Long Sense of balance Poems
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Let me begin by saying Thank-you
For making me feel welcome where I am new
Although I've been writing for twenty-two years
I have much to learn from incredible peers
Individuals with style and grace
Where originality wins first place
Humbled am I to be among such talents
Each comment brings a sense of balance
Wishing to meet, to come face to face
Relishing in the idea if only a taste
After years of thinking no one was there
To come to find so many more care
All share a bond through writing and words
Each unique like a flock of exotic birds
Honored to be among others with a passion like my own
Knowledge surrounds me, unlike any I've ever known
Why don't you get down from your high horse?
It may bring you down to Earth,
Because you are sitting up so high
It doesn't show your worth,
You may have a different view
Sitting high up there
But there are others beneath you
Who needs some love and care?
If you are sitting up so high,
It's easy to lose sight.
Out of sight of mind
Oblivious of the plight,
Of others and their kin
You discard them,
As quickly as throwing rubbish into a bin.
Every dog has its day,
That's how the saying goes.
Get down from that high horse,
And feel the Earth between your toes
Plant your feet firmly on the ground
It gives you a sense of balance
And help justice to abound.
If you want to rise even higher
You will always need a taller horse.
You will become a high flyer
And disappear off course.
Draped in the darkness of the night
In a weather so dull and blight
Sad thoughts like a deadly shooter
Come out to bombard her outright
Shaking off their fitful slumber
They rise from their inert stupor
From the reservoir deep, spill out
As through newly opened shutter
They come from an unknown hideout
As all trace of life to wipe out
Unable to block the current
She totters in a drunken bout
They spill forth in mighty torrent,
With a beastly force violent
Like an angry mob on long wait,
Infringing all rules, nonchalant
Caught in the vortex of that spate
Her body began to gyrate
She lost all her sense of balance
Her sad fate, no one could abate
May.13. 2022
~Placed First~
Rubaiyat Poetry Contest
8 syllables per line
Rhyme scheme- aaba-bbcb-ccdc-dded-eefe.
Sponsor- Sotto Poet
Day Sounds
On one recorded morning in June of ‘08, my ears tuned in to the sound of the mild banging of a hammer from somewhere close by. I heard the leaves in the trees, as they swayed just a little from the flow of the soft and gentle wind. I knew that I was not in heaven, when I heard the sound of traffic from a major street. Moments later, there was the sound of an airplane in the distant sky.
There is a train rail line near our home, and there was a time when they would blow their horn both night and day. I do not recall that there was any particular time, but I rather think there was. What ever the time of day or night, it was never a pleasant sound. Moreover, the sound of trains blowing their horn at night was both ridiculous and disturbing. To our delight, the night blows discontinued.
After the horn blows of the day trains, we can count on the sound of automobiles racing to work. Of course these are people due at work earlier than the rest of us.
Make no mistake about it, we all have our wake up calls, whether by birds, clocks, phones, planes, or trains. Fortunately, life does bring to us an amazing sense of balance, like the beautiful and soothing sounds of singing birds. I am often entertained by a happy bird or two, whistling like they usually do. I must say, that the things they speak about, whistle about, chirp about, and sing about, are most beautiful to my ears. However, let none be misled; bird sounds are not wake up calls. At best, they could pass as snooze buttons.
Some days we are startled by flashes of lighting and rolling thunder.
Furthermore, there are wind storms; the likes of which can knock down fences and trees. Occasionally, we are blessed to be rained upon,
sometimes in the form of a drenching shower, and other times, a pleasing melodious slow and intermittent rain. Either way, the sound is a thing of beauty and peace. In addition, there are those inviting whispering winds that join the chimes and orchestrate music of their own.
06182016 PS Contest, Sounds of The Day by Nayda Ivette Negron
Tribute to Maradona
TO SKY HIGH
Small structure in five feet five frame
flashed in fabulous fame.
Little Argentinian Golden Boy
Bullish, buoyant, graceful with eyes angelic,
Rustic, over confident, playing magic.
Appeared an exceptional footballer
Nonparallel on strut and swagger
with tangled disarranged hair.
Careful yet without care.
mesmerizing spectators.
Promising skill on challenge of arrogance.
Strong sturdy solid sense of balance
pivoted on self-belief.
His real relief
to sky ball high playing on loops of eyes
with magic of swift feet showing miracle.
Public was marveled on blink less glance.
Excitement, emotions to enhance, not perchance.
Sometimes tagged by adverse label
as Sport’s misguided rebel
or misdirected: Full of flaws,
violating norms and laws.
Fair-fine or foul play,
Right or wrong! Useless to say.
Legitimate or illicit! No way.
Maradona, World Celebrity
charmed populace with same intensity.
Extremely impatient cocky,
Yet He was the STOCKY
NUMBER TEN
reaching heaven.
Beyond football ground crossing cheekiness
Maradona proved his splendid sunniness.
Amazing talented player touching excellence.
Left too early the high heroic spirit.
An athletic genius touching summit.
