Long Tirelessly Poems
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Luck Rides a Stick Horse
By Tom Wright
If good luck is what you're counting on
A stick horse will always be your steed.
Choose God and a job to rely on instead
Not Casino's or lottery to fill your need.
You can tell yourself that someone
Always wins and it just might be you.
But gamblers play the suckers game
Though your thinking might be true.
People feed quarters into slot machines
And at the tables they tirelessly play.
But most go home with pockets empty
Thinking tomorrow might be the day.
But just as sure as payday comes
They're Casino bound and in high gear.
Not seeing themselves for what they are
Dumb sheep, waiting for a shear.
Once there was a TALL tale
of a young "bluesman" who didn't play very well
Robert was his name
and playing the "Blues" was his game
Hazel Hurst, Mississippi is where he is from
A legend, one day he would soon become
But meanwhile, he would play and sing tirelessly throughout the day and night
The juke joint was his home and his aim was to get his music right
But despite his efforts, his music was not well received
Some said he was too young, others said he just couldn't play, but either way, this made his heart bleed
But he continued as he tried and tried and even cried
Albeit dismayed, he continued to play and bide and bide
And then one day he decided to just disappear
Poof! Gone just like that into obscurity for about a year
To the "Crossroads"
To get light away from his abode
To the "Crossroads"
To discard a heavy load
Yes! To the "Crossroads"
To receive the big goad
Stripped down, naked and vulnerable
Getting downright uncomfortable to get comfortable
He left with six and returned with seven
Many said he cheated and others said it was a gift from heaven
Many still speculate about Robert and the "crossroads."
How could he disappear and return 'great' with musical gifts stowed?
The night is young
And enticing
Still, a lump weighs heavily on my heart
As I sit by the window
And reflect on the cause of life!
Pray, it would seem that, somehow
People get so engrossed in life
That they forget about its illusory power
Or,
Is it that they simply choose
To pretend to forget about it
And to concentrate on its joys!
Why, life bothers me
It moves me
It pains me
It is like a trap
A wonderful scene painted
Made of a most luscious clear watered pond
But, the moment you approach it
Creatures of darkness jump out
And pull you in,
In their cage where you become
Like laboratory rats spinning on wheels
Going faster and faster
Going nowhere
Yet, having to keep on moving
For such is what is expected!
Pray, the night is still young
Frogs croak tirelessly
Engaged in their own symphony
Leaves rattle by carelessly
Propelled by the winds
Rain drizzles over from the sky
And I can only think of that which life has taken from me
As well as that which I secretly desire
But which I may never get!
Pray, the lump weighing over my heart is growing
Almost as if it were a carnivorous plant
Existing there, in my inner garden
Ready to destroy everything that I treasure
From my memories
To my romantic aspirations!
Why, life is such
Made to be a mere game
Enacted by you and me
But being ruled by the powerful will of Fate
And Death!
Why, on this cold night
I can only sit and reflect
Saddened and burdened!
For Contest:
Sad Free Verse 2017
Sponsored by Laura Loo
Written on 28 July 2017
Sending out a signal to all involved. We need to set a meeting for the parts that go AWOL. My subconscious has been running me tirelessly, without even thinking of asking consciousness to intervene. My preconscious, must be on an endless unauthorized leave, allowing my sub to lead. So I then am left with an outdated, broken tape recorder replaying only the untruths about me, with no ending seen. It all started the very first moment I swallowed a negative self- thought allowing it to breed, birthing a recording of only the bad in me. Which I to revert to when I am in need. This tape was an enemy, who I allowed to befriend the most precious and delicate parts of me. It was false reassuring messages I would keep on repeat, because I never allowed anything positive for my memory to keep. I didn’t know I had the ability to stop these old lies from ruminating endlessly in my mind. I never believed anything then what I felt on the inside. Sadly that was infected and infested from all the years of being angry, bitter, full of self -resentment and traumatic triggers. I wanted to have a meeting to show my thanks, but to also reclaim my life and insert a new tape. This one will host my preconscious state. I learned my lesson, so I won’t hit record unless the message recorded plays how capable and worthy I am for everything that comes my way. I am strong, I am light, I am blessed to live life. I am love, I feel love, I am alive on the inside. This meeting is complete , hope the message was received, subconscious you no longer need to be the lead. I need you but, you need new programing. Minutes entered, have a great day. Remember think, process then react accordingly.
