The order of a vitamin
Simply, life, a hair is for fun
Spoken worth, a willing shade to climb?
Into your lap, a wholer smile for any who would innocence
Spare me the details, in a cup of frequent spirits
High as a kite, with a reach to the stars, somewhere over the rainbow
I see your shared shall, if not the coolness of a remembered wit
Silver bells to come, an avidness of a problem we both know....
Toenails?
Simple rhythm of a bliss for ideology to bloom
Sakes without a created pain, to inform my clash with strength
Continue with a silent night, misery, promises to few, with soon
Could ink have an unexpected owe?
Silly accusations of windy deeds I have a saved repose
Lucky as this would seem, I have a question for adding a quiet mouse
Live and let live, or a sweet sincerity I should know, in the smile of a prose
Here goes kiddo...
Smile at the song of a fruity share, in a distant house
Walls of livid kindness, a God of asking a reason of a flower?
Lizards with a wisdom's tooth don't, promise us a spill of cleverness from Gods?
SEEING AND ASKING:
A TANKA-SENRYU FREEFLOW
Pandemonium,
Has become common today.
What a confused life:
Warrior mindsets halting
Thoughts of peaceful sojourning:-
Negativity
Has blackened enlightenment:
Blocking out guidance:-
Time to set our minds on fire
With biblical memoirs:-
Let us remember
Both Sodom and Gomorrah:
Saving our nation:-
Today, things are really bad;
We must not let them get worse:-
Always remember,
God will help out all those who
Seek out His help:-
Let’s get to asking,
Knocking reparation’s door:
Deliverance opening:-
Do you want your glass half empty or half full?
That's like asking a dope on a rope
if he wants a push or a pull.
I might be asked
if I have a job half LEFT to do,
while you are asked
if that same job’s half finished for YOU.
Let’s make such questions stop
by having all jobs completely finished
and glasses all filled to the top!
The Owl-Father was asked many questions that year
Others did not make a move unless he gave the all-clear
Which one is he? The little yellow chick asked me.
He’s the pompous one standing straight up in that tree.
She flew up and waited for her turn to ask a favor of him.
He blustered and blathered, and turned his pocket watch in.
Staring at her through his monocle, he threw his weight around.
To her credit, she waited for a yes, before flying back down.
It was like the moon looking at a flashlight
Yet still having the nerve to ask how to light up the sky
It was like a tidal wave seeing raindrops and saying
“I wish that water was mine”
Like love asking a wall how to stand up to time
Like lava seeing fire and wishing for that heat
Like a grandmother asking candy
“What does it mean to be sweet?”
Like you asking me what it’s like to be pretty.
It’s ironic in the simplest form.
While love and walls stand up to time
And the waves look at rain and think
“I wish that water was mine”
The moon and flashlights light up the sky
Even if one being is “lesser” than the other, envy is there regardless.
use a tuning fork
when facing a dilemma
for the two prong shape
provides two preset options
for keeping progress in tune
The only thing worse than getting lost in the dark,
is getting lost in the light you’ve mistaken for your own reflection.
A window says “see through.”
A mirror says “see you.”
And this life…
It’ll getcha if you start reflecting.
The serpent?
He works in a mirror factory.
A place where every thought bounces off another,
until the original feeling can’t find its way home.
If you aren’t careful,
you’ll spend a lifetime trapped in reflection—
not memory,
not meaning,
Echo.
Thoughts chasing themselves.
Images copying images.
Like shining a laser
in a mirror house.
You’ll call it thinking.
But it’s really just refracting.
Endless distortion,
in a mind that forgot how to look out.
The eyes, they are not mirrors.
You were made for vision,
not feedback.
For clarity,
not kaleidoscopes.
Look through.
Because asking a mirror for help is like handing your wounds to a photograph, and expecting it to bleed with you.
It’s like whispering secrets to a shadow.
my husband asked if I was going on a date
Because I am not wearing a nightie or pajamas
I am going to Urgent Care, remember? I say in a snotty voice.
His brilliant idea of asking a pharmacist to prescribe something
did not work for me.
I have already gone the route of inefficiency for three days.
Time to see an expert
Even if it means wearing clothes.
“Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” – Carl Sandburg.
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Stirring souls, poetry just knows,
Love, fire, boldest winds of desire,
Rains blessing, song without a choir.
Words pouring out soft, gentle prose,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Glistening dreams, love to extremes,
Beckoning from silence that screams.
Dance of dances, fluid verses,
Poetry that grace coerces,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Poems who don’t just tell but shows.
Rhymes and rhythms, tenderly abide,
Singing of light, sometimes wild-eyed,
Hearts might remain in the shadows,
Glowing like the roused firefly glows,
Pictures of babies and license plates,
are you asking a criminal to find you?
The internet is NOT benevolent.
It’s phony as hell, you better believe it;
Keep your life out of reach and private.
A cheer or criticism, neither are needed;
Less is so much more decent,
let’s practice social media modesty;
With each detail you make public
you put your life at unimaginable risk;
People will follow you stalking your life,
until they scrape enough to create a copy;
Is it you? Is it not? It doesn’t really matter.
Identity theft only needs your numbers;
Suddenly there are two of you twinning,
but one is just a parasite you’re feeding;
Less is so much more decent,
let’s practice social media modesty;
Mind your manners remain chaste,
some things really should stay closed;
Stop flaunting what matters so carelessly!
Better think twice or become a victim ;
Sudden chill down your spine in real life,
That irreparable damage was preventable;
Less is so much more decent,
let’s practice social media modesty.
I miss Saturday mornings with Soul Train,
When brothers and sisters would take a ride to release their pain.
I miss Momma's twice-baked sweet potato pie.
She didn't have a recipe; she just baked with love, so she didn't have to try.
I miss long rides with Daddy in that 'Caddy' with all the windows down with some nice blues.
Just riding and nodding and Daddy telling me, "Son, whenever you try, you can never lose."
I miss the rapturous feeling of asking a pretty girl for her hand for a dance.
To feel her feminine embrace and to cherish a moment of chance.
From time to time I sit and reminisce.
Such lovely thoughts, images, and sounds I sorely miss.
Find xanthium' squeeze in a sigh
asking a righteous void, hear my entreat
hand to heart, in a beggar's sky
not just for myself,
not just for why...
Can a heart devoid of hope
seek to find salvation
from a Quentin Tarantino film
in a strange pulp voice
that sounded just like mine.
Your sin, my sins
vowed never relent..
nor let cementing cold take you
so don't despair..
Place two fingers, just beside your neck
feel it pulse?
it's you,
and you still care.
Search the world's underbelly
the meek and mild
little mouse infirm, the whooping crane strong, all us
no longer beguiled.
Roaming streets and back alleys
afraid to meet my neighbor's eye
I, the guilty
waiting a just reply.
It's a quarter past two,
last train leaves at three..
the sign at the platform's final end
stands glaring,
waiting a reprieve.
A proud primping Whooping crane calls out
'it's justice'..
All a lowly titmouse discerns,
'it's just us'.
I tried to read a favorite poem of mine for you.
Your eyes glazed over.
You could have been a lizard on a rock
sunning yourself, entirely unaware
that I felt as though I were there in front of you
reciting my words of such beauty
that an angel could have been
singing them while playing on a harp.
You may have even fallen quite to sleep.
Not once did you look up or glance at me.
You told me later, in fact, you had no use for poetry.
Another time I tried to read a poem to you.
It was a poem meticulously crafted just for you.
I could tell you liked it, for you were its centerpiece.
You pricked up your ears a little bit.
You thanked me, but no sweet words
of great appreciate did you return.
I am a stranger in your world of pure practicality.
Your love for me is steadfast and real; however,
asking if you’d love me if I were not a poet
is like asking a mother if she’d love her baby
if it were not merely there cooing in her lap.
At the time of night that men call 10:30,
I sit in a corner bar by myself,
Watching two tables---
Clusters of life and sound---
A softball team and their wives/girlfriends/lovers
Drinking softly into the evening
A child's face, released from mother's side,
Floats around the tables,
Serene and white in tavern dusk,
Asking a quarter from each adult
Until finally someone gives him one
To make him gone
And for the millionth time
I look into the mirrored tile behind the bar
And see you there beside me
You're looking down---
Digging through your purse---
And the wound that never heals
Opens just a little more---
A quarter's worth---
It's the residue from the gunshot that you aimed right for my heart. See it ricocheted, backfired, meaning another false start…
A reissue of rhetoric accost the poet's you adore, so if acceptance is temperance then uneasiness no more?...
Do you remember that time we rode across your kitchen floor, clinging to a chloroformed kleptomanic repose, yet never in danger of being fully exposed, so we dined all night on a third and fourth course....just another case of the tail wagging the horse!...
When I held you in my arms I always felt you needed more...
See, we were allinged by chance, prepackaged romance, rinse repetitive repeat, another day, another week, who the f**k is winning in this game of hide and reep?...
I'll sow the seeds and water your fledgling soul, never once asking a suture for my own sterile self control…An awareness of sorts that our haves creates holes…
Acceptance is temperance then uneasiness no more, still when I held you in my arms, I could never see past my own sores…
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