Long Unequivocally Poems
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Spoken And/Or Written Words
Time gone by e'er since being quiet natured boy,
more so nowadays declare exhausting countless
hours expending, extolling, and exuding prufuse
joy, no surprise, asper experiencing passion, sans
reading (select age appropriate material as a lad in
make believe world) still bespectacled bright eyed
and bushy tailed, (most absolutely definitely agog)
accentuating, expanding vis a vis jabbering (within
privacy afford double one bedroom apartment B44)
erudition enthusiastically verbalizing printed material
in general, and exercising vocal cords aloud, not cuz
I admire krispy, raspy whispery voice particular, but
hearing and seeing appealing genres (mine, though
morse hoe published authors especially informational)
purportedly not "FAKE" news incorporating sounding
out plus seeing words supposedly reinforces learning,
yet another less obvious pleasure (exclusive domain
availed primarily thru thesaurus brethren i.e. yepper
alphabetized lexicon, otherwise known as dictionary)
offers insight learning esoteric etymological minutiae
(just as quickly forgotten), which historical evolution
finds me temporarily linkedin both audiologically and
visually regarding forebears, (essentially transporters
thru numberless centuries) unwittingly, unknowingly,
unequivocally mumbling, modifying, massaging ever
evolving pronunciations sustaining communication as
living entity sustained throughout avast misty age pre
seeding impressing symbols (whether twenty six letters
of English language) upon tangible medium spurring
linguists to surmise aural and oral characteristics, and
no doubt searching complex edifice contemporary alive
tongues exhibited taking page from legacy of lingua
franca no longer extant.
A love so true burns deep
Deep down to the bone
A love that is real
And unforced will last
For all eternity
Love truly and flowers of spring
Will blossom bountifully
Unconditional love shines
Infinitely brighter
Than the afternoon sun
And burns hotter
Than a smoldering ember
Love freely and the meaning of life
Will become unequivocally clear
Just love and your heart will flow
Like a peaceful river
Immerse in love
And blissfully trap yourself
In love's undertow
A love so true burns deep
Deep down to the bone
Free Verse on Love Poetry Contest/Winner(1st Place)
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Date written: 04/09/2017
My feelings are mosaic,
scattered and multi-colored.
There is no set pattern in the artwork
and no meaning in each separate pane.
Only the whole surface memorable.
Each shard of broken mirror
reflects a parse of the whole.
When pieced together the total vision,
though tattered, comes into clearer focus.
Reflection, a study of the conscious.
Moments of time tell no tale.
Vignettes of a larger tome
monopolize space that holds no fullness,
no revelations of intensity,
dramatism, lyricism, poeticism.
I demand everywhereness,
unbound illimitedness.
Totality of my essentialism
wherein I exist in absoluteness.
my assemblage as a full complement.
Quanta on quanta. Wholeness.
Unequivocally me.
Catholic
Stern but saintly Father Meissen
scolded the parents for not having
their baby boy baptized sooner.
It was April, 1952,
inside the stained-glassed catholic church,
ensconced on sun-split Newlin street,
avenue of pink oleanders and cracking sidewalks.
According to the chagrined mother,
she was told that delaying this pivotal sacrament
for three complacent months,
after the boy’s birth on January 11,
was unequivocally unacceptable,
and that waiting so eternally and unendingly,
actually jeopardized her befuddled baby’s soul.
For if he had died, say in March of 1952,
unbaptized,
then his eternal soul, because of original sin,
would have been mercilessly subject
to the inscrutable tortures of hell,
and the lake of fire.
As per destiny, this glued-on scenario
was not realized, and instead,
the boy received the abundant graces
of a head-turning God that day,
as the boy’s shiny oblivious head
was gently and sanctimoniously doused
with priestly-blessed holy water, fresh
from the rippling baptismal fount,
anchored dogmatically with rusted rebar,
deep below the shadowy sacristy,
among the obstinate urns
and the dark-voiced Dominus vobiscums.
