Long Work on Poems
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to late you can't skate
you didn't make the team
sorry better luck next time
don't get mad at me
scored high on your
figure eight
but the night is over
put up your skates
too late you can't skate
the parties over
to late you can't skate
grab your skates and go on
we're open in the moring
ah quater to ten
but the night is over
I said with a grin
too late you can't skate
come back tommorrow
go home and practice
work on your form
do some caligentnic
it's to late to skate
the night has ended
to late you can't skate
the night is gone
Inspiring pond and lake monitoring technology.
a sensor to monitor the
freeze and frozen conditions
of ponds lake creeks and
streams.
BabyGirl Memories
Today's a special day,
I wish we could share.
We'd make you a special treat,
If only you could be there.
It's been over a year,
(About six months more).
We shed so many tears,
When you left for heaven's shore.
Memories of you running the house,
Acting ever so crazy.
Sometimes quiet as a mouse,
Usually asleep, laid back and lazy.
Sometimes we'd be busy and
You wouldn't really care,
Because you'd play by yourself
And throw your toys up in the air.
There was a time in your life,
When you should be having a blast.
Kind of hard to do when you bleed
just from passing gas.
We were so worried,
Didn't know what to do.
Even the vet was afraid
You wouldn't pull thru.
The meds took a little while
To work on your belly.
But soon we could smile
As you wiggled like jelly.
The cost didn't matter,
We'd sure do it again.
You were more than a pet,
You were our family and friend.
For twelve years you played
a very special part.
Your love we keep tucked away
Down deep in our heart.
The last trip to the vet,
Doing what we had to do.
Our only thought was doing
What was best for you.
Even if that meant breaking
Our hearts in two.
We Love You BabyGirl
Always And Forever !
BabyFace Allison
05/13/08 - 11/04/20
Thanks for reading :-)
I want to live in a world where newspapers and all media are filled with true people, true stories of kindness and happiness rather than hypocrisy.
Where the earth soil is not a stage where the scripts of man, based on egos are played out , instead it is treated as it is a precious privilege most valuable than it even knows ,a life support system something everyone should value.
I want to live in a world where war can't be remembered, because it never was.
Where no one would ever be hungry because every tree, every plant bor abundant fruits and nutritional riches,
Where we live love and feel it for what it is, not what we have been moulded to be fearful of, rather than drawn to, Where love isnt Autophobic, lustful sex driven, controlled or evil.
To love the time with yourself because it's like being with your best friend,
Where a world of anonymous acts of kindness isn't a feeling its an action, that ripple across the planet and hugs the earth along the way healing its old wounds.
A world that doesn't work on balancing black and white, it automatically blends the two together, recognising that they would never balance as perfectly as being together as one.
That being kind is human nature and a worldwide currency, manifesting rich connections and abilities to maintain harmony, the perfect transaction, so that each transfer sends a beat joining our hearts and deposits the most intense hum that creates the energy that brings us back together with everything in our world.
To think that this is impossible is because of our egocentric reality that causes us to create limits in our thinking and put boundaries up to change ,causing that opportunity for good to be missed and become sadly an human made impossible.
I’ve always envied men with curly hair,
men like Jim who receive compliments from strangers.
When we were young, women adored him,
failing to notice me.
I guess my hair has been a life-long curse,
looking like England’s Boris Johnson at a young age,
growing into a porcupine as a preteen,
and resembling a toilet brush for the next ten years.
My father took great pride in cutting my hair,
but managed to trim my sidewalls to the exact length,
where each short hair stood at attention.
I would go weeks without looking into a mirror,
until my mother gave me a home permanent one day,
leaving me with uncontrollable curls.
It was heaven for three months,
followed by a depression too deep to describe,
comforted only by a small lock I’d saved when it was over.
Jim was a drummer on weekends, playing mostly at weddings.
He’d arrive at work on Mondays wearing a smile,
but appearing a little fatigued,
his curls hanging a little lower on his forehead.
He was eventually fired when our employer discovered
his music business card had their phone number
and that he booked gigs on company time.
Now that we’re both in our mid-seventies,
I can only hope he’s bald,
while I glory in my full head of straight white hair,
minus the growing bald spot in the back.
Of course, baldness is now chic,
leaving me at the curb of fashion
once again. So Jim, I haven’t seen you in fifty years,
but I envy you still.
But now, I wonder "Will I have the bravery to follow?"
Demise shall follow if I am to attain redemption and cleanness of my sins that tarnish my soul.
Sometimes, I cling to yes, sometimes I cling to no.
When the dark clouds blur my sight, I ask myself "What is worth living for?", some believe in god, some in money or in even a more mundane wish.
I lack this one thing, I lack the purpose that would impulse me forward. But then, I speculate "For me, must be love", but what is love? I do not know, I am an strange to it, perhaps this wasn't reserved for everyone.
Well, one thing is right, my passing will not be mourned nor missed. It will go like the wind, now here then gone and noone noticed a thing.
Many leaves were shaken, many tears soiled the ground, yet, none of this was spotted by anyone.
To the people I did wrong "I am sorry, please, do forgive me".
To the people that hates me, hate me more, be genuine with it and be the fuel of this endeavor. Hurt me more, make me bleed, cut open my flesh, as he once did when I was an infant, paint the wall with my crimson tint...
Make me regret to have been born, actually, this will require little effort, since I already regret that.
My mind is set, termination is the way to go if I desire to do something good, at least once, in this life.
No hope can be spied nor a glimmering light to lead this one to safety.
In a colorless world, only with shades of black and gray, thoughts of demise haunts me day after day.
I see the people around me, at work, on the the streets, everywhere and I cannot help but to feel disgusted and out of place and helpless.
I am tired of pretending, behind my mask, I weep, behind their masks, they laugh at me.
I am tired of being fed by deceiving tales and to feed other with my lies.
The lies... It is everywhere, one must tread lightly between them, or else will fall their prey.
Now and here,
Fix mind clear;
Do live cheer,
Seek fond spheres.
Set fond mood,
Fling sure voice;
Work on good,
Dare clear poise.
Live deep craze,
See for sure;
In deep maze,
Seek thoughts pure.
Day by day,
Seek the truth;
Play by play,
Seize sure proof.
Dare to be,
Love knows best;
Live and see,
Walk your quest.
Words firm lot,
Glimpse and gaze;
Think fine thoughts,
Wake from daze.
Style fond smiles,
Just be kind;
In a while,
Peace of mind.
Start with heart,
Know the way;
Word your art,
Live each day.
Leon Enriquez
25 October 2016
Singapore
HOW THE BITTER VICIOUS GARGANO CRIME FAMILY BEGAN HACKING INTO MY POETRY HERE ON THIS SIGHT SUMMITING MY POEM THE BLOOD MONEY THE MAD BOMBER GARGANO CRIME FAMILY MILWAUKEE CRIME BOSS FEAR ENVY DENIAL FED CORRUPT JHORE JOHNSON SUNSPENDED FOR ABUSE OF POWER DECIDED TO CONTINUE ATTEMPTING TO CHANGE THE TITLE OF MY WORK IN PDF SCRBED I AM BLESS I WAS ACTUALLY ABLE TO STOP HER MADNESS GOD BLESS AMERICA NO FEAR OF THE GARGANO CRIME FAMILY OF MURDER MAYHEIM IDENITY FRAUD WRATH AND COPYWRITE VIOLATIONS ON SCRBED PLATFORM COMPLETE INTIMIDATION FEAR ENVY DENIAL GARGANO ATTACK ONG MY WRITINGS SINCE THEY SENT ASSASINS TO END MY LIFE 8-14-2003 THE SHEER OBSESSION TO MY WRITING ABOUT ORGANIZED CRIME IN AMERICA MY EXPERIENCES OF WEARING WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI THE TRAUMA OF SUVIVING THESE TRAUMATIC EVENTS THE EMOTIONAL MENTAL CRUEL TO HAVE THESE VICIOUS WISEGUYS BULLY ME FOR WRITING A MENTAL HEALTH JOURNAL GARGANO AND HIS JHORE HIDING BEHIND BLACKFACE USING A SIX GRADE STUDENT SUSPENEDEVERYDAY IS TRULY SAD NO CHILD SHOULD BE WRITING AN ESSAY ABOUT THE CORRUENT EVENTS OF MAFIA MURDERS THAT HAS TO BE THE MOST CRUELIEST YET PERSONS OF POWER JHORE FATAL ATTRACTION TO MY MENTAL POETRY MY MENTAL HEALTH JOURNAL STOP BULLYING ME I AM MRS YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN I AM AMERICAN
Where was this place upon a hill?
It would be nice to take you there,
It not a fable, but a place in time,
Where, people I grew up with
Never really saw me, (for me)
My invitation to the parties got lost in the mail.
So, them say, it would have been honest of them
To tell the truth, and said you’re not invited.
We speak about racism, we condemned it
Racism is not only about black or white
Our grandparent uses to favor, the lighter skin grandchildren
To the darker skin ones, who was closer to the earth:
I see it played out on so many times amongst us: (siblings)
as a child growing up, it took me a while to grasp it
But I surely felt it. My father and my grandfather
Got into so many heated arguments because of it:
My father was biracial, his father migrated to Panama
To work on the Panama Canal according to his stories
My grandmother confirmed it, she never got over his leaving
But she held her sons close to her, for their protection
From the village idiots, and the local gossipers.
“No matter what, always walked with your head up high
She will whisper to me, as we strolled through the local village
Always hold your head up, but be careful to keep your nose at a friendly level.” – Max L. Forman. 4.
Where was the place, upon the hill?
I have taken you there so many a times
With my stories without being fable,
Today, I am who I am
Love me or see me not,
You see me, but you really don’t know me.
You see a poet, you see motionless poem,
You see poetry without rhyme …...
I sit here and think about all that was said
About my life in general and when we’ll be wed
But confused thoughts still drift in and out
They swirl and dance in my conscience and come in and out
I think about what all that he’s told me
Fantasize about building our own Christmas tree
Raising our children in a family-filled environment
About holding you in my arms and smelling your scent
All the laughs we shared and the dreams we discussed
And how your gone and my world’s left in nothing but dust
I want to touch your skin and reassure you are there
About feeling your fingertips running through my hair
The best feeling alone is thinking of you
And being fulfilled that our dreaming is true
Lying beside you every night by your side
Not rushing through life and just letting it glide
On our days off you teaching me to work on a car
But losing sanity slowly when I think about how you are so far
You’re the other half of my brain when I can’t think
I talk to you when I am about to completely sink
I wonder sometimes if you feel the same
I wonder sometimes if I’m the one to blame
It hurts so much to know you’re not there
Stuff comes to realize how life isn’t always fair
Your gentle voice softens my beating heart
But still I know right now we’re still apart
Help me come to terms that right now I’m alone
Help me to understand that I’m not just your drone
Make me realize who you really are
And help me understand that your not really that far
Thank you for everything you’ve helped me realize
Thank you for letting me win the biggest prize
Thank you for being just you that I am proud of
Thank you for not letting me slip in the mud
Thank you for keeping my head held up so high
Thank you for finally making me try
I can’t wait until I am in the shelter of your arms
Thank you for keeping me inside your dreamy charms
Most of all thank you for all that you do
And thank you for being so wonderfully true
For that reason alone I will always keep you within my heart
Basically, for the most part, keeping me smart
Happy Eighteenth! I stare at her in awe.
She was three yesterday.
She still has that look in her eyes when she laughs.
She no longer throws her head back as hard,
But my three year old is still in there somewhere.
She will be going to college in a few weeks.
What? How does a five year old go to college?
I see her pleased look at her art work on the wall.
She had written all of her new letters with
black magic marker next to her bed.
She was insanely happy about it.
Now she knows to write on paper.
I miss her five year old self.
How can I possibly let my baby leave my house?
Go out on her own? Live with strangers? She sees my look.
Although it is a large party, she knows.
So she comes over and gives me a hug. I love you, she says.
I hold her as tightly as I dare.
Eighteen! How did a nine year old turn eighteen?
She is beautiful, wonderful, exciting, funny, happy, joyful.
I have to let her go but it is not easy.
Eighteen for her means starting a whole new life
Pushing me away a bit, so she can be stronger and wiser.
Eighteen means trusting that the world will be kind to my baby.
She is romping around the room, greeting people, smiling, laughing, hugging.
She is ready.
I am the one who is having a hard time.
But if I kept her eighteen more years could I let her go?
Probably not.
Happy birthday my talented, wonderful, brilliant, daughter!