He's so phoney in poems, moaning only,
same tone, same story,
a war he can't endure anymore that beats him sore and sorry,
exploring his core for strength absent before in writes of sheer folly.
Wanting to write powerfully like Churchill or Eminem,
but unable to create an impact as do many men.
It's easy to ridicule the metaphorical irrelevance,
as he revamps old writes lacking in intelligence.
Always using the same twist from behind a different mist,
ending with insistence he can return from great distance,
but he's not fooling anyone,
his fall's evident to everyone.
If he'd focused when he wrote this and applied a thought process,
he might have aspired beyond mono syllable rhyming and formed continuous structure,
but too useless to see it rewrote and tidied of mess,
he tirelessly goes on n on with simple investment of
contagious rupture.
He used to try and rhyme three words in each line,
double-rhyming words that evoke the mind,
concludes over time ease occurred with decline,
now forcing sounds heard or spoke in the rows behind.
By this point in the poem he is aware of his failure,
after reading back the words he's just tailored,
happy to cliche but not be a sunken sailor,
he tells of new fire, desire and determination to respond braver.
Follows the procedure of "seeking the peak",
covering up the fact he's pathetically weak,
forgets he lives worn down, always too tired,
and suddenly he's electrically alive and wired,
the traits of the self conning compulsive liar.
Self critical now in his inhospitable soul,
existing solely pitiful on the whole,
typically critique doesn't motivate towards the goal,
believing he's snowballing too fast to stop the roll.
All he takes from being mentally broken,
is his bravery to tell and let it be spoken,
doesn't care how they judge his way of coping,
because all he has left is being completely open.
"From deep within my heart
I always catch the scent
of my Beloved. How can I
help but follow that fragrance?" By Rumi
Drowned in delicate perfume of the gorgeous bouquet,
Glistening moon floating in sea of stars, you I see,
Smell your scent in ambrosial Chrysanthemum
How can I not be astounded with your beauty!
Found you dancing joyfully in a sublime garden,
I knew you were my Princess, like a butterfly
You left the oasis, but the alluring scent stayed,
I became a traveller in the world wandering by.
Walked tirelessly hundreds and thousands miles for you,
Crossing vast dales and tall soaring mountains far,
Your fragrance brought me back to harmony of life ,
How did I not know where my beloved were!
Let me go on collecting the jewels of joy to adorn your soul
Let me tirelessly take out the paste out of sandalwood to heal the blisters on your tired feet
Let me solemnly invite the cool sea breeze to wipe the sweat of your slaved life
Let me get the roistering rain drop to radiate a spectrum of lively colors out of your buried wishes
I went on saying...
Let me pluck the star from the magic wand in the fairy's hand to add gloss to your downcast dreams
Let me steal the amity between the young lovers to infuse passion in the fictional album of your love life.
Let me replace the spiked stones in your rocky path with jasmines and lillies.
Let me give a tea break to your body clock that has been running restlessly for ages.
She pinned her ears to all that I said
She smoothed her face showering a beam on what she heard
She shared her couch with me and offered a warm kiss on my forehead
She set to put her wishes forth after I ceased to spearhead
Her wondrous wishes astonished me
She proffered..
Give me the minute hand of your busy 24hr clock
Set aside one page of your elegant day's enthusiastic book
Sprinkle the perfume of your happiness on my tender ageing heart
Devote a corner seat in your daedalian decision room
I now realised..
All she wanted to comfort herself was..
My smile,
My happiness,
My laughter,
My success,
My glory,
My hug
and a few endearing words everyday.
Neither a crown nor a castle will make her happy
She delights your moment's attention towards her, so put aside your luring lappy.
