I watched the penguins woddle along,
On cold-hard ice; where they belong.
From water to land, they scurried around,
Flapping their feet on frozen ground.
Herds of them were standing still,
Settling down to a long cold chill.
Mother passes her egg to father carefully;
Knowing he'll care for it, so, naturally.
He'll protect it from the harsh-cold nights,
In a warm snug pouch away from sight.
For mother must find many fish to catch,
While father stays until it is hatched.
Long-dark days of Winter will change to Fall,
Returning mother, with, her familiar call.
Such a sweet sound for father's ear,
Ending another, long-cold Winter year.
Giving father penguin a much needed break,
For their chick is born and fully awake.
With such a huge urge to quickly eat,
Yes, many tasty meals of fresh, fish-meat.
Is science fiction an oxymoron?
How can science be fiction
When it is the process by which myth
Is eliminated and all that is tangible
In the world is interpreted? And isn’t fiction
Nothing more than the literary
Manifestation of the dreams
That crash through the barriers
Of reality? How then
Can the two terms coexist
In a single phrase?
Is there anything made
By mortal hands
That was not proceeded
By a dream? Is it possible
That the creator of worlds
Dreamed before the first
Flowers bloomed in the garden?
If dreams lead to physical
Things, then they must be
The blueprints of the future
And the catalyst of science;
Conversely, science is proof
Of the dreams of gods and mortals.
Science fiction is not
An oxymoron, but it is
The infinitely redundant
Confirmation of life.
There was this science teacher at my high school. One of those idiots who had to kiss his boss’ ass to get ahead. One of those insecure fools who would be far more suitable working in a lab with a microscope up his nose so far his eyes might begin to bulge out, or maybe even at Walmart.
Anyplace other than a school, subjecting poor kids to his nonsense.
So, the incompetent butt kisser somehow won Teacher of the Year. What a joke! The students got together, held a makeshift summit and devised a plan, one that would make school history.
Since Billy’s mom worked as a janitor, she had one of those “good” keys. He yanked it from her one night when she slept soundly thanks to the Ambien Katie stole from her mom’s medicine cabinet. It's a good thing Katie’s mama never watched the PSAs.
The night of the award ceremony, everyone got into position, and nodded to each other. Mr. Idiot Science Teacher approached the podium to accept his award. The administration clapped with cheesy smiles plastered on their idiot faces.
Then, down poured the eggs, “Carrie style." Nearly 1,500 of them, courtesy of Jared’s grandpa’s farm.
A week later, we learned Mr. Idiot Science teacher retired. He was twenty seven.
Yesterday I stopped by Walmart to pick up some milk and eggs. Standing behind the register...the retired science teacher. As I walked away, I glanced down at the carton, thankful he didn’t work in the hunting department.
The Wonderful Magnet
The magnet is a wonderful thing, as it is
made from iron extracted from the ground
becoming a magnet from it's magnetic
properties from the Earth, being buried over
centuries it has become vital to man.
with the abilities to attract metal and also
repel metal with a different polarity, as
like poles repel and unlike poles will attract
this amazing piece of iron can be used in
various products: generators, motors and
may even be the solution to anti-gravity
and propulsion of space vehicles that could
travel to distant planets and beyond, back
in earlier times people believed the magnet
may be a creation of the Devil, as being a
material capable of pointing North, a form of
scourcery or even witchcraft, where in actual
fact it was science, used in the creation of the
compass, something that every boy scout
would use in camping, and many other uses today.
Aliens DO exist and they are observing us guys
The way we interact with each other
What advice do you think they would give us
Would they throw up their hands in disgust
And say, “it's no use... people of earth, you just don't get it!”
Or would they see hope for us and offer to help
Perhaps they've gone through similar “growing pains”
Wherever they come from
And wish to share their experiences with us
At my advanced age, I hope I live long enough to see that day
To suggest that we are alone in the universe
Is absolutely absurd and beyond my comprehension
There are billions upon billions of other galaxies
With billions upon billions of other worlds like ours
To assume otherwise
Is UTTERLY, UTTERLY, PREPOSTEROUS!
© Jack Ellison 2014
I believe my words meets you in good state of mind
Do you believe africa can become a better continent?
Young pepole must change their attitude__any part
of their mindset holding them back!
If so,they should set goals to improve their behaviour
and find solutions to challenges facing africa.
Young people must work twice as hard to make africa
a better continent:
We have no time to waste but to make this continent
that the LORD gave us a better place for
Our children must be able to hit the ground running
to get somewhere meaningful.
We must work wholeheartedly in order to transform static
policies since we got independence!
Africa should not be the only continent in the world where
outsiders find cheap commodities and slaves
to improve their economies!
That backwater theory must change,something beautiful
needs to happen very quickly!
Spectators have portrayed africa's reign as a missed
opportunity to tackle problems___
A yawning rich-poor gap to stiffly politics
and controversial policies__
That africa's collective leadership have been too timid
to implement good governance policies
because of remote controlled influence!
Something wonderful must happen to our mindset__
Europe or America did not develop in one day!
And technology did not fall from heaven___
but it was invented and innovated.
Where africa cannot create,let us buy advanced
to make rock-solid industriariazation
I believe,africa's economy can grow to become among
the world's largest economies___
And our per capita income can quituple!
*To my fellow africans both living in africa or outside africa
Enlighten days have past
He comes excel in all, so he thinks
"I am greater than man,
I know what ignorant man does not.
Come to me for knowledge unsurpassed!".
He points to the blue heaven,
"Where is thy wisdom? For I know all.
Where is thy command? That makes the ground shake
And brings forth water that lives?"
At the great gatherings,
He flocks the shepherds, blind, mute and deaf
He answers to the multitude of questions
He asked the shepherds, "but what are thy questions?",
“I know not what do ask a man of your wisdom, but what is a dream?
What is life?” asked the young herdsman.
"I know not what you speak of", said the Man.
"I only know what i can feel, touch and see"
"A dream is dream that passes us by, like gentle breeze of fresh spring.
Life holds all things mystery and doubts.
Shepherd knows to flock, not life or dreams".
"The shepherds are those who are humble, noble one", said the herdsman
"The blind cannot see, the mute cannot speak and the deaf cannot hear".
"Who are you preaching to? Silent and amaze, the man looks on.
"If the blind could see you,
They would say, 'look here is the man who tried to humble the blind
For they can see what others cannot,
If the mute could speak, they would humble you!
And if the deaf could hear they would shamed your wisdom".
"Was I a fool?" said the Man "or are you not that young herdsman?
Who knows nothing of life and passes his days tending the sheep's?
What could you learn from such simpleton life?"
"Life I live is simple indeed,
No one knows that the shepherds are those who protects the weak"
"Nature is a friend of the shepherd; we sing the song of David
And rubs the olive oil to our young sheep, to keep away the flies".
Insulted, the man's fury turns over to the young herdsman
"Nature? Protect the weak? The song of David? Flies?
How can nature befriend a lonely shepherd? Protect who?
Song of David the Shepherd who became the king?
What flies would harm the young flocks?"
The young herdsman smiled at the frown face of the man,
Left without a word
The blind, the mute and deaf ignored the man.
An unyielding shame kept the man humbled
He wonders why the young herdsman smiled about.
He came about a bridge and crossed the rocky roads
On the hill top he stood
And saw the young herdsman singing the Song of David.
An eerie little poem for your enjoyment.
It's fiction but inspired by a little cave I found this weekend on my woodsy walk ;)
(minus the ghostly whispers! "OooooOOOO!" heheh) Also a bit of a message in this one.
Willow's Bluff (Part 1)
by Amy Swanson 2.9.2009
The other day I found myself
restless and ill at ease,
so I thought I'd take a walk
forget my cares in spring's warm breeze.
The forest was so beautiful
and trees, once dead, were turning green
I couldn't help but marvel
at life's mysteries I had seen.
I started on the well worn path
and thought I heard a sound;
it made me jump, I turned to look,
but no one was around.
The sunlight streamed so gloriously
upon my tear stained face
my heart felt light, forgotten cares
just being in this place.
And then it happened once again
I know I heard a noise!
I stopped now, to investigate
This hidden, quiet voice.
I wandered off the walker's trail
into the woods much deeper
I chanced upon a darkened cave
... and the cave's gatekeeper.
A mystical sight to behold
unearthly glowing light
it rose a bit up from the ground
then faded from my sight.
I made my way into the cave
and there it was... that voice again...
slowly I embarked
My flashlight shining at full force
was still not bright enough
to counter with this deepening dark
I'd found near Willow's Bluff.
I heard the eerie whispers now
quite clearly, in my ear
first one, then two, now several more
and though my pioneer
spirit got me into this,
I felt that it was time to flee!
I turned and ran the opposite way
the voices though, were still with me!
I thought I knew the way back out
I tripped my way along
my flashlight flickered one last light
... I found that I was wrong...
somehow my turns had led me
down a path I did not know;
I turned to walk the other way -
but there was no place left to go.
*continue to Part 2*
** continued from part 1, please read that one first **
Willow's Bluff (Part 2)
by Amy Swanson 2.9.2009
The whispers getting louder now,
my screams rose silently
trying to escape my lips,
my arms now beating violently!
"Let me go! What do you want!?"
my mind's voice now demanded
of the whispering captors
who somehow held me, stranded.
The pressure of the moment
held me paralyzed with fear.
Oh how I wish I'd stayed away
and never come in here!
Tightening around my chest
and whispers growing still...
my mind was racing frantically,
my body felt a chill.
And then... a human voice... a light...
the sun gentle and warm...
my eyelids fluttered... I awoke,
completely safe from harm.
My husband leaned down close to me
and said "Are you all right?
You took a spill and konked your head,
you gave us all a fright."
Confused, I nodded slowly
and my eyes turned toward the river
the path I'd taken in my dream was there...!
I felt a shiver.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm doing fine,
don't worry about me.
I'll be right there, you go ahead,
but first, there's something I must see."
I saw the path, still beckoning
it looked as in my dream...
a little further down the way
...the same unsettling theme.
The cave stood eerily in sight,
but I did not venture in.
A million questions to my mind,
this journey from within.
What did it mean? and how
could I explain what I had seen?
I chose to bury it down deep
and call it ... just a dream.
They say that only fools rush in
where angels fear to tread
walking down an unknown path
can lead straight to the dead.
One thing for certain, deep inside
I know this was not fluff -
so if you find an unknown path...
beware of Willow's Bluff.
Introduction: We don't really think deep enough about "What A Poetry Actually Is", the
obvious question which we all know but don't think how to really elaborate on. We mostly
see the story, depth and the purpose it delivers. Well, here's one a little bit different
Poetry is the reflection of our lives like in the mirror,
It is something we can relate to and share.
It's our memories written in jumbled words,
It's like a song, with a meaning it holds.
A mere idea of our mystical lives,
Expressed in a way from deep inside
A way which only the heart can see,
A place where the eyes get cold-feet
The earnest truth and the sweetest lies,
It's all the irony that makes poetry so alive.