Long Summary Poems
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Alan Simpson,
a Wyoming Republican,
not known for his socialist ways
nor his sacred communion means of public discourse,
cried out in our Great Dark Night
of white bold
and climate cold
fragility,
"Money's dominance over politics
isn't merely one problem of many
our country faces.
It is the problem!"
Perhaps neither Wyoming
Republicans
or Alan Simpson
would mind this contextual paraphrase,
Capitalism's competitive
LeftBrain cultural and educational systemic dominance
against healthy multicultural empowering politics
isn't merely one complex problem
of many win/lose communication complications
our 2020 Species faces,
Yet does not RightBrain see and hear
as absence of WinLeft/WinRight cultural
and climate
intersectional wisdom.
We have become LeftBrain predative
partisan capitalists;
THE win/lose,
degenerating toward lose/lose economic-political
climate problems
of either/or partisanship,
religious fundamental bipolar creeds of elitist bad faith,
tolerant of secularized apartheid
Devoid of sacred active win/win communion
for organic ecological theology
or theologically health-metaphoric
muse-metaphonic
music-polyphonic
harmonic metapathic
resonant polypathic
resiliently co-empathic
co-passionate ego/ecology.
All of which
strangely reduces Alan Simpson's original version
to a summary democratic constitution
condensed milk of RightBrain both/and flexible resonance
urgently, yet more warmly,
seeking health/wealth rememory
regrowing out and in climate cultures
toward expanding win/win global family.
In hallowed halls of learning's sacred light,
Where dreams doth take their winged and lofty flight,
There stands a school, a fortress of delight,
Its beauty found in minds, a radiant sight.
No mere abode of bricks and stones, this place,
But where young minds imbibe knowledge's embrace,
A tapestry, each thread a vibrant grace,
In every classroom, wisdom we do chase.
The magic of learning, like a potent brew,
Weaves spells as youthful minds are born anew,
As autumn leaves, in golden splendor, strew,
In books and lessons, truths take shape and hue.
'Tis not in facts and figures, as you know,
But in the journey, how we thrive and grow,
A path to self, a ceaseless ebb and flow,
Where wisdom's seeds in fertile minds we sow.
The laughter, like a stream in ancient halls,
A symphony of voices, as each soul calls,
The school's true beauty, like a star that falls,
In friendships forged, where every heart enthralls.
To thrive, to learn, within this hallowed ground,
A privilege, a quest where truth is found,
With teachers as our guides, our dreams unbound,
We soar through life, where endless beauty's crowned.
Let's treasure this domain where knowledge gleams,
Where wonder and inquiry grace our dreams,
In learning's enchantment, life's vibrant streams,
The school's enduring grace, our spirit beams.
Written: September 09, 2025, for contest by Edward Ebah
**********
She was born beneath a waning moon,
a beautuous whisper in the tohubohu—
intertwined with chaos,
yet lithe as a zeugma in a poet’s breath.
Her name lost to the fog of forgetfulness,
her kismet sealed in a miraculous pact
with Fortune’s flexible fist.
The stars, agog, offered a panoply:
a pavonine tapestry of beauty and danger
a palimpsest of pulchritude and peril.
She danced through the swarm of youth,
filled with forgetfulness,
her lungs a stertorous hymn to breathing,
her heart a riparian ravel of love and myth.
Fortune, affable yet fiendish,
bestowed a dubious crown—
spurious laurels woven from flapdoodle and fard.
The world, a compilation of excessive praise,
sang stories in hackneyed tongues,
while she, a rebel of her own ilk,
resiled from the solace of admiration.
She grasped the gadzookery of glorification,
It's tarantism of desire
It's ischemic hush beneath the applause.
Each accolade is a hollow victory,
each smile a jussive mask
in the penumbra of reality.
Then came the cacophony years—
dyspnea in the soul,
ergophobia in the bones.
She wandered the maelstrom of memory,
a collector of regrets,
her dreams tinged with blood,
Her mornings are packed with petrichor and paucity.
Fear clung to her like fard,
a superstition woven into her identity.
She improvised hope,
but the light grew dim.
Even meliorism, that mellifluous myth,
felt like flapdoodle on the horizon.
Yet still, a spark remained—
a zoetic pulse beneath the shadows.
She started to create new stories,
flexible as a pavonine breeze,
slender as a summary of sorrow.
She found coolness in strangers,
Love in the ductile moments,
and in the petrichor of failure,
a panacea of purpose.
Now she sits beneath an ancient tree,
in harmony with the wind,
her story a palimpsest of ransom and release.
Fortune, that impetuous nemesis,
no longer holds her hostage—
but dances, melodious and mellifluous,
in the ripple of her breath.
She is not free,
But she is no longer bound.
Got drunk as a skunk, at a debutante
Eye catching tat I want. With no regrets
a masterpiece of art that I can flaunt
clearly expressing my love for Begretz
Fritz loves Begretz on a red crimson heart.
When the artist was done the tattoo read
Ritz loves Begets on a red crimson heart
With grieve I departed , I know I’m dead
Pearl, in no way cared, that was a big void
I’m all wrinkled wishing I was younger
Instead of guessing and getting annoyed
now you know the tattoo is no longer
Young and reckless, no more needs to be said
I’m still alive with the life that I led
9/3/2016
Poetry Contest
Which Of The Four Would You Choose - cartoon #4
Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick |
Sonnet: 10 syllables per line, rhyme scheme abab, cdcd, efef, gg ..Fourteen lines with last two lines like a summary of the poem..