But now we hear his older, wiser voice,
undulating like a lark’s-heel after the begging,
hiding the treason of a reprobate mind,
fondling the prayers of ten thousand children,
crying silent astonished tears
into the cold marble baptismal fount;
A groping wet madness firmly set
among the kneeling statues, and the holy linens,
encrusted with fool’s gold and trusting threads.
What kept these stilled voices unheard for so long?
Why did they not speak before this somber time?
Why did they bend, roll over and
close their eyes so cooperatively?
So reverently?
No one can possibly speak
about the unspeakable, for
Father’s holy, righteous indulgences
were unequivocally unacceptable.
But it is too late now.
Mine eyes can clearly see now
the crying sunken skull at Golgotha,
turning its furious eyes away.
Form:
#I'm looking for a place to call HOME! (3/4/2000) by GRASSHOPPER
I'm looking for a place to call home...
I yearn for something to claim as my own...
You might think of the traditional, yet I ache for the new and original,
until I do...I'll be a wondering SOUL
When I speak of home, I'm not talking about a residence...
Home is where the heart is, I hope my poetry is the evidence...
When a person writes it's like a thumb print, it's unique...
What stems form the soul, no once can edit or critique!
You might think of diamonds, fancy cars or a mink...
My equivalent, just give me a pen with reliable ink...
I prayed to the Creator to give me something that's fulfilling!
When I write or recite...to me, that's most thrilling!
So people, when I say I'm looking for a place to call home...
Home is where the heart is and for me it's a poem; Most Definitely and Unequivocally...INDEED*... it's a POEM! ! ! !
A love letter, written with red ink
Bleeding crimson passion unto paper
My love for you, a buoy; it will never sink
There's no mistaking my intention, dear
My love for you, true; unequivocally clear
Passionate. Come what may, it will never taper
A heartfelt, amorous letter, written with red ink
Rhyming Poem on Love- New or Old
Sponsored by: Lu Loo (Winner: 6th Place)
Date written and posted:08/15/2018
Rhyme Time 6 - Verses of Metaphors Poetry Contest/Winner(1st Place)
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Theme: Red Ink
Rhyme Scheme: A-B-A-C-C-B-A
Date written and posted:08/15/2018
Aha...At Last,..Bitta Bing Bitta Bang
The Figurative Nail Hit On The Hair Strand Size Head!
Though no physician,
this aging baby boomer
absolutely, intuitively, and
unequivocally sensed hair loss (mine),
at first a speculative rumor
not simply in my (ahem) head,
no matter a minimalist groomer
nevertheless, thinning follicles,
upon dawning realization, sans medical
sought relief thru good humor,
though within this balding cerebral noggin
became repulsive as if my scalp
pulled pate rendered as a tumor.
Thus an unexpectedly present surprise
when in private consultation in the guise
as out patient client (early afternoon
December 19th, 2018),
where I did fraternize
and kibitz with the medical assistant
(old enough to be my...sister),
aye did exercise
mild mannered mien mean, aye do patronize
before doctor Rudolf (dearly
reigned) Roth, a practicing
Dermatologist told me no lies
his instant karma knowledge - mainly his
thirty seven years expertise
sought to excise
a prominent non cancerous mole approximately
centered middle of back
a small patch of skin,
he needed to anesthetize
nonetheless, a reassuring persona,
yours truly did lionize
(not merely, cuz
he received a five star rating,
specialist under auspices
of Penn, Medicine)
in Radnor Pennsylvania),
his modest calm did neutralize
any uneasiness, as did his pronounced
humility earn kudos to idolize
such rarely present gentility, and
unwitting capacity did harmonize,
and maximize significance to me,
asper my thinning limp
hair logically rationalize
identified underactive thyroid gland
(hypothyroidism) tubby,
which didst legitimize
no hair brained rooted concern,
hence...less reason to catastrophize',
which for no reason I
wanted to mildly emphasize,
hence choice to apostrophize...
