I am not getting any younger
Yes I already lived my
Younger days
A long time ago
Now I am already
An elderly man
I live a very simple life
That my Father gave to me
Many years ago
The simple life suits me fine
These weak attempts at verse could not be droller.
Your stuff is less inviting than ebola
(but not as catchy). Wordier than Emil Zola,
you haven’t got the steam to be a roller.
I’ve seen more cutting-edge in Pepsi-Cola.
You clearly honed your style in Fuengirola.
About as challenging as last year’s “¡Hola!”
(I’m sure you’re highly thought of in Angola.)
But that aside, I need a favour, mate.
The flood of would-be Shakespeares is in spate.
I’d like you to review – that is, donate
your time and talent (at the going-rate,
which happens to be zero.) Desecrate
the pricks who prattle, and the prigs who prate.
Denounce, detract. Indulge that gelding hate
that wells in all of us. The cut-off date
is looming, so get hacking. Don’t be late!
Endearing Ms Eilish not willy nilly a silly Billie got her wish despite the stares
Crys of why guys are there any let alone so many glutton button billionaires?
Not adhering to age old sage adage share if you've enough stuff to spare
Uncouth domineering untruths sold smearing sleuths as society tears
Sneering about profiteering mining shining spiting climate crisis scares
Cheering racketeering careering all about that flocks stocks & shares
Leering snares creatives gold left bereft fearing they're not their flair heirs
Persevering with cold jeering at hearing protests that then fold no one cares
Scold civic critics nearing the facts spearing by acts.. pacts & unfair flares
Cost of disappearing rare species now just pieces of faeces in their lost lairs
Searing temperatures rearing still somehow our despairs never even airs
Gearing up for the veering apocalypse peering as the sun stun gun glares
Must be bold steering pioneering derring do clearing these nightmares
Who dares volunteering to stop the interfering engineering by the billionaires?
Like the basement door.
Doesn’t flounder or bend.
Just is hinged.
Unlike me.
Any door can be an ocean.
As expansive and open.
Creates a passageway.
Tangled sea.
Any door can be a flower.
Attracts bees and such.
Gets gobbled up by slime.
Leafiness.
Any door can be a poem you see?
Just like candy stripes.
Just like peeling off stickers from the mirror.
Gobbling the space between those two planes.
It’s flat.
The door is flat and stoic.
Transfers me to the next realm.
But only if my feet stop trembling.
Any door can be a poem.
Attached to me.
Any door can be a poem.
Unhinged.
airtight alibis
amethyst eyes
The dawn breaks soft upon the world,
A hush before the dawn, begins to stir—
Change comes not outward, but from deep within,
A flame rekindled, small and sure.
We cannot sculpt the souls of those we meet,
Nor force their dreams to blossom or to fade,
But we can shine, and in that gentle light,
Show them the beauty courage made.
Praising the labor of another’s hands,
We find our own grow steadier, more kind;
To lift another soul ascend,
And leave no lesser self behind.
Dream vast, and help another dream come true,
For empathy transcends the mortal fragile frame—
It passes through the air like morning dew,
And leaves no heart entirely the same.
No flag, no party, can divide the stars;
The soul is brighter when it loves to see.
Love yourself, and watch the world respond—
A mirror not turned inwardly, reflecting unity.
So lead by being gentle, firm, and free,
For in your change, the world can see,
At fifty seven your doing fine.
If any soul says
they love you more, know I've loved
You more and longer
Seeing their faces and hearing their voices,
Keeping track of their whereabouts, all the places,
Gossiping and commenting about their life and choices,
Plastering pictures of them all over your walls,
If you had their number, you'd make dozens of calls,
You love to devour any hot news,
Everyone has his or her muse.
"Each setback is a stepping stone, to a joy I have not yet known, so I can measure my success, it's fair, by the adversity it took to get me there."
Quote by the poet. For Line's Contest - 119.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Granddaughter sent me a note and this is what she wrote: .
"Grandma, I found the secret to being a happy me.
I tell myself - things aren't happening to me,
They are happening for me.
Just how could no one, not understand this
Why is the world so full of uncaring greeds
Will we ever realise the earth more than this
It can always provide everyone's own needs
What we leave behind tomorrow is our choice
Sharing the earth bounty should be the choice
Was there ever a reason to steal this land
There's too much that no one needs to own
To take everything, then leave a barren land
Leaving behind a place where's nothing grown
It's time to stop this sense of needless greed
Nothing, worse wasting more than you need
Native Americans call me 'Paleface'
'Roundeye' say the Chinese race
to a Scot I'm a 'Sassenach' 'Boyo' to those in Wales
altho' a 'Limey' in New York
I answer to none such hails
once a 'Gweilo' in Hong Kong Down Under was a 'Pom'
you may give a dog a bad name (and/or a bone)
he may even be your (best) 'Pal' don't think me fuddy-duddy
for what's more I have my limits and I'm not your (good) 'Buddy'
then a 'Rooinek' 'round Cape Town
'Farangi' was I in Dubai
and tho' no English rose was a 'Bloke' when there
as originally from Kenya when owned by Blighty
in some parts of the U.S.A. I'm now called 'Whitey'
'Haole' in Hawaii that's me and 'Gringo'
down south in Mexico
seems I'm all things to all men a man of many hats
altho' no they know me not
whether saint or sinner
you may call me what you will
but just not late for dinner
R-egardless
O-f
W-eather,
E-arth
N-aturally
A-cclimates,
V-ictoriously
E-nduring
R-ainstorm,
I-njustice,
D-isaster,
I-nclemency,
A-nd
N-ature's
O-nslaught
©bfa051325
Monocrostic (Birthday of Rowena Veridiano)
no separation
not explained
not explainable
can be obvious
dissolving absent
handholds
being
not being that
not being this
but expressing
that and this
finding
what is not lost
a seeker's shock
and demise
perhaps
searching
assumes something
to find with no
expectation that
something is
nothing
I used to think I was made of saltwater and wire,
the bones humming with the permanence
of myth.
I stood naked in the mirror—
a girl with the face of her mother,
but none of her death in her yet.
I thought I could outlast sorrow,
that heartbreak would crack
and pour out of me like yolk
without taking the shell.
But now, when I kneel at the side of the bed
to pick up the sock you dropped,
my spine sighs like an old house—
I feel time like a breath behind me.
Even my blood knows it.
The nights stretch longer,
my dreams more quiet.
I wake, and do not expect a miracle.
First posted 21-10-2023.
" Well at least he had the balls to ask her! :) " by the Poet.
A nice man was Ben Tickle.
He loved to eat a pickle.
He proposed. Tess was fickle.
Said she: "I can’t be a Tess Tickle!"
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