"geniality" poems
Recall all the sweet moments in life
Those that you want to re-live again
Sure there are a million of them
Joyous and sweet, exciting and engaging
Let us freeze those moments in time
Too precious to go off our heart
They make life worth living
And give each fresh day a kick start
In our mad rush for power and pelf
Many such moments skip by unnoticed
Moments of great beauty and grace
And wonders that still lie undisclosed
Have you forgotten to laugh over a prank?
Have you stopped watching a lovely scene?
Have you evaded a gregarious company?
Have you failed to enjoy a savory cuisine?
Break free of the ropes that bind
Let loose the spirit within
Shed out your dry reticence n’ reserve
Let your geniality, many hearts win
Crack a joke, laugh out loud
Wear a smile, walk an extra mile
Chill out, lose in the beauty of the dusk
Praise someone without any guile
No matter you are seventy or seventeen
Still spry enough to have frolic and fun
Youthful enough to cherish hopes and dreams
For life affably beckons and is not done!
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
that raven,shiny feathers
of funeral black, with eye agleam
was just about the largest i have seen
caught sight of it dragging tenderized
roadkill home for dinner,
it may well have been
a crow for it swore at me
before it went, fark, fark
whilst wrangle the possum carcass
away into the dark,
a shadow seeking the shadows
to feast and to park it's heavy load
it's beady eye glinted in the dying
of the sun, it hopped and pranced
like it was having a ball, then dipped
it's sleek head into the pile of gore
and all my fantasies of the blackbird's geniality
are sadly to be .....nevermore
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 5:36 AM UTC
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
see your bright face,
and the freckles that run lost on your cheeks,
I wouldn’t be crying myself to sleep.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I would ask how your day was with every fiber of geniality inside me.
I would not just say the words to progress the conversation to get to what maybe was really on my mind.
I would start with your day because that is real and important and helps me know you;
keeps me knowing and loving what I know.
Your day is more real than the delusions I came here to talk about.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
my hands would stop shaking when they touched yours.
I would order coffee because you did,
trying to hang with the big dogs.
I would ask the waitress for 10 flavored creamers and use them all for one cup as I cooly smiled at you across the table.
You would use one creamer, no sugar.
You like the unaltered smell of coffee.
It’s one of your favorite smells, in fact.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
you would already know what was wrong, so I wouldn’t have to. You would make me smile before I had the chance to tell you what I thought it was.
You would look at me so intensely that I could feel all you didn’t say and believe it so honestly.
We would make jokes about the corny verbiage of the breakfast titles as our inflection steadily escalated as we repeated them.
If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I wouldn’t be here wishing I were meeting you at a diner right now.
I would instead be memorizing the changes in your face, the way life does that.
I would love them the same because they belonged to you and told a story.
Your laugh lines would be exacerbated from the laughter you created and allowed in you,
by those lucky souls graced with your presence,
hopefully appreciative of it.
Your lips are still soft.
Your skin is slightly touched by summer which brings out your telling eyes that I can see when I close mine.
If I were at a diner right now, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be with you.
Jun 11, 2010
Jun 11, 2010 at 1:14 PM UTC
He is bald
Plain to my eyes
Sublime in local geniality
The garden he claims
Taimed in distress
Of the coming winter
I fear the tears
Sudden regret
For his' long forgotten trials
Forced to steep so low
Forward but below
Entrenched in sweet tasting anguish
His' body hard and unmotivated
The Sculpture of obsession
Must be completed with stubborn muscle
I seem to torment him
My love becoming
A betrayal of our lust
Battles commence
Volcanic eruptions
Shake the house of ruin
He never seems to trust me
My compassionate actions
Bring forth pork chops
The meal
Is shared
Beside each other
Without Sight
We fight against
White picket fences
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
Scoundrels and rascals
All decked out in pastels
And Brooks Brothers suits
With cufflinks to boot
And five hundred dollars ties
Thinking that makes them wise;
Just one of the rich guys
And nobody to question them,
Never harrumph or an ahem
Because they are above it all,
No boring trips to the mall
They depend on their buyers
And other expensive liars
To tell them how cheap it is
To engage in this dressing biz,
For them to buy for the guy
And never ask why so high.
After all, it’s Armani, not Guess
So why should they confess
That they are smarter than him
The guy they work for is so dim
He pays whatever they say.
