"enthusiastic" poems
Our hearts and souls were so blessed to fast Ramadan sincerely
To be enlightened by its super mercy and extreme prosperity
purity abiding around my heart, kindling my every part
a gift from Allah came along to bless our hearts
to spread peace and love, to dig faith in each part
A blessed bounty to wipe away our tears
to zest our souls and vanish our fears
to sparkle with faith with our keenest beliefs
and twinkle light in our bright smiles
oh dear eid, you can't help it but sowing seeds of joy,
Capturing joy and happiness in every single countenance ,
of a child's enthusiastic joy kindling a thriving inner radiance
joining hearts and souls with the deepest crystals of love
revealing such a fancy artistic touch of a peaceful dove
feeling the gratitude for Allah's super merciful blessings
praying to pluck the roses of peace each single moment
pounding hearts of affliction and yearning
missing your everlasting passion getting sick of poisoning
yearning for their peaceful deliverance
to catch glimpses of happiness
that once has been hunted by a sudden death of a loving part of soul
until Allah will send a cheerful hope,
just be patience to get over all the mope
smile and share the joy of eid and love ,
work even harder to cherish the heaven above ....
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
Colours curdling, water washing every *****
Out of us evil ever going and playing on
Land of character cherished by coloured lawn.
What a scene to see! Gracious glory gone
If you miss this mesmerizing festival upon
A folly. Foolish will be called such a conn.
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
Holy played in school is highly pleasing crayon,
For Kinar, Aayushi, Kunal. Aryan or John.
Monorhyme has one colour, holi many micron.
Mital, Mitesh, Vaikhu, SIddhu, Saurabh are don.
This day even principal thinks to prevent throne
And join joy with teachers - see anxiety thrown.
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
Songs, screams; dance, D.J.; homage and hymn on;
This day with Holika heavy burdens and sins thrown.
Cruel Hiranyakashyapa was killed; glory was won.
Kunal, Arpita, Sandeep, Amit and Shreyas on lawn
Play water and colours with cool Pari’s scone
In Jalgaon, Agra, Kanpur, Karanja, Surat or Bonn.
Holi, a hearty enthusiastic festival in horizon
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 4:22 AM UTC
a thing most new complete fragile intense,
which wholly trembling memory undertakes
—your kiss,the little pushings of flesh,makes
my body sorry when the minute moon
is a remarkable splinter in the quick
of twilight
….or if sunsets utters one
unhurried muscled huge chromatic
fist skilfully modeling silence
—to feel how through the stopped entire day
horribly and seriously thrills
the moment of enthusiastic space
is a little wonderful, and say
Perhaps her body touched me;and to face
suddenly the lighted living hills
13.1k
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
A
bone
slowly
woke
just
in
time
to
become
brok(en).
Once spoken,
there's no point
of lending an ear.
There'll be a violent
jerking of the wheel,
deceptive *** appeal,
and an unrequited (love).
Now, unwillingly, it's open.
The rhyme is deliberately late,
but it's not tardy enough to satiate
Swelling lungs-we're just getting started.
Both for respiratory and broken-hearted.
Here, we speak of energy-specifically kinetic
Because you can't live in love and good faith
with right hemisphere real, and left prosthetic.
AND THAT'S WHERE THIS BEAUTIFULLY KICKS IN.
Picking up faster and quicker and clearer
and headlights have never come nearer.
But I'll be somewhat content lying at rest.
While lively and enthusiastic is best,
unemployed potential is all I can be.
It's something to unwillingly see.
You'll watch the clean breaks
as the marrow escapes.
As I steadily gush
onto pavement
you'll see
how
idle
I
can
really
be.
As
I
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
The Alexandrians were gathered
to see Cleopatra's children,
Caesarion, and his little brothers,
Alexander and Ptolemy, whom for the first
time they lead out to the Gymnasium,
there to proclaim kings,
in front of the grand assembly of the soldiers.
Alexander -- they named him king
of Armenia, Media, and the Parthians.
Ptolemy -- they named him king
of Cilicia, Syria, and Phoenicia.
