"gleeful" poems
a thousand brilliant lies
(Hafiz, Iran 1320-1389); (L.F.P., USA 20~21st century)
- Hafez - - Left Foot Poet-
“I have a if only, in my meager possess,
thousand brilliant lies, but one lie when easy asked
For the question: the simplest damning of,
How are you? are you generally happy?
I have a what is god you ask,
thousand brilliant lies. no lies required,
For the question: many answers upon my face visible,
What is God? unsure if any worthy of believing
If you think that the 8 centuries separate us, yet
Truth can be known, you lie; we poets - you, I, all believe
From words in the divinity of words
If you think that the a thousand brilliant sparkles
Sun and the Ocean, when Sun loves the Ocean,
Can pass through that each one a poem passing,
tiny opening Called my mouth, my wide eyes,
the mouth, uttering a Cohen's hallelujah
O someone should So we gleam, mirthing in glorious
start laughing! and gleeful delight at ourselves
Someone should start for your brilliant happy lies easily
wildly Laughing Now!"
unravel into a thousand laughs
Jun 21, 2018
Jun 21, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
It's funny how
I cannot seem
to find a care
or worry
in the world
as soon as
the sound of
your lighthearted laughter,
your gleeful giggling
reverberates against
my eardrums,
implanting all of its
melodious magic
deep within my soul.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
A sky so blue
Beatific smile of Sun
Swathes the vastness
Welcoming with open arms
My gleeful heart
Reaches out to the sky
Oh so like the feeling
Joyous jig, to celebrate
Unleashed dreams
I release them to the wind
They fly high
Among the blue
Taste of freedom
Feels so great
My dreams have taken flight
My feet on the ground
And my dreams soaring high
A feeling of euphoria
As I kiss the wind
I feel lighter
My eyes are brighter
Hope resides in my heart
With the sky above me
A shade of blue
Oh so true
A new day and hope
I embrace the landscape
Proud I am
To feel this beauty
I am a part of it
Welcomed by bright sunrays
Feel free to express
When the sky breaks into laughter
Playfully indulge in a light banter
You are here
Welcomed by a bright new day
Regaled by the birds’ songs
Intoxicating aroma of Nature
Along with a sky so blue
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC
A morning dew sits on my dearest rose:
A shadow of evening's coolness stands still.
How gleeful I'd be to remove that chill—
That accursed blight, I yearn to dispose.
Not in my powers, no warmth from me flows
Not matter the measure of my goodwill.
Only the sunrise this quest shall fulfill
And light, my dear efflorescence expose
Always that morning seems ever unsure,
Yet surely it comes as the world still turns.
Finite be the hours my rose must endure;
Nothing this must be allowed to obscure!
For surely as in the sky our sol burns,
Warmth still exists for my rose to make pure.
~ D.B. Guy (1990 - )
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:17 AM UTC
If I could write my life as a poem
For millions who'll read, understand, think
I'd conjure an epic, a mystery
A tale on edge, a tragedy's brink.
I'd weave gripping waves of pleasure
Together with heart-wrenching tides of pain
A sea of battles with no leisure
Of joyful wins going against the grain.
I'd stitch metaphors with gleeful pride
Constructing rhythm with a bit of rhyme
I'd dabble with similes here and there
It'd be my thread on the sands of time.
But when I see my life as it is now
How different it is from my lovely tale
It retains its mystery, some agony
A once-green crop grown dead and stale.
A lost yarn of mistakes and pitfalls
With regret binding the threads as one
Repeated faults with no known structure
A once-free verse that is trapped, undone.
So I'll cast away my dream of a life
In a graveyard as a forgotten goal.
Some dreams never come true, it seems
Just like some lives will never be whole.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 12:42 PM UTC
I was awoken from a dreamless sleep
By a boy with short brown hair,
Who, with an urgent stare,
Told me to head to the showers!
As my eyes creaked open to recognize,
The orange glow of this unfamiliar room’s lighting,
In front of me, in handwritten writing,
A page on the wall showed three in the morning.
When I glanced around a room of shared bunks,
I saw all sorts of people and things,
Running around with things to bring
To these showers I had yet to see.
In a winding line down a high ceiling’d hall,
I stood with so many,
Who like me, hadn’t any
Idea what was going on.
With a whirlwind flurry of commotion
Steam crawled from the showers and water sprayed,
As we were told in a big disarray,
To wash off the place from whence we came.