After all, he can afford to pay.
Even the water his maid gets
Is so high quality, one forgets
It is only hydrogen and oxygen
Not something created by men;
Probably bottled from the tap.
He never knows he is a sap
That falls for the television ads.
He will die completely glad.
It is so dick-hardening for him
To sup in restaurants so dim
He hardly notices how small
The costly portions are at all.
He lets them uncork the wine
And brays about how fine
The taste and the vintage,
Not caring the damage
It does to his Diner’s card.
This kind of life is not hard.
Plus he gets to go tomorrow
And wreak more sorrow on
Constituents and other peons
And wreak his own opinion
Even though he is but a minion
Doing exactly what he is told.
As long as he rakes in the gold.
Later, a bit under the influence
He'll revel in the confluence
Of a lack of conscience, and
Socially accepted concupiscence
At an appropriate gathering
Where there is a smattering
Of propriety and morality
That allows rented geniality
And permits him to rise up
And drink too many cups
While he beats his chest
Just like all of the rest
And call for the dancers
To come and surrender
To their oh-so rightful rapine
That won’t make the magazines.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
I wish, I hope, I dream for the geniality days to come back
Haulted at when we were small,
The fragrance is still in my hearts wall,
As a Magi you appeared for me and fall,
The moaning of ours is still buried deep in my hall,
For me the internal, immortal love is still tall.
I wish, I hope, I dream for the geniality days to come back,
Scamper at my heart and bounces back to your.,
Irresolute of all the vigour fights we fought for.,
Till today leaning and knocking at my door,
But the renown has separated us over and over more,
With you it was worth living at the sea Shore.
I wish, I hope, I dream for the geniality days to come back,
Tears that you can palpable and make me ribald,
Laughing, crying and evergreen feeling is still called,
The secret cannot remain as one and was told,
Still grateful as a friend like u I got but not hold,
Turning pages and pages of my diary and refreshing all that and fold.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 6:10 AM UTC
*She an art piece of utter sensuality,
Her personality’s flushed with an
Esoteric Kind of geniality
Not to say she’s a meaty vegan.
Stars twirl and swirl within her eyes bounds
Like over enthused hounds
On heat.
She a fireball
Burbling with enthusiasm
Many will agree she got all the physical wherewithal
To charm
All and sundry
And that’s no small feat
No wonder she’s synonymous with honey.*
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
Dear Boy I yet not know,
I am eager to earn your heart.
I look into your eyes
And I see your fears.
But hidden deep inside,
somewhere in the back corner of your heart,
you plead to escape the prison you have built yourself.
As I stair into your soul, the walls you are embodied by
show me how timid you are.
Scared that I may tear down, something that took so long to build.
But I revel not in angst, rather geniality.
They say fear is the heart of hate.
I see only hope for all things to come.
With you, me, and the questionable world that surrounds all of us in different ways,
there is a light at the end of this road we travel.
And though I fear your fears,
this hope is enough for me.
Because I know that with hope, all is possible.
And that anything that can be torn down, may be built back up.
Hope is the light I see hidden past your eyes.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
“Now with an exiguous preamble,
In the CoronaVirus 2020 year,
Hands held aback in geniality,
No longer pugnacious sense,
Even amongst men there is fear,
Breathing’s generally wary,
As we know weakness breathing,
We will fear that an end is at hand,
But this is the everyday intake,
Of the imperceptible life force,
Willed as plague settles onward
They say just be cautious stay in,
In the airs of the populous air,
Now has become the extant colloquy,
No longer an effervescent fricative,
While not to make that ebullient point,
But a new garner dewy of air space,
A new sense of boundary,
Galileo truths are easy to understand,
But will we ever understand this beast,
To another perhaps not in this germ war,
A gesture of limited distance is disdain,
Now sufficing a simple nod is fine,
A minor simper or a slightly hoisted hand,
No longer in search of its correlative,
Just a systematic warning within,
The acknowledgment to stand back,
Beautiful strangers now merciless,
Affixed on the other side of that,
Until a cure is disinterred they are,
We are or may be forever bound,
Tween one another evanescent conduit”
By Andrew Guzaldo © 04/25/2020 #187
Apr 14, 2020
Apr 14, 2020 at 5:22 PM UTC