Long Spring to life Poems
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T'is the time of year when things do go bump in the night
a time when witches come back to life ready to snatch a child
to boil up in their evil cauldron that walks and even can talk
oh the vile stories it could tell of potions made from their flesh
The nasty things that are all a bubble in an evil stinking broth
an eye pops up and gives a wink while rats slowly boil away
bones of children, their blood and flesh stewing until thick
making an evil concoction along with slugs snails and dragon blood
The cauldron hisses and spits venomous stench flooding out
the witches gleefully cackle and cluck as it takes a life of its own
they pour the potion on the ground and up spring foul creatures
crying and wailing like banshees they take to wing to cause mayhem
A time when the dead rise up and for a few hours rule the world
Stay inside if you wish to be safe, don't venture out if you are wise
pumpkins with evil grins spring to life searching for the unwary
giant blood sucking bats fly through the thick air on silent wings
Everywhere the spirits of the dead wait for the unwary fool
who ventures forth on the Hallowed Eve, not time to be out
if you go with your friends to Trick or Treat don't ask for a trick
that,s the surest way for the witches to spirit you away for ever
Dark and sinister the night can you hear the werewolves howl?
slithering snakes with forked tongues coil ready to strike at you
cold icy fingers reach out grasping trying to capture you as you pass
It really is a night to be home tucked up safe before your warm fire
For this one night all good is smothered and chaos rides forth
the chasm is open and monsters freely walk and hunt for souls
zombies shamble along desperate for fresh blood and human flesh
winged creatures of horrendous appearance take to the skies
Cap all this with wicked wizards and spotted purple poisonous toads
scarecrows gleefully join in the mayhem of this most foul of nights
giant pumpkins that have taken a life of their own are on the prowl
its a time to tuck yourself up in your cosy bed, holy water and cross ready
Don't venture out if you care for your soul for it will be snatched
and will leave you rotting in an eternal Halloween for all your days
written 08/30/2013
Contains More Than Kernel Of Truthful
alienation, expulsion, ostracization
from body politick
if member of society resistant,
indifferent, adamant, et cetera
despite differentiation
(across the figurative board)
intolerance opposing ethos,
asper unspoken social graces extant
(albeit manifested amidst diverse
livingsocial variations) within
rubric of global civilizations primal,
oral, nonverbal, et cetera codas
automatically decreeing manual Kant
instilled from cradle
to grave impossible mission scant
acceptance toward recalcitrant
challenging precepts via rave and/or rant
thus when born into whatever culture,
steeped with historical paradigm
one can protest superficial nigh cities
til ivy blue in the face,
or try to concoct a feeble rhyme
but culture club richly identified, endowed,
brewed from heritage long time
ago until the cows come home to roost
hence creative pursuits one direction
can turn to swiftly tailor
if harried styled
with perceived restrictive parameters
and cuss like a sailor
with song and dance routine
(perhaps appearing on Dancing
With The Stars), or
choosing subterfuge viz
writing nefarious malware code, where mailer
daemons spring to life, when computer code
following infinitely jesting illogic causing exhaler
(case in point - myself, hoot
ends tubby humorous) as yukon gauge
yet another Internet end user might experience
greater reason to rage
against the machine before
turning rogue gushing renegade, stage
jing anarchy against disparity
with equal pay, cuz a working wage
aint nuttin boot peanuts
so if strong willed, hook hairs
if you appear like a putz
just realize doggerel
of this pooch iz gaseous boot utterly without guts
and hangs around the junkyard
with other nerdy mutts.
Colors dance on the canvass of my life
In an intricate interplay of hues
Intensifying and weakening at different stages
Fluid colors in constant motion
As I age, different colors take precedence
While others slowly recede
Still present, yet less visible
Some colors are all time favorites
Ever strong, ever making their presence seen
The color of Beauty forever captivates me
I immerse myself in this hue
Letting its brilliance ravish my thoughts
Beautifying my life in every way
Truth is another color that graces this canvas
For without it, I cannot live
I need to see broad strokes of this hue
For it revives my heart
The brilliance of the color of Compassion
Pulsating with emotions of oneness...
