I see your work budding,
like a flower each new day.
Slowly blooming more and more,
bringing color to a time that’s gray.
Your colorful petals are amazing,
the way you reflect the sun.
And your beauty still remains,
after the beauty of the day is done.
For your work radiates,
here on Poetry Soup.
We are all poetic flowers;
part of a big garden group.
I am writing this poem,
to the poetic flower you are.
You glisten each new day,
from way, way, afar.
If life was a big garden,
a flower you would be.
With flourished poetic petals,
named the Rose of Poetry.
For Belinda Parish
a fellow souper for her
Know how to make
The best of what you've got in you
You do it everyday in your life
Deep within the bowels of the earth
a pressure builds up in intensity
As lava and gases increase in growth
bubbling and seething with angry fury
The pressure continues to build up
directly under the earth's crust
Which finally weakens and blows its top
yielding to the pressure's upward thrust
The action produces a huge crater
through which ferocious flames exit
Painting the sky in a red orange colour
in an awesome fiery exhibit
It's a grand display of fireworks power
generated by Mother Nature
Which reaches out both near and far
in testimony of its grandeur
Clouds of ash and smoke rise up to the sky
spreading for miles and miles around
Obscuring vision both far and nigh
before most of the ash falls to the ground
A thick outpouring of red hot lava
scorches everything that lies in its path
Streaming down the sides of the crater
as it moves on with relentless wrath
Volcanic action has an awesome tale to tell
of what goes on under earth's placid shell
It's where red hot lava and gases dwell
which when released create a fiery hell
The work I did was playing with the angels
We read and painted, dressed up for Halloween as rangers
The Universe so close from dry, paper mache
With older kids we even wrote an Etheree
The work I did was traveling to Europe
With twenty of my students and an antelope
We colored windows facing the lights of Paris
and even opened a brasserie "Gateau de Bliss"
So, Carolyn, you made me smile opening this album
When asking "Where the Wild Things Are? " Ka-boom!
Again it's "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs"
...but empty are long gone Elementary School halls...
My sister ate my homework,
Yes, I promise she did.
Her sweet eyes will fool you,
She looks like a cute kid,
But her teeth are sharp as knives,
As her hunger grows,
She wants some tasty geometry,
How she gets it?
No one knows.
It’s there in my bag,
Her eyes are stone,
Staring at my folder,
That homework all alone,
But she will give it a friend,
Maybe invite it for tea,
“I would love to have you for diner.” She’d say,
But she does’t fool me!
So I’m sorry I don’t have my homework today,
My sister’s on an eating streak,
I hope she does’t keep it up,
I might not have homework for the rest of the week.
Sitting in my office
Papers scattered everywhere
Mid-term tests to type up
I've lost the heart to care
Sitting in my office
Reading some sweet rhyme
Wanting to write my own
But I'm so pressed for time
Sitting in my office
No set theme in my mind
Just sharing part of me
Sitting in my office
Wish I could amaze
My words are all so...dead
Because I'm in a daze
Sitting in my office
Hoping my muse will bring
A dreamy gift of words
That makes hearts dance and sing
Sitting in my office
I let out a heavy sigh
Time to pack up and go
For now this is goodbye
I know....Sometimes you just want to do anything but what you are supposed to do. You just want to give in your obsession to write....to taste and experience and live and breathe and live and live and live...and you're stuck in your office with deadlines looming over your head...wishing you were writing poetry tucked up cozy in your bed! :(
I'm in a crazy mood. See you all in a few hours when I'm rested. It's been a long day. Tomorrow is every longer.
1 o'clock in the morning the alarm is loudly screamin'
I go wake up my brother who probably is still dreamin'
We jump in the car and the wheels start rollin'
Can't wait to pick up the papers and start strollin'
A smile planted on our face! The day is finally starting
The headlights shine bright! The animals are darting
Ah! Windows down breathing all the fresh air
My brother gathering papers with all of his care
Wheels steadily rollin down the road
Nothing is in sight, not even a toad!
Newspapers start soaring through the air!
Do I want this to end? No! I wouldn't dare
Starting to run out of papers as the sun is rising
Listening to the birds chirping is quite energizing!
I look over towards my brother to see if he is still awake
Bless his heart! He has fallen to sleep, he really needed a break!
I throw the last paper and I began to yawn
The paper lands perfectly on that last lawn
Wheels rollin' as we head back to the beginning
Should this much fun be considered sinning?
The Devil sits there playing, he’s as happy as he can be
He has a new game to play, he rubs his fiery hands in glee
Down in the bowels of the earth, the deepest hottest spot
Where white magma burns, he collects it, in his devilish crock.
He keeps all the tortured souls he has collected through the years
Especially the greedy ones, he know how to play on their worst fears
Crucibles of white hot lava, he makes them pound all day
Until their muscles burn and burst, then the devils imps do flay.
The skin they flay from their backs, but still the pounding goes on
And little by little a diamond is formed, each one the bestest one
A pile of diamonds the devil has them make, but still the lava pours
The pounding must continue, piles of diamonds grow on the floor.
The clarity, the excellence, this perfection in clear carats
The devil tells them he wants more, the imps take skin from their backs
More and more diamonds they are looking as cool as ice
He taunts the greedy souls down there he says “Now don’t they look nice.”
When he has a mountain of them, he lets the pounding halt
The lava stops pouring for a while, and then there is a jolt
The poor tired souls are staring at this mountain of ice-like gems
When the Devil pulls a lever the pounding starts again.
This time a floodgate is open and he says they can take their fill
They can cool themselves on the diamonds; they can try it if they will
The clearest of all the diamonds, send shivers down their spines
They try to pocket a few but the devil says …“They’re mine.”
Another gate is open, lava flows through hot, the crucibles refilled
The Devil says now get to work I don’t want to see a single drop spilled
When they can work no more, he lets them have a rest
Then opening up another door he says “I bet you all have guessed.”
“Now you have made more wealth, than the world can ever use
These cool pieces of pounded lava, this ice mountain you are going to lose
Just watch my merry greedy souls, just watch my new display
As a running river of lava washes the ice clear diamonds away…
Now I will show you what we will do with all of them
Just watch how they melt down, so we can start all over again
So pound away my merry soul’s, pound and pound them well
This is what you loved before; you found the love of money was Hell
Competition Entry: Fire and Ice. Sponsored By Carol Sunshine Brown
© Mandy Tams~GG~ 21/11/2012
(3 May 2014; For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)
Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?
Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.
What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,
And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.
And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.
Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian,
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)
Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.
It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.
All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.
But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.
To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Not till the loom was silent
And the shuttle ceased to fly
When history unrolled the scroll
And reveals the reason why.
The darkest thread as needful
In the weavers skilful hand
As the cloth of gold and silver
Of an industrious ruin greed had planned.
No amount of corporate education
Could quell our simple brain
No grammar association
Yet unravelled the master’s pain.
They took away our ambition
Off shore was their devious plan
Tried so hard to pick our pockets
Yet our skill could clothe a man.
His call was for cheap labour
Some call it slavery
Now we buy at a thousand per cent
The product of knavery!
© Harry J Horsman 2015
Dada was everything to our youth
Our wide faculty was his help
Our recognition was his sooth
Nobody does it than his rep
Many youth he carried up there
Without seeking any penny
Many services he rendered
For free. All of which we did see
He was not a king or a prince
Perhaps he was just a God sent
To his community, king and prince...
He begot not but was begot
Mindful of his predicament
But dare not showed it on earth
Till that Friday night he drove out
Of town and took to a scar oath
The next hour we heard he had died
And left us belated letter
"Don't cry for me, for I had lied.
...I'll die now before later"
*cry for...: Mourn
Right now, I have an uneasy feeling in my gut.
I want to hold on to my job no matter what.
I blew the save, and we eventually lost the game.
To lose a good lead for any team is a shame.
I have a feeling the management wants to let me go.
They are disenchanted with me. It certainly does show.
The team counts on me to come on in relief.
The hits and runs I give up causes everybody grief.
So what will I do if they want me to go away?
Will I have to try and make up a resume?
I can’t sleep with these worries in my head.
Sorry dear if I am keeping you awake in bed.
The idle drudge among the living
But count among the dead
Youthful labor - Stolen, stilled
A universal dread
In stasis, they rot away the years
In shock, we view their pain
Hostility - A witness to
Their efforts worthless, vain
Covetousness or Greed begets
In our souls unkindness
And want of Charity or Love
If your working is not systematic
You may find life damn difficult
As negative will be the result
Great success, you can't pick
Please attend to work judiciously
And take efforts to attain victory
Regard loss as a guiding injury
Never do your duty suspiciously
Plan your duty and finely execute
Learn the trade with great interest
All your skills, you wisely invest
Prove to all that you are very cute
Take up a job and well-perform it
Use maximum prudence wisely
Discharge your duty very nicely
Develop a hard-working habit
Learn the intricacies of your trade
And become an expert in work
Your duty, never at all shirk
Try to register greatly A-grade
Those tasks that are damn tough
May confuse your mind severely
But, you can master them surely
Just sheer hard-work is enough
A shrewd person never is worried
As he is sure of his toiling truly
He regards doing duty as holy
He never waits for luck's need
He will work showing real enthusiasm
His heart will have a positive outlook
All opportunities, he will wisely book
By exhibiting maximum dynamism
With grit, he will chase to at last win
His motto is to try and use the chance
He will enthusiastically start the dawns
With optimism, he will hopefully begin
He will make his level best attempt
And lose not heart in case of defeat
He is honest, tidy, brainy and neat
His mind, worries can never tempt.
I wish I could go from crop to chop
I really wish I could
Chop a bit here and a lot there
Then I would feel good.
I wish I could chop away
All the unsightly bumps
I’d shape and carve as I like
To have curves instead of lumps.
I’d work so hard on my arms
To make them jiggle free
And then I’d work on my rump
So that it’s a sight to see!
I’d most surely work on my hips
So they would be stream lined
I’d also work on my waist
No extra flab you’d find
I’d work on my tummy round
That looks and feels like dough
I’d roll it till it was quite thin
And then I’d would let it show!
I’d be cruel with my knife
No bit of fat would I spare
I’d chop and chop till I drop
To make them all stop and stare!
But since I can’t, I will still crop
My photos are just face and chest
You all must try to understand
Of my features these are best!
All you’ll see are parts of me
I’ll hide my unsightly bumps
Cause I’m no Fergie, can’t you see
My lumps are only....lumps!
Sometimes when things begin to close in,
I'd like to sit down and chill out,
Find someplace to just get away,
And refigure what life's all about.
Sometimes it seems life's too full of demands,
My talents are spread way too thin.
There aren't enough hours to be found found in one day,
My duties begin but don't end.
Life cannot be just all work and no play,
Our youth is gone way too soon.
Think I'll start chilln' out before it's too late,
Learn to sing me a brand new tune.
It's good to know duty and good to know fun,
And when each begins and when ends.
One must learn life is filled with both duty and fun.
Learn to organize so it all blends.
If you burn the candle at both ends you run out of candle too fast.
Life is a choice that each of us makes.
We can choose what we wish to be.
At first parents guide us along an old road,
Then it forks and at last we are free,
To make our own choices and be our own man,
The decision at last is our own.
As long as we hurt no one but ourselves,
We can do as we like 'cause we're grown;
But soon we will learn to our shock and dismay,
That each choice we make has a price.
Whate'er you dish out to your brothers, my friend,
Comes right back to you times thrice.
In nature God shows us all how to get by.
Those who work and store up have it best.
Those who can't be bothered to work and to save,
Will starve come the hard Winter's test;
For life is a journey of good times and bad.
There's much to be learned 'long the road.
Each man is blessed according to plan,
And we each must carry our load.
We learn to be patient, we learn to be kind,
We learn to accept God's will.
We learn to discern which fork in the road,
Leads to life and which fork will kill;
And finally we learn the one fact of life,
Most important if we are to live.
All of life's riches will all slip away,
Like sand through the holes in a sieve.
All thaat remains is what we leave behind,
Who remembers and what they will think.
Will our mem'ry be sweet to family and friends,
Or will they turn away 'cause it stinks.
The Bible tells us:
You reap what ever you sow.
So if you sow thorns and thistles don't expect to get cherries.
Today is Monday, start of the week
Open my eyes, give the clock a peek
It’s time to wake up and clear my head
I guess I better get out of bed
Wednesday is considered “humpper day”
Half of the week’s gone, or so they say
A lot to do, must shake out the lead
I guess I better get out of bed
Friday at last, T-G-I-F
Bar-B- Que tonight and I’m the chef
This is a good day, nothing to dread
I guess I better get out of bed
The weekend is here, party time
Just an excuse for me to unwind
On Saturday I’ll drink too much Red
It’s noon before I get out of bed
Sunday, a little “Hair of the Dog”
To help let my mind clear out the fog
When I awake I feel like I’m dead
I guess I better get out of bed
The evening dons a peaceful shroud
As windows teeter in the breeze.
Here, only lone sighs are allowed
Along the road, an endless wheeze.
While toilers saunter homeward bound
Reflecting hours quite drearily,
With tic- tac rhythm on the ground
Like shuffles of a weary tree.
Dim lanterns cut through brightened shade
With moonlight glowing starlit white,
Till liquid eyes are inter-laid
For even in reminisce is light.
Let's Get Technical Contest, Andrea Dietrich
19 July 2014
We are independent with people on earth
Our mortal angels are always there to assist us
But, we can never be independent in everything
God is our everything
Mortal Angels as people are unemployed these days
Ask help for certain Mortal Angels
Today and everyday
They will not refuse to assist you
For a joyful
You need spiritual and mental union with people
A FIRE FIGHTER…
We get the call in the middle of the night,
Out the door ready to fight.
The call comes in, with much depth,
Behind the wheel someone slept.
Across the lane and head on
Arrive on scene the drivers gone.
In the other car there is
A mother, and her 2 kids.
It’s too late we hear the ambos say
The mothers gone the fathers away
The kids are hurt but not too bad,
But news we bring is too sad
Return to our lives the next day,
For those kids we all will pray.
Talking to a friend that night,
How do you do it, without fight?
It’s the job we say but is that true
Is just about the job for me and you?
We are fire fighters yes
Trying all the time to do our best
We love our job, the friends we’ve made
But we also love the lives we save.
Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada
A skyline for a slag line.
A glowing melting rock.
An acid burning slag dump.
The miners on the clock!
The sunset meets the hill.
A seam of orange and fire.
Black smoke ascending from it.
The thickest form of mire.
A cauldron tipped and flowing.
A soup's heat puddle still.
The river red thin ribbons
and our love a slag dump spill.
For a joyful
You need spiritual and mental union
There is stupid in your tone...
your voice outside alone...
...For your words speak without
...Your stupid lacks great depth...
...The wise understand with little
...You encounter conversation...
your eyes meet with no conviction...
...We know what and how you say it...
with descriptives you delay this...
...regurgitated information cries...
...Just recalling without reason...
...You yourself have a difficult explain...
...You have only cheated yourself...
...In the actual act you yourself display...
...The aware zero tolerance ricochet...
...You with held information...
... Borderline corruption...
Truth in lies now follow you everywhere...
...A piece of work for sure...
...your life all meaning dis taught...
...Now all heir achy over you...
like a rash...
re-explained facts re-examined...
...and the lies they confiscate...
...With known self explanatory...
...The end result no joke...
...In life self rule...experience eludes obey...
...All reason suffers no fool...
...your signature dictates...
...only the fool itself frustrates...
...Play the victim if you dare...
...your reputation you have smeared...
...I have bowed out stronger and more aware...
Should the player play the fiddle
the carver of wood whittle
And the dancer piroutte
While the bakers bake and sweat
While the architect draws his lines
And the drummer drums in time
The farmers make things grow
While teachers teaches us so
Let preachers preach the word
And the shepherds lead their herds
Let the leaders lead the way
And judges contemplate
Let dealers deal the cards
And statisticions give the odds
And inventors dream their dreams
While great actors play their scenes
When detectives test their wit
And comedians do their bit
The tailors make clothes fit
While nurses tend the sick
While prayers pray to God
And angels praise and nod
The doubters still are doubting
And the unsuccessful quits
We had new neighbors move in next door
Something strange about the clothes they wore
All tattered and they never looked clean
Yet at night they were both fashion queens
We’d see them leave for work each AM
In their new Cadillac, what a gem
And again, when they went out that night
Wearing designer clothes if I’m right
A few times I tried to break the ice
Asked what he did in a way that’s nice
I got the cold shoulder in return
I decided then I’d somehow learn
Next day I followed; not too close
To spy on them I know was gross
Parked the car in a self-parking lot
Left with a sign and an army cot
At the corner, just two blocks away
They got things all set up for the day
The cot they used to swap off sitting
The sign aimed at divers unwitting
Well, I just could NOT believe my eyes
They’re both phony panhandler guys
Their cardboard sign read “Will Work for Food”
A total sham by two lazy dudes
I was thinking as I left that scene
And don’t care if you think me mean
Cardboard people get nothing from me
I’ll donate only to Charities
Envy begets in the soul a want of charity for our neighbor
Produces a spirit of detraction
I came across an old desk in a dream
A message of significance – or so it seemed
Timeless solid wood covered in dust
Your mystery to uncover I must
Handmade relic of ancient times bygone
After centuries, your work`s still not done
Bridal bed upon which tales of life were born
Now you’re stood against the wall forlorn
It was not what you had, but what you did lack
That spoke in a code I felt I had to crack:
Numerous tiny drawers on both left and right
But some were missing - a curious sight
Empty space of something lost, or not yet written?
This mad dog of a question down to my bones has bitten
I`d like to think the desk is not old and useless,
But a work in progress enduring Time so ruthless
Tenants of the house do ceaselessly come and go
Each adding a new story about what they’d known
The work continues till all the drawers are filled
With life lessons learned the quest will be fulfilled
WITHOUT A DOUBLE DIPPED DOUBT
I'M SORRY THINGS WITH US DIDN'T WORK OUT
AT FIRST IT WAS LIKE A CARIBEAN HONEYMOON
BUT THE DEATH OF EASINESS ARRIVED TOO SOON
I CARRIED YOUR UMBRELLA AND BLANKET TO THE SEA
AND IT NEVER BOTHERED ME THAT YOU DID NOTHING FOR ME
I GOT YOU LUNCH AT A HOT DOG STAND
AND TICKELED YOUR TOES BY BURYING THEM IN SAND
WE WENT TO CONCERTS AND SOME WERE GOOD AND SOME WERE BAD
AND WHENEVER WE SAID ADIEU IT ALWAYS MADE ME BEYOND SAD
WE STROLLED THROUGH THE RAIN WITHOUT ANY PROTECTION
WHILE YOU WIGGLED AWAY WITH SHEER PERFECTION
WE HELD HANDS TOGETHER IN CENTRAL PARK
THEN FED THE PIGEONS AND ONE LONELY LARK
THE TWO OF US EMBRACED WHILE WAITING FOR A BUS
AND AS I SAID , I'M SORRY THINGS DIDN'T WORK OUT FOR US
(C) 2012...copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~