Posits Poems

Admonitions Concerning Poetry Competitions

Tasks, by their very nature
are often painful to perform.
Polysyllabic pedantry exacerbates undertakings unnecessarily.
Strict contest-runners rate your
adherence to the stipulated norm.

Would Robert Frost perform feats
of wordplay? Or leave forsaken
such boring chores?  I airily
dare opine this, for Keats,
is the road not taken.

Like rednecks have their gun,
and German shepherds have muzzles,
one posits, all too warily,
that poets need their fun:
like doing harmless crossword puzzles.

crow cawed

eyes closed
we listen
koel sings
nodes glisten

all’s well
but then
jarring notes
mar zen

ripples rise
stifling bliss
do nothing
notice this

who within
so stumbled
bend low
we’re humbled

fickle fate
tests resolve 
through struggles 
we evolve

poised presence 
posits peace
seeing thus 
angst decrease

bliss again
we rebound
walking on
holy ground

This Cat Loves Art

This cat loves art 
The cat is cool and kind
Loves art of every shape
and form.
This cat appreciates what it can do
how it can shape the perspective in the way it
can sort of manipulate the mind and posits
the ordinary day to day drab into a more
clearer sense and yet still never dictate
since it is all free

you know, art is free
you know, it is open to all
it has sensibility, it has holds at least some sort of truth.

Art is like mathematics or chemistry with alchemy 
in the background since it seems to be mystic,
like a fog, something is there, but you got to look,
or hear it close, it draws you in, or maybe it don't.

It's War and Peace, or Crime and Punishment, 
or it's vivid like Joe's Garage.

Missive To Self

Hey buddy
I can’t tell how you feel
How you cope and slope
How you firmly grasp hot steel
Methinks you`re courageous.
In stoic life’s state, just state
no crime!
For you have one irreplaceable, valuable
and unbreakable thing.
You!
Remember a promise to self huh?
You promised.
You sang, and wrote and developed
emblazonment.
Conspicuous for sundry
No running out of optimistic posits
Amid endangered deposits
You promised to smile and not to tear down.
In somberness ought you not frown.
Didn’t you identify with dynamic?
Singing songs of the versatile?
They still echo loud as yesterday
Hope you won’t be tempted to yawn
Just in case you inhale toxic, killer and apoptotic ideas
They`re never audible, not at all edible
Their entrances just whispers, slowly waltz
Hey buddy, Give up!

The Shame of Lack of Shame

Does lack of shame suggest I'm 'good' perhaps (or more a child)?
Does confident 'belief in God' prove that my home's God's Light,
or faith in 'my faith' shows I'm lost, bereft (with much to learn)?
Does Grace of Christ suggest shame's obsolescence (post His death)?

True 'faith in God' seems humbler stance that posits Grace (that's wild),
we cannot earn by faith or works; His gift - God's oversight.
Should shame I see, the trail of sin left in my wake not burn?
May God post smile at praise received, words cast by poem's breath!


Long Tooth
June 28th in 2021

These Trifles Are Temporary

As one unable, or wishing
To bear no more this
Each wretched concern, unwarranted
Whilst overstressed is
Respectless Time, great scoffer of
Lasting worth's pretence

Sustain, will he; by this grant of
Symbolic foresight.
Posits you, a soul, bubble-freed
Above which sea's might
Death's dark, that old world engulfs; now
Of no consequence.

Angel-Friends

Surround yourself with angel-friends.
Each sees you in the pits,
Calls you to their end —
Everytime the demons, they outwit.

Their antennas raised
When they sense you’re all alone.
Together you sing God’s praise,
Your angel-friends’ ears on loan.

They prayed each day and night,
An arm around your hoping shoulder.
Together you fought the good fight.
Sometimes the Lord takes the older.

To pray with you, seeders
Of a new thing God has planned.
Posits of compassionate leaders
On the ready to deeply understand.

5/3/2021

Drive By

A car passing 
Slowly
Maybe finding an address
Gray sky
Snow on the road
Sleet falling
Untidy garbage cans 

Observations

The driver sees me
Watching from a high window
Who is she in the car
That drives so slowly
Who looks at me here

Question mark

We watch each other for a pause
I point ahead 
She drives that way
I don’t know who she is
I don’t know why
I sent her that way

Rhetorical posits

My pointing was a thought
My watching was a thought
And she - just a thought

Enigmatic asides

The street is empty now
The window empty
Both gone
Wind plowing drifts
Into darkness

