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His hand reached out to mine, open,
Holding it, I smiled, our eyes danced with understanding,
Form and blush outlined his expectations,
But I could see that there may be fear inside.
Mary restated their predicament,
That the child was born out with the marriage bond,
And that people were swaying to the opposite side,
And course dialogue, laughter and spitting were norm.
So I asked the two for their thoughts and predictions,
About the child, if he perhaps could be like, special?
And they specified that he would cure, heal and exorcise,
And also promised that they’d talk to him about the poor.
Could this baby be the messiah?
I pondered and hoped in their certainty;
Was this the predicted son of god?
He would be free from aggressive victimisation,
If we could just name him as god's son.
So I suggested to his parents,
That if the wise men came with a quest,
To accept the name Jesus Christ,
And certify the census, no less.
Freedom for some is in lying,
When there’s no possible alternatives,
But I believe Joseph never lied,
In the population census of Bethlehem,
That just so happened to pass by.
The child would have been suppressed by all,
Assumed to be dirty and unclean,
Not for chat or dialogue,
And certainly not for work in a trade of his call,
Or for work in any trade for that matter.
Nothing would ever have been done,
The poor would never have been healed,
Or not so quickly for sure in history;
The government would not have been rifled,
And Christ would not have come.
Treating the poor for health problems,
Would have come through government legislation,
A long time after Christ,
In an austere, aloof manner.
People to people relationships,
Would not have been respected,
If care had been awarded top-down,
By bureaucrats and officials:
As supervisors of the protected.
Society at that time was narrow minded,
Stuck in traditional religion;
There were outcasts, sinners, infectious people,
And assumptions were remedial and red:
There were no special people,
No exceptions to the rule,
Only one place for the messiah confided.
One baby matters to me,
A life should be saved at any cost and risk,
Because the abilities you show when young,
Shouldn’t be muffled or labeled regressive,
But nurtured in acceptance and love.
An unkempt man approached me one dark evening
'In pursuit', he said, 'of a favour'
'A drink' he explained, but I was unsure of his meaning
When he specified it should be of a refined yet peculiar flavour
Then as he percieved I was not repelled, he moved nearer to enhance his rapport
Until in the light of a streetlamp I could see the bottle he held
And I wondered what fate had in store
It was clear now he was dressed in strange clothing
Of a style that one rarely meets
Except for perhaps if roving, in a town of Dickensian streets
I failed not to judge as I leaned closer to hear just what he might suggest
I thought 'how gracious of me to humour this poseur
In his pale make-up, black bowler and velvet overvest'
On the bottle he held his black fingernails drummed
They were varnished as per his morbid fashion
And in his throat the tune he hummed
Spoke of past revels and passion
Until at last had mustered his confidence and a pleasing tone
In which he proceeded to intimate his desire
That alas, he possessed no blood he could call his own, so therefore he was forced to enquire
As to the possibility of a small donation, it would not take much time just a tick
The procedure requiring just two things worthy of mention
Those being a vein and a slit
Of course I recoiled aghast, and vainly attempted to call
As I found I could not make a sound
Then it was only when my head lolled down that I saw
His feet hovering an inch from the ground
I was unable to engage any muscles as a fingernail pierced my left wrist
Or when he filled his bottle with a pint of my best red corpuscles
Then pocketed it with a hiss
He said he could see why he might be reviled
For the comtempt he had treated me with
Then he parted his lips and smiled
To allude to the fiendish alternative
It was a smile of rapacious appearance, that made my heart shiver and shudder
For as anyone could tell from even that quick glance
His smile was a smile like no other
Then with a doff a wink and a smirk
He smoothly departed our puddle of light
And melting into the inky black murk
He receded into the night
Now whenever I am about after dark
I determine to not be so too late
And ever since that experience left it's cruel mark
I portage garlic cloves, holy water and a stake
he was looking for a new enemy
for it was the man he hated before
which defined his very being &
in that respect, there was no other
who could possibly take his place---
he searched far and wide, after the last
fight had come to a close---two
young men with all the anger in the world
comparing themselves to two old men
who in giving up on everything had only
each other to hate.
with clenched fists he walked in his
black wool trench coat during the frigid
december early afternoons,
keeping his eyes peeled for a target in which
he might shed some of the pent up aggression,
however,
to no avail, his search ended as quickly as it
began & home he went,
frustrated & without the meaning that an
exchange of mutual despise could
bring (as it had so many times before).
twiddling his thumbs inside his cavern of
confusion, he wondered just what he would do
if he never did find another adversary?
inevitably, after drinking himself into a stupor,
he meandered to the bathroom to relieve
himself, taking a moment to stare into the
mirrored reflection before exiting the room.
the young man gaining wrinkles by the day
saw the old man happy still in his ability to
nitpick at such lesser priorities in life,
especially when his friends were dropping like
flies, their bodies filled with all those
wonderful cancers & diseases that come to
you once you’ve carved your little niche out in the
world.
he wasn’t envious, but he was jealous of the
meaning that came with disease---he wondered if
he had developed the problems that came with
the lives of others he’d known, if he would
treat himself as the sickness then---for, he
would disappear into the vast mass of
individuals whose lives had been cut short,
whose personalities were now time clocks
all set to a differently specified ending---
one which was already know,
and therefore, much less interesting.
on the contrary,
if he was to make the very absence of
sickness his enemy, then he felt he’d catch
himself in a damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-
don’t sort of context,
where meaning might arise in whatever
conclusion did come from that mindset---
still, tracing the wrinkles in his face with his
index, he imagined that not even he
could take such a cliché seriously enough to
act on it.
(which above frolicsome gambit I mastered)
After mine wife
asks for this, that
or something else rife
with intent to provide barrel of laughs,
(likened to barrel of monkeys)
yours truly crafts
description how we share mirth
validating how our respective worth
matters each to the other acting childlike
to stave off altercations
that might come down figurative pike
worst case scenario whereby I strike
mine steadfast fine
(prairie home) companion.
Neither rules nor regulations exist
to our made up silly game
whereby whenever
one of us knowingly reaches out
to latch hold of desired item
specified by name,
the other person feigns to hand over
then pulls back same
alluded to object
held aloft (think
non verbal teasing banter)
said motions sustained
moments before until...
participant/ recipient
(trying in vain to grab
their coveted cherished
jackknifed prized possession)
becomes angry as raging bull.
Ofttimes when I pretend to surrender
that specific something sought after
by her royal highness prefers advanced version,
she doth lapse into her guttural patois,
which scrambled, throttled, and vocalized
(back of the throat utterances)
metrically syncopated
(couching unspoken) unclear clues
her primal wordless request
vaguely analogous
to decipher cryptograms,
whereby, I learned to look for patterns.
Yesteryear selective pastimes
whiling away hours
included many a cognitively
challenging endeavors
comprising decoding enigmatic
intriguing looking English language riddles
located within entertainment section
of The Philadelphia Inquirer
no I could never solve sudoku,
but eldest daughter (Eden Liat -
yea "star student" who matriculated
and graduated summa cum laude
courtesy University of Pennsylvania
breezed thru those logic-based,
combinatorial number-placement puzzle.
How bland a marriage devoid of non
establishmentarian activities, none
of which include physical intimacy,
cuz me libido indeed went deep south
linkedin with half dozen plus medications
yours truly readily swallows
prescribed medication to alleviate
mental health issues such as:
anxiety, obsessive compulsive behavior,
palmar hyperhidrosis,
mild depression et alia.
Many eyes of different color
see images and give them meaning;
reality is the clearest perception,
which brings on its sweetness,
and often an unacceptable bitterness:
I have given these reflective eyes
a choice and a challenge: to either
accept or refuse when they were observing,
to make conception uniquely mine...
being that courageous soul uneffected by lies!
Nothing that came out of these thoughts
was ever imagined by someone else;
everything that happened specified its reason,
and analyzing events...magnified the scope of its revelation:
all that this mind has poured out and revealed,
or even failed to discern is uniquely mine!
How foolish I would have been, if I hadn't been
able to bring to completion what had already been decided by fate;
another tragedy, and even more disappointment,
to have stood by and watched others win!
Every parade has some happy music and gleeful faces,
and life glides along with the same rhythm and pace,
it's up to us to show all the colors of our true intentions,
and if we fail, we are pushed aside by a crowd
which instills in its heart a zest that dignifies pride;
so no matter how weak our ego gets and trust dwindles,
we must make sure that hope is never is put by doubt...
otherwise it becomes a useless dream without a concept!
And deeply reflecting on this inevitable demise,
I let go of all my susceptibility and retain what is uniquely mine!
Numerous lives have been shattered by negligence and greed,
mine has withstood all tests and declared its own, indisputable victory;
and it wasn't won by avarice, but by deligence and ingenuity,
to make all wonder how I was never taken down by this heavy load!
What they needed was the strength to endure almost anything:
jealousy, envy, injustice, evil, unfairness ,controversy and misery;
I will not envision that famous figure being carved in marble, stone or brass,
being put on the higest pedetal soon after his mourned death;
if vanity were all I had pursued and fought for in my turbulent time,
I couldn't have achieved my goal: to keep what is uniquely mine!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Not for the contest
No more do I despair
writing for contests with an off the wall theme
Those that want me to create a nightmare
from what was once a beautiful dream.
