Long Sentimentality Poems
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SENTIMENTALITY
Sentimentality,
Or, synonym of Insanity!
If you indulge, it will bulge and enlarge
to engulf you at ease.
and power of judgement to decrease puzzling you.
Sentimentality to exhibit an illusion view.
Not sentimental but be practical to analyse.
Allow the brain to work in full
not to nourish weakness of mind
making you fool and mesmerised.
Sentimentality rushes by emotive urge
driving out all senses of reasoning
non functioning brain
to direct or to guide.
Partly mental paralysis.
05/30/22
Sentimentality
Contest by Julia Ward
The threshing floor divides the brisk cold winds
and too gentle zephyr of mortality.
I choose the rose-red blush where death rescinds.
My mind reels with the thrill of whiteout blinds
buffeted by green field sentimentality.
The threshing floor divides the brisk cold winds.
Exciting the throng, leather football winds.
Gruff padded players gift us vitality.
I choose the rose-red blush where death rescinds.
To feel so alive in sweaters, not thinned,
bouncing along in haywagon of normality.
The threshing floor divides the brisk cold winds.
Pumpkin and apple pies, corn, all else tinned.
Harvest festivals of cordiality.
I choose the rose-red blush where death rescinds.
A scarecrow field stays put in our minds
filled with Halloween unreality.
The threshing floor divides the brisk cold winds
I choose the rose-red blush where death rescinds.
6/21/2020
Month of the year I like most Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mohan Chutani
The complexity of the modern world abates
As the simplicity of nature takes hold
A tug of the legs – a lamb emerges
Life begins
A first intake of breath
Tentative steps on unstable legs
The mother nuzzles encouragement
The lamb suckles – the bond is formed
For the shepherds
Night and day are punctuated by the lambing shed
Empathy between them and their flock
Care and compassion but no sentimentality
In sheep pens expectant ewes clamber together
Quiet pervades, nervous tension mounts
The dominant sound is birdsong
A lullaby for new births
Stillborns, singles, twins, triplets
Coloured numbers record the story
Motherless pets guzzle milk from bottles
Whilst ewes with their lambs progress to the fields
Sheltering in a dip, older lambs learn to live
As the harsh easterly wind blows across the dormant field
On a high bank
Stocky rams survey the outcomes of their deeds
Ruminating ceases as heads lift in unison
The shepherd approaches
Feeding troughs refilled
Ewes jostle for their daily fayre
The sheepdog presses herself into the ground
A coiled spring awaiting her master’s command
Action – the formation dance begins
To the right, to the left, straight on, finale
Demanding, frustrating, rewarding
The way of life on the farm
Back, back to the joyful wood
where once you played at Robin Hood.
One-time playground, a beauty spot,
is now an Asda parking lot.
Back, back to the school bike shed
behind which you kissed or smoked instead.
You could buy a pack for half a crown.
The school's not there; the shed burned down.
Back, back to your very first catch,
together you were the perfect match.
Wonderful days and nights that were hot.
Now they are married, with children-a lot!
Back back to the car you first drove
that set you free to roam and rove.
Lovely then, but now you're aware
it guzzles gas, pollutes the air.
Back, back to the friends you once had.
They were young, weird, kooky, and mad;
what a gang, you were all wild and crazy.
Now we are all old, fat, and lazy.
Back, back to the old hairstyle,
it was a glorious purple pile.
Your mother and father were both appalled.
Unfortunately, now, you're primarily bald.
Back, back to relive your past,
those times you were having a blast.
Life was fun; it was all about play.
Why did it stop? Can no one say?
Sentimentality Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Date wrote: 31st May 2022
Optimizing my essence-verity
being a contributor to ecology’s beauty
since for such I was created* by the Almighty…
allow me now to advertise my blessed bounty
as the lone surviving specie’s variety!
Have you tasted me with my offered "palatability?"
I was once a staple food in yesterday’s society
packed With antioxidant-capacity
along ready availability, and not found guilty of toxicity…
savour now my nutritive values of beneficial generosity!
You can’t belittle my ornamental products’ magnificent quality
revealing artistry marked by partnership-flexibility
of nature’s simplicity engaged with human’s dexterity
for handcrafted gifts and tokens of precious sentimentality…
check now my financial participation to workmanship’s intensity!
Bidding adieu calls for prudent sobriety
and I indeed believe that I have successors with integrity
to sow seeds of grace, kindness, and love’s purity
against extinction, greed and survival-of-the-fittest tenacity…
thus; now, I still see my family thriving with fruitful “acornic” stability!
*Genesis 1:1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
April 29, 2020
Personification in Monorhyme
Honorable Mention, "BRIAN'S CHOICE A,any form,any theme" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/13/2020.
I spotted a lonely cat dressed in a purplish blue
laying on a log remembering her love so untrue;
yards away, a couple watched in disbelief...
wondering if that was the cause of her grief?
I saw four brown kittens at her feet playing;
they rolled in the dirt and kept on raising dust,
chewing on twigs thick with moss and frost...
she looked at them with motherly feeling.
Those kittens weren't hers, her desire to adapt
them was strong, but to have the littlest one
was harder than rolling another heavy stone;
hours passed and she remained where she sat.
