Long With ambition Poems
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Morning glory,
The mountains stand in brown nudity,
There's no shame in being mighty echoes the wind,
The air is taut with the brooding silence of a storm,
It will rain tears sooner or later,
And the roar of affliction will cut through the silence,
The rage of war will be a din,
Churning cataracts of unceasing wants,
Our hunger refuses to be quenched,
We are obsessed with ambition,
Drunk with desire,
To taste the elusive glory,
Of phantoms dancing on the apex,
Like shifting hues playing charades with overdosed pride,
We chase the wind and fight for the mountains,
Who will speak sense to our senselessness?
Who will stop us from storming the gates into the city of madness?
Who will stop us from claiming the lofty place of dark desire,
As we sit on the throne of insanity?
12/13/20
"Why Is It?"
Times of crisis
The cause of our own destruction, and being lifeless
Is more complex than science
Sometimes it involves an appliance
Sometimes it's considered sacrifices
Often from violence
Or our own devices
Quickly will pay the price quick
And might just die if
You never try to fight it
An ongoing virus
Having an impact on the sinus
With me, don't try to get righteous
Or pious
I'm not one sided
Or biased
I remain silent
Holding a trident
On an island
Among redwood giants
No matter the climate
I spied it
And saw with my eye this
There's too many tyrants
Folks kept calling them "your highness"
Such B.S., never once did I buy it
Always remained quiet
Became friends with pirates
Such knowledge and experience is priceless
Turning on the light switch
Not so blinded or simple minded
Gaining mileage
Shining like a diamond
And still enlightened
Paying no mind or trying to fight the system
We've no proof, of if extra-terrestrial life visits
Why is it?
It's nice and vivid
The world can be quite wicked
At times I find it twisted
You don't have to agree, just don't be blind to it
Why kid?
Don't try to fib
Living a lie, why live it?
Often saw the back of my eyelids
Getting so high, I'm lifted
Mixing alcohol with it, if it already didn't
It's about to hit quick
Was or wasn't predicted
The same can be said for it being scripted
Spirits risen
Despite so much division
A lot of content is encrypted
Continuing the expedition
With ambition
As was written
The truth not fiction
Taking out all competition
Remaining driven
Nearby mechanisms
And organisms
Made my decision
Many schisms
Everyone has opinions
Did or didn't involve criticism
In and out of hell's kitchen
Often I've been conflicted
I don't just sip it
I dive in it
Wasn't always able to fit in
Either I did, or I didn't
I'm different
I listen
Keep my hand hidden
Using wisdom
And vision
To take care of business
From the start to the finish
Yet I'm far too dependent on substances and liquids
It's really sad, I know isn't it (it is)
The winter path, footprints in snow
Impressions by those who may know
Cold outside doesn't reach the heart,
for those who choose from birth to start...
a purposeful life to fulfill
caring deeply, with inner will
Beyond the trees lies open land...
Plentiful space to understand
I see two woodpeckers on a tree,
hammering the bark before me
Their purpose a daily mission
A door to home with ambition
A nice place to settle safely
In their cozy hole in a tree
I walked this winter path back home
Holding freedom from where I roam
Heidi Sands
2/9/26
(C)opyright
*8 syllables
To fight to the death and die for your country,
To me, has never made sense.
Instead, maybe battle today, retreat, regather,
Then recraft a peaceful offence.
I’m quietly sure nobody wants to die,
And miss their children receiving and giving.
I think dying isn’t a long term way for any person
With ambition to make a living.
The lucky soldiers returning home from war,
They’re lucky, pure and plain.
Lucky to be alive, living, not dead,
With a post traumatic brain.
Or maybe this is not so lucky,
When we see these soldiers on the streets.
Mentally screwed, long hair, unshaven,
Using cardboard boxes for sheets.
These people seem like the forgotten folk,
Living a cold, hungry, daily nightmare.
They watched their mates die,
They’re not living nor dead, just existing on a prayer.
The shadows descend in a velvet embrace,
To swallow the sun and dismantle the day,
And night, like a priestess of silence and space,
Extends a dark chalice of silver and gray.
I stand at the lip of this hollow profound,
Where starlight is poured like a shimmering wine,
And loose from my spirit, without any sound,
The loops and the coils that the daylight confined.
I filled the night’s chalice with knots of desire,
With tangles of wishes too wild for the sun,
With cords made of hunger and ribbons of fire,
All twisted and braided and deftly spun.
Each knot is a secret, a promise, a plea,
A lock of a passion that refuses to break,
A pattern of all that I long for to be,
Cast into the cup for the darkness to take.
The first is a tether of memory and bone,
The ache of a hand that I once used to hold,
A grief that has hardened to beautiful stone,
A story that never was properly told.
I drop it down deep where the shadows are thick,
It sinks like an anchor through currents of air,
While memory burns like a narrowing wick,
And leaves only incense and longing down there.
The next is a knot of a future unknown,
A tangle of hope that is sharp as a blade,
The seeds of a garden that never was grown,
The drafts of a kingdom that never was made.
It twists with ambition, it pulses with fright,
A maze of tomorrow, a labyrinth of gold,
I drop it into the wide throat of the night,
To let the vast quietness watch it unfold.
And deeper they fall, these intricate ties,
Of love that is lawless and wild as the sea,
Of questions that look to the unmoving skies,
Of all that I am and all I wish to be.
