"lightheartedly" poems
struggle is the art form of the pitied, imagine
living lavishly, lightheartedly like a ladybug
in the spring just outside the city and
bliss: seldom seen in soldiers,
a privilege of the over privileged,
shining a bright, White light on each
and every one’s inner Judas, a way
to justify their means to demean
the conflict of the ages:
stay not in the sad, safe
confinements of that chrysalis or
smell not of that sweet, sweet,
chrysanthemum whose breath rocks of
morbidity.
breaking boundaries or snapping necks like
twigs on twigs on a White winter’s day, the summer:
long gone, and the fall: Black bruised knees and
scraped thighs, and a White world’s worth of words
left to say.
the New Year and the spring, alive and true,
are carried in by the southern wind and
trying times are all but through.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
" the pros and cons "
from a to z , we talked and heard our voices
we give and take behind schedule
at long last ,our little conversation
had found a tower of strength within You
for me to face the music of a naked truth.
the long and short of it
i was just roving around like
an angel in disguise
as if i am a "quite observer"
quietly looking forward for
the man of the hour.
in tight squeeze before i fall asleep
i put something into bed
remembering those days
between you and me
sharing thoughts in just a rhyme away
from our distances.
NOW THAT THE TIP OF ICE BERG
UNDER THE SUN HAD BEEN
TURNED OVER INTO A NEW LEAF
AND VARNISH UNTO THE AIR !!!
all i can say is that.....
"Hello Poetry",,i knew you load-off your mind!
and i want to remind You that for me
" You are still one of a kind!""
i might not be -a man of his word- for all the time
but one thing is for sure!
from then on after,now i will live my life in a low profile
with or without a babe in arms!,#HPpeople ,you're enough for me.
in Jesus name, HELP ME GOD in the nick of time--often or seldom
because i wrote these lightheartedly so that i can give a buds of wisdom
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
Let us Rise and Rejoice for the Wise Controllers of the Streets
Please give praise for the Keepers of Asinine Righteousness
Who have the power to read our minds easy as giving sweets
Esteemed Professors who are World Experts with Greatness
In Neuro-linguistic programming and know all the upbeats
For example anybody with working eyes can see with no cheats
The woman's complexions is not Black even without clearness
Alas I make a joke and lightheartedly say its Black in mirths
Nobel NLP Programmers jump in glee and frenzied eagerness
That is Trigger to void progressive actions with that lady petite
So Professors et vacuous masses devoid of brains go on heats
Sprinkling Blacks all over in project as useless as their dumbness
Tell not dorks I do not see her as black in any way but a tease
Another deluded wasted efforts from the addicted mindlesses
The poor lass graced with honey-gold skin tone is not for meets
Crass semi-illiterates play mind games on levels of bog peats
Psychotic obsessed nonentities with deluded tendentiousness
As if there's a meeting of minds with piffling anodyne greats
Dumbos declaring we are playing with your mind in earness
Show me how a genius compares with Quixotic foolishness
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
Wrath is something to fear for all parties involved
Really, wrath is a separate entity that is unaffiliated
With the situation entirely
It drops by when clever words drip and splatter
And whimsically decides that there is far too much violence
For the air to be so blue
And whispers encouragement lightheartedly
That red is a much better color for this aesthetic anyway
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
See this gray dust
Swirling
It is the ground bones of ancestors
They are in my nostrils
And on my tongue
They congregate in my ears
Where they chatter lightheartedly
And beat their drums
In rhythms syncopated
With my heartbeat
Oh yes, my blood recognizes that tattoo
They clump under my toenails
And collect in the creases
Of my withering skin
If I sit long enough in one spot
They will engulf me
Cover me in a fine quiet shroud
I shall succumb to their insistence
And surrender without fuss
Soon enough
Sun shall crack me open
Desiccation shall be my lot
My bones will give back the light
Insidious lichens shall colonise me
Insects explore my crevices
Corroded, scoured by indifferent winds
I shall slump with a final sigh
No body, aaaaah
Then
I too shall blow about
On the breeze
I shall be no more
Than an irritating speck
In the eye of a grand child
Carrying marigolds.
Tricia Lambert.
On November 2nd, Dia de los muertos, Mexicans honour their ancestors and recently dead, with elaborate shrines in homes and public places. Families visit cemeteries, taking food and flowers, noticeably marigolds, and the celebrations are loud and long.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 7:33 AM UTC
at non effugies meos iambos
If I were to wipe away the constellations from the sky,
You alone would shine,
There in that,
Devoid of all the light,
Which too often clutters
Your radiance and your mind.
And lightheartedly I say this,
While scrawling desires on yellowing pages,
Which I hand out at random
(et ad absurdum).
And throwing little glances,
Lost in endless distance
Or translation.
There is a grand complexity to sight and sound
Which I with my inherent limitations
Fail to grasp.
Depictions wrought by my hands
Could never do the forms of these things
Proper justice.
And instead of facsimile
They become ruined.