With the world, with all that inhabits it
It ever moves me to reach, to feel, to belong
Hope, the color of dreams
For my dreams are saturated
In this vivid color
That makes the canvass spring to life
Hope, for a masterpiece to be
Passion, the most prominent color
Seen splashed everywhere on my canvass
The color deepening, ever deepening
Dark and rich, drawing the observing eye
To the wet colors that never dry
Always freshly painted
Bold, brash, audacious, alluring
Pronounced color overpowering every other shade
Passion, shows off her true self
Confident that she is the artist's most loved color
And then there is the color of Love
Capricious
Flitting
Transient
Erratic
Inconstant
Gracing the canvass now and then
Lightly splaying itself across the painting
Bright splashes of rich Gold
I try to focus my eyes on this hue
Wanting it to be evident
In every single image
In every single stroke
A tinge of gold
And yet I know
I know
The color of gold
Is “the hardest hue to hold”
I know this to be true
For my eyes brimming with tears have seen
The “dawn...[of love go]...down to day.”
On this canvass of my life
This truth is clearly displayed....
“Nothing gold can stay.”
Eileen Manassian Ghali
A variation on the poem by Robert Frost, Nothing Gold can Stay
Embracing Poetry
Freedom on the lam where the poet sings
To hearts imprisoned against their will;
Inspires the bereaved mind to spring to life
And uplift hearts bloom burst liberated
When pain of incarceration ceases.
‘Gloria excelsis deo’ in the world.
Frolic away poet and tell the world
Encouraging bosoms to join in song
Birth new beginnings where weed growth ceases
Let fresh hope generate unfalt'ring wills
Smothered with deeds abound with liberties
Death is certain, but poetry is life.
Martyrs forced into cages forfeit their lives
While conquerors plant flags around the world,
Stealing wealth and curtailing liberties
And muzzling lips that would otherwise sing
Of freedom’s great joy without broken will
With gladness boast liberty’s song ceaseless.
We’re I to stretch the bars `til flow ceased
And purge authority aspersing my life
And mock their failure to immure my will,
As I sail poetic rhymes in the world
With hearts of fellow poets yearning to sing,
Vociferously with new liberties.
But destiny’s path squashes liberty
And lungs collapse when inflation ceases
If evil is not rebuffed, who will sing
The babe to sleep in dreams of future life
Through sacrifices for Erato’s world
Inheriting bold character and will.
Still, they rehearse scripts to truncate my will
With mulct, to abrogate my liberty
Not you dear Poet nix not of this world
Whose toes skip over bloomed fields while mine ceases
To dance in delight to the verse of life
Ill speak they my name forbidding me sing.
Ere my will dims indulge me with song
Describing life’s passion for liberty
Let my heart beat cease in joy from the world.
***
Notes:
Gloria excelsis deo (Latin): Glory highest.
Erato: muse (Greek mythology) of lyric and poetry.
Urania: muse (Greek mythology) of music, song and dance.
