Long Sensationally Poems
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So sensationally super; Sagittarius son of John Spence
Pleasantly personable, and matriarch Maud Spence’s son
Enabling, exquisite, eloquent, evolving and enterprising
Naturally nice, no nonsense, and a nutritionist nobleman
Carrot consumer, constant comrade and cold-war veteran
Equitably enlightened, and just an elegant eggnog taster
Jumping Jupiter, a jubilant sundae lover, and just a jewel
Oppresso de liber, optimistically captivating; oratorical
Saintly passionate, succulent salmon sampler; sweetheart!
Exquisitely enchanting, enchantingly amatorious; éclat!
Playful, painstakingly passionate, pajama wearer, patient
Handsomely helpful handyman, harmonizer of happiness
Sweet as syrup, shining armor off the shelf; savoir-faire!
Red-blooded poetry connoisseur and radioactively lovable!
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Won Seventh Place Position
"Tell Me About You Contest"
June 16, 2010
Sponsored by Amy Green
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I need clear blue rivers of life
to not always flow away from me,
in some direction
I can't
or won't
go right now.
I need green commitments to home
to feel mutually nurturing,
sheltering,
organic,
peaceful,
cooperatively engaging
in nonviolent communion,
co-passionate integrity
of sacred emergent space.
I need the sky
to not always feel grey,
dampening my curious natural spirits.
Instead,
I want to always imagine,
as needed,
as invited,
as if sun summoned,
a radiant blue sky
singing reflections
of invisible spinning stars
on the other
lighter side
of deepest icy winter's
dense
dull
dark cloud bank
of settled in oppression.
I need rich black soil
to support my feet,
my nose,
my stomach,
green trees,
brightly colored plants
and amazing animated animals
giving back robust excretions,
reparations for past extractions,
borrowed co-investments
infesting EarthTribal
creolizing rich brown humus.
I need my rain-bowed neighbors
to notice
applaud
cheer
celebrate
when two elegantly athletic white swans
sensationally fly upstream
to hang out at our downtown harbor
where we eat
and drink,
rest
and float,
dream
and gloat,
on land
and sandy water,
at least side by side,
if not honking happy
swimming together.
An unbridled devotion
To things that shan't transpire
With undivided emotion
I've become a soulless vampire
Love is a riddle
But the heart is brittle
Played like a fiddle
To slowly whittle
In my eyes I am a bard
Who sings songs of love
Trying so very hard
To be your only dove
When pleasure is pain
And pain is pleasure
It cuts deep in the vein
Without equal measure
In my eyes you are a starlet
With a beautiful heart
Painted sensationally scarlet
Like classical art
Splendidly spectacular
Would it be so wrong
If I dropped casual vernacular
To sing one last song
In my eyes this is my last verse
And I'll play it till it bursts
Though that may be my curse
I create my own hurts
Without a whim
Though whom it may concern
I sing for you an honest hymm
To show how much I yearn
The American Morning
We ride smoothly, deliberately, in this old cruising caravan,
Across the ancient American avenues and boulevards,
Of the once living, and now, the finally dead,
Of the once famous, and now, the finally forgotten;
Of tattooed memories applied in the American morning, cooking
In the back kitchen, with yellow-yoked eggs frying rapturously,
Like monstrous hoards of buzzing locusts, out to kill,
In black pans, sizzling and searing sensationally;
With mysterious, soulful realizations of disappearing time,
The heavenly odors of bacon fat, rising to the old-fashioned clouds,
We come here to turn the radio dial, in this summer of winning and losing;
But now it is all turning, turning as the shadows of life should turn,
For life is the now of when and why; and we all know now,
What ‘s waiting and lurking behind the curtained door.
“No, kind sir, you go first through the door, sir, if you please.”
But as we ride now through these blighted snapshots in time,
This creeping caravan from the American morning comes to a halt.
Through the windshield and into the American night, old eyes see
A crowd of black ballplayers, gathering in Harlem on East River Avenue,
Looking to get inside the big ball yard, with the Babe, the Yankee Clipper,
And the Iron Horse, hitting fungoes over the EL station, over there,
Dressed in over-sized pinstripes, dripping in dirt and tobacco juice,
Tipping sweat-stained caps to the roaring, crescendoing ovations,
Thundering upward and through the airy reaches of the big ball yard,
Somehow do not reach their ears; still, they run fast, as if being chased,
Run faster than all the dead baseball gods of the American morning!
But now it is all turning, turning as the shadows of life should turn,
For life is the now of when and why; and we all know now,
What’s waiting and lurking behind the curtained door.
“No, kind sir, you go first through the door, sir, if you please.”
“Heady heights..bright neon lights..giddy delights
Arsonists torching the Indian empire
Reputations scorching..awash with brilliant whites
Gilded generation ire… spoils soiled in an oily quagmire
Sailing the conquest crest..Kiwi veneration..scaling Test Everest
Perturbed…wondrous walloping to disturbed lolloping..absurdly dire
Otherworldly umami of the Barmy Army tsunami
Marauding sneers trumpet.. foolish career nadirs..retire
Ghoulish gravity..devoured by a glutinous abyss
Bazball belter depravity..sensationally soured bucolic bliss
Hoodwinking..hasten Black caps helter skelter sinking
Downed & drowned in a bottomless basin..stinking
Hilariously or nefariously bombastic
Bellicose blows vicariously fantastic
Lambasted & larruped..willow wizards’ blizzards
Scary..leery…Kiwis dreary..wary..weary
Boisterously babbling record book pleasing Brook..
