"stamina" poems
the miniscule, crystallized phenomena
floating down on their zephyr gondola
to the little children's enchantment.
the wintriness nipping at their stamina
produced petite gloved hands pulling tightly at their jacket.
to rollick the day away was their only commandment.
fast forward a few years, and they'll be learning algebra,
their minds drifting away during lectures on parabolas
to the forgotten days of freedom; they lament
the loss of their fragile frostwork taffeta.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
I saw you from across the gym and the second my eyes laid on you I knew I was never going to be the same.
Is it possible to fall in love with a stranger, because I think I just did.
Your posture resembled the self-confidence that filled your *****
Your hair a blonde hue that I have never been attracted to before.
How could it be, you already have a piece of me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, you see.
For you were already starting to seep into me.
Maybe it was the idea that I can feel love like this, for someone I don’t even know.
Or maybe it is that I looked into your blue eyes from across the room and felt like I knew you.
My emotions were wired, and my thoughts gambled.
I had to remind myself how to walk and remember that staring in awe isn’t generally socially acceptable.
I can’t believe I just fell in love with a stranger.
You tossed the basketball with such grace, it sliding off your fingers so effortless. Your shoulders broad and your stamina grounded.
The way you slid across the floor so smoothly chasing after the ball that went perfectly into the net.
When the smile grew on your face as your friend shot the ball, my soul felt warm as I looked into the happiness of yours.
Your teeth, strategically placed by God’s fingers. Resembling how perfect we will all soon be.
I can’t believe this is me.
Falling in love with a stranger, what else is new.
The second I saw you I knew
My confidence was back and I began to come to life again.
So maybe you were an angel sent from God.
Teaching me that I still do have hope.
Showing me that my heart is still in enough pieces to love.
What ever the case and outcome of this, I feel happy.
I feel at peace that maybe, just maybe, someday I will lay eyes on someone and know they will embrace me for the rest of eternity.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
My ascent into adulthood was just that, an ascent. It has come slowly with little consistency and massive amounts of determination, stamina, and a reassuring trust in the universe. But the idea of adulthood has slipped its way into my expanding comfort zone with ease, which I think has come from the preparation I received throughout my childhood. The importance of perseverance and hard work in achieving anything at all was beyond emphasized in the parenting techniques of my immigrant mother and father. They sent the babies straight from their unemployed bellies into the best forms of higher education they could find because
My achieving of adulthood was more of just a gradual shift in mentality and perspective that developed into my addiction to change and new experiences, distaste for dependence, and denial of my previous nostalgic tendencies.
With more maturity also came a more logical understanding of the world around me. The more I understood the working ways of my surroundings, physical and psychological, the better I could feel my drive to achieve. The achievement I sought was not economic or career oriented in any aspect. It was based off of my ceaseless search for something new or for the rad or for the gnar or for swagger or for living a life that could inspire a minimum of 3 people including myself. The seed of this search was planted in me during my childhood by my five older siblings who all held within their bellies a fire of the same breed.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
I am not in the business of being you
or him or her or they
we doesn't even really interest me.
you hated me within the first 20 minutes
like a shallow predator
experiencing virginal danger
you have the limbic system of a prey
obvious to anyone in touch with their senses.
you were threatened-
you cracked a joke and among
the robotic laughter and among
the generic thoughts
I stood back, blank-faced
a novel piece of art you haven't the ability
to muster up the courage to understand.
aloud, I said it wasn't funny
which I'm sure your emptiness already betrayed
in a booming, and terrifying fashion
*(I'm an intellectual sadist-
I get off watching you squirm)*
you know enough, that you have no basis
that the status quo is the stale stream you do nothing but soak in.
you're superficiality is so pervasive
that your thoughts are unfilled, plastic
discarded long ago by anyone with stamina
(you're a carbon-copy of a Xeroxed person)
looking the same as the others of your degenerate breed
with much less vibrancy than the original
and far less worth.
your boundaries have been in place for so long
passed down by
generations
of
generations
of
generations
great-great-granddaddy's barbed wire is the only thing protecting your prejudice.
you're not funny- you're scared
ashamed and lonesome.
ashamed of the person you wish you could be
but don't have the strength-or the guts
to morph into
lonesome because even yourself is someone you don't feel close to
you are so basically human.
