Poem | |
B.C. has been the acronym applied
for all events before out dear Lord’s birth.
Who knew another god would change the tide
and wield a power of great global worth?
To what do I refer? Or have you guessed
the god to which we each now bow our head?
No matter our religion, all are blessed
with this thing vital as our daily bread.
It took away the jobs of common men
and gave new jobs to geeks. You now must know
this god of our new world, who loves all sin
as well as good, has nothing it won’t show!
I think “Before Computers” seems a way
to say A.D. became a new B.C.
Now things have changed so much that I would say
that my own past is ancient history!
Before Computers, life was not so fast,
and even in the 90’s I could keep
abreast of news and make my free time last.
High-tech today both makes me thrill and weep!
More time for family, a slowed down pace,
more time for God; I weep for things we’ve lost.
yet thrilled am I to see the human race
now bonding. But we do it at what cost?
Our children growing lazy, rude, and fat
and less connected, addicts to a phone!
To play outside. . . . Do you remember that?
B.C. meant doing more things on your own.
With jobs, our kids and all our lives at stake,
we now embrace our new computer age,.
Omitting our true God is the mistake
that might well do us in; we must be sage!
Recall the values getting left behind
as into this computer age we cruise.
Look back to decades past and you will find
B.C. had greatness that we must not lose.
For Deb's Contest (B.C. = Before Computers)
Poem | |
L-iving in a world of vast
souls formed from
another voided world,
E-ntering thru portals
from their world to earth.
O-ozing spetacular smell
and wail when the chips
N-urtured from cradle to
entity with a new world
O-rganizes oneself for the
task ahead,passing thru
hurdles of life unabased
R-eaps the fruit of labor
with joy or heavy heart.
A-ge sets in,mission
accomplished or not will
dawn on the entity.
I-n retrospect,he thinks
about his childhood and
how life was to him.
L-iving in confidence or
shame,he bows his head
in victory or defeat.
O-nly the taste of time
will tell the durability of
V-oid of preference the
aim result bears the
foundation for his lineage.
E-njoyment or lack lies
with the works of the
man,for there is no food
for the slothful.
Y-oung ones,a stitch in
time saves nine,make
haste while the sun
O-iling your lamb always
like the ten virgins is the
key to success.
U-rging you to shun peer
pressure and focus on
the course marked out
for you by fate,so a
fulfilled life you shall live.
An acrostic for you
Poem | |
First we have the Alphas
They're the ones that lead the pack
When something happens they're the ones that act
That's what alphas do
Next we have to Betas
They're the second in command
Other than the alphas all wolves they can demand
That's what betas do
Third we have the leader pups
They take over for their parents if anything happened
And the pack lines tehy extend
That's what the leader pups do
Last we have other pack members
They take the jobs that the leaders don't
They take jobs like babysitter that other's won't
That's what members do
Wolf packs can have many members
They are usually all friends
All taking care of each other
Because that's what wolf packs do
Poem | |
a hallway. offices. tinted sunlight.
people who have forgotten my name.
but i am here.
and then a room. and a meeting.
and i am unprepared.
“you’re up” says the leader.
and my lungs fill with heaviness as they all turn towards me.
my mind screams.
my throat locks.
and then a word fights through the scream.
and i breathe. and find a voice.
and then another word.
and a thought.
i am moving.
and eyes do not wander.
but the scream fights on:
they will find out.
i was connected at one time.
so the scream would fade.
but not now.
these many years later.
“we could use you again,”
he had said.
and i had relented.
but why? boredom? faith?
the scream of fear vs. the scream of isolation?
or a familiar voice dragging me back from madness.
“what have you been up to?”
he had asked.
and i had lied.
and now my mind all scrambled between work and stupor.
“what on EARTH are you talking about?!”
demands the one who should have taken over for me.
and the throat locks again.
and the scream rises up.
and he knows it.
but sympathy has no place here.
so i struggle with the scream.
and find the words to hide the Fraud
as he shakes his head in disgust.
and i remember why i left.
so i wade in the scream until i am done and take my seat.
and the scream that never dies whispers, “what else is there?”
