Pulling at the knots, the noose became ever tighter,
each strand of string looping,
clinging tightly to one another.
Hands trembling, I sought to unravel its might
yet the harder I tugged, the deeper the night.
It resisted me at every motion,
binding me to the shame I thought
I could disown.
Each twist, and knot within a knot
were where my skills had amounted to nought; null; worthless.
Despite the frenzied desperation, the knot held.
Why
another failure?
Yet as I came to see; maybe knots aren't necessarily a bad thing.
Like the sewing, where without a knot
one could not finish a seam,
or upon a wooden bridge,
where wearied travelers might praise the builder
for leaving knotted handholds in their wake.
Perhaps one day I might even say
"I'm glad I failed on that day".
For though I have indisputably failed,
the knot has shown me my bounds,
not defeat; but rather a testimony.
A map of flaws I would no longer hide,
a vanishing mirror to be glanced back at
only briefly during my strides.
Most I know sad but true
define themselves by the work they do
out of the workplace they're as simple
as a bump on a stump dimple on a pimple
drop in a bucket wart on a frog
cog in a wheel or log in a bog
who's to blame... yes parents are the means
for their inherited hopeless poor genes
none of my tutors were teachers as such
and with no innate abilities didn't know much
all of which which amounted to nought
and only regurgitated what they'd been taught
never met one who didn't know it all
when in fact they knew nothing at all
and if I were to look in a book I'd learn the same
but follow the leader ('herd' is the word)
was the name of their game
as for me...
who I am determines what I do
not vice versa end of story
but... how about you?
Today my thoughts are on Master Sergeant Joe D.
my brother who was four years younger than me.
Growing up Brother Joe was always the battler,
he took no one’s “stuff” and was never a prattler.
At twenty one I entered and Brother Joe came soon,
to the Army’s ways Joe seemed to quickly attune.
He rose to Master Sergeant in his twenty-three years,
four tours in Nam kept family in prayer and tears.
He was highly decorated and many proclaimed a hero,
but when life all boiled down it amounted to zero.
He disappeared from family for thirty plus years,
all this time we searched, prayed, and shed tears.
For his country he did things he couldn’t forget,
then died lost from family, in a sea of regret.
Joe isn’t there but a headstone marks his spot,
to remind of his surviving the Viet Cong onslaught.
His life is a shadowbox that hangs on our wall,
I’m reminded of Joe each time I enter the hall.
So today, I pray that for life choices he did atone,
as for me, Joe will never become as a forgotten stone.
Here’s today’s New York surprise
I witnessed with my own two eyes:
Reddi-Whip, the cans amounted
To nineteen (and yes, I counted!).
Lined up on a bench, as well
As underneath, and I could tell
They all were empty, for the caps
Were strewn around, by slobs, perhaps.
There was no whipped cream residue
And raindrops hadn’t sprinkled through,
So with these clues, I did conclude
That this was gobbled up as food.
Yet one more possibility
Did naturally occur to me –
A group of young adults or teens
Went crazy spraying all their jeans.
I’ll never know just what took place –
The detritus, though, I’ll embrace
As fodder for my daily poem
About the place that I call home.
I am thankful for my mortality,
For if I were immortal, I would not cherish life.
I say this, yet my actions suggest otherwise.
6,211 days on this earth—
And I must have only seen a hundred sunsets.
How many more will I miss?
149,064 hours, all taken for granted.
What upsets me most is this:
I have done nothing.
536,630,400 seconds of existence,
And I have nothing to show for it.
You would think my struggles on this earth
Would have amounted to something.
But no—I have nothing.
How dare I sit idly by as the world shifts around me?
I always considered myself a man of action,
Yet it seems my ignorance has blinded me.
All this time, I was nothing but a bystander.
Giving my best is all I’ve ever done
Sadly, it never amounted to enough
A lifetime spent chasing number one
As dream after dream went puff
In cycling, I coveted the yellow vest
After a momentary lapse, my foot slipped from the pedal
Adorned with the red ribbon I’ve grown to detest
Once again I’m tarnished by a silver medal
The big race dawned; it ignited a flame
Time to shine bright in radiant gold
I practiced hard and was on top of my game
Yet another miserable year spent out in the cold
I just can’t seem to get over the line
To drink victory champagne from the golden cup
The silver in my cabinet, deemed a failure’s shrine
It appears my destiny is to be runner-up
Many years have passed as I’ve grown to adulthood
Never once did I make it to my golden dream
But my son now stands where I once stood
Except he’s got a spark that burns supreme
My youth was a turbulent wave of second-best
It made me feel like such a sinner
But seeing my child now ride the crest
My heart bursts with pride that he’s the winner
That near tragedy started with a sense of urgency.
An urgency that ran out faster than my motivation.
It had felt like everything had been undone.
But those were just plans.
And plans that never amounted to anything cannot be undone.
I was oh so foolish
I finally got my way
I scraped and stepped
on people, just let them lay
a sociopath they called me
I could only grin
they amounted to nothing
so I never thought it as a sin.
Lost my children and my wife
didn’t play attention to them
I was rolling in the money
I could only grin.
Now I am an old man
big retirement under my skin
all alone
day after day
in a chair I simply sit
got a lot of time and money
I can only grin.
~ Pizzazz ~
he had it
from day one
no one taught him
he never studied it
born that way
he reveled in it
but never
amounted
to
much
A tragic mass shooing has occurred once more.
This time, in a Boulder, Colorado grocery store.
Today, it seems there is no safe place to go.
Incidence of gun violence seems to grow.
The number of murdered victims amounted to ten.
It looks like we cannot keep this from happening again.
From a news story found on CNN.com
Money
It makes things only far more complicated,
and true values become separated.
When everything is for sale,
it has its great utopian stories to tell.
Until the counted counts and the counts are counted,
the damage is amounted.
The one who has little and wants less is contented richer,
then the one that has much wants more, is more bitter.
Spending money before one has it in haste,
stolen future with borrowed money its a slaving taste.
Master of thief’s, criminal greed’s and excellent host,
how much are ones worth, if one have it all lost.
God gives those inferior weak some money,
that they feel more superior and funny.
Then all it does is getting some more attention,
the expensive way to be of mention.
Solution become the question of how much,
loosing all intellectual and wisdom touch.
The currency from the garden at home is health,
providing the ultimate joy of wealth.
The Earth now lay in ruins
only one survivor remained
With his final message…
he wanted to explain….
I was part of a race of humans he wrote…
who didn’t know how to behave…
Who didn’t understand what would happen
Who took more than we gave…
The things we did to this planet
amounted to nothing more than theft.
we took
and we took
and we took
and now there’s nothing left…
I thought like many others…
I could abuse, destroy and deprave her
I, too, ignored the warning signs…
I thought someone else would save her.
We destroyed the air we breathe
our rivers our forests and our lakes….
Perhaps the next people who come along
can learn from our mistakes…
How sad…for we all knew the answers
but never really tried…
Then the man put down his pen
and took one more breath…
before he died.
WHAT ONCE
WAS A RIGHT
APPEARS TO BE GONE.
IN THE NAME OF PROGRESS
THEY MOVED ALONG.
SHEEPLE WERE CONVINCED,
BY A GROUP OF FOOLS,
WHO CLAIM
TO UNDERSTAND THE RULES.
THE FOOLS ONLY SAW
THE DOLLAR SIGNS.
BEING PAID TO ALTER
AND CHANGE YOUNG MINDS.
THE SHEPPLE WERE TOLD,
EVERYTHING'S FREE.
A CRIME IN THEORY
BUT, THE SHEEPLE BELIEVED.
PROMISES,
THAT CAN'T BE MET.
ONLY AMOUNTED
TO UN-PAYABLE DEBT.
THEY RELINQUISHED
THEIR FREEDOM
FOR POLITICAL LIES.
BASED ON A STUDY,
THAT SHEEP WERE NOT WISE.
HOW DOES IF FEEL,
TO BE A SLAVE,
DECEIVED AND TRAPPED
INSIDE A MAZE.
KNOWING NOW,
THERE'S A PRICE TO PAY
AS THEY SLAVE
THEIR LIFE AWAY.
Money & Thoughts
By: Tom Wright
1998
Strange,
how money [or the lack of,
and appearances,
influence our thought patterns,
often affecting our actions towards others.
When the affluent dare to be different
they're referred to as Individualists,
or often called Eccentric,
with "a mind of their own".
When they help others
they're called Philanthropists,
and everyone seems to know!
When poor men dare to be different
They're often looked upon as Indigents,
Vagrants, "Rustic" or Bums,
"Without both oars in the water".
When they help others
They're considered stupid
and no one cares for
"It couldn't have amounted to much".
Thoughts about my great friend Wagon John
A Pleasure Beyond All Measure
What we discovered was his pleasure,
Amounted to unsurmountable treasure;
Always scared;
Never shared;
So tremendous and beyond all measure.
Jim Horn
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