I have no pity.
for you are no Muse.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
To Sing a Song
Of Love, full of Life
Consumes your Inner Carefree
And Compassion.
A Distinct Act of Tones
Bond into One
Notes which blend those Tunes
And squeezes Music-Juice.
A Happy Sound for All
To which when Played,
And Played,
And Played again
It is Finished. But not all.
It stands Forever; Lurking always
In your Memory
A Dainty Feeling to One's Heart
From the very Start
Till the End of your Time.
A Magical Compensation
To Children, Men
Or even to Animals
And Plants who could Hear,
And Feel,
The Warmth of a Song.
The Feelings it Brings,
Is Now and Forever,
Joy and Happiness to All
To Summer, to Fall,
To Winter, to Spring,
And to Everyone's Ears can hear,
And wear,
Like a Ring.
A Gem from your Mouth,
Eaten in Past Times
As One Grows and Improves
The Stamina
It becomes a Jewel
Which can sparkle when opens,
And closes,
And opens again.
It's Fun to know
Why many People would Show,
And Portray,
A Song,
A Grace,
A Feeling,
A Wonder,
A Mystery,
A Medicine for Sadness to All.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:09 PM UTC
The root
Of ambition
Is ambivalent
There's no “one cause”
No one causes
A man
To make life decisions
In a day
It takes
Much more
For
A man to be successful
And real
With his inner-self
Accepting
The cards dealt
With the stamina
To play through
Exercising his will
With the feel
Lingering in every pore
Unsure
Of obstacles ahead
Headstrong
Through barricades
Bearing the bruises
Trampling
Over your own
Feet
Defeat
Seen in battle
But the war’s on
And the war zone
Isn’t limited
To a few
Years
Like ages 19-22
Whose to do
Worse
Who has more
Money
CARS
Clothes
And hoes
And whose vision
Is so small
To tack them
with success
All in all
And attack those
Who lack the
Wills
To move forward
And ignorantly
Attach it
With a phenomena
Of
Your unknowing
Root of ambition
Can spread
Like weeds
And weeds
Can **** ambition
Or spread
Like seeds
How many men
Dive
Head first under the influence
Or rise above
High
From the same drug
Barack Obama
Michael Phelps
William Shakespeare
Bill Clinton
Lebron James
Pablo Picasso
The Beatles
Jay-Z
Bob Marley
Conan O’Brien
Dr Francis Crick. (Nobel Prize Winner)
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Salvador Dali
Victor Hugo
Kareem Abdul-Jabar
Snoop Dogg
Dr. Dre
Stephen King
Just to name a few
Maybe
Just maybe
It has nothing to do
With success
Or you.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 1:11 AM UTC
An artist,
Bleeding his heart into the canvas
Carefully planning his masterpiece
Dutifully paying attention to every detail.
Emotionally drained,
Forced to finish his work
Grueling over an uninviting crowd
Helpless to the impending backlash
Inspired, the artist continues
Just to prove his critics wrong
Knowing that his work will be amazing
Loving himself even more
Meticulously painting his beautiful image
Never letting stamina get to him
Opening his mind to a grand illusion
Presented to him by an transcendent figure
Questioning if what he saw was true
Reveling in the moment of it all
Slowly, the artist comes to a finish
Trapping the moment inside of his easel
Unveiling to the crowd was his final test
Vociferously, he explained his masterpiece
When all of a sudden, the artist begins to run
Xenophobia had stricken him
You now know why most artists are obscure.
Zealous fans always ruin everything.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
you have the
nerve
to say that women are
squeamish
when we see blood
month after month
you say we are too emotional
to hold office,
too fragile
to be independent,
too unpredictable,
to be on our own
but you forget
we are bulletproof.
you forget
we have stamina
and fire inside of us
because we are fighting
twice as hard
to be recognized
as the amazing,
successful people we are.
we are fighting
to be seen
as more
than our appearance,
to be valuable
because of our brains
instead of our *****
we are bulletproof.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 9:13 PM UTC
You think you know me.
I think I know you.