In a neat little stack, I was handed my clothes
A tunic, with a sash
And a captivating mask
To “celebrate our exciting return home.”
Down dark rustic stairways, I watched like a child
The vibrant light and affinity,
Radiating with enchanting divinity,
From the otherworldly people and creatures below.
Through that noisy, jolly crowd,
We were led as a group
And the boy said with a whoop
That we were all to stand up and dance.
His eyes glinting with excitement,
The brown haired boy explained
That our spirits would be ordained
Through a celebration of our inner light.
Onto the stage I was led
As I stood with my class,
Nervous amongst the mass
Of silent, numerous spirits before us.
As the boy hit the music
I felt something from deep inside
Rush out like a tide
And through tears of joy, I danced.
It was at that gleeful moment
That my friends and I,
Realizing we'd died,
Knew we'd returned to the forest.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
I hear a wind whispering from the hills
It comes down tickling the woodland rills
From far is heard the frightened murmur of leaves
As it pounces on them like wayside thieves
It shakes the branches of flowering trees
And their weak petals drop like confetti in the breeze
Over hills and trees it loves to skip and stray
Always in motion, never inclined to stay
It moves unhampered over streams and field
With no resistance to its might, they simply yield
Like a child, it romps over the sloppy meadows
In its gentle touch, dances the gleeful flowers
It skillfully pleats the blue chiffon of the ocean
Sometimes curling waves in electric motion
Over the sea it runs puffing up the sails
And over the sky heaping clouds in bales
Sometimes it steals furtively like a lover
And disappears kissing our cheeks under cover
Often it comes capering with a lilt and a swing
We feel delighted when we hear its merry song
Like a nomad, the wind roams from place to place,
Hiding its mysterious presence from our glance
From an unknown hide out it comes like a spirit
But always making us feel its vigorous might!
At times it gains force and roars like a beast
Felling trees and wreaking havoc with its twist
In rampage, it sweeps the sea and the ground
Triggering sparks of fear and horror all around
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
When the kill-shot kills not, the dead lions don’t roar.
They become the ghost in the dark, silent yet present.
Like power, real power, stealth in tall green grasses,
they watch
the victory dances and gleeful prances of deluded preys.
Beware!! Be not carried away.
Look into the eyes of the golden flames,
See their manes –Alive!!
In the fog of night’s peaceful fade.
©Belema .S. Ekine
©belemascribbles
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
The Brute in me is a gleeful beast.
The Trog is older now and mellow.Yet. Pull up a chair.
Just a minute of your time if you will. Sometimes,
I watch him ooze through the pores of my skin and he stands there.
Myself and he apart
He always walks down to the river's edge where I always find
him skipping stones. skipping stones and staring at the far bank.
He does not see me or it seems so. This never changed for years.
After some time in reverie,he turns and walks by me.
I can smell the potent odor of his sweat.
The brute is me at twenty three.
Later still he returns to his dimension
deep within my past,
Wordless, yes until one day.
The beast looked over his shoulder mid toss
A stone skipped and tipped the universal
constants.
Pulling a pistol from thin air he shot me at point blank.
Two head, one heart. A bit of a start not mention
That was a bit rude but not out of character for me
at that age. No no don't get me wrong.The impulsive side
Not the homicide
Suicide. Hellofa ride.
Well. Well without further discussion, we casually
Walked back to the house an split a bottle of Stoli's
And. Watched MMA bloodletting on cable T.V.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 5:51 PM UTC
DO YOU SWEAR NOT TO HURT ME?
Said the scissors to the rock
I KNOW WE HAVE A HISTORY
BUT I ASSURE I DO NOT MOCK!
The rock looked at the paper
Then he looked back at his feet
I DONT KNOW WHAT TO SAY he said
I THINK YOU'RE REALLY NEAT
The scissors was beside herself
Jumped high into the air
But because she was so gleeful
Snipped off some of paper's hair
So paper screamed and shouted
She was mad with awful rage
And she jumped onto rock's back
As he tried to turn the page
The scissors with confusion
Felt to blame and so she rushed
To try and help the rock
In the process getting crushed
And so the rock got still
Lying covered by the sheet
When paper realized what she'd done
She fluttered to rock's feet
And cried and cried and sobbed
And stared at her split ends
And paper rock and scissors
Would never become friends.