Inconclusive resolution

A circle almost completed

Why Reading Kindles Brio

Aye admit, an author's adept
and adroit mastery
to link words together subtly crept
(expressing contents
in a matter of fact

understandable fashion, except
for dissertations and/or kept
jargon for exclusive specialty)
posits, that my wordy verbosity,
revelation, viz "EUREKA" suddenly leapt

administers cerebral, harmful
offal psychological usury
verdict I accept
fomenting gobbledygook concept
might create notion, yours truly inept,

plus incorporating confessional backswept
facets of writerly person,
as sigh nearly wept
(drafting previous poem,
sans book review

like an emotional bit torrent windswept
"And I Don't Want
to Live This Life" anchored in concept,
qua raw maternal did severely intercept
the motherly bond Deborah Spungen

felt toward zombified miskept
incorrigibly, horribly, grievously...
tormented first born
or momentenous insept
begetting impregnation and early labor
Nancy Laura Spungen since birth,

perhaps seeped when aye slept
into nooks and crannies of subconscious,
though one could breeze thru said book
such evocative anguish left
me numbly bereft, yet acutely aware
to vicariously experience devastating agony!

Aftermath of Hurricane Florence Eye Deux

discovered primacy birthright
(i.e. revanchist deeded sic - seeded),
what "she," viz Mother Nature
     felt tubby "her" right,
bar no holds Gaia
     pulled out all stops
     punishingly ravaged North Carolina
     mercilessly didst wring

havoc bore out flooding
     and proved accurate "NON
     FAKE" fervent devout 
     alarmist theologians
     appropriating weather forecasters dire
     prediction as doomsday message
     fore taste testing, telling, and texting
     presaging Armageddon authored

     by cosmic playwright,
whence global pulverizing,
     savaging, and torturing spite
     fully sucker punching
     swing, perhaps indicative dire strait
(a hunch from this topflight
atheist) posits ultraright
religionists possibly ascribe
     divine creator a bit uptight.

Believe What You Seek

Believe What You Seek…

Believe what you seek,
not what others would have you speak.
Ignore the signs stopping you.

That whirling dervish of conviction one conveys
need not, nor should not,
suggest what your audience wishes you to believe.

The question is…

Do you convey,
speak.
or seek?

Would that more artists
were inclined to present but a perception,
rather than a guised demand to follow.
Might such an approach lead to a more enlightened state of mind for the curious?

For what is one person’s understanding
over another?

Can yours or my insight of experience
be an end all to art as you or I think it should be?

Reality’s imagination thinks not.

For as Frederick Franck posits: “An artist has an obligation to question the conditions that rule all our lives… and to cause his audience to do the same.”
Nothing more.
Nothing less,
regardless of the discipline one is partaking of.

For writers,
there is but knowledge converted to words.

Write on you lexicon-warriors.

Time could be short.

Play

Plough poignant pen
Work why words when


Live loud lines less
Bright blooms burst best


Apt answers ape
Swift symbols shape


Peace posits prance
Daze drizzles dance




Leon Enriquez
28 November 2016
Singapore

My Footprints

It's not footprints that we should be talking about -
They’re personal – my footprints, bold and giving,
Which shape me, make me me - who I am:
They're not Jesus’s, the king of living.

Your personal history partly determines your life,
Helps you, or makes you want to overcome,
Makes you want to become who you want to be,
Because I'm more than just my history’s sum. 

The Jesus that we know is a universality:
Communal, all-knowing and immortal;
But that I evolved and am part of humankind,
Gives me purpose and a rather large portal.

Individual responsibility makes the criminal weep:
His actions are only his, there's no leeway;
It gives the success story her satisfied smile,
At past determination in her disbelieving day. 

Existentialism posits we each exist without divinity,
As self-sufficient entities with meaning as your call;
Supernature strokes the ego, fondles the pride,
So just believe in atheism and be relational to all. 

In Mary Stevenson’s Footprints poem, 
Jesus carries you, with his footprints in yours;
But I think my role-models, physios and teachers,
Along with myself, carried me in theirs!

If I Lost Track

I am evanescent,
I have doubts.
I am jaded under gray clouds.
Want to pass you through, yet uncertainty holds me in blue.

I know for once you are a help!
But why my psyche is uncertain?
Is there a triumph or loss of hope?
Still, part of me yells “take it and keep going.”

Your longitude posits fears and trepidations
Your stance says, “You should not fear”
Grant me a lucent hope as I cross over your trace.
Should I stop at the middle, console me with sagacity.
Until, I steadfastly arrived at the end of this prophecy.

Haiku Detour

Children of all ages
Assemble for dazzle;
Forget anxious concerns


Circus in town
Clowns and mimes;
Kaleidoscope dazzles


Monkey on a bike
Acrobatic antics;
Ringside music buzz


Magical tricks
Pretty babe disappears;
Misdirection pops


Curious eyes wonder
Awesome entertainment;
Anxiety put on hold


Desire ploughs
Work day posits;
Return on investment


Firm strategy
Business start-up;
Sales lagging 


High wire stroll
Balancing act;
Crowd in awe


Fund your fun
Be aware;
Pleasure costs


Leon Enriquez
28 Apr 2014
Singapore

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