We know nothing
As we move forward
Slouched in our office chairs of despair
Some moving full throttle, the others stay still
Still
All in the same place
All at the same level
The illusion of movement
Competitiveness run amok and awry
An experiment gone wrong
An experiment in our endless longing, our search
Our eventual journey
As we seek greatness and perfection
While shattering the thought of it.
We have been taught to question
Questions bring greatness
Greatness is what we long for
Greatness has been subjugated
No longer an aspiration, but a trade
Not a product of inspiration
But a product of greed
Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead
What once was an abstract concept
Is now concrete
And invisible
Nothing
A black hole
Constructed from the shattered hopes and dreams
Of millenials and those who felt like we do throughout history
What does "millenial" mean anyway?
In every context it encapsulates
Consumerism
Greed
Selfishness
Hypocrisy
Art is dead
Love is dead
All is dead
And we killed it
We dealt the death blow.
We lack heart
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with greatness
Greatness comes from accomplishments
Accomplishments come from knowledge
Knowledge comes from aspiration
Aspiration comes from inspiration
Inspiration...
comes from the metaphysical heart
The hollow men had no soul
and neither do we
We lean together
We do not embrace
We do not take the next steps
Only leaning
We lack what we need to see it through
We are incapable of maintaining relationships.
For our stamina is gone
In its place, divorce, infidelity,
shallowness
relationships based on looks and dreams
dreams of perfection
based on the wrong definition
We are the hollow men
We are hollow
We are... despairing
Despair
why would we despair?
if we did not care?
are we then hollow?
if we worry,
is that not out of concern?
is concern
not out of love?
does love...
not stem from the heart?
Sometimes I wonder
Can you still have a heart
If you have a mind in the way?
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
I thought I might be a musician
Mom couldn’t afford my lessons
My eyesight wasn’t great
I couldn’t read notes fast enough
Practicing annoyed the family
I only managed last chair, 2nd violins
But still
I got to play in High School concerts
In shiny dresses with glitter in my hair
However
I haven’t held a violin in years
I loaned mine to a Bluegrass band
The leader died - and it was gone
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought I might become a dancer
But my fingers can not touch the floor
I couldn’t kick much higher than my waist
Choreography was hard for me to learn
I had the stamina if not the skill
My partner wanted someone else
But still
I danced on stage in a college play
And Morris Danced at the Old Globe Theatre
However
I’ve forgotten how to keep the beat
And all the dance floor moves I made
I’m too self conscious now to try
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I fancied I could be a singer
I knew the words to all the songs
And I could keep the melody in tune
But I had a voice with no vibrato
And the quality was thin
My range was very limited
But still
I sang Blueberry Hill at a talent show
In a black lame’ dress and surprised a few
However
I couldn’t get the hang of harmony
And found I fit best in a choir
My family wouldn’t hear my solos
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought that I was born an actress
I practically got that one right
I had a lead in an Ibsen play
And toured the state with Macbeth
But Hollywood was one big casting couch
And I could see no way around it
But still
I got to be on TV shows
Winning games and merchandise
However
I sold the Firebird Convertible I won
I needed rent money more than a car
And rules allow you only three shows in a lifetime
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I always thought I was a poet
I started young and never stopped
But family ignored and scoffed
Then I got trapped inside my mirror
And only wrote when all was beak
Somebody said my stuff was dreary
But still
I stumbled on the HP website
And found a group who like the words I write
However
When I read the others’ writes
I realize how limited my skills
And fight the need to run away and hide.
∞
It seems I dabbled in all the arts
Looking for the one that fit me
And finding they all needed alteration
And I never had the proper needle
∞
Still, a moment in the sun
Is better than a lifetime in the shade
I had a taste of everything
Though the banquet was not mine.
ljm
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
With swirling serves and
Arcing,
Lashing loops,
The Table Tennis King
Of spin,
Attacks his foe.
In gladiatorial combat
He reigns supreme,
Sweeping and swirling,
Smashing,
And feather-touching,
That gyrating ball.
For many hours he’s trained and sweated,
Perfecting skills from very youthful days.
He started in the youthie playing “Ping-Pong”,
To rise, a phoenix, from the local flames.
His coaches now sit very proudly,
Having made him sweat and toil.