12/01/20
First Place
'Obituary Maradona' Contest by Mohan Chutani
Poetry in Motion
Contest by Matt Caliri
She undresses like a bather wading through the waning light
Till her darkest fears are splashing in the deep end of the night.
On some ship of dreams those sheets might be her sails,
Not a canvas full of nightmares draped across a bed of nails.
There now, baby, don’t you fret. We’ll just have some fun.
Let me hear my kitten purr. You’re the special one
Tries to focus on the ceiling with its old familiar crack;
Feels the piercing shame transfix her as she lay there on her back.
When she bears that weight, her sense of balance fails
Like that drunkard on his tightrope high above her bed of nails.
Hush now, baby, don’t you cry. Soon we’ll be all done.
Gotta, gotta, hurry, hurry… ring the bell and run.
Maybe someday she’ll grow braver and she’ll stand to offer proof
Of the monster in her closet and the gremlin on the roof,
But until that day, a stronger will prevails
And she’s just his little plaything lying on her bed of nails.
Naturally regenerative
living systems,
like Earth
optimize global ecological opportunities
as co-redemptive economies
of loving solidarity relationships
expressing mutual not-negative subsidiarity,
within a web of interdependent Win-Win default networks.
If we are born passionate investments
of past yang/yin regenerations
redeeming economic risks
weighed as ecological opportunity
for pleasuring pleasant peace
with active love for all species,
all nature,
all Earth,
all Universal Intelligence,
then are we also,
at least potentially,
an interdependent species
of co-redeeming economists
thinking and acting and relating and feeling
sensing and feeling and smelling and tasting
touching and respecting and appreciating ecologically balanced reasons,
seasons of time and pattern and rhythm?
Where fasting advents precede
and roundly follow
cornucopic polycultural seasons for all cells
and organelles.
We find and sustain co-therapeutic relationship balance
half way between Yang-ego's deductive-reductive immunity boundaries
and Yin-eco's intuitive receptive co-operativity,
co-redemptivity,
correlation-ability,
mutual empathic gratitude
polypathic trans-actional multisystemic relationships.
If co-redeemers are messiahs
then we are also mutual bodhisattvas
as we intend cooperative Win-Win eco-normative salvation
and eco-logically therapeutic outcomes.
Perhaps mutual messiahs find it simpler to wrestle with,
rather than against death's pain and suffering,
to figure out what to divest of
by reconnecting within each moment's present opportunity
to what and whom and when and where and why we invest integratively
with each Other's health and well-being,
co-redemptive economically rational, yet passionate, logic,
as well as Right-brain's intuitive temperate sense of balance,
proportion,
enthymematic syntax
permaculturing rooted rhythms
of mindful songs
and global dance.
Ego's Logos as co-determinate partner
with Eco's Right-brain Mythos
co-redemptive political design
re-creating economic developmental revolutions.
weightless astronauts...
they've brain and body problems...
no sense of balance...
there's information...
but input contradictions...
so...computers...
native peoples brains...
same as ours...but for knowledge...
we have weather men...
they do not need them...
bodies react to weather...
and the surroundings...
that information...
the input into our brains...
is generalized...
changes cause headaches...
and other body symptoms...
just weather response...
we go to doctors...
doctors blame stress and tension...
but brains are plastic...
so get out and walk...
exercise your gray matter...
get off all those pills...
stan sand
"A woman is not just someone whose shape is praised
only for her legs or arms... but one whose entire appearance
allows for the possibility of admiring her individual parts." Seneca!
The greatest example of quality,
of human greatness!
Spiritual superiority,
moral development,
elevated evolution,
celestial proximity,
with the highest spheres...
This is woman,
the synthesis of what it means to be human!
Woman, human being
holder of potential
of divine virtues,
missionary creature
granted by God...
Therefore, close
to the divine works
to care, watch over, and give love...
Woman, fulcrum of compassion
endowed with a sense of balance
knows how to act in disparate situations
with tenderness and competence
handles mistakes with
mastery and dexterity...
Woman is the greatest love,
the mainspring of life!
the ultimate symbol of beauty!
In the Australian vernacular
he was a ‘flea-bitten’ grey.
Not dappled like a dream horse
but speckled like a rock and not a
fine large horse like Tom Cable’s
roman-nosed, Major.
Dad had traded for him- with Tom -
two rolls of barbed wire and a fence strainer.
He came with a used saddle and bridle and
the high spirits of the seldom ridden.
Dad knew, that before he would let me mount him,
he had to take the 'curry' out of him -
rode him hard through a ploughed paddock.
Rode him until he stood in a foaming sweat
ears sideways, subdued.
I can’t forget being led, those first few rides
“Don’t let go of his head, Dad” I’m not ready yet,” Dad
and I knew the horse sensed the trembling in my being,
until one day, his bone- jarring trot, became a solved puzzle.
I felt a gathering- a sense of balance
between the pony’s mouth, the stirrups and the reins
and suddenly from a secret fulcrum
I was posting, “Let him go now, Dad,” I shouted,
A sweet transition to some rhythmic, magic floating
Around the homestead once and back I was cantering.
I pulled the reins, “Whoa boy!”
That first halt obeyed filled my head for days and days.