Poem | |
NIGHTINGALE'S SOUL LIGHTS
Plain spotless uniform so pure and white
Modest neat gear rendering tender loving fight
Day, night 'till wee hours, eyes a must wide awake
Extending a hand, shaking off all aches
Tiptoeing like a sly in and out of rooms
Dim ~ quiet same as white garden tombs
Grace under pressure upon first newborn's cry
Wiping tears from a gentle old man's dying eye
Evenings so dark and mornings so bright
Everyday a nurse sees life kaleidoscope lights
Despite some voice rudeness to foul remarks
Kindness,her soul's sweet perfume, larks
A nurse appears unfeeling firm when mankind bleeds
Within her are hidden soft golden beauty deeds
July 06, 2014
Poem | |
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Poem | |
Inspirational poem.. Rising Golden red sun all its way..dedicated to all
of you guys..wrote by Mrs.Madhavi.Suyog.Pagare
The Rising Red sun
As like the charming moon and luminous star fades away.
It promises to send the dynamite sun shining in the sky.
Due to which oceano pearl glitters all the day.
Praying god for the happiness in all our way.
The morning sagas made me understand, Me and my vivacious life.
But When I look back and pick up the souvenir of my childhood. Its just nostalgic. Feel like to go back to the teenage. The sustained pain is the only option left that I can’t get those days of my innocence back.
All I could make up my mind and just say, move on. Just move on.
Ray of hope chimed my heart.
Because god gifted me Something and added in my cart.
Provided me and my sincerity towards work can’t depart.
From the very day uplifted to give a quick start.
The moment I realized the magnetising power of the sun.
Felt trust on it and renovated my life again by attenuating my pains.
Rest all I expect peace my thee.
Left with the ray of hope. Bless us MY god, My lord !!!!!
Poem | |
Vampires suck, they drain my life
it feels like that in this god damn place
A pound of flesh I'm sure they'll take
but even then they won't be full
not satisfied until
I'm worn and I'm weary
they chip chip chip away
then I'm nothing but a shell
I wish I could enjoy this time
on the short path to the inevitable
A pension not too far off for some years of frailty
but what's the point shall I give up now
to stop the pain of being a zombie
I'll carry on because I'm programmed to
but the vultures, the leeches and parasites continue
to bleed me for my life
Poem | |
As the man on the roof, took two steps towards the edge, he was unexpectedly stopped by the sound of a bright and familiar voice, down below.
"I thought you were at work dad, watcha doing up there?", asked Daisy with a serious look on her face. He was hoping she wouldn't have to witness this, and was desperately thinking of ways around it, to explain his actions.
"I came home early, honey and well-- things will be a little bit different from now on, sweet pea... please, just go back inside"
She hugged herself tight as the autumn wind attacked her bare arms. It was freezing out here. And although she longed for her cocoa and wool blanket inside, daddy just wasn't making any sense.
"I'm scared... you always said that the roof was dangerous and--"
Her slightly panicked plea was cutoff by yet another familiar voice, though with an unusually angry tone to it, like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard... but not quite.
"Charles! What on earth are you doing up there?", roared from what only could be Daisy's mother. The man on the ledge, sighed. Two problems arising in the span of a few minutes. There's just no way around this, if I'm gonna do this at all I gotta do it now! He thought to himself.
He took a couple steps back, inhaled a quick breath, and lifted his leg as if it sprint. While gritting his teeth and slamming his eyes closed he leaped off the edge into the blustery cold day. And in mid-air he hugged his legs tightly with his arms, creating an impressive cannonball shape.
A great whoosh sound happened, as the girls immediately raised their arms in defense of the coming splash.
"You just ruined your best suit!", said the woman, as the man lifted his head up from the icy chlorinated water, with a mad grin on his face.
"Well it looks like I won't be needing it anymore."
"You mean, you-- Oh Charles, what are we gonna-- Oh Charles," she incoherently blabbered on.
"It's alright dear, something will come up. There's a whole world of possibilities now," he gestured with his arms at the general area of their front lawn. "I'll do something else, something better even. A detective, an archaeologist, an astronaut--"
"Or maybe an Olympic diver!", shouted Daisy contentedly.
"Anything's possible," he chuckled. And on that note, they left their front lawn, while half a dozen anthills fended against the unexpected flooding. And as they walked through the front door of the house, they were uncertain to keep, they all held hands, and spent the rest of the afternoon playing board games.
Late at night when everyone else was asleep, he walked in his pyjamas and gazed through the window. The pool was mirror-flat, filled with silver moonlight, and autumn leaves were casually floating on its surface.
A good day, Charles thought. Today was a good day.
Poem | |
The New Job
Dr. James E. Martin
He started his job at six,
He was ready to enter the mix.
He lost it as seven,
Not his view of heaven,
So now it is back to the sticks.