With all that stamina-work behind him,
No way will he go off the boil.
At last he stands victorious,
Having made that final ****
There is no game like Table Tennis,
And winning’s such a glorious thrill!
PAUL BUTTERS
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 7:46 AM UTC
Stunt ****
He can be your lover lady, ima be your stunt **** He can be your boyfriend mommy, ima be your stunt **** He can be your husband **** ima be your stunt **** stunt **** fluid swap, yep when them ******* drop. Lights, camera, action ,I’m your stunt **** stunt **** Lights camera, action, I’m your stunt **** stunt **** Ima be your stunt **** girl and beat it up, yep ima beat it up, that man there can eat it up. We don’t need no scrip for this act or no monolog, you can adlib, improvise on my microphone. We can do the box spring boogie all night long, we can get ***** coz play like its Comic Con. Tag your girlfriend in, we can do a menajahtwa , pile drive that nannie, Macho Man Wrestle Mania. Petting that ***** Doctor Claw, go go gadget pennies, working your equation *** notation like a mad genius. If I nut prematurely , don’t you worry I got ****** it’s not superman, but stuntman with all the stamina, Ima beat it up like Van Dam at the Comitia ,finger, lick and kiss each other while I ********* It’s ocean spray ,whale watching like in Monterrey.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
I once was told
In Broooklyn New York
I had a lackadaisical attitude.
It was the first time I was hearing
That whimsical adjective !
So lackadaisical I was !
Looked like an illness
The way they said it
It seemed I could contaminate.
So I stopped a few seconds to think and dissect the word
Lackadaisical
I lacked a daisy somewhere !
Sounded like I lacked a fuse in my brain !
Next thing I know I was checking the word
In my reminiscences of the Oxford English Dictionary
Or may be it was Webster's
And it said in black and white ferns I lacked purpose
I wasn't properly lazy, I just lacked directions
I lacked enthusiasm, stamina
I was devoid of zest
I was blasé
Insouciant
Careless.
Translated into more French I was nonchalant and better said
Jemenfoutiste.
It was during an encounter group
And they threw that lackadaisical attitude ******** to my face
And guess what i did ?!
I just kept on smiling
Jemenfoutiste to the extreme.
And they kept saying
See what I mean, you 're so ******* lackadaisical , man !
You're so pathetic ! You're so apathetic !
It was Winter in America like Gil Scott-Heron would say
And it felt so good, so warm,
As far as I could see,
To be called lackadaisical
And not laconical.
I not only lacked a daisy
I lacked a bunch of tropical flowers indeed !
Like bouganvillea, orchid or hibiscus
Anthurium, jasmine or bromeliad
I lacked sun and sea
Strange as it was
Even though I was near Atlantic Avenue, Coney Island
So I was lackaseacal and lackasuncal
But what I didn't lack was ants in my pants
And until today they make me dance
My forever lackadaisical dance.
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 12:59 AM UTC
I see you everywhere but beside me,
the one place that I need you the most.
I don’t know if you’ve just felt like hiding,
but it feels like I’m being stalked by a ghost.
I think of my life consisting of just time biding,
with parasitic emptiness and I’m the host.
This hits me like waves I am meant to be riding,
and it follows me persistently from coast to coast.
The grass didn’t seem so green back then
I guess all that constant rain did pay off,
‘cause now this little future’s just a casual friend,
and my god looking back the past was soft.
It’s not like I always want to be drenched in sorrow,
I find I look much better in brown, blue or grey,
you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.
I hear every voice but yours in my ears,
the deafening noise has made me forget that sound,
since I’ve heard that sweet melody it’s been too many years,
and every other pitch makes my static brain pound.
I’m always biting my lip but now I’m fighting tears,
I shake my head side to side and around.
I’m quickly losing stamina from battling my fears
and now looking forward to my hole in the ground.
The skies never seemed clear and blue back then,
it turns out that I was the creator of each cloud,
I’m hoarding past calendars so that I can pretend
that I’m back in time and making everyone else proud.
If you’ve got a hour or two that I can borrow,
I swear I’m good for it and whatever price; I’ll pay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.
I feel you all over, laced in everything,
if it wasn’t such a curse, it’d be a gift.
