Long Shun Poems
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Let clichés get frowned at in poetry,
Though trite, a tested phrase is still my friend
That saves goodly time, trouble too to me,
Describing it in a long-winding hand.
The grass is greener and apples sweeter,
And why should those fish bite the other rod?
Why distant hills to me look prettier?
And ‘shining object syndrome’ seem so odd?
Yet, too little can I on the ‘ther side,
Were I to shun the use of a trite phrase,
Escape there’s none than a long-winding ride
That won’t invoke visions of envied grass.
Let trite phrase be the thief of joyous cake,
Clichés do some useful toys to me make.
_______________________________
Tongue-in-cheek | 03.07.2026 | cliché/word play, friend, humour, poetry, Sonnet
for the real meaning of Christmas Christ
Step down from heaven to save us
Emmanuel God's presence with us Jesus
Joyous peace agape love so close
Stepping down from heaven host
Name mercies Grace comes to save us
Holy in accordance creation sings
Revelry abundant grace heavenly
Triumphant poised peace salvation brings
Father in heaven author of heavenly things
Hopeful pageantry feels seventy
Kingdom beings nature Angel sings
Mercy's Grace shun Shines on His face
From this moment on freedom song
Birth not a mere mortal man Jesus
Amazing Grace birth to save Humanity
For the real meaning of Christmas Christ
From this moment on freedom song
Emmanuel God presence with us Jesus
11/30/23
For God Only Son Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Written: December 27, 2024 For Contest Sponsored by: Hilo Poet
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At dawn of a place cocooned once in avarice
silver-haired savvy savor sweetness
serene symphony of silliness...
Each echo is adorned
in mirrors of moments whilom
Still, the illness remains a threat
Silhouettes shaped by streetlight gloom.
Luigi Mangione delivers an arcane calix
crestfallen at awe-in junction of cathartic pain,
mark of jeopardy, spirits who stumbled
amid intricate twists of a complex web
where wellness waltzs whimsically as demon
sibylline, errorless, and suave
flimsy fusion of flux and mellifluous maunder.
Let us linger in lurched odds of yeender,
covenant, of concept, and courtesy
firm freedom fetching fairness for all.
seeking serenity in the scripts of statutes.
Yet we wonder, wrapped in a
whirlwind of wearying red tape
frailty of fitness, a puzzling paradox
where reviews reverberate as an epiphany
as doctors and designs decide the merit
yesterday's valiant victors,
confront morrow's troubling disregard.
Oh, the convoluted challenges of continuing!
a clock clicks constantly in the foreground
each tick teases the transience of time
whilst systems swirl swiftly shift and shape
to the tempo of transition, a thrum of turmoil
In a society that shuns, or selects to shun,
figures featuring fervent faces, fates at stake.
We stand strong, side by side, in such a struggle
amid a wave of apathy and regulations
the price of wellness is presented plainly
a burden of broad-based break bears our back
yet, we discover dynamism in togetherness
a steadfast strength of souls have survived storms
in chuckles of cherished seniors, once more liberated.
As we ascend from the abyssal katabatic,
let us linger on the lessons learned
a frailty of life, a grace of guardianship
and let Luigi’s manifesto heard an odyssey
a clarion call for a fairer future
where the weak are warmly welcomed
and the whispers of a wretched world
weave a wondrous wave of wellness.
They say I’m too beautiful—
as if awe were a crime,
as if the curve of jaw and flame
should beg for lesser time.
Outside my town, they stop and stare,
women whisper, “Is he real?”
But back at home, my beauty burns
in hearts too numb to feel.
They say I’m too cold—
as if frost were a flaw,
as if the peace I found in ice
defied their sacred law.
I breathe where others lose their breath,
I stand where heat would make them kneel.
They melt in panic—I remain,
the calm they’ll never steal.
Too beautiful to be embraced,
too cold to be controlled.
Too much for those who only love
what fits their bitter mold.
I thought beauty meant something good—
a grace, a light, a balm.
But mine became a loaded word
in hands that shun the calm.
I walk alone, a paradox—
a flame encased in snow.
They hate the man who dares to shine
where they refuse to grow.
They call me names, they twist my truth,
they spit what they can’t tame.
But I am not their broken lens,
not their projected shame.
Too beautiful for their small eyes,
too cold for their warm lies.
Too whole, too sharp, too elemental—
a truth they won’t baptize.
So let them choke on what I am,
let them drown in what I give.
I am the echo of their loss—
the beauty they could never live.
A Bowl of Sadness
When I awoke he was gone, well,
not really gone but disappearing,
slowly, as the misty fog on the surface
of a mirror lake. His memory lingers
and sometimes returns, as does the
mist, but never stays. I missed him
less and less as time and loneliness
conspired to invent stories that could
be conjured up and smile about.
They failed and left me only the truth.
The truth, what truth is there in a
darkened room, a faded, fearful moment,
a never ending scar. What truth,
save the lie of truth denied, obscured,
hidden lest the truth destroy the true.
I grew to hate him, to despise his weakness,
his frailty, his fear, vowing never to be like
him. I built a calloused frame about myself,
banishing him to pained seclusion,
vowing never to depend on or befriend
any such as he. His wailing would awaken me
at times, rekindling the fear of darkened room,
and a moment ever fresh. At times I would
not shun him, would allow him rest upon
warm bed, grant him freedom from his
fear and avert my eyes from living’s
scar. Sometimes we sit together
and share a bowl of sadness.
John G. Lawless
Before I knew any better
I loved the nighttime best
to slip outside and take a walk
while all the world's at rest
To feel the cool upon my skin
to smell fresh earthy air
to see the glitter of distant stars
to dream awake, aware
Amid the mystical moonlight
and dancing shadows from trees
I sang, and played, and laughed, and sighed
so young, untamed and free
'Though midnight's magical silence
would cast an eerie spell
I felt at ease within the world
alive and very well
I'd sprawl on beds of clover
scale haystack mountains tall
or sometimes splash in moonlit pools
as rain began fall
Embraced by all the universe
I thought no ill could come
from creeps, or fiends, or criminals
or other human scum
But age has made me wiser
through tragedy and time
and I've begun to gladly shun
the dark for hidden crimes
Before I knew any better
I loved the nighttime best
now daytime is my guardian
and brings me welcome rest
I'm hurting inside.... it feels as though my soul had died, sometimes I want to lay down and die, but my eyes were open..all i could do was cry, from the pain and iniquity that kept me in a lie, drowning as my creator he passes me by, grow with your new family or shall I say be around, for you will watch me as I remove myself from a disaster before it even goes down, I loved you even knowing your wickedness, I ignored it because I wanted to rekindle the times we missed, unfortunately you shun me sent me a mist, for you not to be mine creator that is my final wish, why have you created me this way, all I know is secrets an disarray, I thank you... it made me strong enough, to banish you along with all of your stuff, you are no longer in my memories disappeared an Vanished, you are no longer in my dreams under my care or in my deepest wish, creater I called out to you for help, then behind my back you whisper to the Stars secrets behind Orion's belt, creator ever since you came around my life has been a living hell , incarcerated fighting but who am I but a man to repeal a thousand running through the cell, decreate me oh creator and pass me on, forget me.. erase me from your memory as if I was never born, oh creator how could I be born in darkness, but yet I was born with a heart and not heartless, release your foul grip upon me, so i may move upon this world oh so peacefully. Oh creator please stop are you stabbing me with the blade of a thousand Lies, oh creator they hate me they abandoned me and left me with a thousand goodbyes, you are breaking my heart, I loved you but now we are apart,I met this woman by day, but just as quick as the night came she stole my heart away, I was blinded and I never seen you coming, my creator with open eyes she was stunning, Then she begin to talk with words but not forthcoming, she spoke of forever as if it was our own, her decrees she created placed upon her then became unknown, oh creative look at this world, your creation is suffering in agony.. from a confused girl, please.. self Hurt No More
Solitary can remind us of who we are.
I rubbed the skin cluster wait for hope star.
A shield wall adds depth to the seas shallow
Coyness hides in a falsehood shadow.
Out of the darkness, into the light of day.
For my spiritual world, I should shun.
God's light has pointed me in the right way.
From post to a shaft, it shines alike the sun.
Although I was caught with foresight.
I haven't screamed or yelled loudly yet.
resilient to odd stops or writing blight.
any traps that might strain to be beset.
Outside, the land of fury and weeping,
Darkness hides a fear set to emerge.
Although years are a hurdle, creeping
Who grasp us will find we're a scourge
Written: December 19, 2022
I wrote these words as an easy song,
with lilting lines to pull you along.
Each rhyme extends a welcome hand—
"Come sing with me; Come join the band!"
A poem draws its words from heart to page.
Each verse invites your soul to engage.
The chorus a poet bleeds is the hymn of the heart,
that leads you to where your own songs start.
You praise the craft, the rhyme, and grace,
the measured pulse, the careful pace.
But when the chorus calls your name
you lower your eyes and shun the flame.
For every poem longs to reveal
every quiet truth it dared conceal.
A poem only starts with a simple song.
The chorus waits, for hearts to belong.
I wrote a hymn to light your way,
not to bind your footsteps where mine lay.
Should you find truths I never knew,
I'll sing the verse, that belongs to you.
I never sang to make you mine,
or keep you walking on my line.
The song is only passing through—
until it finds its true voice in you.
So let my images now depart;
I hope my words become the art,
that awakens an artist within the dark,
where the embers wait find their spark.
I write what I still yearn to show,
what I can't silence or not let go.
So take what you need, then make it anew.
Let your own chorus arise in you.
Like a whip-sword with a blade, it looked humble and curled.
I thought it's the softest pink sapphire in the world.
In your brawl with me, for causeless cause, when you swore
Endless embers of volcanoes gushed from your core.
Your pessimism, like toxin-puffed balloons, soared high
A pain from within me throbbed into a sigh
Scorn, like fire from fighting swords, from you blazed forth
Is there, deep within you, an inferno of wrath?
Did I, in the past, shun showing you my favour?
I, now, feel ashamed to have you as my neighbour.
I thought you're precious and preserved you as a pearl.
What tempest, I don't know, turned you a pool of whirl.
Though storms taunt time and again, do Banyan trees weep?
With your thorny, rude words, I feel awake from sleep.
No one can make rules for me to live with a snake.
What use is a neighbour who gives nothing but ache?