Do cats have feelings like us with profound thoughts
of fidelity and trust? Do they behave differently?
From what I had seen, they show sentimentality,
and this cat painted herself in blue to mourn her loss.
Entered in Debbie Gucci's contest,
" Ten Picture, Ten Poems, Ten Poets, Ten Days "
Written on 1/ 7/ 2016
Poem # 3
Untitled
We dance across the heavens, like shining stars,
to the never ending beat of our universes heart.
Its song, time – sometimes – becomes dull, grey,
aches of sentiment, in the throes of lofty sentimentality
that becomes red dew, flowering over the cornea, of a rose
releasing its sweet fragrance, ever so slightly, lightly
down the sides of its imaginary nose.
Sentiment, envy, desire, so anther life goes.
B. J. “A” 2
April 18th 2003
Untitled
I stand on the edges of a desire,
a desire to be all that, – in this life –
I have never been, – in all likelihood –
could never be, for it is not in me.
Yet, in me, it is, as I read biographies,
autobiographies, ancient histories,
I see the dream – illusive as it seems.
Heavy sheets of liquid crystal hang,
fall before these old brown eyes.
Only, the telling comes in ripples
that dot the landscape of reflections
painted upon the cold black surface,
of a pavement that lays before me.
A sad portrait is painted every day,
it comes in the reflections, of those reflections.
Life has flown me through valleys richly
carpeted in jewels, emerald green and serine.
Life has dragged me over rough, ancient mountains,
dropped me over sharp edged, rugged cliffs.
Life has hauled me across screaming creeks,
down raging rivers without a paddle.
Life has thrown me into the fires of hell,
upon plumes of smoke, sent into the ether.
Life has guided me into heavenly spaces
where one will find beautiful places.
Life has shipped me into the shadow less abysses
of blackness where light of night stars hang
in the endless skies where one opens eyes
B. J. “A” 2
April 19th 2003
Untitled
Life lived – looking back –seems to have been as poverty laden
as the life that lays before these tired old feet – its faden
with inactivity, motiveless, motionlessness passages of time.
The richness in both – lost to another time and state of mind.
And who really may care ?, about the poverty in both.
And who really may care ?, about the richness of both.
And who really may care ?, about the memories of both.
And who really may care ?, about the life or death of both.
With Easter at hand.
It seems the hand is the only one who cares.
Assumed death ?, assumed resurrection ?
B. J. “A ” 2
April 20th 2003
does bound by marriage appeal, yet the
missus would be left high and dry, (or low
and wet if she dwelt closer to sea level), this
bleakness especially pronounced as role of
fatherhood no longer viable, enjoyable, applicable
aware how offspring impacted by poor examples
of parents accentuated by appalling housekeeping,
additionally progeny's psyche indelibly defiled,
hi-jacked, scarred with husband and wife devoid
of affection toward each other, and NOT prioritizing
welfare of deaux darling daughters want nothing
more with us, which evokes sentimentality, when
interaction between biological dada and then young
girls generated laughter and utterances regularly
voicing "I love you and mama" came to screeching
halt upon, particularly selfishly expending valuable
time answering and posting personal advertisements
seeking discreet liaisons, and within overheard
half conversation with earshot (even if bedroom
door locked) prurient laced conversations, and
contrived secret rendezvous (most like intuitively
suspected by eldest, she still harbors resentment
towards yours truly countless shortcomings only
vicariously experienced getting invites to fully
functional dynamic, immaculate, roomy Mainline
classmates living envious lives.
Objectionable behavior (mine) as dada also applied
not so prodigal son questioning judgement cast during
salutary estrangement constituting singular male
progeny within family of origin.
sentimental
pent up mental
scented rental
experiential
cinnamon and pumpkin spice
aroman therapy candles suffice
to crucify the nasal passage
upwards to the brain to savage
gushing syrup like a maple
use a hammer on a staple
utter lack of self control
dug a hole and down he fell
deep in an emotive well
id run wild, the cry me emo
needs a toxic dose of chemo
cling to misremebered past
nauseous, maudlin scenes recast
not sure which of these is worse:
blubberous folk, or sappy verse
caustic, hostile's where it's at
bone and gristle, it's all that
————-
for the Sentimentality Poetry Contest
sponsored by Julia Ward
written on 05/26/22
lol
on a roll
I wrote and sent you another letter
But down deep inside it don't make me feel any better
Hearing the sound of your voice now that's a different story
For right now however, she is the one who gets all that kind of glory
While I'm the one afar waiting and adoring
God what I would give for just once more to have your touch
But all with me has been hushed
And once again I'm left here to handle being crushed
You have yet to really get just what exactly you do to me
And how loving you made me see
Just how to love unselfishly
As well as unconditionally
So this letter I wrote and sent you contains what together we share in, sentimentality
But you don't have to worry I know all to well the reality
Of you coming back to me
And how it may not again come to be
However I can keep right on hoping and dreaming
For here in this time and in these very moments
The hoping and dreaming is all I seem to have left and you need to somehow be shown this
I wrote and sent you another letter
But no for now it still don't make me feel any better
...but if you are happy then you go on trying to be in love with her...