You’re the peace in winter and the hope in spring,
you’re the summer sun and autumn’s winds so swift.
I’m relieving every memory, looking for a place to cling,
I remember all of the details but the clarity is now adrift.
Side to side, back and forth, I constantly swing,
it pulls and drags me down but it can also give the highest lift.
The sun never seemed to shine right back then,
but maybe I was just too busy looking for artificial light.
I was never one for second looks but I should’ve searched again,
because everything I wanted was already in my sight.
So I plant a seed hoping it will eventually grow
and I sculpt all I wish for with clay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
the rain wet floor
the man with a birth mark in the shape of Pangea
the backwards baseball cap
the re-used meme
the re-used meme
the idea of “retro”
cumulus clouds floating
heavy &
overhead
all electrical goods just sitting on stand-by
waiting
the machines are waiting
the blueprints that are 1mm out
at right angles to the rest of the world neon lights flash downtown
reflected on wet concrete
arriving at a destination and not knowing how you got there
my glasses leave an indentation on the side of my head
my children are asleep and I can see the signs
a new Netflix series that goes on for 125weeks – I have no stamina for this –
the mundane beauty of a leisure centre
the perfection of the shopping mall
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 7:38 AM UTC
Sitting in my fifty six Chevy
The top down and feeling good.
I love driving in the city
Like I never believed I would.
Girls and guys scope my car
And they wish they had one.
It has a few primer spots but
The car is far from a bad one.
I love my fifty six Chevy
The best one ever made.
Three speeds, six cylinders
Ford never made the grade!
The don’t make them now
They way that they used to.
They’re not made of solid steel
Like the older classic used do.
You kept up with the fluids
Changed the tires when had to.
Give up my wonderful Chevrolet?
Dude, I’d be absolutely mad to.
I love my fifty six Chevy
Never a bit of car trouble.
It’s so much like driving in
A mid-century auto bubble.
It doesn’t have the modern stuff
Like air bags and cruise control
But, still it comes fully equipped
With clout and a whole lot of soul.
Punch it on the straight-away
And watch the other cars go by.
It runs better after half a century
Than most modern cars I can buy.
I love my fifty six Chevy
Much more fun than all the rest.
Back then they made the cars
With stamina and a lot of zest!
It’s a beauty from another day.
Don’t try to take my car away.
It’s bigger, and a bit more heavy,
But I still love my fifty six Chevy!
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
Thai China
buzzes
because
we
buzz.
It quiets
because
we
quiet.
I'm at the end of my stamina,
me and you,
we've had a few beers;
got to talking;
and BAM!!!:
WE"RE MOROSE.
The business crowd
goes crazy
for some Thai China.
The tempers
calm
over hot bowls of white rice
(costing $5)
that steam up into
hooked noses.
Our lips,
juicy by now,
are so numb
that
we gave up talking a minute a go.
And got into a ***** male mood.
We just stare at the girls,
the waitresses,
wanting to **** them
in our nasty dreams.
Wanting to stick
our *****
in EVERY HOLE,
but we just get drunker
and drunker
and stir over
our bowls of rice.
The business
of business
commences;
our suppressed urges
and office angers
dull
by the mouthful.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 10:15 PM UTC
What happens
____ to space______
between us
This is the
human race
Ah, Vey?
Just pray
Overly smitten
But not seeing
clearly picture-prey
He or she runs!!
