Baseline Poems

The Scent Of Danger

Take me out of my head with your head.
Now forgive me, but bold is my baseline.
Make no mistake I must be comfortable,
drawn in by the depth of conversation. 

Now forgive me, but bold is my baseline.
I want you to taste my entire body. 
Drawn in by the depth of conversation,
please take me even deeper inside.

I want you to taste my entire body,
never stopping to come up for air.
Please take me even deeper inside,
just don’t forget the way back out. 

Never stopping to come up for air,
how long can you handle the pressure?
Just don’t  forget the way back out, 
danger smells better than protection. 

How long can you handle the pressure?
Make no mistake I must be comfortable.
Danger smells better than protection,
take me out of my head with your head.

Velvet Roses

Soft like velvet roses,
strong as surgical steel.
Clamor from the inside,
never to be mangled.
The afterclap of untied. 

Soft like velvet roses,
be tender when you touch.
Thorns are not delicate,
they grow larger with time.
Baseline reigns elegant. 

Soft like velvet roses
raging in thunderstorms.
Perfect dichotomy,
passion is rarely clean.
A gift laudatory. 

Soft like velvet roses,
a match for toying cheeks.
An outlandish display 
for the world to look on.
Love’s a timeless bouquet.

Carnage Huitain

On the pirate ship lollipop 
all of your sugar I’m licking.
So addicted I just can’t stop, 
at baseline my lips are sticking. 
A smile and bubblegum tricking,
cute with emotional damage.
The bulletin isn’t clicking, 
set a fire enjoy the carnage.

Baseline

Beneath bickering brass, bluebirds balance beats on baritone branches.

AI and poetries

AI is groupthink, it’s hewed to pre-existing work,
which it aggregates into something bland and flat.

If you don’t want your work scraped and copied by AI, try
writing off-balance ideas that aren’t for everyone and have faith
that AI will never be able to actually rival human creativity.

Deny AI the echo chamber of predictable content on which it feeds.

I polish my pieces to a pointless sheen, which gives
them an algorithmically indecipherable quality.

When it comes my to poetry, I have to admit,
I’m working through mediocrity—hoping that it’s just a phase.

If failure is essential for growth
I’m going to be a giant

But after all, someone has to define the baseline.
You’re welcome.

Ok, Let’s wax poetic..

There are thousands of stars
in that black outer-place
where gravitas holds them
firmly in place.

I fret not about avian abductions,
or unidentified flying soccers,
still, I’ve a waxed on them
in multiverse
.
.
Songs for this:
I Like You (A Happier Song) [feat. Doja Cat] by Post Malone
Late Night Talking by Harry Styles

More Than Baseline

Sometimes the middle is a little lower or little higher.
Sometimes there is a way to be so much all the higher.
Sometimes there is a need to feel so much all the lower.

Too Many Invitations

Days of solitude until the cell rings with too many invitations
Poet’s quote

Red Rover, Red Rover can I come over?
My way is blocked though I am free…
I see a friend - I won’t hover.
I wait, though I long for a spree.

I throw my rock, I am alone
and hop, skip and jump…it’s no game.
Without a friend, I’m on my own.
It’s me here! Remember my name?

I long to be hit with dodge ball.
No shoulder to shoulder align.
Can’t be eliminated y’all -
I’m yawning at friendship’s baseline.

Give me the red light…no, green light!
Don’t stop me! Keys in ignition…
BFF, I know we are tight!
so give me some recognition.

Music Is the Dance of Life

Music is the dance of life 
By lady Arabella 

Reggae , soul, soco , pop,punk  and rock 
 Listening to the  beat of music which makes your body drop and lock 
The freedom it brings as it flows 
As the baseline drops and you just  let go 
The story line it  can tell as you  listen to the lyrics 
The concept and relation conceived as beyond- metempirics
Music is the dance of life 
Amongst many us in this world it’s one similarity that is rife
Hip hop, electro, jazz and rhythm and blues 
Music allows everyone to walk in someone else’s shoes 
As the rhythm flows 
So do our souls 
As the pace of the tempo goes slow and then gets quicker 
Hearts can  race and your  feet like a flame begin to  flicker 
Music is the dance of life 
In a world so consumed with trouble and strife 
It brings people together and accompanies others like  Homophony
A euphoria that for self can think you have  Autophony
Music is the dance of life no matter how far you wander or where you may go 
With music in life there’s always a way to two-step  into tomorrow
 music is the dance of life that can create the foundations of a new dynamic 
Regardless of  peoples demographics

The Pendulum of My Soul

New surroundings breathing life into me,
My lungs fill with cool air, it’s sustaining,
Inhale, exhale… each breath: stress waning. 
Blood transporting excitement toward an apogee. 

Continuing to pump, this heart of mine,
With each beat powering this internal clock,
Sixty beats-per-minute, sounds of tick-tock,
Time slows down establishing new baseline. 

Swinging from a new equilibrium position,
My emotional pendulum keeps the pace,
Balancing the new way of life I embrace,
Preventing my mind splitting from social fission. 

Each moment an opportunity for refreshed soul, 
Taking it slow and breathing it all in carefully,
Every breath, filling these lungs heartily,
To live a full life each minute; my new goal.

Finish Line

A due date is the finish line, 
a detail not to be ignored!
What do you call a starting line?

A place to leap from made of pine,
the impetus of a spring board,
far from the waters finish line.

The cover of a book design,
begins a quest to be explored,
as text flies from that starting line.

The crack of the starters carbine,
as athletes begin their sprint toward,
fame at the distant finish line. 

That first note felt from the baseline,
while groovin' on the fretboard, 
as beats move from the starting line. 

Maybe it's the morning sunshine,
while the Earth spins ever westward. 
To yet another finish line, 
to realize it's the starting line. 
           ~Johnnymac

Poetic Podcast Episode 7

We’ve got a reel short attention span now,
it’s just about forty seconds long;
Then distracted we look away;

Tik tok reel short; Tick tock;

Due to lack of interest or investigation 
they go and raise the survival baseline;
Again;  
Easy gains aren’t solid, 
they get real hard to shed;
If you ever can;

Tick tock; Real hard; Tick tock;

But they like it that way,
filling us with this sense of dread;
Dependent and intoxicated;
Sluggish now we miss the repeating pattern  
and risk unlearning the lessons of the past;

Tik tok reel; Snap! Tick tock;

Now we’ve got a reel short attention span,
it’s just about forty seconds long;
Skeletons squawk but can’t really talk;
Echo chambers drown original thought.

Here, One More Clever Lob

Musk is stuck in mire, plumb like door knob,
Smart enough still he tries, hits a lob
From safety of baseline,
Trying to look benign
As the sole crazy soul for the job!
_____________________________________
Happenings | 03.02.2023 | humour

Poet’s note: Some time back reluctant Musk was forced to look for a CEO for Tweeter. He agreed, provided he finds ‘someone crazy enough to accept the job’. In a tweet he showed his dog, ‘Floki— The new CEO of Tweeter'. Who else but a dog can be crazy enough to opt for the job? Tweeter is increasingly becoming a millstone on Musk’s chest. See also the earlier limerick ‘What a clever lob’.

Forbidden Valentine

Disturbed forbidden valentine 
you level me and that’s the draw;
I’ll be all yours if you be mine;

Your roughness I wouldn’t refine,
I eat up what’s enticing, raw;
Disturbed forbidden valentine;

Profile’s bent and that’s by design,
left is right when you’re a southpaw;
I’ll be all yours if you be mine;

Cliche’ of shivers down my spine,
there lies the appeal of an outlaw;
Disturbed forbidden valentine;

Two hearts completely intertwine,
ignoring each red flag and flaw;
I’ll be all yours if you be mine;

Rage at a different baseline,
holding my neck and a handsaw;
Disturbed forbidden valentine 
I’ll be all yours if you be mine.

The Fiddler and the Frog

A symphony in two part sound:
the fiddler and the frog
played echo in the fog,
a lovely analog.

Crescendoing as they redound,
with none to inhibit
the bow or the ribbit,
they simply ad-lib it.

Then, absent of all jealousies,
acknowledging their need,
they oft exchange the lead,
and neither does impede.

Across the water melodies:
the fiddler on her strings,
the frog, the baseline brings;
delight is given wings.

—————

for The Fiddler and the Frog Poetry Contest
sponsored by Craig Cornish
a Paulo Comitatu: 8:6:6:6 with abbb, accc, etc. 
written on 1/22/23

Holistic Healer

Leery, scintilla, wrap me in this enormousness. 
We've already undergone a mutual metamorphosis. 
A Holocene, a drum, and an endlessly greening. 
Ding, magnetic fields, the universe's blessing.

Smoke streams out of my smoldering core.
Dragonflies erupt from a hole in my sore.
Your eyes hue made me opine of the Atlantic.
Lepidolite composes my silvery muse in traffic.

Strands that were torn and a burning ember.
Hue metamorphosis is called color distemper.
Captivating exuberance pervades my body.
Your glow reminds me of the moon's embody.

Mutually magnify ourselves in each other. 
We do, in fact, trust and respect one another.
Seen a sturdy string since a baseline level. 
We have mapped a task for the post-rebel.

Written: December 19, 2022

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