Like dreams they pass along
Unnoticed like a shadow seen
For days to become, they begone
Un-notice if to remember a dream
And felt… are days always to come
A blessed gift enriched of light
Are there not those from many of some?
With an after touch, bewitched of night
Nights as always… misused to abuse
A summary for all dark deeds be unwind
Unlike days as always… appraise to amuse
Is it not a wonder, why someone is always behind?
These are nights… perhaps I let be
For those of days… when I cannot see
That of light… when found wasn’t me
For others to only say… “Who is he?”
Like dreams to pass along simply
To notice for even a shadow be seen
For days will come along… naturally
Unnoticed if to remember but a dream
Like dreams they pass along
Unnoticed like a shadow seen
For days to become, they begone
Un-notice if to remember a dream
And felt… are days always to come
A blessed gift enriched of light
Are there not those from many of some?
With an after touch, bewitched of night
Nights as always… misused to abuse
A summary for all dark deeds be unwind
Unlike days as always… appraise to amuse
Is it not a wonder, why someone is always behind?
These are nights… perhaps I let be
For those of days… when I cannot see
That of light… when found wasn’t me
For others to only say… “Who is he?”
Like dreams to pass along simply
To notice for even a shadow be seen
For days will come along… naturally
Unnoticed if to remember but a dream
Given all of the things that you have come to do,
how could one help but have to feel sorry for you?
Why do you feel this need to scheme and undermine?
It only gets you into trouble time after time.
Are you really so blind that you can not see
that you're only displaying to all your insecurity.
Your need to prove to others that you are the better
will not be fulfilled ever, never.
It is not they that you try to convince that you have superior intelligence wealth.
The poor soul you're trying to convince is simply yourself.
Continue to believe yourself to be the better one
and it will ultimately lead to your own self destruction.
There will always be someone better than you.
The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can help you,
and then perhaps others will stop feeling so sorry for you,
but then again, pity is attention, and we all know how much you crave that too.
"I Am The Best! All Look at Me!" is you basically in summary.
I Feel So Sorry For You Most Sincerely.
You are one day going to be crushed so immensely.
Written: September 04, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
**********
Death approaches, yes—
But we do not recoil.
We stand, not wan, but strong,
a flexible group of iconoclasts
who shine in the shadows
of eternity’s silent hush.
Let the deceitful chatter,
let the careless souls soothe their dread
with hackneyed prayers and ugly regrets.
We extemporize our eulogies
with miraculous zeal,
our throes a zeugma of pain and pride.
We are the svelte sojourners,
rakish in our riparian grace,
vivacious in the face of the pyre.
Our desire is not for effortless solutions,
but for the beauty of truth—
even when it highlights our flaws.
When God questions us,
We will not gaze into katabatic abyssal
nor lazily plead for reprieve.
We will speak in many tongues,
if need be—
a blend of every soul we have ever been.
Our claim to fame is not conquest,
But the seraphic refusal to flinch.
We are the summary of our scars,
the quintessence of our quiddity,
the panoply of every Petrichor
that ever made us weep and rise.
So let the maelstrom come.
We are agog with grace.
We are the squalor and the sapidity.
We are the pulsing, zoetic nexus
between the pyrrhic and the divine.
PART I The Experiment
A person who makes bad decisions
Is it a secret motivation
True naive flexing a muscle only known as misery
I can't find an approach
I can't see the thoughts like doctor sleep
What is a true sacrifice
Does it not know comfort
Does it marry purpose
Ignore common and regular
Who feels like part of a bad decision
And still they sit
Idle in their comfort
To be discarded
labelled bad for my environment
PART II
A powerful shadow
Too at thought
Too ill of peace
I see you my dear hiding in your hell
There was no poison
My sweet love of perceptual chaos
When nothing plus nothing equals something
I will sit under the whispering willow tree
Waiting for substance waiting for the sun
Because it will be the only one left
We can not defeat
Done like dinner
But never defeated
Some focus on hair, on legs, on muscles or on lips
on feet, on shoulders, on arms or on hips
Yet though you may think it a bit odd or dumb
my sole focus here will be on the thumb
Is the thumb worthy of a rigorous dissection like this?
I'll let you be the judge of that in the final analysis...
The thumb, of course, is what makes us primates
same as black and white stripes make men inmates
Speaking of distinction, the thumb's what babies suck
and just you try from a babe's mouth that thumb to pluck!
When gardening it sure pays to have a thumb that is green
while a handyman who's all thumbs is regularly demeaned
Then there are 'rules of thumb' based on real-life experience
casting out hypotheses, guesses, and other such interference
Remember 'Tom thumb,' the tiny man once swallowed by a cow?
King Arthur's favorite, he even tangled with giants - O, wow!
Such a graceful dancer was Hans Christian Anderson's 'Thumbelina'
He could just as well have made her into a prima ballerina
I mustn't leave out Little Jackie Horner who famously
stuck in his thumb and pulled out a plum!
And for those of you who like music some
Imagine a guitar strummed without a thumb
So, in closing, to conclude, to summarize, in summary, in sum
Just when was the last time your thumb went numb?!