Little darlings
here comes the sun*
The lime doing the time
Falling trees of coconut
Feeling- overloved
Deviant artist
splat coconut milk
No Security Cat
comfort box
So out of recession
Killer fox______
Chocolatey coconut
Cleanse my mind detox
Almond Joy concession
Rise up Face Botox
He cannot
read you
Haywire always
wired up his words
Hurried Hazelnut
coffee if you mind
Over-sugared
Increased brain
functions bitter rinds
So commercialized
The Cocoa Puffs
Going bananas
monkey ***
Lexie Vamp Vex
Mr. Ed overload
of Oz colors baboon
Going up Air Balloon
So many airheads
The Rainforest
GQ he's gone IQ
((Quarterly Neck of the woods))
Not orderly Outback
Steakhouse
Dinosaurs
******
Vicarious
No shortcut
The nervous system
The fast have a drink
furious
Cracking a coconut
Her Safe______**
6-6-6 combinations
Could crack her
Coconut oil neck her
City Girl call her
Intellectual brain
Singing
Gene Kelly
umbrella
Raining coconuts
(On Overload)
Strawberry Fields
This will be short
Yeah right forever
shortcake, not any sort
The trend of
coconut
Nearer because
of you I am
further
She was the
Brazilian Nut
With her
blind gut
((Coconut Houdini))
Island of Bali
Beauty of Judy
Somewhere so over it
rainbow
King Kong
Hairy chest banging
coconut drink slurping
Of girl talk
Strong New Jersey
Stamina
***** of Venezuela
Overload of
Prima, Donna's
Instant Karma
going to get them
Knocked them off
there feet
Where is my
John Lennon
He has the best beat
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
President Reagan sat by himself in the White House
Trying to understand what had happened.
He heard his wife scream
What have you done with my husband?
I want the real Ronnie back!
He sighed.
This is what happens when you listen to experts.
Reagan had been in debates before.
From Kennedy to Brown to Buckley to Carter.
He did it his way.
He won his way.
Reagan always liked stories and humor.
Details and data, not so much.
He always thought that statistics don’t feed people.
Because people can’t eat an equation.
But the experts said that he should have more knowledge.
Reagan listened to them.
The thing was, it was too much knowledge.
And Reagan had to be president.
So when he debated, he was tired.
The youngest looking 73 year old man.
Just looked ancient at this point.
He held onto the podium
As if it had answers.
But the podium gave him nothing.
His actor’s instinct called up an old line.
There you go again.
It worked against Carter.
But Mondale neutralized it.
Mondale was good.
Not like Kennedy, who was more passionate.
He remembered Bobby very well.
He would have made a great president, if he had lived.
Or like Buckley, who had the scholarly instinct.
Because he read books when Reagan played football without a helmet.
Reagan defeated both of these men.
But he did not beat Mondale.
Because Mondale had answers for everything Reagan said.
Reagan pondered to himself.
I must have something for which Mondale does not have an answer.
I must make something that Mondale cannot answer.
But I cannot tell the experts.
They are nice people.
But they don’t know debate, I do.
So I can file it away.
It would be a break in case of emergency punchline.
The phone rang and it was Roger Ailes.
Ailes said, Mr. President you were not at your best.
But the sun will rise again.
Use a laugh line as your life line.
Rely on personal experiences, not dead data.
Remember Mr. President this is your re-election.
Reagan took that to heart.
And the second time around, Ronnie was back.
He grinned because this time it was fun.
But Mondale was still good.
And then the question came.
The question for which Ronnie was born.
It was about President Kennedy’s working hours during crisis.
And if Reagan had the stamina to match Kennedy.
Reagan smiled.
It was time to pull out the joke.
He said, I will not make age an issue in this campaign.
I will not exploit for political purposes my opponent’s youth and inexperience.
Reagan delivered it perfectly.
And suddenly, he heard laughter
Laughter from the questioners.
Laughter from the audience.
Even laughter from Mondale.
Tears of laughter.
Reagan drank his water and smiled.
The Gipper scored a touchdown again.
And hit it out of the park.
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
The epitome of greatness, a mark in history
Of discipline remarkable, a stellar victory
Defeating the unbeaten, knock and break the mould
International heavyweight of Olympic Gold
Strike in quick succession, opponents retreat
Delivery duration, a knockout of defeat
Tactical ability, step into the range
Catalyst created, set for further change
Of the highest calibre, man who beat the man
Delivery on target, a humble champion
Of opponents outclassed, discontinued bout
Dominant performance, within and without
With athletic excellence, distance travelled far
Gym of daily training, cardio and spar
Professional perspective, stood to set the pace
Dedication, boldness, motivate, embrace
Influencing globally, rank of the elite
Rapid combinations, uppercuts repeat
Powerful formation, readiness of stance
Daily preparation, practice over chance
An honourable service, magnificence abound
Celebrating victory, crowding to surround
Continuing the greatness, strength and stamina
The world is truly grateful, Anthony Joshua
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
Music is blaring in my ears and my breathing is becoming staggered
You're invading my mind and I need to run
But I can't run from what's inside of me
And I can't run from what I feel
So I listen to the rhythm of my feet on the pavement
Steady, now.