I observe three girls working in a field,
So young, hardly reaching the age of ten;
Gathering the leftovers of the yield,
I see, far beyond, a grey chain of Ben...!
One looks hopefully, somewhere very far,
Is she, over her future, pondering?
Or does she see scenes of a bizarre star?
Leaving the sky, through the earth, wandering...?
The second, carrying a bunch of hay,
Lo, she stands looking at her little friend;
Is she talking to her in a calm way?
Is she asking: when will these hardships end...?
The third, absorbed in her obligation,
Though a child, works like a grown-up person;
Her family will not have their ration,
If she's lazy, things at home can worsen...!
I adore you, angels, at such an age,
When your companions are at the playground,
In hard labor, tirelessly, you engage,
For such a sacrifice you should be crowned...!!!
Angel, so gentle a messenger a rescuer,
comfort to Men and Woman and our children,
you have their eye, you have always had our
attention, intentions in the back of our minds.
Working behind the scenes in dutiful love, honoring humanity.
Archangel, humble and mighty specialist,
do you not know the reward to come
for your dedicate theme.
The Holy Spirit shall train you in loves battle
at the true heart of things, in the end you will see,
you are mighty in deed.
Princes, shall you govern the Earth in it's regions as regents, agents in charge of this place, of God's plan, be his Pontificate hand.
Powers, Congregation and Priest,
see you not whisper of gossips, discord or jealousy
but purity in the knowledge of ceremony of greater
things, but be not erred in Hell's matrimony.
But the divine worship of what is that should be.
Virtues, you are the wizards of God's court,
the facilitator of the art working in on creation in it's consciousness and at it's heart.
Dominations, you hold the works of Heavens
and of Earth.
The processes of stringing in the cosmic ring
of your stewardship of overseeing being.
Thrones, you are the ones who send the judgments,
the vials, aid and dispose, impose the Kings.
Expose the age in Captained line by line
vanguard of High decree"d rloyal t hinges.
Cherubim, your tasks, intellect and secret office direct the plans of God and Men. Of miracle and prayers arked embarked to Tabernacle out again.
Seraphim, burning love thou art insemminate,
pregnant and in delivery of love, for the Most High.
Your song is a burning flame kindled and birthed by
more fires, for His Holy Name.
Your intimate knowledge of Creation in His Way
led none of you to fall, none to stray.
The Four Living Creatures love to watch you swoon, tirelessly, pulsing in your inner knowledge
of the workings of meaning.
Dedicate predicates in love, one and all eternally,
present past the end of days.
It was in November 2009 when I got the call
To say that you had had a tiny little fall
‘Don’t worry’ said Dad; she will be ok
Oh how I remember so vividly that dreadful day
Dad said it was only a little lump
And into the taxi home they would jump
But it was in the hospital bed that you did lay
And you stayed there for many a long day
We dashed to the hospital and went to the ward
Out of my eyes silent tears poured
Your face so bruised and misshapen
My mum as you once were had been taken
They told us you had two bleeds on your brain
And since then life for us all has never been the same
For over three months you were away
Sometimes I wish you hadn’t made it – a dreadful thing to say
For you now have dementia and are nearly blind
How can a life once so rich and full now be so unkind?
You get so angry and frustrated
Dear old dad gets so berated
Oh how I wish I could turn back time to that day
And stop you from falling and your mind going away
But I am lucky to have my dear old mum
And I cherish the memories when we used to have fun
I am so lucky to still have you both; you really are amazing
Dad looks after you tirelessly and is rarely complaining
I try my best to help out and give him a little break
For I know one day you will be gone and then my heart will ache
I look back on the past and when your life was so full
Talking books now keep you occupied and stop your life being so dull
Writing is one thing enjoyed so much and you can no longer do
You hanker for the past and it really frustrates you
You are 91 years old now and dad is 90 this year
We will hold a little party for him, I hold you both so dear
It makes your day to have friends and family close by
And I will be here for you both until the day you die.