Come gather by the mirrored lake
Dawn with the children born on suns horizon
Beds and pillows have to stay with empty sheets
Wait motionless with the company they keep
Stuffed animals are the guardians of the soul
Children return to safety when they sleep
Big people, always warm and friendly tuck them in
Wrap them together in their covers snug not tight
That wondrous protective cocoon
The comfort that they seek
Left behind are forgotten baby dreams
Nearly done as they remain unfinished
Perhaps to return to them one day when they are old
To be completed without a care content, serene
Hands rub the eyes of cobwebs from the night
When children try to wake to realize the wonders
New day blossoms by the shore in yellowed flowers
By the graveled edge where bunnies leave a shallow print
Fields near by flourish thick with foliage
Spring to life with young ones and their rosy cheeks
Buds burst forth from the nourished Earth
Opened with a smile in brightness on the forest floor
Red and orange delighted to be alive
Boys and girls want to interact with frogs and bugs
Not knowing if they are the good guys or not
But rise to the occasion anyway in pure excitement
Children dawn with music on the morning lake
In unison but at a distance from the sun
So as not to get burnt too soon or all at once
They paddle in the aluminum canoe through blue waters calm
Songs of life penetrate the soul by golden shores embrace
Looking on, at a glance, there are no waves reflected
Only a blinding light pours over the covered surface lake
Like solid glass through days embrace
Close in touch with nature
Mirrors the eyes of innocence
The sun and children keep secrets from each other
Both looking for their covers
Blanketed in sure love they bond
Dawn on together by the shores sun light forever
I watched them gather round
The warmth of your flame
Like campers at campfire time
Huddling close to you
Pushing and jostling
For the best place
I saw your warmth
Dancing off their faces
Small cinders escaping into the night
I followed the sparks drifting up
On the chilly breeze
Riding high…disappearing into the stars
I was cold
I was alone
On the edge
And yet…I dared not go near you
Though your light invited me
And I wanted so much to be warmed
By you
Yet….how could I find a place
By those encircling you
Watching the mesmerizing display
Of your orange and yellow flames
There was no place
Among the gathering of....
The strong, the beautiful, the insistent
So, on the outskirts I stayed
Tears trickling down my cheeks
Cold
Alone…
I waited…I held back
Until they all left
One by one
Some bumping into me
Not even aware that I was alive
I waited until you had almost died out
No longer on display
But a warm glow of embers
Still orange and glowing with desire
And I approached
Shyly…
Longingly…
Needing to see you dance
For me….only for me
And I coaxed you
In my clumsy way
My fingers cold
My heart ablaze
Suddenly....you burst into flame
A pillar of fire
Miracle of love
For I had not added any kindling
But my little heart
And yet it seems you had waited
Knowing I would come
And my slightest touch
Made the flames spring to life
Voracious flames
Flames reaching the high heavens
Your heat overpowering
Consuming
I almost threw myself into you
Wanting to reach the center
Of the heat and warmth
Of your beauty…
I spent the night
Out under the stars
Lying naked
Yet not cold
Naked
Yet not ashamed
Naked
Yet not shy
For your glow was my covering
I let myself be touched
Time and again
By licking fingers of fire
By the burning flames of your desire
For….ME!
For Gail's Contest
Touched by Your Flame
May 27, 2013
Wild flowers
They spring up to life,in the field where The Creator plants them
They are nurtured buy sun ,water,and feral soil,
They proclaim the glory of the artistry of their Creator
They grow and multiple until they reach their glorious peak
They wither,and fade into dust and are no more
All is orchestrated by the Creator's hand
Wild flowers
Artists praise your beauty,and try to capture your glory with paints on canvas
Farmers detest you presence ,and toil to remove you from the soil
For in their eyes you are nothing but a weed that competes and hinders the growth of their valued crops.
Wild flowers
Man is like the wild flower of the field
They spring to life in the world where The Creator has placed them
They are nurtured and blessed from the helplessness of infancy to the glory of adulthood by the hand of The Creator
Some grow to have families ,some grow alone
Some grow toward the Son of their Creator,some grow toward another in darkness
They all reach their peak of their glory,
Then they wither,fade into dust and are no more
All is orchestrated by the Creator's hand
Wild flowers
In the soil of some people's hearts a relationship with a wild flower was cultivate,and appreciated for it beauty.
In the soil of some people's hearts a relationship with a wild flower was uprooted and valued as a weed that competed and hinders the growth of their dreams .
Wild flowers
Relationship are like wild flowers
They will only live,grow,become a thing of thriving beauty,if we nurture them.
When a wild flower fades and withers away their is no seance of singing it's praise
If we didn't do so while it was alive.
Written by Stephen J. Vattimo
June 7, 2015
pink pims and pom poms
An alabaster in a tight fitting top cannot squeeze into a convertible Mercedes Benz as fitting a box into a circle is not a pleasantry nor a pheasant flap. Peace be unto the signalling on a railroad crossing for llamas can be very daring and attempt to alight the passenger trains. But overloaded freight trains are supposed to be dormant but they spring to life with the passing glance from one semi retired daisy on a lawn. A lawn is not keen to become involved in such rapturous rioting reels instead it just prefers monotone monotony of mow mow grow mow. And the fanciful flight of the particular tea cup is to be taken to the spew brigades of speeches coming from tantric turning towers of a tinsel aspect of high rise heel. And still the bacon is coming via an invite as well as all the vast numbers of snow geese, hedges in a fruit basket, lanes over twenty hours long, and a little piece of pillow. That is a great traditional picture for the hour and its transition will rely heavily upon the transport network services. No urinal could ever stand up in a tirade of hail and a bowl in a restroom is accustomed to the tinkling of bells from the visiting swans adorned with peacock jems. Sparkle then. Go on shine shimmer and shimmy around in a shirt. Wow. Wobble the jelly of an oversized gut. Cute I think not said the tiny floor plaque in a corner. And around the corner came a wading doormouse in a washing machine. Door open. Door shut. Great. Fascinating isnt it? Cake carnivorous coming clap clap clap. Hahaha plate in a pleasing pose. Hahaha leopard print pie. Xxxxx xenophobia zzzzzz
Form:
dawn's over-usage
Again, again I hear another use of the word dawn in a poem,
in a phrase, in a conversation ... in my headache
... another sweet dawn, another morning dawn,
... another break of dawn, dawn's eyes peaking, another dawning
dawn, dawn, dawn
that sneak
why, why, why
please,
I want to vomit with her overuse, already
her smug little face i see every daybreak
every morning
please,
no i'm not jeolous
such rotten eggs to my eyes and ears
dawn, dawn, dawn
can life shed some good light
put it this way
Connie's going to have a cow soon
it won't be pretty
listen connie
helps on the way
Connie we hear you, we do
trust us
help is on the way we repeat
we're sending your physch doctors right away
okay,
then again maybe we're not
okay, rats
it's just that everyone's in love with dawn, doc
why the infatuation
like i woke up to a new dawn, please
people writing, like she's an animate object
people speaking like she'd a god, doc
that she ... oh, oh, will spring to life and open her arms
like an angel, or celestial being
please
she's not, doc
she nothing special
she not the easter bunny,
she's an overused phrase, doc
point being how how often do you read
about eve standing center stage
getting fawned ,exposed
not as much as dawn, doc
that ...
where did you go doc,
doc, help ... what was that about blasphemy
where did you go doc,
yet. yet just look what I read
Saturday's Wall Street Journal
head lines
vomit time
Trump Starts A New Dawn
Please, you
please, find an answer to this riddle
connie pachecho
1/24/17
A full head of hair doesn’t compare to a bald head
A bald head doesn’t compare to massive bare breasts
And massive bulbous breasts don’t even come close
In comparison to your nicely rounded bottom
Yes, I love derrières
But only my Lover’s
She has a great looking fanny full of grace and class
And easy to fall asleep on like on a willowy cloud
Happiness lies in the comfort of the bottom
Rocking back and forth
I stare at her eyes in the mirror looking at the mystery she exudes
Where I see many ghosts
Showing themselves among many stories and memories
Ephemeral promises made and received
cherished but vanished like smoke in a hurricane
Or mowed grass blowing away with the wind
Your body intoxicated me
Your smile led me to my fantasies
That long ago enraptured me
And like a famished young lover
I was captivated by the feast you offered
Each day we have loved each other with passion
Holding each other’s bodies tight
Nourishing Love to sustain it for another day
Confirming our Love has withstood the test of time
A testament to promises of forever made at our wedding
Extending to a devotion of fifty-eight years of marriage
Knowing that when one eventually leaves this earthly plane
Memories will spring to life and console our hearts
One will leave on that journey to that place of hopeful peace
While the other contemplates life without regrets
Later to embark on a final journey where our souls will reunite
And our story will resume as we pledged each other...