And I match my breathing to every other step
Even though my mind is racing 100 paces ahead
I know it will eventually lose stamina
And begin retreating
But my thoughts have no intention of stopping
No desire to cooperate
And off they go again.
I'm feeling too much
I'm running in a straight line
But going in circles trying to catch myself
Steady, now.
I can only mask my insanity for so long
I can only run for so long before my pace diminishes
Along with my drive to cap my thoughts
I'm being taken over by my own self
Engulfed in an ocean of emotions
That won't stop trying to drown me
I listen once again to my feet on the pavement
And the tempo of my breathing
Ears picking up the echo of my heartbeat
My heart feels so much
But it still beats its rhythmic cadence in my chest
I want my mind to adapt to that same stability
I am running, but from what?
Steady, now.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC
words are exhausting
though actions have much more endurance
there's no way I could show my stamina if I never see you
unfortunate
but if given the opportunity
given you're not completely tired of my talk
I'd have the courage to share my happiness
you see
words are living things too
they're capable of breathing life into an absent
feeling
truth
accept these last few
as I showcase my lungs in a different manner:
my vitality
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
Intake warm breeze
as chest expands
Like a tequila shot
Slammed
Top shelf tequila...
A more enduring
Sobering
Variety of elixir
Oxygen and energy ringing
Integrity intact
Confidence withstands
Through chaos and madness
I AM a glorious being
We ARE shining out
into the galaxy
Can't you see?
Only by running on
Spiritual fumes of evermore
Can we truly be
All we were meant
Without a penny spent
The universe expands
Fills up every pore
of pink lung
Feeding blood as
it wraps around
My heart squeezing out
Every ounce of
Stamina and love
Exhale air of hope
So grateful to it
Swirling up
My being bowed down
in reverence
Indebted to it
the atmosphere
The same breeze
Engulfs birds in the trees,
Who drink it up,
Singing sweetly
Sure beats man-made
Intoxication any day
of the week
Don't you think?
The best highs
of this life
are beautifully
Intrinsically
Deceivingly
Free
Go forth!
Spread your wings
Spanning from
Past to future
Fly to sights unseen!
Soar the currents of today
Right up to the heavens
Dear friends!
I'll be perched
Waiting for your faces
in the branches of Serenity,
Chirping hymns of Love
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
We set out to honor Mary
traveling the pilgrim's path from west to east
We walked, we rode the bus
entertained and enchanted by Cristina
applauding Ramon along the way.
Each day was one of prayer and song, sunshine and fellowship
rosaries and novena
we submitted petitions to Santiago
we laughed with San Serapio
From the grand and magnificent cathedrals
to the humblest village chapel
we grew in faith, hearing God's word in many languages.
We marveled at the dedication and stamina of the pilgrims
making their way on foot and bicycle
at the warmth, generosity, and hospitality
they receive along the way
We picknicked alongside mountain streams
enjoying good food, good wine,and good friendship
we walked down the hillsides in the hot sunshine
passing the pilgrims going the opposite way
we quenched our thirst in a quaint and rustic village tavern.
Ramon drove with skill up the mountains to Garabandal
a remote village suspended in time and beauty
there on the mountain top we sat among the pines
where Mary had appeared.
We sat in silence, in awe and reverence
the only sounds, the whisper of the breeze and the cowbells on the hillside
We prayed the rosary
It was, for most of us, a most special memory
From our bus we looked out at the mountains
the green and rolling farmland
at the rocky Atlantic coast
at the rios and the rias.
We walked in procession at Fatima and Lourdes
by candlelight and moonlight
and again in the brilliant sunshine
The voices and the church bells
carried across the plazas
enveloping us in joy and prayer and mysticism
It was at the grotto at Lourdes
with my hands pressed on the rocky cave wall
with the holy water on my hands
that I felt Mary's presence
Mary, my mother, my sister, my friend
AVE MARIA
September, 2008
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 8:52 PM UTC