Nov 12, 2010
Nov 12, 2010 at 8:13 PM UTC
it was a strange and fragile Kombination--
a desperate, lonely Hunger,
frenetic Thrill to sate--
we didn't speak each other's native Tongues
but Tongues we shared
in what we found, of random Meals,
and Pocket Lexika to taste
hidden Idioms we strove to understand..
our Bodies splashing Wasser
in the murky Spree, ******* Fountain by Berliner Dom
licking Lips of Bier und Eis a ways away from Reichstag Bullet Holes
below the steel Spirale encased in Glas
transparent Government--a Show for Tourist Stroll..
our Smiles glinting, coated international, that Week agreed
"eine schwester-bruder liebe.."
temptation--and propriety--preserved--
pale lotion, paler skin to honey in the sun
aloft in hostel bunks we shared--
a cush historic castle, touristische nook
of maps and candy pockets, so geil..
gleeful us, to melt from moscau and new york
we shared the deutsch between us,
ein bisschen englisch,
a bit of russisch too for fun...
our soulwise checkpoint charlie held the lust at bay
despite lustgarten romps
and walks beneath the lindens, lane of sighs..
an awkward bridge of question-words we built to muse about the stars
and what we see with only strangers never seen again.
we named ourselves an instant familie...so you could snore on me,
and let me stroke your hair
without the guilt of infidelity
the freedom from, we traded in our blatant,
goodbye tears you shed, i kept inside to craft mnemonic gems
i share and savor in again
'
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.
If you’re not white
And your state is red,
Don’t be surprised
If you end up dead.
As maybe some one
Will beat on your head
And demand to know
What goes on in your bed.
If you are any race
But Holy Caucasian
Like African or Inuit,
Mexican or Asian
That includes Islam
And all such nations
The bigots will hate
On every occasion.
Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.
In World War Two we
Fought against fascism
And now we entertain
An unholy American schism
In which Americans plan
With gleeful fanaticism
To make every effort
To maintain totalitarianism.
For over two centuries
We have sung of equality
And the inalienable rights
Of American humanity.
We continue to fight now
But it has become a calamity
Because now we are fighting
Within each of our families.
Where are those killing fields?
They are wherever we see
The Master Race ignoring
Peace, love and equality.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
I remember the morning Tuesday was invented—
how gleeful we sang across the streets—
forgetting that the day after tomorrow would be Thor’s day
and that one we didn’t own, too.
I remember the bathroom stalls, the sins of Leviticus
we survived
comforting our confusion with the indulgence that God too
love man, kind.
*Let the purgatory full of half good men sing about their sins
with pride and laugh at the moons and stars for being without limbs
and tongues to protest their innocence and Idontgiveadamnisms;*
For I remember being fed the tenets of heterosexual history in elementary school
yet wondering why queer gods are the ones named after the planets.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
They say if you’re awake at 3am, you’re either inlove or broken.
I say it’s neither.
Perhaps it is the silent space between feeling too much and feeling nothing at all.
The indiscernible sentiments of someone who has been long lost and is yet to be found.
A soul that is neither gleeful nor wretched;
And instead waiting to feel, pondering on certain circumstances,
Or probably continually yearning for a type of serenity that time could still not dare to give.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 1:29 PM UTC
Did you know?
I like to count everything.
I like counting every single thing,
especially days.
I find it funny that I used to count
each day we spend together
and in total, I counted
eighty-one happy and gleeful days
Now, I still am counting,
counting the days I spend alone,
counting the days without you
and I am fourteen days in.
Did you know?
I've been counting the days
since we first met
on that fateful night.
Little did I know
that I wasn't counting up,
I was actually counting down
to the day that you leave
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
Kindness is not nice.
‘Nice’ is soft and inoffensive
‘Nice’ is careful and non-assertive
‘Nice’ is easy and effects no change
she’s cotton wool trying to soften the pain
but not stuffed tight, just resting on the surface
ready to be blown away or pressed
under a muddy boot of disinterest
‘Nice’ is a damp whisper
a mouse cowering in the corner
hoping you will blink and miss her
lest she attract your notice
lest she presume too much
and cause a whisker of offence
Kindness is not like that –
Kindness pushes in, quick and nimble
a hero with no mask, unasked
unexpected, dodging the turmoil
leaving nothing unsaid and little undone
in her pursuit of creating a counter-disruption
Kindness defies convention
Kindness carefully aims her weapons of choice
and advances relentless and regardless
of any and all obstacles in her way
Kindness perseveres all the love-long day
Kindness doesn’t delay
Kindness is gleeful for the chance of invasion
ready to disarm with expert compassion
with her regiments of patience
armed to the teeth with gracious
placing tanks of good faith on all fronts
Kindness confronts
Courage is her currency, boldness her language,
trust and hope are her passports to lands long unexplored
happily wearing all-weather clothing
for any and all unexpected storms
Kindness transforms
Kindness weakens all defenses
and challenges all camouflaged pretenses
Kindness pours itself out to fill unhealed wounds
and on shrapnel-seeded battlefields
she - blooms
Kindness is not 'nice'
Kindness isn’t in this for the likes
Kindness bites
She’s a take-on-all-comers, undefeated delight
Kindness never bails from the fight
never fails, never takes flight
Kindness is nothing casual,
nothing incidental
This Kindness is elemental
She is Avengers-Assemble,
End-Game-level
monumental
Kindness is not 'nice'.
Kindness is loving awe-ful.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
*wonder’s
joyous
heartfelt
smile,
beauty’s
charming
expressive
style,
delight’s
enchanting
debonair
attire,
whimsy’s
gleeful
intimacy
afire,
laughter’s
voice
lovesome
glow,
gentility’s
engaging
graceful
show,
love’s
adoring
kisses
embrace,
hope’s
welcome
inspiring
grace,
desire’s
playful
flirty
glance,
passion’s
jubilant
fleeting
romance.*
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC
There are so many things to say
The admiration
And the adoration
But I can only give myself time
To take
The love you give me
You break me
And rebuild me
In an instant
You're a somber ocean in the summer
Even a gleeful spring in the coldest winter
Alive and flowing
With the free flowing breeze
You're a wildflower, too
Popping up out of the blue
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 8:36 AM UTC
My eyes, python-like, swallow the sky,
greedy for the wrongs in me to go right
at the sight of your gleeful greenery
spilling over creek beds and hills.
The wind, combing out my worries,
blowing away the blockage built
by the fumes and filth collected in city gutters.
I want to be
let wild, made free.
But one wrong turn in your winding maze and I am gone,
a place like this will chew you up and spit you out.
You should leave, something tells me.
No one ever leaves fully intact,
the longer you stay, the more you will fall apart.
“On the contrary” I scoff.
“I am becoming more myself, not less.”
But this is what everyone says
just before they leap in joyful pursuit
to tumble headlong down hidden gullies.
But I am more careful, I assure myself.
I hunt the way crocodiles do,
watching patterns with keen intention,
offering my hands and eyes.
But what should I do if, when the time comes,
You resist?
Disregard me, like an unworthy suitor?
And what if that is what I am?
I see, I take note of
the way the wind blows and the shadows fall,
the way the trees twist clockwise
or counter-clockwise.
The way animals flee when I approach and
the way they keep perfectly still
hoping they are invisible.
And there are times when I see all this, and more.
Like heat distortions above a fire,
something peripheral or liminal,
almost outside the spectrum of what can be perceived
or communicated or defined.
All these trails, the ones seen and unseen
and the ones somewhat seen
lead me to a terrible suspicion:
that the likes of me lacks to tools
to understand the likes of you.
that in harmony with one another
we would both cease to be what we are.
that you will never regard me with love and worse—
you will never regard me at all.
Then I, in frustration, stop going with you.
Start to go against you.
And keep going, finally on my own.
Still myself, but less.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 7:23 PM UTC
pure as the moon on darkening nights
radiant as the stars and growing, growing
bright as sunshine, gold, gleeful
warm warm warm
crisp and fresh as a spring breeze
full of life, deep roots gaining strength
gentle, gentle
buoyant as a bird's wing, joyous
freedom freedom freedom
/
Messy as an unkempt room
scattered and complicated
desolate as the drying desert
burning burning burning
lost and mewling, blind as a cub
clumsy and careless
volatile as active volcanoes
destruction destruction destruction
cold as rain and tough as hail
harming, harming
Beyond the sun there is
violence, violence
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 9:46 AM UTC
Yes, But Do You Know You Deserve the World
Through the sunshine and the rainbows,
through the dark and stormy nights,
your light shone the brightest,
and whomever it touched, it lit their world.
And in that light, do you know
you deserve the yellow of the sunflower below?