Febrile lairy timber & turnstile teasing fairy
Frazzled dreams bedazzled by pyrotechnic memes
Peacocking cavorting with shocking ripsnorter slaughter
Lampooned buffoons marooned…as Jaffas deliriously spill.. festooned just like Seville
Bazball booming batting baritones..delicious blooming blossom
Vicious..nailed..pernicious.. flailed like an impaled pesky possum
Stranded in a leaking latrine…Baz branded..reeking of what could have been
Outrageously courageous…ridiculously sublime at the same time
Flat track thuggery fortuitously free from spin skulduggery?
Cosy club snubs…mandarins’ selectorial sins?
It’s coming home..it’s coming..in Welly on the telly..what we have seen
Prodigal Bazball from South D has already well & truly been"
Never do we dream of the once-upon-a-somber-song to fade away,
as moments from the milky moon begin to twirl and sway.
A murky mist of miscalculated mystery makes haste,
sneaking its way along the deserted hallways of locked gates,
weakening the rustic joints of porcelain pillars straight down to untouched floors.
Why must it wait for the sun to be its guide?
For in the darkness, love too can be the greatest tide.
Can the curiosity of a claw discover the depths of a divine madness?
Or could these fangs find themselves vehemently festering
in the corners of unwelcome elements?
Let a limb take its quest along the walkway to the endless sea.
Taste the tortured tears crawling down these decaying knees.
Hold unflinchingly to the fire that aches to roar—
do not let it scream, for it conjures for more.
Time can prepare a frozen glass to let little condescensions
slide down an auburn wood.
Yet something about a restless evening
makes an iron fist feloniously curl up,
as if it so sensationally should.
Sensationally super, and Sagittarius son of John Spence
Pleasantly personable, and matriarch Maud Spence’s son
Enabling, exquisite, eloquent, evolving and enterprising
Naturally nice, no nonsense, and a nutritionist nobleman
Carrot consumer, constant comrade and cold-war veteran
Equitably enlightened, and just an elegant eggnog taster
Jumping Jupiter, a jubilant sundae lover, and just a jewel!
Comments: During my twenty plus years of military service I was always called
Spence, J. That's just the way the government does business. This acrostic is
about Spence, J. It's crafted on a combination of alliteration, assonance and
consonance sounding words. Eggnog at Christmas is my favorite. Having a
Sunday afternoon sundae at the ice cream parlor is oh so tasty. Wow! I just love
it!!! Anyway, here are some comments on writing an acrostic. The basic acrostic
poem is formed by writing a word vertically down the page, which may also be
the topic of the poem. It’s recommended to use one letter per line, and the
beginning letters should be all capital ones. Each line of the poem should begin
with the letter on that line and the line should pertain to the word or title being
used. Some may recommend using one word or a phrase which does not have
to rhyme; however, one may move beyond the basic acrostic form and use a
complete thought with a rhyming sequence. It’s also recommended to use
adjectives and phrases that describe the word or subject of the acrostic. Finally,
one may take the quantum leap and write a double acrostic where the first and
last letters of each line are the same.
Life back in school is of mess,
Where I chased shadow in fun,
With an almost changed reckon;
Of people's view, thoughts bless.
Then, peace fluctuate ease
Though it is fun chasing breeze
As leave drops off trees
Life back in school is of dreams,
Where I learnt how reality sings...
Of all the tears kings' eye brings,
In captive of his roots' regimes.
Then, sweetness sleeps head
Though the unknown songs are red
To sing its widespread
Life back in school is of record,
Where I benefited from notes...
Of flowing breathes many throats
Taped whenever reading is bored.
Then, feet are unrest
Though tough morrow holds class test
How offhand contest
Life back in school is of part,
Where part are hidden away,
With timed hours on a relay...
To expose halfway outsmart.
Then, ass is covered
Though breeze awaits cloth hovered
To be uncovered
Life back in school is of stars,
Shooting far away the twilights,
Where blue-black sky highlights...
Only the interesting part off scars.
Then, result a moon
Though many hands tear so soon
From eyes timing noon
Life back in school is of friends,
Where you learn from good ones,
And with bad ones have due puns!
Before room makes peace blends...
Then, some are to eat
Though many minds never cheat
Those, benefits feat
Life back in school is of pictures,
In minds worrying over grades,
Yet want all which Big Boy parades...
Receiving hit back cum strictures.
Then, partying fool
Though sensationally cool
Yet drawn school in pool
Life back in school is of wish,
Where struggle is on books,
And may be also on looks,
No stress cum work polish!
Then, money comes free
Though from family's degree
And favour's decree
Daylight
I was so close to you
As to yours
We share my darkness
Must we breathe in just
A bottle of champagne
A can of olives
Two unpeeled tangerines
On this evenings campaign
Midnight lies within a crush
Metaphors of silence
My dear
I just cannot hush
Beneath our skies murder lies
Sensationally
I quiver at your touch
Occasionally you whisper
It’s just too much
A product of pure lush
Two adults
Within an undefined trust
Lust
A gentle thrust
Sleepless
My nights beside you
A ship of marvels
A day of dreaming
My mistress of deceit
I adore you
Do fulfill my notes of relief
The Chocolate Baker is a lady of stature so grand,
She bakes the best cookies and cakes over the lands.
Other bakers dishes are tasteless and utterly bland,
Sensationally goodness are the works from her hands.
Miraculous wonders from her oven every day appear,
Close to my palate her talents have become very dear.
Cakes, brownies, fudge, puddings and chocolate pies,
Scrumptious delectable aromas bring tears to my eyes.
As Chocolate is a part of my menu almost every day,
Living near the bakery would be a wise choice I’d say.
So a house I found with a little effort and a bit of labor,
Now the Chocolate Baker, a grand lady is my neighbor.
Author Eileen Clark