#Point_of_no_return
When is enough, enough?
How long can I carry this soul dispersing cross on my back, how long, is long enough?
How far should I be restricted by these shackles on my legs, how long can I drag it and how far should I reach?
When there's not enough strength in me to fight anymore?
When my body shuts itself or when I drop dead? When the daily building-up bruises on my legs eventually cuts off my legs?
When I can't drag myslef any further than to my grave?
Who should rescue me, when and how?
When I'm dripped with tubes in ICU?
When I'm laying numb, motionless, facing up in a casket?
When I'm voicless, pain having taken all that I was?
Who salvages me to my suicidal thoughts, who keeps tabs on me, when all I do is cry. Scapegoating myslef for everything wrong happening.
When I see no wrong in always being one at err.
When I self internalized fear of what will people say.
When will my voice matter, my internal feelings,
my pain,
my sorrows and
my dilapidated fending strength?
Should I wait for death to rescue me to peace?
Should I wait until nothing of me left to show I'm at a point of no return.
What about those I love, those I live for, my purpose on this earth? Those who look up to me, those who leans on me, those whom my presence matters most to?
At this point, I have exhausted all my returning chances, all my silence, that would one day silence me to my grave. At this point its either death or liberty. A point where a decision dictates whether I live to tell or die without word.
At this point, this ultimatum decides my fate, the fate of those dear to my heart, fate of my sanity, my health and my purpose to this earth.
At this point I'm obligated, strangled by fear, in dungeons of public perceptions. At this point I chose me, I chose life, I chose my health and my sanity, I choose to embrace the love of those who does so unequivocally so, at this point of no return, I chose to return to life, to peace, to love and self value. I chose to return to fight blood and nails, until my soul is salvaged, at this point of no return, I return
Love so pure, so holy, earthly and divinely bound
Sweet radiance of ecstatic flow of bliss in thee I found
Drowned in the larvishing citadel of thy immortal love
As in the parlance of a mighty ocean in a torrential move
Love so perfect, love so genuine
(Finding thee was not easy at all)
Love I longed to have from my juvenile
Melodious love radiantly shining bright
As the exceptional effulgence of the moon light
My love for now, my precious love for eternity
My fervent solemn love bounded by purity and unity
Defending thee a clarion call to be heeded unwittingly
As my love is bound to you ever sure and permanently
Unwavering in the presence of transient uncertainty
Ever flowing in harmonious holiness and sanctity
Sweet love, anodyne love, love sapid and innocuous
Wetting thy succulent lips a deed that constantly binds us
In the moment of momentary immortality
As the transitory passage of every mortality
I shalt whisper thy tender love unequivocally
To great pilgrims of love who reign eternally
If you ask me how tall I am…I could unequivocally state…
without giving it much thought…that I am 5 feet eight
And that answer would be correct…most people would contend…but on most days if you ask me…I will answer…it depends.
There are two ways to measure how tall I am and in my mind they both compete…the first would be to measure myself from my head down to my feet.
The second is more nebulous…less specific…more implied…if I measure myself like a building…by the stories housed inside.
For I am a combination of many stories built on life’s lows and highs…by that measurement I rise beyond 5 feet eight…I stretch up to the sky.
So many stories I rise above the clouds…I cannot measure how far…but far enough to kiss the sun…the moon and sway among the stars.
Yes, if you ask me how tall I am…that depends is what I’m most likely to say…because as more stories are added…I grow a little taller every day.
The tallest building in the world, right now, is in the country of Dubai…its 163 stories scrape high into the sky…
Burj Khalifa is an engineering marvel…a wonder to behold!
but that ain’t nothin’ baby…I reached that height when I was four years old!
From my height among the stars..I’m afforded an awe inspiring view…
and now that you know how tall I am…
allow me to ask…
How tall are you?