End of life Contemplation
At day's terminal hour.
Whilst my awareness fogs up
Illuminated am.
Nothing lasts. With our efforts
That needless agonized o'er.
Its noise, kicking up fuss's
Settled, laugh at self:'damn'!
The street exhales in measured, patient light,
Where footsteps keep a cadence soft and slow,
An I, a witness to the day, walk on—
While somewhere in my mind, a name begins to grow.
A stone appears where none was set before,
Its surface pale with weather, time, and loss;
No hands in sight, yet carved with patient care—
A name, a date, and silence etched across.
It feels so close, yet too far to reach,
As if the thought itself has learned to wait;
A whispered echo at the edge of speech,
Where life and stillness almost hesitate.
A though intrudes, unbidden, keen, and still,
It settles where the quiet held its form;
Not summoned by intent, yet marks the will,
A distant tremor in an unseen storm.
I measure life against what time unthreads,
Each breath a brief inscription on the air;
The body writes what memory still treads,
And fades into the grammar of the bare.
And still I walk, the cadence kept and known,
The sky unchanged, though meanings rearrange;
What lingers is not lost, but overgrown,
A quiet thought, persistent, yet estranged.
A quiet madness blooms
to the rhythm of restless thoughts,
unraveling a vast uncertainty
my mind cannot comprehend.
It whispers through the hollow spaces,
soft as breath, yet sharp as truth—
a lingering fracture in my being
I cannot seem to soothe.
And in its shadow, I remain,
half-known even to myself,
aching for a silence
that never truly comes.
The owls are back, they talk in the night
I try to discern their language of flight
There's much there to learn if I could interpret
But my mind is earthbound, much as I might work it
Some feathers sing and some cry out loud
But the owls are selective, they don't like a crowd
They talk to each other in a voice I would capture
If I could but learn the language of raptor
Still my mind is earthbound and lacking insight
I admire and ponder this language of flight
I've never seen them, my vision is dim
They leave me, believe me, out on a limb
The dogs complain, they don't like them much
But their visit is short and then back to their clutch
There's a rabbit that lives here, under the shed
But he's keeping quiet, and keeping his head
The black cat is blending somewhere in the night
He knows his survival depends on his sight
And I lie bedridden, depending on sleep
My flight not so fancy as that of the sweep
The Smithy works the tools until he's finished what is made
By sapients and fools and all purveyors of the trade
Hammering what's been heated until it's finally wrought
Into what has been crafted into finely finished thought
The sweat that gathers on the brow of crafty and of clueless
Will only come to light somehow when posted for the viewless
In hope someone will stumble into this thoughtful snare
Arresting thoughtful moments from all who wander there
CONTEMPLATION OF NATURE-:-
reflective
mirrors66
explore
encoded
illusions
in SUBTLE HINTS
relative
gloom
contrasts
initiated
elements
where IMPELLED MEASURES
landscaped
intense
dramatic
fringe
spectaculars
The turtle sighed,
"You're going to take too long, aren't you?"
He slandered—yet, not exactly a lie—
The sloths eyes slowly began peer into the distance
As it gathered thought to forge reply
The turtle died
The sloth eyes slowly grew wide—
Not again;
Another friend,
Inhaling deep to sigh
The person who makes an app that translates
real-time thoughts into words on a screen
will change the creative process forever
… for good or ill
On the outside I sit outside in the dark silence
On the inside my bosom is clamorous with
Painterly disconnections of truth and grace
… I could go on
I could go on if I only had that app
For alas, the sodden night is dark and
I cannot strike my thoughts upon a page
… without parched light
This truth is as literal as it is metaphorical
For in the process of fetching parchment
My mind will corrupt these moments
… these raw moments
OF ALLEGORICAL SAGE TREES
Oh, those sage trees,
Symbolic reflectors
Of God’s enlightenment—
Some, a hundred-plus feet high’
Others, just as old in age:-
Throughout the seasons of the year,
These sage trees canvass life’s stroll:
Trials, tribulations, and redemptions;
Allegorically, hinting rooted thoughts
Of Jesus’s crucifixion and resurrection—
Reflecting the navigation of God
Through the seasons of lived life:
Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer:-
May the allegorical lessons
Of sage trees, forever be for us,
A living part of our divine wisdom
And sacred guidance awareness,
As we journey the daily courses
Of our life’s rising and setting suns:-
Hey, who would have ever thought,
That sage trees, often taken for granted,
Would be so rooted and solidly trunked
With such allegorical contemplations?
I did not sing today.
I walked long,
But there was no song
As I went about my way.
I did not talk today.
There was no friend
With smile to lend
And kind thought steered my way.
I did not write today.
I thought long and hard,
But there was no card
No parchment held its sway.
I did not laugh today.
Save a wry response
To a random thought
On my wandering pondering way.
I did not sup this eve.
No bounteous grace
No warm embrace
No consort at my sleeve.
But I count the day not lost
For the careworn and the cost.
For the steps on every journey
Be they light or weight uncertain
Must be taken...
Lest they bring the final curtain to the Day.
PERHAPS, A POEM Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Lawless
Contest Judged: 9/25/2025 8:50:00 AM
( 14th Place )
Perhaps the wind will turn today,
or perhaps it will drifts elsewhere,
keeping the echoes of what we never said
if quiet were not already there...
Perhaps the rain will choose to fall,
or perhaps it will hold its tears,
leaving the streets unkissed and all
our waiting hearts postpone in years.
Perhaps I saw your smile at sunrise,
or perhaps the night was weaving deceptions;
perhaps what is gone still lingers
and perhaps we gather more than we notice.
Perhaps, my words are not enough,
yet still I write, in quiet prose...
for perhaps a poem is just this:
a maybe that nobody knows.
thoughts need inspiration to move from contemplation to fruition
HUNGER’S AWARENESS BOAST
I have no boundaries,
And an unusual equanimity;
My equality is most extraordinary:-
The world over, there’s my shared pity;
Like death, I practice a weird democracy:-
Matters not to me, who and where you may be
I’m there in all cities, states, and every country:-
There will always be a luscious place for the old me;
I’ve survived in the best and the poorest family:-
I’m as old as time, and still here, ticking too:-
Y’all better get on to what you need to do;
I may soon be coming to visit with you:-
You may think this is all really funny,
But one day, you may cry with me:-
A Green Light Contemplation
Just be like green grass,
Regrowing and regrowing:
Overcoming all:-
Go and be as sage green trees:
Rebirthing justice's green leaves:-
Deep in contemplation, or was it cogitation,
maybe intuition, Alice had a premonition,
something's round the corner,
and she's come to warn yer,
doing all she can, before it hits the fan,
for she has seen a vision, more than a vague suspicion,
it's a strong affirmation of a predetermination,
and believe me when I say,
"Whatever omen she thought she saw,
it's on it's way here today,
and will soon be knocking down your door.
As, mirrored in her eye's mind,
all the portents are aligned,
maybe it's madness or mayhaps fun
there's nowhere to hide, nowhere to run."
Now, somehow, Alice springs eternal,
in the human breast,
and, with my heart on my sleeve,
aren't you glad I got it off my chest.
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