No where near a force of nature.
Challenging the things that are not for sure.
Building what we can survive.
A small measurement when we strive.
Lessons when it comes to strength.
Multiplying the time found in length.
Stop and learn the sound of weakness.
Hard to find when one is restless.
Improving in a mental task.
The answers are found when we ask.
Stamina is needed between me and you.
To perform bravely in all we do.
Losing the ability to rump for long.
You're out of shape comes in way too wrong.
The idea is to learn when ideas seem to fail.
The wrong action is to bail.
Thinking, thinking what could it be.
Will not solve the problem between you and me.
Practice is the best energy.
Memorize it and stamina will come naturally.
We hold hands walking under the bright beam of God’s Moon Light,
And stop and kiss so intently in the soft cradle of the dark Moon Night.
The passion and rapture together we feel so on this cold black night,
Is reflected and majestically warmed by the touch of the Moon Light.
I look lovingly into your eyes on this quite special dark Moon Night,
Marveling at the love so reflected in your eyes by the Moon Light.
This is an enchanted sight to behold by All who love the Moon Light,
Reflecting the beauty and meaning while savoring all the Moon Night.
A deep Cosmic Blackness pervades the canvas of this great Moon Night,
While God’s grace and love pleasure us with a most bright Moon Light.
Almighty God in Heaven gently modulates the tone of this Moon Light,
Bringing constant wonder and glory to All on this most dark Moon Night.
My love and I now understand the mystical meaning of this Moon Light,
As we ponder and hold so special God’s emotion felt on this Moon Night.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(October 19, 2014) (Rhyme Couplet poetic format)
And there stood still, was I along with persistence
Staring at this book, longing it to be in my existence
Browsing beneath books decorative cover
Eager to read each page carefully before lips stutter
Is the inside parallel to that of the outside?
Stereotyping cease as one takes a peek on the inside
Aroused by the few first pages
Wanting more, but the book is neither for rent nor any other wages
So then, I'll bookmark where I left off beginning again on tomorrow.
Pace, G INK-U-SCRIPT
Synopsis: The events in this poem never actually happened. I wrote this in a metaphor to
express what was going on at the time.
The stage lights up,
The curtains rise.
I raise my head,
And look in your eyes.
Sounds come through,
The music plays.
This song's for you,
You're in a daze.
The crowd is vast,
The fans are crazed.
You're leaving fast,
You looked amazed...
I keep on singing,
I don't understand.
Your ears are ringing,
I look at the band.
They're still playing,
I walk off stage,
Drop the mic,
I'm running for you,
And you look back,
You keep walking,
It feels like a smack.
I know you don't like it,
When i leave,
Pick up the mic,
And make you grieve.
There isn't much time,
At all anymore,
To see you be mine.
The music took o'er.
You couldn't take it,
Thats why you left.
I know I missed.
I know you planned,
And I ignored.
Now I'm banned,
From entering your door.
I finally catch up,
Tell you I'm sorry.
You give me a hug,
That night so starry.
I left the band,
We both kissed again.
I hope you understand,
I loved you more then.
Poem: Titled: Eat A Little Piece?My Poetry on PoetrySoup
Written by: Ronald Watson.
March 10, 2013.
Eat A Little Piece?
Ethel, she is an elderly little lady who bakes sweet tasty treats, and constantly, she is asking,” Please, come on, eat a little piece?”
It was her secret cooking recipe’ that would knock the socks right off of your feet.
Then, she gathered up together all of, “The Powers That Be.”
When it came time for them to eat a little piece.
To sip it up with their coffee and tea;
Devour some up like, the cookie monster on: Sesame Street.
Either, it should taste more like, their moms red beans and rice.
Or it would taste just like, those sweet and honey barbeque ribs that is cooked so nicely.
Because it is her secret cooking recipe’. Yet, still she is asking, “Come on now, please try a little peace?”
But, they all just stood and shook their heads, saying that they were all having War instead.My Poetry on PoetrySoup
Day in, and day out, from the ripe old age of five
I’ve take to sharp objects and whittled at their sides.
Plotting the precise angle with penetrating gaze,
the slant of slice, just so nice, as memory replays.
With curt tongue and tireless ire, I shred the sages
Burroughs, and Asimov, the Shakespeare past ages.
Butchering with rare delight, the language on the page
lancing every metaphor and simile upstaged.
and so I've arrived her in rhythm and in rhyme
killing the English language as other people dine.
*Nibbs are the pointed ends of fountain pens
as well as being an important or self-important person
Light and dark
In the middle of the park
Where the shadows dance
With every glance.
The breeze goes by
With just a sigh
By trembling leaves
A spider weaves
To a silent beat
A web of deceit
Set in light and dark
In the middle of the park.
Always pulling rabbits
From the bottom of my hat,
Always looking forwards,
Never looking back.
Like to keep you laughing,
Laughing through the night,
Keeps our broken hearts at bay,
Hidden from the light.
more of my poems at: http://labyrinthoflies.com
I wrote a little poem that went toot toot toot.
With every second line do-op do-op.
It started with a scale that went doe ray me.
and had a tiny chorus of tick tick tock.
I added tiny rests that went sigh sigh sigh.
I balanced them with sounds that went ring ring ring.
Now half the words were higher and half were low.
Until they reached the end and went ping ping ping.
I gave it to a man who played with instruments.
Who said he was the best and the king king king.
He wasn't very good when he started to play.
Until he opened up his mouth to sing sing sing.
And that is how I invented the song song song.
I hope I haven't bored and strung you along long long.
Life is like a hurricane.
Life, is like a heavy rain.
A lake of pain like lake Baikal.
Tears, flow like a waterfall.
People are like granite stone;
in the end your'e left alone.
But what of the good things?
Like the sound of when a church bell rings?
Or the miraculous, beautiful way
one helps another through troublesome day?
Tragedies of life aren't fun,
but in the end we learn a ton.
Though pain we do remember,
the flame eventually turns to ember.
You see, the thing about walking through earth each day,
is The King turns the curse to a healthy pathway.