His sloppy slipshod attitude
Was picked up by both daughters
His son took after his wife
A minimalist who never abided a mess
The son never let the hoarders into his house
Losing touch with his father and his sisters
Choosing neatness and cleanliness over people
Just as his mother had done.
1000 colorful shadows float around my head
rejoicing in the depths of solitude
they take no heed
singing to the skinless drum
Fate has a circular charm
Tin soldiers caught in the fire
with three madman awaiting their charge
The hounds in their hundreds chase the singular fox
Standing on the hill
dark giving in to light
I cried
kissed the cities outskirts
the abided moonlight
skirted the countryside
You always stand tall,
Oh! My speaking Idol.
Whenever I score null,
You save me from near fall.
You motivate when I sit dull,
Say don't stop,learn to crawl.
Only I can hear you in all,
Rest are abided by the protocol.
You are not just a symbol,
Oh! My speaking Idol.
I am blessed to receive your call,
Which sounds sweet like a waterfall.
Cramped steps acquaint heavy hatch reluctant
Cushion hush cellar isolate, harsh sun migraines
Catapulted myopic into apocalyptic destruction
Crumple of coastal community permits my gains
Grim resilient, plotted alone, abided by rations
Tidal wave treachery turned streets to swamps
Flotsam tops remnants sea's fury didn't flatten
Successors gorge on corpses misfortunes crop
Erased ocean era, crook posts pitifully campaign
Brashly I churn bathtubs of backstroked arachnids
Inhabit rainforest ripple stream, source I can claim
Traverse canopy like trampoline, scout eyes active
8th March
Out of Mangrove
In a perishing forest of dry needles
Taxed with the fusion of dust and decay
In the times of climate change,
Where fire lay awaiting for its chance,
The first rain came
After many years of drought
Slight at first then gently falling
From a sky of mutable grey
The clouds gathered in communion
Painting a promise of what was to come
The trees stood tall and firm
Brittle in their height
Their roots pushed up from the arid ground
As though they were reaching to heaven
To touch the canopy of clouds filled with mercy
Raining down the promise of life
It was though the trees were crying
Plip-plop - their tears tumbling,
Echoing through the woodlands
Calling all the creatures to witness
This miracle of hope
That all had yearned for and abided with
These many thirsty years
Walking silently
My heart bestowed with gratitude,
I was sighing with the winds
Of thankfulness and change
My tears mingled with the earth below my feet
November 11, 2022
Inspiring Rainy Days Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
She raised her wings and flew
its as if she knew what to do
into the magnetic skies so blue
she soared,
A Starsmore Dove,
the earth abided and she grew.
June 5, 2022
Sponsor Line Gauthier
Contest Name Bite Size Poem no.45
You Cannot Call Yourself a Counselor Until
We were told we could not call ourselves counselors
Until we graduated and had our licenses in hand.
We were threatened, so we abided by this sacred rule.
I called a plumber yesterday. He said “I am your plumbing counselor”
I then saw a car counselor on TV. I flipped the channel.
Found cake decorator counselors, and pest control counselors.
You can barely imagine how irritated this makes me.
It is right up there with news stations publishing misinformation.
It feels like cheating, did they have to take four years of school for it?
More later. My pizza counselor has arrived.
Dreams of a distant past
Dance in the dungeon of my heart
Driving me to drop my daily duties
And to dare wonder
At how shall it be
When,
Breathless, I shall be in your gaze
Trying to look as neutral
As would be a statue
In the midst of a storm!
Shall the winds blow the frail grip
That I hold on reality away?
Or shall the waters leave the river bed
And drag me to the ocean’s depths?
Or,
Shall the skies start twinkling
In broad daylight
Too ecstatic at the thought
That at last,
Their will is being abided to?
Dreams of a distant past
Dance drowsily in my heart,
Bidding slumber and its heaviness
To fly away from the branches
Of my poetry house
And thereby leaving me
Cold and numb,
Wondering always
At what shall be the outcome
Of those few exchanged words
That we owe to each other?
21st April 2021
Whose woods these are I think I know.
They come not from the village though;
From ancient times abided here
Vouchsafed the land through fire and snow.
The other settlers think it weird*
To stop a pipe where no town’s near
Between the mountains, sea and lake
In midst of climate crisis year.
They squawk their anger, heads do shake
Vow their livelihood’s at stake.
The only sound, the Mounty’s sweep
Of Indigenes and other flakes.
Though woods stand lovely, dark and deep
There’s much to do before I sleep,
And broken promises to keep,
And broken promises to keep.
2/19/2020
* weird is an imperfect rhyme but the Soup autocensored qu**r
Home Sweet Home
Everyone should have
a home to love
a place so safe
morning mist, blankets thick
When we wander out
in the world today
as visitors, manners politely abided by
never moaning insults loudly cried
If you wish to cajole
and complain
lets send you off to bistro stars
on the very next star-ship plane
travelers should always smile
treading softy on Persian carpet
quiet is
the voice that observes new ways
thus deceit discarded, buried
You had one glaring chance
But only to take an early shower
When you became the pitch rascal
And sent off for a poor tackle
Your opponent went down hard
It wasn't a deliberate challenge
You were down and dejected
In despair, shocked and ejected
You didn't play to the rules
You grazed a player in the box
Who faked and dived at a crucial moment
Making you run to head-butt an opponent
You’d to feel the rough edges of things
This habit has gone on far too long
Never abided by life's game of chance
A victim of life circumstance
I saw your coach by the touchline
Cheering and clapping for you
Praying like He always did
You weren't really a dirty kid
He always gave you another chance
Yet you didn't play to His rules
So when you arrived at heaven's yard
You were shown the Eternal Red Card
Urban Lengend
His name is only whispered, his face is hardly seen
A legend to everyone that grew up on these streets
Some called him a vigilante, some called him a Saint
He carried out justice using his enemies blood as paint
He had his code of conduct that most men abided by
And if you chose to break it then you just chose to die
Walking alone in the shadows searching for those who dared
His loneliness so apparent but his thoughts went unshared
His true name never known, everyone just called him The Clover
He made the streets of Boston safe before the night was over
Safe from the violence of murderers, thugs, and all the creeps
He made it so all the children weren't too scared to fall asleep
Police were always asking where can this Mr. Clover be found
They received only silence for no one dared mutter a sound
Many years have past since The Clover has been seen around
His memory lives in stories still whispered throughout Bean Town
04/28/17
written for poetry contest: Urban Legend
No meaning
No strife,
Yesterday's love has died.
The sea reflects her mood
The crumpled shore has sighed.
And so it seems
The game is done;
The rules no longer matter.
Boundaries abided by entities,
Have gone to roses and dust.
When I first saw that smile on your face,
My heart felt a new start about to take place,
She made me wonder; Will she fill that empty space?
I'm pretty sure! I won't be deluded,
...But I was mistaken, it got as it always ended,
I admit liking the person you abided;
But it's nothing compared to my love's intensity.
One day, you'll reach your potential's ability,
That I clearly see in you personality.
For you, time may be a complication,
But for me it's just the solution.
So use it wisely for your conclusion.
WORLDS AND WORLDS OF TIME AGO AND BEFORE
IN EONS AND EONS OF MOMENTS OF LIVES
HAVE INHABITED, ON AND IN WORLDS OF WORLDS AROUND,
RESIDED IN WORLDS OF SEAS IN EMBRYONIC STATE
COMPLETED AND VIED WITH CRUSTACEOUS OBSCURITIES
DID DINE AND WAS CONSUMED IN BONELESS APPETITIVE ZEST
ROMPED AND CAJOLED AT PALAELITHICAL STAGES
ABIDED WITH THE GODS IN SPACES OF YORE
AND SOARED AS ETHEREAL BEING'S WITH WINGS OF ETHER
DONNED SUITS OF ROBOTIC CLOAKS OF ARMOUR
SURVIVED ELECTRICAL BARRAGES OF PERSECUTING CONTROL
DELVED IN SUBTERRANEAN HEWED CAVERNOUS CHAMBERS
AS ASTUTE EGOISTICAL TERRIFIED SCIOPHOBICAL MORTALS
TRUDGED VAST GLACIAL AND TURBULENT TORRID MORIBUND PLACES
COPULATED WITH ABORIGINAL NATURED SOULS
ROMPED WITH FREE ABANDON O'ER ALPINE HEIGHTS
THOUGHT POSTULATED, THOUGHT MADE ALL POSSIBLE
LONG BEFORE THIS WORLD WAS CREATED, I WAS.
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