And so I blur the lines
Between the real and perceived
As done with paltry sketches,
When the artist has no more good to do,
And so becomes not a bearer of beauty
But a butcher.
I write dis
Jointed poesy
With you in mind.
(No better subject could I find.)
And fill the lines,
And fatten the meter out
With syllables and sibyls
With diacritical marks and dieresis
And critical remarks
By means of
Playing knucklebones with words.
But I’m no Anacreon,
Or Tibullus,
Or Sappho.
And though I may be just a boy reading Catullus,
Anachronistically,
My poems are just as good
Had I been
A wordsmith
Like Wordsworth.
(at non effugies meos iambos)
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
Twisted together, chest to chest, skin to skin
strong arms shielding my tiresome eyes from the wicked of the night
Why would anyone take such safety from me?
Tossing my body delicately on the patterned carpet,
fingers playing with my sides lightheartedly, giggles erupting from within our souls
Why would anyone take such joy from me?
Whisper of voice blending so sweetly with the strings of music,
smiles cascade down our chins
Why would anyone take such peace from me?
Understanding glances without so much as an expression or an afterthought,
the sublime caress of vowels and consonants rolling swiftly through our tongues' exchange
Why would anyone take such love from me?
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
the words don't come
when I try
lightheartedly
to write is to live
is to bleed
I can't compare
perfection
to anomaly
I can't think
I'm trying to breathe
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 5:09 AM UTC
See this gray dust
swirling
It is the ground bones of ancestors
They are in my nostrils
and on my tongue
They congregate in my ears
where they chatter lightheartedly
and beat their drums
in rhythms syncopated
with my heartbeat
Oh yes, my blood recognizes that tattoo
They clump under my toenails
and collect in the creases
of my withering skin
If I sit long enough in one spot
they will engulf me
cover me in a fine quiet shroud
I shall succumb to their insistence
and surrender without fuss
Soon enough
sun shall crack me open
Desiccation shall be my lot
My bones will give back the light
Insidious lichens shall colonise me
Insects explore my crevices
Corroded scoured
by indifferent winds
I shall slump with a final sigh
No
body
Aaaaah
Then
I too shall blow about
on the breeze
I shall be no more
than an irritating speck
in the eye of a grandchild
carrying marigolds.
Tricia Lambert.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
Banana bread is not so difficult an endeavor, with regards to goods for baking.
Thusly so, I once lightheartedly chose to pursue the undertaking.
My focus was unwavering, my measurements painstaking,
I exuded utter confidence that not a single step would be forsaken.
I felt so meticulous,
To some extent ridiculous,
In my quest to achieve perfection.
But proud I was,
And all because,
I could make such a confection.
Hence, I could only be baffled, with an awe-stricken stare,
When at the end of my baking-bonanza,
I glanced at the counter, and noticed with despair
That a forgotten ingredient remained lying there:
I had baked it all sans banana.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
you first drew me in with your liberating laughter
and i fell for you too soon after
it began lightheartedly
and did not stop growing until you kept a small part of me
and i never thought we'd end up this way when we first met,
but at best, we're a sick excuse for Romeo and Juliet
we've been severed by state lines and lovers
i just want us to recover
take me back to the nights where we'd talk for hours
because now your company turns me into a coward
in the back of my mind, i know it's all my fault
i'm the reason your heart's locked in a vault,
waiting to be swept away by love,
but it's yours that i am not worthy of
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
I decided to lèad my leàd to goalless gold
Now I refuse to cònduct by others condùct
Before I bowed until I was bowed
Now I arm my many axes with blazing axes
With this my search for còntent could reach contènt
When I come too dangerously close they close themselves off
Though some I meet with conflicting conflict
We contèst lightheartedly but end in revealing còntest
We both crooked to find the crooked
To deliberate if know weakness was to be deliberately revealed
And desèrt the loser to mental dèsert
The challenge over in a minùte mìnute
I mòderàte the other to the mòderate
This would be the 2nd I nùmber to make me nùmbèr to other's illusions
I still can't objèct to the òbject of my desires
Eventually I will prodùce my pròduce for all to see
If I don't excuse myself for my excuses this is surely possible
My recreàtion an attempt at the rècreation of awareness
I will wind with the wind until I reach my goal
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 5:48 PM UTC
Your name brings me inner turmoil
Reminding me that the peace your absence gave me has an aftertaste.
Torn between forgiveness and acceptance
Or clinging on to that version of you that stays the same .
I have not once told this story lightheartedly
I weighs heavy in my chest , escapes my lips ,barely
The issue being I simply can't forget the ugly of it all and it's beauty
Can we feign to forget something the body can't erase ?
The sound of your voice , the smile freckle on your cheek
Bind to your hip from day one , your memory , is something I just can't shake .
I'm made up of so much of you in more ways than one
In who I was , who I am , who I'll become
Hating you is the most foolish mistake I can make
As it means hating parts of me that I simply can't take away .
Aug 31, 2025
Aug 31, 2025 at 10:09 PM UTC