Long Tallying Poems
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There’s a piece of sheetrock in my aunts house.
That’s newer than the rest of the pieces.
It hasn’t experienced the joyful times
The rest of the ceiling has.
I remember the days when life was normal,
Before that orange extension cord came into our lives.
My uncle bought it real cheap at a garage sale.
He said it was a bargain! He loved that extension cord.
Well, that bargain played a savage role that would plaque
The rest of our natural lives in the months that followed.
It was an Autumn morning,
boy, how I love brisk mornings.
I stay up all night just to catch the morning sun.
I’ve always done this, ever since I can remember heck, I guess I always will.
A call came that early morning,
I felt on the inside something was wrong.
It wasn’t normal for our phone to ring so early.
My cousin spent that night tallying up his list of unfortunate events.
I was suppose to spend the night, but I didn’t.
The issues of that day, drove him to take my uncles bargain
and bust the sheetrock from the ceiling.
Sometimes I feel them counting me
with their eyes,
not looking, but tallying,
like I am something that can be priced.
Their stares peel,
not gently, not kindly,
but like hands that don’t ask,
like ownership already decided.
I tell them to get off of me
And when they don’t
I stand there the same way I stand here,
learning the weight of being seen
and still unseen,
naked, not in body,
but in permission.
To them I am reduced,
an animal with conditions:
“prove you belong,
prove you are worthy,
prove you are more than labor.”
Why can’t I just prove I’m human and go home?
Let me go one time and then capture me,
I’m just livestock meant to be slaughtered.
I turned eighteen,
and nothing changed,
except the expectations
grew teeth,
gnawing at me to convince me of my hunger---
But I don’t wish to reach the stars
If I can’t ever touch them.
No one warns you
how exposure feels,
how it echoes,
how it lingers,
how it teaches your skin to remember
as it clings to every inch of you,
and crawls inside every crevice.
A cave diver that wishes to be a parasite.
They notice everything:
the thin, quiet history on my left wrist,
the absence on the right,
as if symmetry could mean healing,
as if clean skin means clean past.
And still,
why must I be opened like a question?
Why must my body answer
what my voice has already said?
Why must I be unfolded, inspected,
decided?
Decided.
Decided
if I am worthy of what I have made,
of what my family has made,
of what we have built with hands
that never stopped moving.
I am not your specimen,
not your threshold,
not your proof.
I am a working woman,
not something to be worn,
not something to be weighed,
but something that endures,
even when watched.
Hushed mystic quests esoteric intellect
As quietude permeates domain of truth
Ruminating about things done and said
Reflecting upon the avenues of regrets
Reminiscing on boulevards of conquests
Tallying up all the triumphs and defeats
Wailing in futility of feats and fantasies.
What has been, cedes to what could be
Beyond pensive boundaries of mortality
Illuminating today in meditative reverie
Transcending the mundane, the ordinary,
The futile worries confused in ambiguities.
Ambitious past now seeks new meaning
As dissonant arguments lose appeals
And wisdom draws from ethereal spirits
And enlightenment ascends satori feelings
Where grief is no longer as dominating
And happiness no longer as demanding--
For material things forfeit their entreaties.
Life in equilibrium of peace and serenity
Aspires to poise of supreme understanding
Buoying on clout of calmness and clarity,
No longer stirring what could have been
Seeing everyday as the essence of being
In eternal halo of a cognitive awakening.
November 3, 2020
Placed 2nd: Ambedo poetry contest by Silent One
Placed 3rd: Podium placings (6) by Brian Strand
Written: February 28, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
***********************
I long to explore
the depth of your flummoxed mind,
fathom the forms of
your emotions,
and outline the scenery of
in dreams of avarice
It seems to be the right time
to thrive, to flourish
In this sacred space,
we build together,
from strands of gloom
where whispers bear root
and emotion bloom.
in quiet, we'll savor
the halcyon garden
of dancing daffodils
and radiant rays,
beyond splendid orbs
and fluttering, fickle flowers
Can't you catch a glimpse
of life not being all gray?
We have never felt so uplifted
and so high full of hope!
waiting wistfully beneath
the whispering willow.
As time ticks by,
I have been tallying,
and now it's time
to amend our perspective.
On this onyx challenge, I face,
there are no winners to find.
My role isn't to create
splattered, noxious rhymes;
rather, I often seek escape from it all.
I strive to express
our communion,
as we sow and reap
In this shared space
Of ideas and inspirations,
to freeze the marvelous symphony
within your solipsistic gaze;
don't you long to
reconnect with my maze,
the joy of everyday life?
and capture that fantastic
Melody in my spirit too?
It only takes a moment,
or so they say.
•THE QUINTESSENTIAL BIRTHDAY•
Rather than count candles,
Contemplate your blessings,
And stop tallying the years,
Your birthday bliss brings joyful tears.
The world was blessed with you.
Your life has been enriched all through
Reminisce those who love you & care,
In diverse ways, they're always there.
Ruminate on the memories
And the scathing victories,
May your experiences make you a star.
Believe that is who you are.
Another year is a happy gift,
Enjoy your added year like a lift.
Exude in the euphoria and slay,
Cut your cake, and say:
"I won't just count birthdays,
I will count blessings all my days!"
•VICK MANUEL POETRY{VMP}•
Form: Rhymes/Heroic Sonnet
Copyright ©9th July 2023.
Someday I’ll miss the sound
Of my mom singing carols
Off-key in the other room
While I’m trying to fall asleep
(We agree Bing Crosby and Dean Martin
Have astonishingly similar voices)
Mingled with her announcements
I got another one!!
Tallying up her finds
On our impossible cupcakes puzzle
Marooned on half our dining table
Ever since last Valentine’s
(She wants to entice me to help her find more
But I lost my patience long ago
So I just made her a glass of lemonade
With five ice cubes falling from the fridge)
It’s mildly annoying right now
Hearing her argue with cupcakes
Singing along quite out loud
With her unending playlist
Yet it’s also kind of comforting
To pause and think
This will be a memory of her
I can make it sad or happy
And I know I’d regret it if I complained
Because someday I’ll miss the sound
Of my mom singing carols
A man walks beneath the morning sky..
Where a broken pipe lets water sigh.
He sees a pot where roots are dry.
And shifts it close, lets thirst pass by.
He turns and spots, by curb’s incline..
A woman straining, drawn in line.
He lifts her cart.. no words, no sign..
Just quiet strength, a small design.
At noon he eats, the sun runs high..
A stray dog waits with pleading eye.
He shares his bread, a humble pie..
Two hearts content, no need to try.
He leaves, and there.. by dusty street..
A mother and child with worn bare feet.
A sign of schooling, dreams discreet..
He gives his all, though ends won’t meet.
At dusk, he hangs with gentle hand..
A bunch of gold by a neighbor’s stand.
He knocks, then slips away unplanned..
While gratitude blooms through the land.
No riches reward from what he’s done..
No cameras praise, no spotlight shone.
Yet in his chest.. a brighter sun..
A warmth the world can’t take or shun.
He sees the joy, the softened eyes..
He feels the peace that never dies.
A gift unseen, beyond the skies..
A truth that fortune can’t disguise.
So ask yourself, when days are crossed..
When counting gains and tallying cost.
Is what you seek in gold embossed..
Or found in love that’s never lost?
Sinister snarling swindling scandalous scoundrels secretly slither shamelessly
Implicitly interrogated ‘bout innermost insidious illegitimate impertinences
Ghastly Grotesque grimacing gumption gorging gruesome gimmicky gossip
Netherworld’s nauseating narcissistic nefarious nature nibbling at naiveté
Obnoxious oppressors outrageously ostracizing offspring to oblivion
Facetiously fondling flip flutter floundering their frayed frazzled foibles
Tyrannical temperamental tempestuous tumultuous targeting tallying triviality
Haphazardly harnessing halfhearted heinous hypocritical homicidal hatred
Exploiting embezzling extricating explicit evil entangled ephemeral effrontery
Tetrad of treacherous tyrannical tycoons tackle tantamount transfigurations
Implicit intermittently incoherent infernal insanity idling illicit insidious insolences
Malicious misanthropic madmen monstrously manipulating mangling mercilessly
Erroneous euphemisms explicitly eclipsing evolving estranged etiquette’s eulogy
Staggering systematic spiritual stagnation symbolizing society’s sign of the times
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on April 22, 2018 for contest SIGN OF THE TIMES sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON - RANKED 4TH
I was at my neighbourhood café
Come to hide and read quietly
As I so often love to do
In my favourite little corner
My latte was especially smooth
My story particularly captivating
How better to relax on a lazy afternoon
Life couldn’t be better that is
Until a shriek tore through
So high pitch it woke the dead
I jumped out of my skin
fearing the worst
Looked around on high alert
Met countless pairs of wide eyes
Staring back in bewilderment
Tallying the many near-miss heart attack victims
And there they were… the culprits
Two giggly grown women
Sitting out like sore thumbs
Totally oblivious to the commotion they had triggered
In a world of their very own
But not being too quiet about it all
Just when I presumed it might be safe
To return to my quiet nook and haven
And ease back into the literary world awaiting
Loud enough for all to hear
It was made known to everyone
Soon there would be another new young mother on this earth
Ahh…
Someone was about to earn her wings
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
Submitted on September 12, 2017 for contest POEMS THAT PAINT A PICTURE sponsored by SILENT ONE - RANKED 2ND
People can save the world by the way they think and by the way they behave and what they hold to be important. By Cyndi Lauper
To utterly assume someone else's position
Hide under a mask and retain your volition
Put on fresh skin all the way over your body
Lead as the other one goes, tamed by the toddy
To utterly put oneself in other people's shoes
First, pick the cut and fabric he would peruse
Then you travel along the route he has chosen
Scoot your inner biases and set your heart frozen
You need to pick exact spells and praise
And fresh benchmarks are bound to amaze
Alter the family, loop of friends, and hairstyle
Then you buy a whole hot attire and a smile
How about wording, etiquette, and culture?
It's tedious, as others can opine you're a vulture
You then put his clothes and shoes on the shelf
And determine that you ought to be yourself
You, in turn, understand his previous utterances
You also cease judging and tallying preferences
You draw judgments and then forsake him as well
As you shine up your own lumpy skills, can't you tell?
Written: April 12, 2024
Write A Poem As Someone Else Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Matt Caliri