Caesarion stood more to the front,
dressed in rose-colored silk,
on his breast a bouquet of hyacinths,
his belt a double row of sapphires and amethysts,
his shoes fastened with white
ribbons embroidered with rose pearls.
Him they named more than the younger ones,
him they named King of Kings.
The Alexandrians of course understood
that those were theatrical words.
But the day was warm and poetic,
the sky was a light azure,
the Alexandrian Gymnasium was
a triumphant achievement of art,
the opulence of the courtiers was extraordinary,
Caesarion was full of grace and beauty
(son of Cleopatra, blood of the Lagidae);
and the Alexandrians rushed to the ceremony,
and got enthusiastic, and cheered
in greek, and egyptian, and some in hebrew,
enchanted by the beautiful spectacle --
although they full well knew what all these were worth,
what hollow words these kingships were.
6.4k
I do not see the hype
with High School Stereotype.
Why does it receive such attention?
It doesn't need the press's mention.
We all know of the smokers by the bike sheds,
Who have nothing but fluff in their heads.
Or the girls with skirts far too short
Who's think of *** as a competitive sport.
The sport buffs, we've all seen,
Full of life and far too keen.
Always poised and ready to go,
Every muscle toned from head to toe.
Young student teachers are here,
Enthusiastic about Bill Shakespeare.
Attempting to teach thugs to spell,
Whilst shady Heads make their life hell.
But do not forget, those you call friend.
The ones who stay by you until the end.
Making you laugh, Keeping you sane
Through rough times they remain.
These companions fit no mould
Therefore their tale is never told.
For the greatest things in teen life
Do not need the media's strife
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
**
A new poetry posting site from God's own country, Kerala in India
Poetry dates all the way back to the beginnings of Humanity. People have always been questioning nature, and the day-to-day existence of themselves and other humans love, death, survival, war, injustice, and the universe are all examples of things that have been questioned by men and woman since the roots of human existence. Whether in nursery rhyme, ballad, jingle, rhyme, anthem, or music, people have found poetry to be an outlet for expressing these questions, sensations, and experiences
People often associate it with strict rhyming patterns, complicated vocabulary, hidden iconic meanings, and difficult rhythmical conventions. Poetry is even taught in school to be an intricate, complicated, inexplicable puzzle. True, poetry is difficult. Sure, it can be harder to understand than prose. However, that is only because sometimes it is involved with your inescapable complexities
and uncertainties of your existence.
In this era when the soul wants to go on a spree, imagination and creativity are all merged to serve and let you fulfill your wish to express. The pen, mightier than the sword, is free and can conquer hearts all over the world. So here is a site which allows unity in diversity and considers not cultural and racial barriers. It welcomes professionals and amateurs equally as poetry believe not in prejudice. Human beings are free to write their feelings and emotions. We therefore invite here people from all over the world to celebrate under the ipoetree. Feel at home here under the shade of this tree which
pines to have as fruits your poems.
Williamsji Maveli (Williams George Maveli) is an enthusiastic and solid writer. He is a sincere, resourceful and diligent in his poetic work. He is very well connected and networked within the literary community and is willing to take up projects even in his tight schedules. His writings reflect the amount of research on the current events that has gone into it along with his knowledge and expertise in the field. However, Williamsji’s many poems are simple to read, interpret, and understand. His latest book, titled “ARAMVIRALTHUMBATHU…” (On the tip of the sixth finger), is now published and released by H & C Books,Trichur, Kerala in India, which is a collection of lyrics.
If anyone is interested, please email to [email protected] or write to
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
PO BOX 3
ANGAMALY
ERNAKULAM DISTRICT,
KERALA - INDIA
**
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
What would you miss the most
if you had to leave this life
the book asked.
I’d miss you
your big brown eyes
your comforting smile
your big heart
your laugh
the tone of your voice
and the way you say, “You know?”
when you’re on an enthusiastic roll
your lively spirit
your yummy omelets with bits of stewed tomatoes
your relationship with the divine
the deepness
of connection we have
our conversations
telling you about my ****** afternoon
and watching you really listen to me
the way you cackle when we watch our favorite comedy
watching you quilt
your touch
your luscious lips
talking to you when we’ve just awakened
and the way your voice is soft and innocent
speaking our gratitude about our lives together
sharing our pain
being able to weep with you
when I am discouraged
or get inspired by something
how your eyes sparkle when I do so
the way you love our cats
caring for you
you caring for me..
Just to list a few
Jul 1, 2019
Jul 1, 2019 at 7:23 AM UTC
Preface
**When the broad mind has opened, to gaze the stars that shinning in the unfathomable skies and the glittering Nature, its flowers’ fragrances given to taste the wealthy realms of her, as well as Earth's mysteries—that I ever think of to feel and by my thoughts that spread so deep to try to work with things that sounds of ‛creative’. Here I the ‛moody soul’ started his first journey, leaving his home a few years ago and his up-start was through Literature, Science and Arts and Fiction. Writings and paintings here I believed to be most powerful and that those more often need to convey by the Artist’s conscience and the intensity that gains moral knowledge and appreciation. Here the book has the pictorial paths of Quest and the wanderings, all by imagination’s boat, sails from the western Ideas and its enthusiastic flow. Some finds hope along and also hopelessness, God and Love vagabonding among these ink-stained pages.
Dreamt in the wandering world where no chains shall bind, from the dark veiled lands to the daring spark, no atoms that obscure the force calling light, to aim the glad precious moments of life, to embrace me with a silence and its whispering magic, where gate of hope’s always open to bliss, thundering words are always from roam, the nocturnal pleasure that I only know, and when all will run away as time—why I alone in the upward steps of solitude that caressing wild only wings?
If I met Life as a strange stage of different senses—and I only say you to enjoy the aggressive fruits of my invention. Here it is for all of you can read and evaluate.**
Nithin Purple
Acknowledgement
**This book is dedicated to my parents of Love and support,
from where I got the powers to be inspired—to write and prove.
Special Thanks to Parisian Author and poet Roman Payne of
‛cultural book’ for supporting me as a writer of varying tastes. Also Writer, Wilson B Sanchez of New York, who first gave suggestions
and his valuable sparkling comments of self-improvable topics, which I always bother. Belated friend, poet and writer, Curtis Plaskon from France for his valuable support. Also Poet Timothy & Hilda from Virginia, to them I had good writing memories. And for all the Indians, this book is an open heart to read.**
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
No more scars.
No more pills.
No more cigarettes.
No more drugs.
No more alcohol.
Get perfect.
Be perfect.
Stay perfect.
Don't make waves.
P is for pretty
E is for entertain
R is for respectful
F is for faithful
E is for enthusiastic
C is for careful
T is for tame
2500 monsters.
1500 monsters.
1000 monsters.
500 monsters.
250 calories.
More scars.
More pills.
More cigarettes.
More drugs.
More alcohol.
Get perfect.
Be perfect.
Stay perfect.
So many waves.
P is for petty
E is for exciting
R is for right
F is for **** you
E is for eccentric
C is for callous
T is for terrible
Funny how things change
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 10:37 AM UTC
I see the twinkle in your eyes and I am jealous
Jealous of the excitement that lies behind them
So enthusiastic and full of life
I am old and grey in comparison
Tired and weary
But there's fight left in me yet
I'm going nowhere.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
He watched as she spoke
Her gentle lips moving seductively
The scent of her perfume haunting him, inside and out
Confusion in placement of words
He could find no explanation for himself
No excuses
No reasons
He was mesmerized, flooded with infatuation
The desires he had would haunt him again
At night…
During the day…
Her dark brown eyes blink right back at him
Her smiles, enthusiastic with charm
*I saw you smiling, beautifully engulfed with happiness. If I were to list the things I love about you, I could never be done with it. I saw you blush at the words I say, and I wish I could tell you them every day. Light touches on your face to feel your cheeks, firm hugs connecting body heat. Even if it was just for a second, I had you close to me.
And then you pull away
To go back to reality
Back to the reality we both will ever be facing
The reality in which
You are not with me
But him.*
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
Cocky yet humble,
Yelling at a mumble.
just another contradiction,
Self destructive predilection.
