Long Unfavorable Poems
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SEED
Every talent is a seed
And every seed has its need
Whatever the seed will be,
Depends on the farmer-holder of the seed
If the farmer discards the seed,
There will be no need satisfying the seed,s need
But If he decides to sow the seed,
Then he is burdened with responsibilities
The seed needs a fertile land
The farmer can,t waste its time on unfavorable environment
The seed needs a determined and willed hand
It needs care and warm treatment
The seed needs a favored rain
For much as the farmer,s diligence can irrigate,
That alone can,t determine the seed,s fate
What comes from above nothing can drain
The seed needs a graced sunshine
For that keeps the seed fit and balanced
The farmer,s ability to reap that which is great and advanced,
Is dependent on factors which are divine
Finally, the seed needs focus and consistency
The farmer ought to earmark ample time for its success
How matured the seed will be should be his business
For without that, there may be plant without fruits- lifeless
Every talent is a seed
And every seed has its need
Whatever the seed will be,
Depends on the farmer-holder of the seed
mysterious as Lemuel
unlike hundreds of
other rowdy seniors
constituting the nineteen
seventy seven graduating class
of Methacton High School,
this now mooch older non "Warrior"
(alma mater mascot) alumni -
of late more astute,
(yea rather boyish looking edging
into age bracket,
viz ranked as ole coot)
far to late for
me or any brute
to gather rose buds,
fat and/or slim
chance i.e. remote
while I may in my dreams
play Mozart's Magic flute
at this late stage of life,
no harvested crop yield,
nor any sown
healthy product rendered moot
('cept tantamount to rotten
tomatoes and fruit)
all, cuz your truly
did not give a hoot
'bout his future,
later when the
requisite need for loot
would be absolutely necessary,
not necessarily to buy
a fine gold spun suit,
but more so to be financially
(non bombastically, egotistically,
nor inimitably) to toot
my own (baritone)
horn, no any which
ways appearing snoot
tush (more likely absent minded,
versus trying tubby astute),
no matter this myopic googly eyed
non-boastful logophile,
these days (lives duet
tough lee hand to mouth
existence) nearly destitute
his whole pro Lix life,
witnessed, and flaunted
(reed dit as) inked badge,
(regardless getting promoted,
but nearly failing every grade),
and ambivalent toward
dismal poor performance report cards
testament toward tummy
severely lacking ambition,
while analogously forced
to climb hemp fat tick rungs
jute dish shuss academic ladder,
no matter rope burns
squarely didst root
moost unfavorable outcome
to this wimp who mouthed
pop eyed expletive
conveying "oh chute",
whose then palm (olive)
oiled pilot size glute
more accurately boot
found me poor bum promoted
to higher baby boomer chair
despite favorably portentous signs
tubby potential vagrant,
who would lack self reliance,
nor give a hoot
to stitch survivalist parachute.
Roman priests practiced divination
as a means of prophesying the future
they'd plunge a dagger into a temple dove
and eviscerate the living bird.
Then they'd examine the entrails,
especially their livers, for omens,
believing that the Gods would reveal what was
going to occur in the immediate future through such signs.
These readings would both bewilder and fascinate the curious
onlookers, when the augurs would raise their scarlet hands
and announce their awaited predictions.
The remaining doves would get released in a whirling mass
forming a vortex of flapping wings and feathers,
their direction of flight
also an indicator of divine communication.
Nobles would often bribe augurs for favorable predictions
to inspire their soldiers before battle.
These divinations were taken very seriously in ancient times.
It's said that Julius Caesar's death was prophesied by augurs,
and Caesar's adversary, Senator Cato, committed suicide
after he received an unfavorable reading.
(Free Verse)
6/16/2018
Early chapters are written without choice.
Scripted by parents from birth.
Chapters may read prosperous or despair.
Innocence encounters ignorance life not fair,
One may learn to script their own chapters.
Open your book what might one see.
A roller coaster life full of diversity.
Open your book what will it read.
Narrative of facts or fictions your reality.
Life is a book full of chapters.
Some filled with bright chapters.
Full of strive, chapter after chapter.
The more strive, the sweeter the life.
Some lives are missing chapters.
Due to misguided writer’s block
Some lives have hidden chapters.
Unfavorable under society locks.
Life a book full of chapters.
Some are filled with dark chapters.
Full of strife, chapter after chapter.
The more the strife, the bitter the life.
Open your book what will one see.
The colors of life, harmony or misery.
Open your book what will it read,
stories describing your identity.
Each life reads like a book,
cause, life a book full of chapters.
Defines ones destiny, before, now and ever after!
With minus 16 degrees and
starry sky when the light took night
Six days to Christmas
and we all expect a visit from the North Pole
Santa's body shape and apparently huge belly
is a sign that should be taken seriously,
diabetes and high blood pressure
At risk of life and health - spread of covid-19
This Christmas he is working in unfavorable working conditions
Nine hundred visits per second ... no wonder
he gets stressed, sweaty and red at the top
Listen here my friends
Everything you need, is a red hat and white beard
Santa needs your support
but, remember to keep distance, face mask and gloves
19/12/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Santa's Covid Christmas Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire
2nd place in the contest
N
O
H
U
G (!)
¯\_(¤ ¤)_/¯
O
Out of the Richness of the Soul
The Father of Creation compassionate made man;
He is the Creator of us All
He created every living, breathing, moving thing-
From the fowls of the air that build their nests and melodiously sing;
To the beast of the field, who roam the meadows, wild-
To the fish in the sea, who swim so gracious the waters
flowing mild-
To plants and fruits and vegetation; to grass and budding
trees-
The whole of the Universe was made by Him-
Including you and me!!
