in her cubicle
waiting for her pupils scheduled to take their lessons;
those Hanon exercises, arpeggios, and other finger articulations
would lead off in concentration or warm-up in every lesson.
Perhaps she’s a scarecrow to some who hadn’t known her;
but she’d a listening heart described as a story line;
with depth and assurance that no one is denied,
along with other slow learners who coped with perseverance.
Truly, her endless word to slow down in every measure,
her technique that entailed so much discipline and correction
through memory lane I still remember a constant repetition;
her affinity for perfection that requires discipline and proportion.
She’s a teacher keenly aware of her pupils’ emotions,
her generosity explained either in time or learning a score;
as a sign and meaning to pedagogical association
with thriving efforts to play the music with technique and precision.
She’s held in the affectionate memory of her pupils,
their collective thoughts about her fittingly honored her
a woman like her with a horizon of meaning to everyone
a true Filipino educator with a glowing torch in her soul
and her music sustained my vocation to go on.
Its magical link to depth and soul of human expression,
its beauty and inspiration that kept me to deepen my own calling;
to make piano sing in the balance of emotion, technique and celebration
a way to experience Him with wonders and beauty – limitless world.
Maraming salamat , Maestra Marina M Diokno!
I really missed you; I really treasured whatever you taught me;
your strong affinity for virtuousity, allegato and sostenuto,
indeed, a memory lane suffused with gratitude and threads of appreciation.
Swordsey
When I was young I had a wondrous dream.
I soared in the winds and swam in the stream.
I carried a blade and rode a swift white horse.
I named Him Swordsey and we rode in force.
We toppled Mountains and jumped on clouds.
We rode in stride and pride harnessing crowds.
Swordsey had a spirit and a breath of livened life.
He wore a golden sachet and a silver sheath knife.
He was proud and gleamed brilliant as the Sun.
Me and Swordsey galloped and had lots of fun.
Through the deserts and over the hills we were.
In the valleys or through the forests we did purr.
Swordsey was perfect and so was I, we did glide.
Come rain or shine we toted the lines just to slide.
Then one day Swordsey met Pallor and fell in love.
Pallor’s a brown horse and saddled from up above.
Pallor had a friend named Chaos who had a friend.
His name was Scaler and they came from the end.
So then I started to ride with four horses by name.
We went everywhere and all trotted the very same.
We went to the beginning and found the end times.
We collected gold and silver and coins of dimes.
We built a castle and founded a kingdom of great.
Scaler watched and guarded twelve golden gates.
Pallor and Swordsey galloped the golden streets.
Chaos keeps things stirred and seasons she greets.
Then one day the children came along and grew.
We were abundant and happy and a plan we drew.
We’d multiply and divide by three and by four.
We’d add and subtract by five and have more.
Four at the corner and three in the center will do.
Five by day and five by night with nothing to lose,
We’d stay on top and look down at nigh noon.
Count and calculate the seasons way too soon.
We’d sort and gather many a crops every day.
And at night we’d trot and be on our merry way.
We counted the Stars and made a sparkly trail.
We lit the fires and filled the water jugs for ale.
Then I woke up and realized I was in a land far away.
I was not from this domed Earth and neither were they.
My accomplish are very small throughout the daytime
Senior and retired, I have to remember to make sure I don’t forget to take my pills
Memory is short and cannot focus
Seven fifteen in the morning comes around very quickly,
especially when I go to bed so late, then I toss and turn because my body aches.
My Yorkie makes sure I’m up, he jumps up on the bed and lies by my side until I’m up; he patiently waits to be fed.
Get up; wash my face to wake up, then into the rooms to fix the beds
Into the kitchen and fix my Yorkies food,
take my vitamins for the energy I need,
I put on my shoes on rain or shine to walk my Yorkie up and down the road,
come back home and take my medicine
After all is done
Behind the computer and see what is up with Poetry Soup and Facebook, my way in staying touch with all my friends and the world.
At nine I’m back in the kitchen fixing breakfast, so my husband can take his medicine with food
Clean up the kitchen after we’re done
I’m off for a ten o’clock appointment with my neurologist, to brainstorm what’s going on in my brain.The outcome is, data is not being processed and stored in its files. My computer is running down and it’s caused by old age
Back home and start all over again
Behind the computer and see what is up with Poetry Soup and Facebook
At one o’clock I’m back in the kitchen fixing lunch, then
clean up the kitchen once more after we’re done
Call my eight- three year old mother to make sure she’s getting along ok
Trim the hedge and clean up the mess so it won’t block my view when I look out the window
Into the shower because I’m all dirty, wet, and sticks
Behind the computer and see what is up with Poetry Soup and Facebook
At four I'm back in the kitchen to fix supper then clean up the kitchen once more
By midnight, I finally make it to bed
After composing a list of my daily chores I realize I didn’t have a life
When I’m asked, “What did you do today? The story I tell is,
“Same old, same old.”
5/15/2015
We were told at a young age,
capitalism is long-term better
Got the short end of the slave trade,
now everyday I’m feeling fetter
Working the industrial fields,
come rain or shine
Breathing factory fumes that kill,
half-life expectancy
was the pyramid pay
for toiling overtime
Blue shirts keep giving us eclipse hearts
the undertaker blues
Blue steel love sending to the black veils
more barrel bad news
Shooting galleries on display
on the downtrodden side of the stacks
Hopelessness is the drug
that provides
the fleeting freedom we daily lack
We were told at a very tender age,
capitalism is so much better
Got the debtor deal of the slave trade,
now everyday I’m feeling fetter
Heard whispers of an emancipation
given many moons ago
But invisible chains left us shackled
to the market ebb and flow
Unpaid wages of labor
lends unto itself
plenty of poverty pain to promissory borrow
Practice hate thy neighbor,
preach usury stealth
Ivory towers never expect a darker tomorrow
Bred to be sold like cattle head,
let the coin decide the cull
Oh how the runaways be ballot led
to the anchored end of the hull
We were taught at a garden paradise age,
capitalism is Adam splitter better
Got the chain reaction part of the slave trade,
seems everyday I’m feeling fetter
Waves and waves of tears
fall to the barren ground of our captivity
An aching need for amnesia
to heal our collective bound memories
Harrowing echoes of the plight of the damned
cascade across the ocean of time
Doors of opportunity always bar code slammed,
our genetic number wasn’t prime
This telltale sin
was mercantile written
on our unlit skin
Degradation was the scarlet letter
given to our kin
We were told at an innocent age,
pure capitalism is soul profitable better
Yet, we got the least end of the slave trade,
and every hollow day I’m feeling fetter
07-22-21
I AM FLAWED
Accept me as what I am for nobody is perfect.
I am not broken, I am just an imperfect person.
Who isn’t? I am just like anybody else with
flaws, weaknesses, imperfections that I do not
hide for I do not live in illusion or acting based
on other peoples’ expectations or opinions of me.
I know I am flawed that I learn to laugh at my flaws
and I even say “thank you, I already know that”.
As far as I know, my flaws only affect me and no
one else for it is beyond my character to hurt or
belittle and to use or take advantage of other people.
He is the One who knows my flaws more than I know them.
That I don’t give a damn about what others think and say.
I am not torn between my reputations based on their opinions
and my character based on who I am; strengths and flaws.
I cannot live in pretense, façade, lies just to please anybody.
I do not wear a mask to hide my imperfections and I cannot
be cracked from the negative things I hear and said about me.
I neither say much nor ask too many questions for it is
best to observe and listen than to compare, complain and
criticize for I am no judge, as it is He who would in the end.
As I said, I am flawed and one of my flaws is staying away
from negativism and that includes people closed to me.
Although it is harder to let go for it is really heart breaking.
However, I rather stay away and remember the good things
about them and the beautiful memories I had with them or
I rather walk away than pretend that everything is all right.
I may stay away or walk away; but I am always ready to be
around when they need me and help them in any way I can
rain or shine or come what may to support and assist them.
6/16/21 Writing Prompt - Flawed - Poetry
Constance La France
Used: PS Grammar Checker