Smart enough to know better,
Yet too dumb to care whether,
I'm dead inside and rotting out,
Or simply just living with doubt.
So the story goes,
Only heaven knows
Why I do the things I do.
I just wish I knew.
Tall, small build,
Not strong willed.
yet willing to finish the mission.
Watch my plans reach their fruition.
Stuff four friends in a white panel van,
Keep them on the road as long as I can.
So we can fit our piece in the puzzle plan.
Cause I'm nothing, simply nothing without any fans.
So my hair, it grows,
And the wind it blows,
Hopefully in the right direction.
To the next intersection.
Evil, yet good,
And Misunderstood.
Idle hands, busy mind
Produce horrific crimes.
Play with emotions to sway
People's affections swing my way.
Yet never carry out the ***** deed at hand.
I'll call it a conscience, say never again, but I'm just a man.
My eyes wander,
Will's getting stronger.
But it's just too hard not to see
Or adequately appreciate beauty.
Calm and enthusiastic,
Dull but charismatic,
Maybe a dash of eccentricity.
Throw in Some single minded duplicity,
Add in a heaping helping of guilt to top it off.
Let cool for twenty years and let the odor waft,
Then you get a blue eyed, brown haired ****** bag.
Who wants nothing more than his childhood back.
So much for growing up.
So much for no regrets.
I wouldn't mind staying young,
But time just won't relent.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 10:16 PM UTC
(for the unknown You) –
Sweep up a mound of achievements;
layer dogwood and newspaper beneath;
find a small, secluded shoreline to sleep an endless sleep;
shovel money (in at least twenty currencies),
some status and fame
onto the funeral pyre’s unremembering flame;
write furiously with computer or pen,
fill out the days’ whitespace with enthusiastic fantasy;
revel on a fallacy (or three);
win the gladiatorial games in the Corporate Arena;
rediscover a bit of ancient folklore;
set up nice altruistic societies to make orphans feel infinite;
plant a little garden – give guidance in its growth;
build four or five fine-but-small boats
with richly decorated keels;
fight for something worth believing,
though I’m still unsure what that means…
A(my) guess: lyricism and poetry and prose,
musical composition, simply being kind and open;
A suggestion(for You): lay Your hand on a patient’s slowing heart
in a cancer ward, catch their tears with a jar
and meditate on better things to do;
give the old folks a laugh;
steal the Elgin Marbles back for the Greeks,
or, for the memory of ancient Greece;
find where lay a psychopathic fascist’s bitter ashes
and give them to the conspirators for closure;
(for me) place letters on the graves
of John Keats, Percy Shelley,
Wystan Auden and William Yeats;
rescind, abolish, annul, invalidate
my station in God’s dysphoric, existential reverie;
heap up beautiful words and send them off to sea
inside a laptop on a cellophane-wrapped raft;
(for both of us) think thoughts uplifting;
smile thirty-three times a day (or more);
plan for the future of ourselves and others;
give just a bit of love to our mothers;
sweep the kitchen and the city streets for free;
by your garden plant a tree.
Beyond these things for us to do,
be proud-yet-humble, open-eyed and acquiescent;
just accept; all things inanimate and animate, accept.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:58 AM UTC
S = Sweet & or a Sensitive Feminine Female
T = Totally a Feminine Female
A = Absolutely a Feminine Female
C = Cute & or a Caring Feminine Female
I = Intelligent Feminine Female
E = Excited & or an Enthusiastic Feminine Female / Girl / Woman - - At & For the Present and Into the Future
******************************
L = Loving & or a Lovable Feminine Female
E = Ear's Pierced , Tired of Clip On's , ( The Pain & Torture )
E = Entertaining HRT , ( Hormone Replacement Therapy )
L = Leelah ( Picked & Dedicated in Memory of ) - ( Leelah Alcorn )
A = All About Helping & Being There for Other's
H = Honoring ( Leelah Alcorn's ) Final Request , Too Not Let Her - - Death be In Vain - ( 11/15/97 to 12/28/14 )
******************************
C = Cuddle able & Caring Feminine Female
H = Hair That is Eventually Long & Very Beautiful
E = Eye's That See the Good in All People
Y = Young at Heart & A Very Beautiful Feminine Female
E = Eating Healthier , So I can Maintain a Feminine Female Figure
N = Nylon's & Tights , Beautiful & Truly Make My leg's Stand Out
N = No Body and or ****** Hair at All
E = Excited About the Future , Of Being the Feminine / Female / Girl -
I Hope Too be in the Future
******************************
GOD BLESS YOU "" ALL ""
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
i used to think about you
in the hazy moments
before a class lecture ends and a quiz begins
where i zone out
between writing my name
and answering the first question
how i zone out
half-asleep and half-bored,
but enthusiastic with the idea
of studying for exams with you.
