To the beat - rhythm and blues
Beauteous - the cleft notes with a fling
Birds are silently chirping in sync
Relentless - Prominent thou that they sing
It's a rendez-vous - awe in glamor of awe
Then thou the beauty of the bewilderment
The calling - silent whispering in key
Singing proud the voice screams a soprano
And the pride of the inner solemn soul flatters me
I see - still having some rhythm
And at times Beauteous be blues
Dawn - The breaking point at most
The significance of morning blunts the dews
And the glamor of the rendez- vous
In my precious mind - in my head
I glance and the calm of the soloist
Reckon whispers sweet nothings in me instead
Sing - Sing proud and that of out loud
The voice is heard within my aura indeed
My soul perplexed by the beauty of the chirp
Internally awakes me planting seed.
Alert global tempratures are up by 1 deg c.!
Holland must be by now letting in the sea.'
The cause is fossil fuel burning.' Some experts will agree, i observe the big wind
Tubines in use..And solar glare from those
Panels stretching well quite a stretch as it
Be.' I notice the bees are fewer now i wonder how it got like this with all the green new deals.? Now just you
tell me' i
Cannot get a hold of iodine at most pharmacys, its cause its being sprayed in
The sky by some ( experts if you ask me?)
The only thing thats dimmer, than a Chinese vegetable sum, is a group of these so called experts.?
Working for n g o's thats how good
as its got, we aint all dumb.' Ya know.)
I could write a book about the things I see in your eyes
I could craft sonnets about the way you look under night skies
You said you liked poetry that one time
I’m not good at most things but for you I would try
I could be a poet only for you
I could write forever with you as my muse
If you wanted to fly I’d make you wings
Then I’d make another pair so I could fly too
I could be an artist just so I can paint your hues
I could capture your brightest yellows and blues
The museums would be lucky to display such a masterpiece
Even if they only lived here I would never cease
I could be a singer so we have something to listen to for a while
I could be a dancer for the chance to maybe earn your smile
If my days end tomorrow then I’d still listen to you
Anything you say I’d live to make true
I could be a poet
But only for you
Am I A Hermit
Am I wasting away?
Don’t get out much
Grateful to live in a nice house
Always writing poems
Am I a hermit?
Hide from the sun
Life is too chaotic
A risk to walk on a simple side walk
A risk to take a chance
We stay guarded and hidden laying low in our house
Keep life simple
Don’t need much
Humble at most
Some days water the flowers
No effort to keep in touch
Everyone is growing old
Slowing down toward evening moon
Lay down my burdens
Very few words are spoken
Running out of time
Time is flying by
Just aches and pains
Life is fading
Scars remain
Old man's wrinkles in my face
Hair turning gray
Slower to get up every moring
Just need morning coffee
When you get older you get kind of grouchy
you have heard of run-on-sentences
Milly is full of run-on-banter
if she has a pause, it is isochromonal
nothing stops her inane monologues
she is unwelcome at most family events
the lunchroom at her work shuts down when she arrives
she is shunned, without having any idea why
Yes, it is I that you have reason to thank,
and you who are so rude and rank.
Why do you say that my friend?
You will remember me in the end.
Though many times we laughed and drank,
in all honesty, I thought you stank.
Yes, we two, would, our elbows bend,
oh, the excruciating time we'd spend.
I think of your merits and draw a blank.
It's from your odor I always shrank.
You have no honor to defend,
as a human being, you at most pretend.
Why do you ask me to walk the plank,
I asked as I then slowly sank.
Tentative steps beyond my front door
Ten or twelve at most, can’t go more
Not boldly either, but taken timidly
No match for the heat and humidity
The skies’ brightest hue is haze
The air shimmers as if dazed
Blades of grass wither and wilt
Lawn after lawn a dying brown quilt
Thirty-one days without a breath
O, August, your badge is death
A thousand ships through the dark nights sail,
to mysterious lands and adventurous trails.
With a thirst for life, I cannot rest,
when one is finished, there comes another quest.
I travel many paths into the unknown,
with each path completed, I know I’ve grown.
Though dangers lurk at most every turn,
I sense I’m protected; I have no concern.
I try new things all the time,
I’ve never seen a mountain I’d not try to climb.
Life is for living so bring it on,
I’ve never been broken except for a bone.
I’ll keep on a traveling across the seven seas,
Enjoying the adventure, and the ocean’s breeze.
The premise goes everyone knows
before entering the premises
while still outside yet on the mat
it's no gentleman who forgets
to doff his cap or remove his hat
if dining out or at a private party
for a particular person
it's impolite at most
to sip slurp or slink a drink
before the toast to a hospitable host
and when beside the table laden
confronted by the salsa bowl
biting then re-dipping chips
the most unmannerly of all
is he (or she) who double-dips
Promising to solve age-old problems very soon
a year or two, at most, from our graduation in June
I myself was sure that poverty could be licked right quick
yet 50 years later it’s still on the uptick
A friend of mine told me in a decade racism would be dead
but even today, it rears its ugly head
And as for wars, they’ve gained momentum, fiercer than ever
governments’ ‘permanent endeavor’
So, here’s to all you cocksure, problem-solving new grads, oh-so-clever
~ May yours be the first generation to live forever…
Being a mother is easily, the toughest job in the world -
Although it oscillates from "delightful", to "exhausting" to "thankless",
It is at most times, a demanding and overwhelming one.
Motherhood's main requirements are patience and love
Along with the ability to teach, discern, protect and nurture.
It needs a lot of resolve, to look into those pleading, mischievous eyes,
And decide when to give and when to stop -
How much to indulge, how much to restrict.
Rewards and recognitions depend on your perspective -
The feel of being wanted, the allocation of more work
And the hugs and kisses - these usually top the list.
The nature of work may change with time,
But the adventure never fizzles out -
It is forever, an eventful journey of learnings, joy and regrets.
It's only a mother who can swing beautifully -
From the joy of watching the child grow and spread their wings,
To the throes of getting detached from them.
Only a mother can process the mixed emotions -
From the heady rush of revelling in the child's joys,
To making sacrifices of her own desires and sometimes, health.
A girl silent as a flower
Never could be prouder
Never lost, always loved
Always mistaken, taken for granted
Careless and carefree
At most, clever and yet so anxious
Truthful but never enough
Here and there, never stopping
Yet she stays an unemployed babysitter
My fear and laughter
Both always so unwanted
At most awkward times
I am not verbose, I am laconic,
at most, I shorten the poem,
I diminish the lie,
I stabilize the truth,
I am a minimalist poet!
Before mirrors were made we never viewed,
We couldn't see ourselves so we never knew,
Maybe a reflection in the water at most would exist,
But I don't believe our image was meant to be seen like this,
If there were no pictures or mirrors to see,
Maybe the focus would shift more on the substance to be,
The heart would take precedence instead of external eyes,
Because we would never know to actually realize,
That images can be deceiving but what's really inside,
We would focus more on being than what we see with our eyes....
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