Learning Words Through Poetry II

The GRE test day is only a day away. I was only able to create a handful of poems, incorporating about 70-100 vocab words, so not nearly as many as I have memorized. Either way it was fun. These are my last installments.

A Boxing Match

The unknown solvency of a manager counting money in the shadows
To profit off a pugnacious boxer who boasts to turn wives into widows.

The garrulous announcer loosens his tie as sweat coats his forehead
While the solicitous referee is fixated on the bodies and possible blood red

The opulent, old man in the front row positions his lips to sip a soporific drink
As a puissant punch is thrown by the fighter in the trunks green and pink

Fatigue starts to abate the situation in the ring
While a tacit victory is claimed as a trainer starts to sing

An erudite onlooker might cringe at such a scene
Unless they know punitive sports aren’t always clean.

Why Not Act

It is no easy task to be salubrious and genuinely care for others around the world
While our profligate lifestyles thrive on their suffering and inequality

It is no easy task to offer acumen into the role we can and should play
When we are represented by recondite policies and players bent on hegemony

It is no easy task to awaken from a reticent state of content, material abundance
When we are accustomed to the surfeit of mistaking our needs for wants

But our mendacity must not keep up from striving for the good, the fair
For we have a profusion of questions we ask and the conditions of others we face

So we cannot allow furtive deals of oppression, dominance, and control
Deny the possibility of realizing our refulgent vision of peace and equality

Send the Money

We see a young child on television suffering from some type of malady
And we brood over whether or not to alleviate his suffering by contributing financially

But does an interminable flow of checks really bring health to those without care?
Does our monetary assistance attenuate the conditions that create such despair?

We anathematize those who turn a blinds eye and change the channel on the TV
Yet it’s our avarice that convinces us that sending money is helping too informally

So we do not give our credit card number to help a macerated little baby today
And we do not become choleric knowing that no assistance is on its way

Our anemic sense of community is clouded by our prodigal concern for our “me”
And our animus for the dispassionate? Well, just look in the mirror and see

A Hard Wooden Bench

Is it odd that something can inspire and act of perfidy?
Does my magnanimity have to come from being taught dogmatically?

What do I do when specious statements are launched from the pulpit
Or a benison is designed to give innocence to a culprit?

I find myself inert, unaffected and tired from the service
And I know my implacable state of cynical sorrow is a result of this

When I see the penury of people without hope
And hear spurious remarks so that with this we can cope

I start to see the protean nature of faith and belief
And I am no longer provincial as I turn a different leaf.

Remember and Continue

She purveys a service desired by more than you know
For humanity has a salacious appetite to partake in such a show

She absconds to a hotel room and patiently waits inside
Her raiment barely covers a body advertising a source of pride

He enters the room eager and expecting no remonstrance
Yet this can be venal transaction so she postpones the performance

She is laconic in her rules and regulations
Before the play develops into a vexation

As she sloughs her garments to the side of the bed
She remembers an odious experience that was never intended