Your gleeful smile thawed the frost in the air,
rushing into me and all around me—
like the fresh breath of air on a winter morning,
like drops of water slipping through a cracked rock,
carrying beauty in an ethereal glow.
And maybe you don’t see it,
you changed me and the world around you.
Your words carried a voice of reason,
filled with warmth and understanding—
sometimes childish and playful,
but always fiercely protective,
like the sunflower guarding its yellow.
So I tell you again,
your eyes shine bright like the stars above
Your radiant smile took the blue out of my day,
set butterflies to dance in the world’s wake
Even when your cries dampened the world below,
in my eyes you still appear so beautifully yellow,
since the day I first saw your glow.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 3:55 PM UTC
And again my heart pounced
over skin cold; that pleaded singleness,
with hypocritical beats I bowed to,
to her highness; to her petite shrill,
a debut in partial denial; unpleasant,
as i withdrew with foul felony,
thoughts raced through judging ethics,
while simplicity ****** away the soul,
into a contagious six holed drain...
And I locked myself behind blue bars,
losing the wall I built with sweated palms,
danced did I over viscous black waters,
embracing the world's false desires,
smashed them pretty birds withing their cage,
lost all sense of peace, I go hidden,
in awe of that ever pleasant voice;
I bow again; in silence I ask me
to plant me in her backyard,
water me with her sour scents,
sing me her sweet lilting lullaby,
and embrace me into our little concord!!
Where did the wisdom lay that moment?
that moment when I tasted drops of sweat...
Why would I **** that clown in me?
that played tunes from a gleeful cassette...
When will I lose my two shadows?
that followed me even while I'd regret...
(a puff o' smoke and some silence)
And again my heart, it pounced!!
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
See that little match-stick,
see that candle there?
See that hard-worn photograph
taken for a year?
Take them punches, boxer-girl!
Much to your chagrin,
it comes back in equal part -
hard and deep within.
Consider bonds between us heat.
And fuel, the time we spent
sleeping close in tousled sheets -
a sky towards us, bent:
gray and cloudless, quick and fleet.
Candle-flame is meant.
to take those memories, and to eat
the message that you sent.
Photo attachment 1: You, him - bottle of Cointreau. Bite marks on your thigh like only I should have left! Grass (both types), a camera. Wrestling. ****** ***
Photo attachment 2: You, him: carousels, cloven-footed balloon-man (whistling high and wee). Hot dogs. Ocean. Wrestling. ****** ***
Photo attachment 3: There was something about a penguin… and there was cake involved. Polarbears - must have been a zoo. Causing me to mope at the keyboard: wrestling, ****** ***
Photo attachment 4: It’s really just *** now.
Photo attachment 5: Please stop.
Shouldn’t be so callous:
that password is personal.
I shouldn’t really have it,
Well, this is what I get for exploring the caverns of iniquity
(that’s slang for your hard-drive),
***** little …
I can’t … cuss you out.
All photographs marked 10/18/07 for devastation.
Now, this thing has ended:
sad, though brief and gleeful.
We were consumed by happiness, never sorrowful
and nothing meaningful;
everything beautiful, nothing painful.
Princess, that work was masterful -
breaking that, making great things hurtful.
But worse still?
I can’t hate you.
Mar 5, 2010
Mar 5, 2010 at 11:29 AM UTC
***Let me go for a gleeful ride on the rainbow
Or sit on the moon to watch the stars put up a show
Put on my wings and light up the night with fireflies
Or just calming the earth as the wind in disguise***
*Sometimes it seems to me that all I do is dream
Try as hard as I might by any ways and means
Please don't force me to face reality
When all I want to do in life is take the time to dream*
***Be it floating on the clouds admiring the beautiful sight
Or dancing with my love in the snow showers
Little fairies hold buckets to collect my tears at night
While I dip into a pool filled with my favorite flowers***
*Because to me inside a dream is like a playful tune
That I love to sing by any means letting the dreams loose
From the middle of the imagined to the very edge of time
A steady stream I hope to dream forever in my mind*
***Strolling through a delicious tunnel of sweetness
Savoring the generous free flow of chocolate fall
The trees humming melodies, they leave me speechless
As curly vines of mixed berries crawl up the wall***
*Using life as the reflection inside of my dream scape
Moving further in the direction of the dream for the dreams sake
Where in time I hope to find what all along I have believed
That the dream I'm in at this moment is in fact my reality*
Eudora
Mike Hauser
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC