Tensile Poems

Thinking About Pistol Annies - Interstate Gospel - 2018

Tensile strength bonding us, 
    forever friends, 
holding hands, eyes heavenward, 
  we three are ONE, 
      One with the jungle, 
          one with the trees, 
             one like the Father, 
     the Son and the Holy Ghost;
Glittering green and gold, 
we glow, 
standing tall,
singing hallelujahs;
Feet feeling the fractured forest, 
      we flash fire, 
          we are soul sisters, 
             we stand together, 
   united, 
      unique, 
         unperturbed, 
             unmatched;
Blending voices in heavenly harmony, 
we create country canticles, 
Hush! hearken to us
celebrating celestialism! 
We've found what you're searching for! 
               Look up! 
         Light linking us, 
              lighting us, 
                  lifting us, 
                      liberating us!!

Christmas Tree

"Children full of giggles, dance in excitement around the Christmas tree, a camera captures the moment." Quote by poet

The emerging day, a crisp fresh white nature 
exemplifies early Christmas season.
Scent painted patterns of blue spruce, 
Scots pine and Nobel fir, so many shapes 
and sizes to pick from. 

Summer long gone; snow lies upon the ground.
Sun crowns the pinnacle emerald trees 
with each limb adorn with handfuls of snow. 
Along the way, a blue jay perched on a limb
shaking its tail feathers, a red robin alights and stares, 
making it easy to pick the perfect Christmas tree. 

Dressed in an armor of glimmering tensile, cranberry garland,
colorful lights, and a variety of glass ornaments on its branches,
and an angel, stands center stage atop of the tree.
Gifts wrapped in colorful Christmas wrapping, 
ribbons, and bows under the tree, a perfect cameo.

Enigma

How can you miss someone
Who wasn't even there

What do you say then after the fact
When you've offered the best you could share

Why is the cord left unbroken
A tensile strength of steel

Why can't I let the thought of you go
As I feal what I feal of what I feal

Silently ruminating with one hand to the stern
Unrelentingly plotting a course favor seeking to earn

Knowing nothing is garnered
Given freely lovingly through love

Seeking good will wanting return
On this earthly plain and above

I believe in miracles open eyed
I seek them each day

You won't catch me asleep at the wheel
If one should happen my way

So I say my prayers asking guidance
with a heartfelt inclusion of you

And a wish for understanding as to why
I do what I do as I do

Slips

it slips her frame
the tiniest falls of water
cascade her curves
fingertips scratch
the liquid skim
trembled tremors timbre's
over the tensile taut
green splinters
in slashes of light
does she float
or does the water
raise her in their hands
in a hero's praise
its hold
of her reflection
just too long

Load Under Stress

Computing a load-bearing tensile,
A math guy sought writing utensils.
He’d bought cheese and ate it,
Was now constipated,
But worked it all out with a pencil.

Dark Secrets

Everyone has a deep secret,
Followed by consequential dark pasts,
Hidden in the line of force,
Unfazed by the parallelism of cream of society (Beau monde); 
Hidden under the mask of loyalty, 
Fingers flipping between the pages of reality and virtuous figure, 
Strong magnetic force smashing the objects of high tensile strength,
With a mere fear or force of God ?
Dazzling flame of light sparks the truth with high intensity,
Yet there are variants of this, 
But do you believe in more powerful force in this universe other than what is already present ?

Enjoy

Enjoy being young, the downward
rush of seeming omnipotence; too
soon the flow, inevitably will slow,
and then, the upstream paddle – 

enjoy being moist and juiced...
before the creak and the rattle –

although youth may seem an
unfair battle at times, with challenges
insurmountable, often one pleading
for a divine arbiter, old-age reveals 
the true tensile of character –  and
the worth of a trying journey before the
welcoming gurney –

Wind Up Humanism

Realm of humankind wheedled in reset,
Homeland beray, lull to beset, 

Scrawling the parchment to a keyset,
Xenophobia in callousness, 
Dearth to darn the clout concord. 

Orness synergy alliance the terrene.
Berth errand the rassle office,
Commissions detach the hassle orifice... 

Pensile the ensile spirits,
Circumscissile recoiled resiliency, 
Nuanced tensile expansionism... 

Normalise a new normal,
Order the prime heart to bloom,
Taper our united dreg to blossom... 

Blight in frights, 
Dight the twinight against any affright,
Infinity within.

Tensile Wings

Fragile in no way, pliable, flexible
Delicate? Hardly. Reaching coves and corners
Getting her monarch where she needs to be

Tensile Wings
Rarely broken, tough and durable, dependable
Lifting up the faeries into the hollow of the oak tree
Flattening themselves to slip into crevices

Tensile Wings
Vibrating with the hum of the wasp or the bee
Showing damselfly, dragonfly and mayfly the way
Lasting the duration of their life time 

Tensile Wings
Giving an abused wife the push she needs to fly away
Escaping the wrath and injustice of a sad man 
Who will have to find a new Luna moth 
So he can continue to pull off someone’s wings

What We Would Do Was To Complain

What We Would Do Was to Complain

What we would do was to complain,
About things going on in campaign;
A tensile head;
Wish was dead;
Had been hard to bare all the strain.

Jim Horn

C Is For Christmas

“C” for Christmas, 
(not cancer…)

The packages were bright, 
the tensile shinny, 
the tree full of sparkle,
bright. 

Mom gone now, 
but grandma… 
took up where she left off. 
She did not want to go, 
but she does not hurt…
anymore. 

Dear God, 
for Christmas, 
skip me first and last, 
put my father on instead. 
He needs things, 
that I can not buy, 
that perhaps, 
the value 
is too 
high?

He needs hope. 
Something only you,
supply. 
He needs to laugh, 
and be home with
us. 

Thank you for grandma, 
and papa, 
they are trying… very hard. 
But father, 
we miss you. 
Come 
home.

Boxes of Hope

Boxes of Hope

In the attic there is tensile. 
Bright and lovely, reflective pieces
of fluff to begin the journey. 

One, two, three,
a dozen cardboard containers. 
I thought we stopped saving,
and saved less last year?
Everything soon is down. 
A mountain of maybes, 
of possibilities. 

Wrapping paper from years ago, 
saved and folded carefully. 
New stuff in a bolt, that has remained…
un-opened and untouched for five years.
It is especially pretty. 
I am going to break,
 the wrapper today. 

There are left over snowflakes, 
empty candy dishes to fill, too many. 
Excellent gifts to go to the home… 
on Wednesday when we sing.
The ladies they lift their voices, 
like angels.  

A broken doll, 
misplaced,
in the wrong spot. 
It will need mending. 
I can do that. 
I know more than I want to,
about how it happened. 
But I can fix it.

A new home to be found.
A story to be written down.
No one will read, 
but it will still happen.

The Soup

The Soup

Herald the song of the poet and poetess…
The muse, the art of words, chased across paper by pen. 
Not unlike a pirate and a princess, a hero and a queen.

My time here among those that fly, has been short. 
But and yet, (pause)…I am grateful to be here at all. 
The wings of some, full feathered, birds leave me knowing I will fall. 
I am unskilled and often feel light headed. 
Yet the chirping sounds, the longing calls, the very cooing utterances, 
of veterans and beginners all and as one…
lift my unsteady, unready wings ever higher, 
than I thought possible, to still breathe…at all!

Giants walk hard and angels pass lightly, 
both leave prints on our lives ever lasting. 
Comments on words, words on paper, 
dreams and fragments of tensile.

Thank you to the soup.

Ann

Stillness

There is a space
When time stands still,
Here face to face
Deep silence fills.


In a calm trace
Cause greets last light,
A certain pace
Transcend mere sight.


Stillness now drafts
True tensile tact,
Watch ideas craft
Such myriad acts.


In poignant feel
That grand design,
Watch stillness heal
What cause aligns.




Leon Enriquez
27 October 2019
Singapore

Dupont Tri-Con

Traffic circle sloshing; 
pedestrians pressing up 
against tensile city regulations, 

flashing horns and sweat, 
university student afternoon,
wiping off iced coffee condensation.

I am a dedicated historian of 
lunchtime stories and 
park bench vignettes—

a spectacled lesbian runs her pinky
through her lover’s curly purple hair, 
as she looks on at the cyclist, filled with regret,

stumbling to avoid the picnicking workers—
together by convenience and ambition—
who pity the down-on-their-luck in their dehydration, 

trying to find a pillow on the steps of the fountain.
The rims of my glasses eliminate the peripheral, 
underlining the weight of disjointed conversations: 

a chuckle, a skipped step to avoid a puddle 
sweeping the storefront, eroding the road, 
I remain, trying to separate scenes from the bustling. 

The circle never exists the same again.
What does it mean if I dream about you? 
What does it means when I see your face in nothing…

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