i used to think about you
in the quiet moments
after a long *** day balancing school and work
where i walk
from the gate
to your front door step
how i walk
tired and exhausted,
but energized with the idea
of talking to you.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
Eyes glancing over terms
For which I care not
Mind trying to memorize
Definitions of things
So small you cannot see
With the human eye
If I could do anything else
I would
But no choice has been given to me
I must learn
What I have been told
And nothing else
Why can't we learn
Things no one ever thinks of
Why can't we figure out
Why spontaneous generation
Doesn't exist
For ourselves
Or write
Whatever we want
And explore what works
And what doesn't
Instead what we discover
Has been laid out for us
A skeleton of information
Today's form of education
Why must we do things we hate
And waste our precious time on things we don't care about
When we could focus on
Something we are passionate for
And could become successful at
No child who is passionate about swimming
Is going to revolutionize the world of construction
No one who loves cooking
Is going to change the finical industry
People will go above and beyond
What is asked of them
If they love
What they do
So why don't we let them?
The world would have amazing increases and discoveries
In every field
So many people wouldn't hate their jobs
Or their co-workers
If they were all enthusiastic about their career
If we allowed people to focus
On their passions
But
We don't
So
My eyes glance over the terms
For which I care not
Mind trying to memorize
Definitions of things
So small you cannot see
With the human eye
If I could do anything else
I would
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
We visited an art museum today
“The Guggenheim” with it’s white spiraling architecture
I felt slightly cultured as I flipped through a book detailing an artist whose last name I vaguely recall started with a Q
Conveniently forgetting the very reason for my presence in that room being to charge my phone
Feeling educated as I recognize the names Matisse, Lautrec from my brief intro to art history courtesy of our overly enthusiastic design teacher
Basking in my elegance, taking petit little bites, of a macaroon in a cafe outside the museum
...Before noisily slurping my blood red ice tea
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 7:48 PM UTC
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Where almost nothing ever happens and the universe sits mostly still, where indie music is life and where photography is heaven. Where silence is golden and life is absolute. Where we all wish to be, and where only a select few of us can go and handle it.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Where we lie in limbo, waiting for the sun to come up, the moon to go down, the median between life and whats left of the dark decay of lifelessness. Where Your eyes open wide, where your thoughts wander into the void of the infinite. Where we wait to see the beginning, the middle, and the end.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Welcome to the dead, the living, the mourning, the crying, the sad, the happy, the over energetic, the under enthusiastic, the over enthusiastic, the insomniac, the insane, the beautiful, the quiet, the peaceful, the thoughtless and thoughtful, the kind, the caring, the listeners, the wonderful and magnificent, the open minded and wide eyed sleepless.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Where we wander, searching for answers in our sleep. Where we wait for contact and a view into what we think is the future, and where here, we wait for the future. Where we sleep only to be dreaming of our answers we are searching for and never getting the full answer to questions like-
"Who am I?"
"What am I?"
"Who do I love?"
"Who loves me?"
"Why am I here?"
"What awaits me today?"
"Who thinks of me?"
"Who are my friends?"
"Who are my foes?"
"Who are the friendless?"
"Who am I to judge someone?"
"Who are they to judge me?"
"What is left for there to question if I already know the answers to my questions?"