No more do I care
about Marvel characters who fight and kill
I'd rather spend my time writing silly limericks
for fun and honing a particular poetry skill
than worrying about meter and syllable tricks.
No more do I write
for contests where a sponsor forbids me to choose
how many spaces I indent each middle line
by someone who thinks they're a bard. No, I refuse
to write for a yobo whose rules constrict and confine.
No more contests
do I enter for judges who hold grudges and spite
or who offer friendship placements with a wink.
It's not fair to good poets who get N/A'd as a backbite
I've no more interest in participation with pen and ink
No longer care
to write for judges who give novel length instruction
Yes, rules should be followed, but not to such extreme.
It negates poetic license, serving as a poetic obstruction
making that contest sponsor, head of his or her regime.
No more writing
for those who prohibit adjectives and adverbs be used
or if the sponsor has never written in the specified form.
The power that some feel as a judge can be abused
while preaching about dos and don'ts from a platform.
Oh, spare me
from those who don't know the use of literary devices,
metaphors, proper grammar, and over doing alliteration.
To anyone who wants to enter contests, my advice is...
"Don't take a crown seriously. It will lead to abdication."
No more issues
to deal with sponsors who change their minds midway
through contests because no entries for the theme... bizarre,
and decide, without warning they have the right to say,
"I can do what I want." Who made them the contest czar?"
No blight is this
on judges who sincerely host, giving up their leisure time
to make PS a place where everyone can take an active part.
Those who appreciate good fun in free verse or with rhyme.
I applaud the fair-minded sponsors who have a good heart.
A few weeks ago, I decided to not enter PS contests any longer.
Mine fervent aspiring political activism...
Gunning gusto, (while rosy axles grind)
for Bernie Sanders dagnabbit
nipped in figurative bud triggered zilch
prospects to germinate,
cultivate, and amalgamate
late blooming spore port as
schlocky, reedy, quirky, political neophyte,
whose aura, charisma, dogma
enigma, persona... absent gregarious masculinity.
Scant hours after posting Facebook message
Monday February 17, 2020
(regarding becoming linkedin
among Bernie Sanders's supporters
within Southeastern Montgomery Pennsylvania
hinting genuine motive (mine of course)
to join local grassroots bandwagon
electing catapulting aforementioned
Democratic candidate president,
into Oval Office
overwhelmingly elected
Tuesday November 3, 2020
an unexpectedly pleasant forthcoming response
(courtesy Jon Hall seven nine five eight at gmail)
informed yours truly transcendently, telepathically
inspired debate watch party
would be (accompanied when in full swing)
by most popular contra dance bands,
and eminently choreographed counting
topnotch cadres of policy wonks
upstairs at Molly Maguire's Irish Restaurant
(197 Bridge Street,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania)19460
slated for Wednesday
March 19th, 2020 at 2000 hours military time.
Guess what dear readers...?
Yours truly, (an aging,
albeit eternally youthful
long haired pencil necked geek)
never experienced sought after fraternization
think ennobling rite of northwest passage
comprising electrifying informality
getting plugged into self-described
indomitable enthralling brouhaha
starring none other than
Democratic socialist and independent senator
from Green Mountain state
(by Samuel de Champlain in 1647)
Bernie Sanders exuding vim and vinegar
at age seventy eight
heartily hailing (no kidney ying)
who served in government since 1981.
I showed up at designated place
and specified time,
and got politely informed
courtesy young attractive hostess,
no such arousing, inspiring, spine tingling...
commingling of eager electorates slated,
thus overzealousness (mine)
bit the dust i.e. never got kickstarted.
Mine fervent aspiring political activism...
Gunning gusto, (while rosy axles grind)
for Bernie Sanders dagnabbit
nipped in figurative bud triggered zilch
prospects to germinate,
cultivate, and amalgamate
late blooming spore port as
schlocky, reedy, quirky, political neophyte,
whose aura, charisma, dogma
enigma, persona... absent gregarious masculinity.
Scant hours after posting Facebook message
Monday February 17, 2020
(regarding becoming linkedin
among Bernie Sanders's supporters
within Southeastern Montgomery Pennsylvania
hinting genuine motive (mine of course)
to join local grassroots bandwagon
electing catapulting aforementioned
Democratic candidate president,
into Oval Office
overwhelmingly elected
Tuesday November 3, 2020
an unexpectedly pleasant forthcoming response
(courtesy Jon Hall seven nine five eight at gmail)
informed yours truly transcendently, telepathically
inspired debate watch party
would be (accompanied when in full swing)
by most popular contra dance bands,
and eminently choreographed counting
topnotch cadres of policy wonks
upstairs at Molly Maguire's Irish Restaurant
(197 Bridge Street,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania)19460
slated for Wednesday
March 19th, 2020 at 2000 hours military time.