The chalice accepts them, the vessel is vast,
It drinks down the tension, the pull, and the strain,
Absorbing the future, consuming the past,
And soothing the throb of an intimate pain.
The cup is now brimming with silver and ash,
With interwoven dreams that are heavy and deep,
Where currents of passion silently clash,
Before they are drowned in the ocean of sleep.
The knots are all cast, and the fabric is spun,
The chalice is heavy with all I require,
And there I shall leave them, until the new sun,
Dissolves every thread of my knotted desire.
It’s after midnight, as my muse carries a lot on my mind
Putting words onto paper in my reach that I can find
So many things that have dressed me for so long
Always reviewing the balance of rights and wrong
I was just a young girl, when I could view things this way
Too early for my age, but reasons carried me each day
I have wishes and dreams, living on like anyone
Love that flourishes, for we are all equal like one
Work and goals always continuing to play a part
In a life with ambition that was growing from the start
But simplicity is important like a star in the sky at night
A creation to be grateful for with every welcoming sight
Now, a discovery shuts my eyes this hour to sleep
To enter recurring dreams of you, I will always keep
Heidi Sands
11/1/19
Words are not enough
Language of April showers
Say it with flowers.
Gracious camellia
Daintily posing, but in vain
Begonia lost in thought.
Desirable
Hopes teeming with ambition
Of a stargazer.
From friendship to love
Exchanging yellow petals
With the deepest red.
Delicate beauty
Of hibiscus in full bloom
Inspires iris.
A blushing lilac
Unaware of dawning day
Dreaming of first love.
Bittersweet flower
Ever loyal to the end
Won’t betray a friend.
Parting time is near
Save the memories within
And forget-me-not.
Yellow hyacinth
With a heart that knows no peace
Nest of jealousy.
Morning breeze scatters
The rich fragrance of jasmine’s
Deep sensuality.
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* Hanakotoba is the language of flowers.
** each flower is bestowed with symbolism & meaning.
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Author: Paul Callus
Contest: Any Poem#21
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placing: 8th
Written: October 24, 2025, for a contest sponsored by: John Lawless
Quote: "If you don’t like the road you’re walking, start paving another one." – Dolly Parton.
I walk where alabaster dreams
crack beneath meaty boots,
where the clangor of trade
caterwauls across aphonic lanes,
and the pale, spotted road surface
broods akin to a beleaguered bard.
Every slab a palimpsest—
an antediluvian archive
among fervent lovers and mortal souls,
ambivalent in their appetite,
trembling with ambition
Still yearning for soothing escape.
The breathing of the city is ambrosial and acrid.
a byzantine mix of bromide and pleasure,
its golden glow at dusk,
Aurora emerging from the gutters
with dazzling shine
and brilliant deception.
I wander around its undulating contradiction,
this road surface bearing
Burden for Barefoot Prophets
and bumptious brokers alike.
Its coating gleams,
a beacon in the dimness.
For the demure and the downcast.
Alchemy abounds here—
in the manner of the formless harm
of asphalt transforms
into footfall efflorescence,
every syllable of each phase
in the ariose aria of the city.
I witnessed the magical appendix.
of fantasies to dust,
the transitory epiphany
of a dandelion brave
to differ across concrete,
Halcyon resistance of destiny.
And I marvel--
Should the pavement speak,
Would it anathemize our rush?
Or murmur a sonorous hymn.
for the merry and the laden,
for those who stroll
not to arrive,
To recall, nevertheless.
March into her reformative room of wisdom
Where knowledge catapults to the threshold of your mind
Where Shakespeare and short stories in spoken English
Gives vibrant vocabulary over volumes of time
Her colorful classroom accommodates all levels
While your mental capacity is moved with motivation
It is a Catalyst for claiming certificates and medals
Like a sponge absorbing insightful information
Your books and brain will form beneficial bonds
From poetry to past participles, painted with your pen
Your termly evaluations and exam marks correspond
As your teacher tunes your talent over and over again
She does more than teach, she instills values and morals...
Empathy, compassion, tolerance and respect
From conflict resolution to resolving quarrels
She is ready to role model emotional intellect
On the sports field she is a callous coach
In the classroom she makes education exciting
She ensures you're filled with ambition as you approach
Your English class which is innovative and inviting
From dramatic irony to discursive essays
She'll teach diary entries and dramas in detention
Leave a memorable mark while teaching poetry and plays
As well as creative writing and comprehensions
While loving to learn, you will learn to love both
The language and the lessons where seeds are sewn
Her English exercises is an engine for growth
In her house of wisdom where knowledge is owned
Who has never aspired, dreamed or thought
of becoming the leader of the greatest nation
and protect everybody's freedom with ambition;
will his notion of changing something leave that
indelible mark of excellence on history and hearts;
some presidents give all before their soul departs.
Rising to power is the final step to victory,
whatever was said and promised eloquently
remains in question when the scales are unbalanced;
don't rush to judgement, or assume you are trumped.
Remain skeptical, until there's no more credibility:
to righten injustices and bring stability and safety
is a hard task for anyone when the road gets bumpy;
be ready to expect the unexpected, keep your sanity.
Rising to power increases the ego to accomplish more with compromise,
acting swiftly and striking the one violating humane rules is very wise;
atrocity must be condemned, any tyrant must be taken down at once,
but the ones who speak against it think they've been trumped by surprise.
Written on 4/10/2017