This is what we ask, and wait for...
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Where our mindless infinite, grows! To be ever infinite into the oblivion of exaggerated proportions and ridiculous time! Where everything meets the beginning, the middle and the end. Where life dies, starts, and lives once more for us as humanity to enjoy through one more day, for us to catch our breath, and to breathe the dead and living. For our eyes to capture the very beauty of life through blinking as if our eyes where the lens to a camera and our brains the film to feed it.
All in one quiet, peaceful, beautiful, and insane, hour. Everything lives, dies, and starts over again.
Welcome to the beginning, the middle, and the end.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Welcome to life.
Good morning.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 9:27 AM UTC
What drives a man to achieve his goals? Motivation of course!
The enthusiastic mindset that if you work hard, you'll achieve.
The unhindered perspective that compels you to think about the end goal and ignore the hardships that attempt to impede your progress towards greatness.
The idea that putting your best foot forward will gain the admiration of a metaphorical Hermes who will then grant you his winged sandals to propel you above the rest of your peers and out of your unsatisfactory situation.
What drives a man to succeed in his ventures? Motivation of course!
A burst of energy that says "I can do it if I believe I can." despite limitations on your strength or your intelligence or your character.
An aura that surrounds you and invigorates your humors, enticing your senses as well as giving you a mask that hides your unsure demeanor.
It's a revelation, that motivation, which enlightens the soul and frees the body from the chains that marked the end of it's abilities.
What drives a man to accomplish milestones for himself? Perhaps it manifests itself in something other than motivation.
It could be the desire to find acceptance, to be wanted, to get that simple thumbs up that sends a message that needs not be spoken. "You did well."
Possibly it would be the wish, the simple wish that a man will have done something worth remembering in the brief existence that he has, something he can look back on and think to himself, "I didn't do half-bad on that, did I?"
Teetering on the self-existential reflecting concepts, it could just be that man wishes to find fulfillment by filling his daily activities with anything. And that the greater the activity, the laborious hours put into completion, here man finds solace in putting meaning into his day to day living. Thus we find that goals are merely tick marks, road signs on the long drive from life's start to inevitable death.
This, this is all motivation. Anything that places reins over a man's mind and hits the spur against his brain, in hopes that this will help him move forward and do what he believes is necessary to do.
Motivation is to place one's self in this self-deprecating position as to be a slave to ambition in order to be satisfied with one's life. And to think that motivation is a blessing that leads to self-improvement.
Motivation is truly the mind's greatest illusion.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
To many people of the world, Africa is often seen
Through a narrow lens, a filtered screen
As a place of poverty, starvation and disease
Of famine, drought, and misery
But this is only one side of the story
Most people say this out of ignorance, I’m sorry
Africa is a land of great diversity
Of vibrant cultures, of ancient traditions
Of beauty, of art, of peace
Yes, we have our challenges, it's true
But we are a people of strength, of resilience, of hope
From Algeria in the north, where ancient ruins abound
To Zimbabwe in the south, where Victoria Falls resound
Senegal is where the vibrant West African culture comes alive
And in Seychelles, the archipelago's beaches and nature are a perfect vibe
Sierra Leone has the beautiful beaches of Freetown
While Egypt has the Pyramids and other awe-inspiring sculptures
Mauritius is a paradise island, with virg*n beaches and luxury resorts
From the rainforests of the
Congo to the beaches of Cape Town
From Bijilo Forest Park in the Gambia
To the Kragga Kamma Game Reserve in South Africa
From Ghana to Nigeria, who regularly argue over which country
Makes the best Jollof, fufu and afrobeat
But the bond is as close as Arnold Schwarzenegger and guns – big guns
Look at Africa with a broader lens
And behold, you find the flawlessly faultless
The continent of countries, of tribes, of peoples
Each with its own history, its own voice, its own dreams
Its own richness of traditions, the diversity of their languages
And the beauty of their cultures
Let us dismiss the delusions
Of a continent that is backward, primitive, and poor
For Africa is a land of great potential