Guess what dear readers...?
Yours truly, (an aging,
albeit eternally youthful
long haired pencil necked geek)
never experienced sought after fraternization
think ennobling rite of northwest passage
comprising electrifying informality
getting plugged into self-described
indomitable enthralling brouhaha
starring none other than
Democratic socialist and independent senator
from Green Mountain state
(by Samuel de Champlain in 1647)
Bernie Sanders exuding vim and vinegar
at age seventy eight
heartily hailing (no kidney ying)
who served in government since 1981.
I showed up at designated place
and specified time,
and got politely informed
courtesy young attractive hostess,
no such arousing, inspiring, spine tingling...
commingling of eager electorates slated,
thus overzealousness (mine)
bit the dust i.e. never got kickstarted.
The cottage was no more than just a shack,
But it certainly took memories back,
To that place, where I spent all my young days,
Living and learning, it’s all quite a haze.
Yes poor, but always had enough to eat.
My dad was hard, and oh, my mum was sweet.
A good combination to raise a lad,
I was always happy with what I had.
Fishing and exploring my dog with me,
As it all came back to my memory.
Not having much, there's a thing to be said,
Kids like what they’ve got and make do instead.
Most do not crave more than what they have got.
So poor kids do not find they need a lot,
A pole to fish, a log on which to sit,
A stick to throw the dog, few friends close knit.
Fun and exercise, a creek to swim in, *
Things change when he grows to notice women*.
Then it is time to move to the big smoke.
Women will show no mind to a poor bloke.
They like to be romanced and you should know,
That requires a good job to earn some dough.
It’s farewell, I was off to the city,
Now looking for a lass very pretty.
Finding the sweetest girl did take a while.
I knew I’d found her when I saw her smile.
Now with my wife and our four kids, life's good.
I will try not to spoil them, though I could.
I’m a happy bloke, take all in my stride.
But I look back on that old shack, with pride.
The Lord’s fair I lived a good life indeed.
Avoided temptation helped those in need.
Walking a path, times to follow or lead.
Sponsor : Kim Rodrigues
Contest Name : Take a Chance on Chanco
5 verses. 6 lines in each . 10 syllables in each line
Envoi 3 lines. 10 syllables each line.
Spelling, Grammar HMS all checked
Rhyme Zone used. 3rd Verse Lines 5 & 6
Rhyme Zone quotes two poems that have used Near Rhyme
• Swim in * Women as Near Rhyme.
Rhyme theme: AABBCC, DDEEFF, GGHHII, JJKKLL, MMNNOO, PPP
Posted 26th May 2023
With 6 lines per verse, I did not know how to do ABAB rhyme style as specified in your requirements as ABAB is only for 4 line verses.I took a chance and entered it anyway.
The Magna Carta changed the rule of law,
That is, what the law was and who it was for,
From being a simple, dashing validation of the king,
To being about truth, reason and justice free-standing.
The Charter came into existence in 1215 with a rebellion,
Against King John and how he forced his will:
He could seize anyone’s cart, steal anyone’s livelihood,
Take their corn to dismiss whatever self-worth they’d tilled.
The barons and churches were given power:
Rights from illegal imprisonment and theft of money;
The church was allowed to worship and theologise,
Until John was not a legitimate monopolising authority.
However, church rights were only important,
Because in those days God was the small talk;
The conversation point and heartfelt social cause,
Such that religion became the concern of the first clause.
The Charter let ordinary people become,
Individual citizens, equal human beings to the king;
Saved them from their position as submissive servants,
Made them represented, and eventually self-ruling.
It allowed for the charging of taxes,
To raise an army of representative citizens,
Fit for the job of fighting and controlling,
Rather than simply enlisting those who were just willing.
Individualism as a pejorative term,
First appeared in the 1830s from the Owenites;
John Stuart Mill fostered and influenced it greatly,
Such that it's now a non-negotiable fundamentality.
Political governance needs individualism,
Albeit not as much as the tories would say;
Existentialism succeeded it and is implied by it,
Because meaning is your call and not the monarchy’s play.
There were many more Charters after that,
And they all specified the ordinary persons right,
To a fair trial and to state justice yourself,
With your imprisonment being your prison officer’s fight.
Rights and liberties pre-exist their enforcement,
And the original Magna Carta admitted that stout;
Gave people their intrinsic worth as human beings,
Created a people-centred land of devolved clout.