By the Word of His mouth,
He spoke and it came to pass
He looked and declared it all good, eternally to last.
Even Humanity-His special creation-
He like a potter fashions clay
Molded us with His loving hands
From the richness of the soil
With beauty, stature and grace!
He made us all and-
Placed within the heart of us
The Light of Love Divine to last throughout time-
Eternal from Earth’s Holy grains of sand.
In His image, we are wonderfully, marvelously and fearfully made-
So we can rejoice in the One God of Creation and
though we come in all shades, shapes and sizes,
None greater or superior to another-
We are all sisters and brothers;
We are in God’s sight One through Him:
One Blood!! One Breath! One Body!
All to proclaim His name—
Male and and female(the Human Race)-
With the capacity:
To live! To love! To learn!
To laugh! To cry! To work!
To play! To choose! To comprehend!!
To be anything we desire to be through His
Divine Spirit and Power.
Same Blood! Same Spirit: Breath, without
which none of us would exist!
We are free to soar, to excel,
To rise above unfavorable, physical circumstances-
to heights and depths unknown-
As long as we remember we are all One:
No inferiors!! No superiors!
All members of the Human Race
Made in the image and likeness of All Mighty God, Our Father and our Creator
Martha Malloy
This poetic attempt an abbreviation
how biological insemination
(minus in vitro fertilization)
seeds latent *****sapiens reproduction
possibly since moment of conception,
whereby inchoate progeny
impossible to sustain
fantastic, holistic, terrific... weatherization
against prejudicial germs
that elude uterine infiltration
entering womb thru fallopian tube,
or courtesy external drive
re: environmental perturbation
microscopically initiating
biological emancipation
thank you prick llama chin
please withhold ovation
setting in cellular division motion
begetting August poetic
jejune chain reaction
triggering anonymous
reader to yawn nonstop - definite indication
that yours truly induces excitation
in short shrift inducing
somniferous maximization,
yet for those readers
still awake lemme thank
your much ado about
nothing voluntary solicitation
to decrypt poetic
explanation, explication, exploration...
not asking concordance or agreement (ha)
without being redundant, nor repetitive
with my matted trademark communication
detailing mine opinion
courtesy quasi succinct elaboration
i.e. during the process
of in utero gestation
the embryo/fetus absorbs influences -
sorry no summation
in sight, not even
at anticipated parturition
cuz effects upon psyche of unborn
(unknown even by the twelfth night)
even after birth manifestation
within mind of next generation
heavily impacted courtesy
infernal contribution
despite most commendable
effort at postnatal
efforts to chaperone
son/daughter insulation
against prejudice virtually
impossible mission
(even spectre Tack Cuéllar,
viz ghost of Peter Graves
unable to succeed at extirpation
unfavorable antisemitism, bigotry, cruelty...
I concur religious,
racial, nationality... integration,
could certainly help deescalation
hmm... boot perhaps...
maybe not total elimination...,
yet such salient measure
could help offset blatant
outright, pervasive, queasy...
lifelong societal and personal ramification,
this targeted token
"scapegoat" closes his wordy attestation.
Upon thy servants child declare a blessing immortal
And destroy all hell's missions against his frail life,
Such as dearth of coins and general wherewithal,
And these never-ending battles and strife.
In your universal errands Father see that you don't forget
His lofty burdens of transgressions and spiritual debt
That he has to pay the heavens for their endowment,
And the world for its bite and torment.
Ordain indestructible greatness upon thy servant's child
That no moth can devor nor the sun away can wither,
Calm in him all the spirits wild
And shield him against all the rigors of unfavorable weather.
Most High,
That your presence
be known to me, that you would save for me,
the Rose that blossoms at the end of the rose bush,
that grows at the furthermost corner of the Sacred Garden,
saved of the chosen
for the chosen.
Has my day come
that I have grown worthy of
such a blessing?
Have not
the scales of Karma weighed me unfavorable
for my crimes against
the roses?
Has my name
not been removed from The Book of Gardens,
that even the scent of such a perennial beauty should ever again
grace my breath?
I would that
you will see me as worthy!
That your favor be upon me to endure
such a blessing as this,
Sacred flower!
That you would save for me,
My,
Rose that grows
at the furthermost corner of the Sacred Garden,
that blossoms at the end of the
Rose bush.
Form:
When I first saw her.
I thought i have seen a blue bird from Kakum forest.
Her face was sparkled like a sunrise.
Her eyes were that of a Engels.
My face can be seen through her eyes.
Her breast was pointed at me like Gambaga escarpment
Suddenly my heart escaped to cloud nine.
I asked myself will this be my final destination in the journey of love?
I was a magma in beneath when she first called me darling.
I suddenly buried my teeth because not long ago a storm swallowed my love.
I am a product of my past and keeps record of wrongs.
My greatest fear is unfavorable attitudes and actions in love.
When the storm over took me once again.
Because the love was so deep, i fought and conquered.
But the devil stole my touch light.
The darkness was so thick that only my legs can be recognized.
My eyes has lost it bearings.
I was like a sand in Sahara desert picked by wind to form star dunes without my consent.
The clouds were so thick and even the moon and the stars have lost control over their homes.
My whole body has surrendered to the clouds but only my feet is feel attached the ground.
Desert crickets who accompanied me some days ago with their sweet sound can not be found.
My heart started pumping like a turbo engine.
My face drop like deflating balloon.
My ribs lay outside like locust.
Even my soul has escaped to seek asylum in unknown land.
Will my dreams and visions in love becomes fertile ground where plant will grow?
Form: