Standing on a balcony
Out by the sea
The waves crash endlessly
Staring back at me
They listen and wait
Watching and pacing
Sharpening the blade
Constantly erasing
Their pain
Dolls line the walls
Familiar faces painted on
They weep for my soul
Praying that I’ll soon be gone
I jump as a rabbit
Ears up and listening
I listen to the pounding drum
Of his crimson dripping daggerling
The door cracks open
An iron odor sways
Through the twisted halls
And into my brain
Inhalation of sanguine
Exhale the question
Will I ever leave this home
That became quite an obsession
I’m the murderer’s apprentice
Willingly taken by his chain
Dishevelled and bloodied
But euphoric all the same
It’s far too late to save me
Meet Midnight the sorcerer's cat
Magical brews and potions are his specialty
Finetuning his spells and curses
Within the marble halls where shadows dance,
A silent wisdom shapes each chance.
"Outshine not the master," old voices warn—
A subtle art, where gifts are worn.
On gilded thrones, egos softly gleam,
Their fragile worth a waking dream.
A spark too bright in youthful eyes
Can summon storms from clouded skies.
Not dullness asked, nor brilliance veiled,
But grace in shining, gently scaled.
Let masters see their wisdom’s hand
In every triumph you have planned.
For envy’s sting, so swift and cold,
Can silence songs before they’re told.
A whispered slight, a shadow cast,
Can dim your brilliance, hold you fast.
So weave your worth in quiet thread,
A force that’s felt, not always said.
Lift gently those who hold the sway,
And shape your path, a patient way.
Be steadfast, wise—a trusted guide,
A loyal heart at power’s side.
And when the crown seeks fresher light,
Your subtle glow will guide the night.
An artist of many crafts
Yet, a master of none
Projects stay as drafts
Left to wither undone
Oh but can she decide
Which shall be
The one she takes pride
But how can she
When all seems so abundant
Choosing one means wasting others
It may become redundant
Then all loses it’s colors
She might never establish a winner
Alas she will remain a beginner
You eat or not eat
It's up to you or you do
Go, learn to compete.
In the calabash of life,
a profound journey unfolds
as the space
gracefully passes the baton
in the art of apprenticeship.
Success resonates like a fine chant,
akin to the resonance of the four-lobed kola nut
the water that flows,
immersing its feet
into gin and tradition.
The apprentice,
the Soldier's seed,
navigates the delicate balance
between the sun's dreams
and the moon's ways.
Hips sway
after the clover of the stars,
creating a dance
that echoes the celestial rhythm,
Taking nature in the fashion it is.
Within energy’s forte,
the apprentice remains steadfast,
untouched
by the mystic's contagion.
Breeze gently gives life to the air,
ensuring that peace
never topples over,
while the living
is meticulously scripted
in the sealed scroll of existence
The Apprentice knew anew.
In the scroll
where life is inscribed,
the celestial and clay beings converge.
The earth walks ways
where water was weaned
before birth,
guiding life in eleven directions —
light, lead, love, logic, luxury,
and power
flavored on six sticks of nature.
I ran naked
barefoot down streets
of stabbing stones
my blood
saved for this
he said he no longer
has the muscles
he used to
but when wind blows
it carries far, far away
(The Lamb)
My lungs empty, no longer inflate
This timid mind, cannot feel hate
I’m so confused
don’t understand money
grazing the fields
was my milk and honey
Flails my skin, keeps everything tight
Slices out my heart, this very night
I’m terrified here
without a clue
Helpless and lost
but what can I do
Gathers me close, cuts into ribbons
I’m already dead, that’s a given
You bleed me out
I cannot object
My life is over
onto the next
(Me)
Am I evil
I am man
Am I evil
I’m a man
Am I evil
They where only lambs
Am I evil
Yes fu-ck it goddamn
in hindsight I am
By
David Kavanagh
I am a girl named Stella, an apprentice of Yijing.
My master is Luna, a beautiful woman skilled and kind.
In beginning, she told me, "keep images in your mind."
"What images?" , asked I and she answered, "everything."
"Yijing divination is symbol-interpretation.
Good fortunetellers can draw rich images from symbols.
And it's also important to use images to cast symbols.
From now, you must grow your capacity of imagination."
She continued, "Symbol in Yijing is called Eight Trigrams.
Each Trigram consists of three lines of Yin or Yang.
Yin broken, Yang straight, opposite nature is endowed with them.
Things in-universe are symbolized by eight Trigrams.
It's good for you to think of them at young.
Please make you be familiar with each of them."
That time of the year once again
Thoughts, memories, flooding in
Trying to understand these moments
No one is exempt from emotion.
Parent flash ignored for the present
Back to apprenticeship days
Young and eager to learn
The result was a trade
Father smiled and nodded
Mother adoring watching from afar
Duties include making tea in Billy cans
Making sure each brew was as ordered
Setting out the meals for trades persons
An apprentice master watching over
Angry moods, other times gentle
Mistakes are made and rectified
Guidance comes in strange ways
Words were spoken, not appreciated
Now in later life, understood
At the time, resisted the teachings
Now could hug the person that taught us
There were times when interest dwindled
Prodding and encouragement always given
Now in later years wish for a revisit
Meet and shake their hand?
No, would hug and kiss their cheek
Not only a trades person
But a Mother, or Father
Just doing the best we can
All started by filling billycans.
In the ways of life,
I'm the road,
The step
and the dust...
I'm also a pilgrim light
and I'm an
imperceptible shadow...
I am a constant presence
in this destined course...
I'm a mature man,
but for God I'm still
child...
Eternal apprentice
in life... !
When I translate:
ancient greek,
Aramaic,
Esperanto and
other languages
I'm just one
one further curious ...
When I translate:
the crackling of the fire,
the whistle of the wind,
or the voice of silence,
I'm an apprentice
of poetry ...!
When I translate:
ancient greek,
Aramaic,
Esperanto and
other languages
I'm just one
a rapacious curious ...
When I translate:
the crackling of the fire,
the whistle of the wind,
or the voice of silence,
I'm an apprentice
of poetry ...!
There was a plumber called Billy O'Toole
Hired a dimwit who turned out quite a fool
Soil pipe he didn't secure
There was a stench of manure
And all the downstairs became a cesspool.
The owner came back and said" whats that smell? "
By his face he was angry you could tell
The dimwit ran for the door
But then skidded on the floor
And face down into raw sewage he fell.
Written 28th November 2020
Make Me Laugh with Some Humor - Any Form - New Poems Poetry Contest.
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin.
Here's hoping Joe Biden gets hired,
It’s what all his voters desired,
He can then say to Trump,
(the arrogant lump),
Hey Donald, I'm Potus - ‘YOU’RE FIRED !!!
20/05/20
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