Of food that is spicy, soulful and sweet
Dance that is enthusiastic, energetic, and expressive
Where the earth is rich with resources untold
In doing so, we will break down the barriers
And create a world that is truly inclusive
For Africa is not a place of darkness
But a place of light, of hope, of opportunity
Africa is not a place of pity
But a place of power and pride
We are the children of a proud continent
Where the sun rises and sets with a sizzling splendor
Making it a place where every day is summer
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
somewhere between the
first date and the last date
Joni Mitchell,
she, me
encapsulates
I'm remembering well,
pounding the dashboard of a red Jag,
laughable now, mocking this fool's need
for a middle age conceit,
his heart to restart,
reactivate
in enthusiastic lockstep with the voice of the
Joni, the blonde goddess of his youth,
foot falling in love, with the accelerator,
speeding along
at a
joyous sixty five,
in places where the signs said,
"thirty five to stay alive"
this aged Rip Van Winkle teenager,
in reverse osmosis of Big,
an old buck, come back to antlered life,
singing along to the CD disc
set on
backdate
*I could drink case of you,
and still be on my feet*
and he could
rediscovering the champagne taste
of a great first date,
feeling the heated blood and fevered mind,
symptoms of the pleasures of a robust
anticipate
thinking she's the one
who will make him great,
happy greater, greater happy
than that one ever, ever,
he thought was roulette~wheel possible,
landing on the red of hopeful for a
floodgate
overture spilling
months, days, minute minute moments (tiny time intervals),
of the fated faded last date later, the next eve, next day
or the next of never,
comes the
deflate
but then,
Joni singing comfort words,
reminding him that he would be,
wisely, sadly seeing, feeling,
both sides now, and yet again,
getting his mind back to
straight
*I've looked at love that way,
but now it's just another show.
you leave 'em laughing when you go,
and if you care, don't let them know,
don't give yourself away*
a grown man punk'd, blasted,
dumb and dumber, dumped,
a feeling sorry sad sack self,
until he himself
reflates,
drink another case,
onto yet another
magical mystery first
date
pounding that dashboard once again,
believing it's not too late
that perfect roommate heart's to find and
captivate,
to attain, invade, acquaint and laughingly...
serenade
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Two ardent arms wrapped around me,
Two fervent lips on my neck like.
Two zealous hands rub my chest and back,
Two passionate eyes set fire to my desire.
Two fervid lovers, absorbed
in the adoration of each other.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 10:54 AM UTC
Always some drunk ******* standing in the back of the bar who feels his life's mission is to continuously shout boisterous requests for "Freebird" during the encore.
Second hand smoke thick as English fog and deadlier than a toxic chemical spill in the middle of the driveway.
The load out and equipment set up in which the drummer inevitably excuses himself from working with any other piece of equipment besides his drums, since "there a big enough hassle on their own".
The inevitable bartering for free beer which during later years became a case of being lucky if you got your drinks at 50% off but even then sometimes you wouldn't be given a tab.
The lone dancer at the very beginning of the first set, never the most attractive lady I in the house and all too often she made it through a whole song without a dance partner. It always seemed like some kind if code, especially when an inebriated gentleman would hook up with her. But I never figured out what the jig was about.
Always a drummer in the house, the real deal or an enthusiastic amateur. They will find a way to play the drummer's kit. Don't even try to stop them, for any reason. They will play.
Likewise the older gentleman with the button up cowboyshirt, the one with the stale pack of Marlboros in the front pocket, he will try to impress you by claiming to know every song Hank Williams ever sang. The wise gambler bets that indeed he does have an encyclopedic knowledge of Hank's repertoire. Unfortunately he never claimed to have the pipes to pull one or two or three off himself...but that won't stop him from begging and soon enough he'll be under the spotlight singing "Your Cheatin' Heart" with every word and melody spot on but voice that could turn Hank's mother away. He is the anti-PR agent for Hank Williams. After people hear him butcher the songs they don't want to know what Hank sounded like singing them.
The bouncer is your friend. If such is not the case before the show begins make every effort available short of paying him your whole salary to secure his loyalty. Trust me here.
To be continued
Yep, much more to com
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC