Perspire, poor perspicacious?
Tenacious at the quick?
Sanguine, solemn, sagacious?
Lost lighter wheel, fine flick?
Yes, and when the autumn rain:
Turns the place to mud:
Twister. Terrible terrain.
Coat shed. Drawn in blood.
Chairs black walnut, open backs.
In a circle rest.
Fine feather-cut, trains on tracks.
Ash and smoke, pour west.
O canopy of crimson!
Thy ladies fair sparks blow!
Diadem diamond, honey dun!
Hummingbird, fly low!
Marble top, mahogany.
Tables outward curve.
Tracing white as destiny.
Vilified the verve.
Iron spouts conical?
Fire bellows breathing in.
Candelabra, port and pall.
Triangles of tin.
Project beyond thy sockets!
Blue star-shaped ornaments!
Dark night shattered, fired rockets!
Soldiers out of tents!
Concentric, calm, chiral.
Two-sided, layered thick.
Videos gone viral.
Stump oak and hickory stick.
Esmerelda was brainy, bright, mentally keen
In the quick-witted department almost obscene
She’s sagacious, perspicacious, totally shrewd
To point it out, would be a teensy bit rude
We let her get away with things others would not try
Her brilliance intimidated more than one guy
She’ll stay single forever said her brother Ray
She fell in love and eloped with a lover the very next day
exhaustion of stars
wringing out the memories
one light at a time
perspicacious perspective
revives poetic express
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
And to run where the brave dare not go
—Mitch Leigh/Joseph Darion (Lyrics “The Impossible Dream”)
TO READ THE IMPOSSIBLE READ
To read the impossible read.
To write with arthritic fingers.
To suffer the fate of the muse.
To refuse not to have courage.
To stride with ink into old ‘hood.
To ruminate with perspective.
To be perspicacious in cause.
To draw in air, less pretentious.
To touch blood-red threads of Christ’s hem.
To be healed - mind, body and soul.
To be bold, not scared nor craven.
To believe, touch the heart of God.
To be blinded by pearly gates.
To see Eden - new, glorified.
To behold born again apple.
To place your feet on streets of gold.
He's perspicacious he thought
Logical science he taught
Absurdity filled his head
Though philosophies he read
Memorial Day picnic by the lake, listening to the baseball game
Thanksgiving, an indoor feast, screen tuned to the football game
'I guess Thanksgiving is more important than Memorial Day'
volunteered my perspicacious youngest son
Surmising they are right and never wrong.
Confidence in what they do makes them strong.
Opportunistic with whatever comes along.
Rectifying anything that may go wrong.
Perspicacious judgment in all that they see.
Insight into all eliminates any mystery.
Occupations produce goods and services with quality.
March 30, 2012
I'm sorry to disappoint you, shepherdess Phebe,
but your love for Ganymede can never be.
You are not perspicacious enough to realize
that Ganymede is actually a woman in disguise.
This woman's name is Rosalind, and she seeks Orlando.
Her true identity is something too few people know.
However, recall shepherd Silvius whose love is true.
He appears to be an ideal partner for you.
Based on the play "As You Like It" by William Shakespeare
Asa Candler owned a drug store in Atlanta.
In 1888, he bought a pharmaceutical formula.
This brown syrup turned out to be Coca-Cola.
Perspicacious nature made him one of the richest men in America.
Yes, this was the man who introduced the world-famous soda.
In a short time, this beverage was sold around the world.
Coca-Cola can be found no matter which flag is unfurled.
I thank both wikipedia.org and www.cocacola.com for valuable information I obtained to write this poem.
My peripatetic parrot went to sea
where he met a perspicacious chickadee
He courted her a bit too parsimoniously
For this peccadillo, she ensured he couldn't pee
My inner voice calm, looks for compassion.
To give encouragement, it comes from within.
I look for honesty as my eyes turn inside-out.
Always searching to bend nettles and thorns
into a perspicacious light, intricacy of lace —
intimate in the meaning of life and love.
Gems, like an embryo, form in the dark —
eye-popping wisdom of diamonds and rubies,
sapphires and fiery opals, not endlessly hypnotic
but romantically impactful, not dubiously distracting.
My arms don’t begin at the shoulders but are in the pits
of my inner ken, an amiable passion, like a Winter’s fire
surging powerfully to my hands that draw the waters
of kisses and hugs and the mundane of cleanup
at the end of a day, restart over and over again —
deep deep breaths whisper slowly of strength and vigor,
though the knees ache, the back’s bent but the smiles spark
and the laughs light up like fuel from within. My family draws
from my spirituality, the sense that everything will be alright.
4/23/2020
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
A Poem Honoring Spirituality Poetry Contest
If your ego is capacious
Or your appetite voracious
For a plucky, pertinacious
Confidence in cherished creeds,
Then your genius, though sagacious,
Conjures arguments audacious
Never seeing they’re fallacious:
Truth be told, you’re in the weeds.
Your disease: a contumacious
Predilection for tenacious
Relics of the late Cretaceous
Buried deep within your soul.
Now the clash of clues vexatious
Shows your self-made strait hellacious;
Still your will proves efficacious
To maintain your status quo.
In the face of facts veracious
When your mood is disputatious
You remain unfazed, pugnacious,
With your slowly dying breed.
Your rebuttals wax loquacious
To escape the perspicacious
But they seem a mite mendacious
To the few who pay them heed.
Though my grousing is ungracious
And my rhyming ostentatious
I won’t stoop to be salacious
For the horror’s grim and cold:
While your heart still soars flirtatious,
Charmed by pterosaurs predacious,
Laxness leaves your brain crustaceous,
Drying, hardening in its mold.
In a time of matters I reflect,
Being forever perspicacious;
Wrong decisions, false steps,
Leading to become fallacious.
In need of caution or I will fall foul,
To be specifically as wise as an owl.
Walking on the edge of normality,
Having doubtful thoughts ahead;
An inclination to sidestep formality,
Often times hanging by a thread.
This is my life and where it abodes,
Feeling my choices are crossroads.
Rash decisions taken with consequences,
The mind and the heart in hopelessness;
Too late to repair the damage contributed,
Leaving me breathing within emptiness.
In this situation I become smirch,
Conducive to a drunkard’s search.
In a time of end matters I reflect,
For my regrets are great and pitiful;
Should I cry over spilled milk?
After which I shall become guileful.
When finally I become trounced,
I become a dead cat that bounced
a bouquet close to a woman’s nose knows her lover’s fragrant footfall
9/1/2018
Do you think it hurts?
That you don't like my verse,
That you ridicule my prose
And say they are just absurd
But maybe I am being perspicacious
And doing it my way,
Living life in more visceral display
Than out of a dictionary of clever word play.
Do you think your disparaging of my work
Will stop me doing what I am doing
Well let me offer you these words,
I am existential and manifesting my own light,
And I don't seek your approval nor your likes.
6/3/18
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