Belongings gain a sadder fate
Then we do, when we die
Their owners soul they can’t revive
As if they’re always late
To catch an eye, that now can’t see
To feel the touch, that’s gone
Belongings lay aside, forlorn
Green leaves on a felled tree
Must feel the same, before they fade
And wither in the wind
Belongings, thrown into the bin
Are waiting to be saved
Relatives of the owner choose
Some items, ain’t that sad
A few belongings of the dead,
They will remain unused.
If I were a Victorian naturalist
I would have pinned bugs
in their boxed cabinets
and tabulated them all,
because where I place favored items
they must belong there in perpetuity.
I once dreamt that The Goddess of Mercy
had found a place for me
in the temple of Her glowing heart.
However, I fidgeted much,
shuffling from the right side to the left
trying out the snug-ability
of this place and that.
Compassionately,
Guanyin pinned me down at last
among all those that belonged to Her
in perpetuity.
Up in the rafters over the pool
lies a beach ball still inflated
after seven long years,
with the breath of someone
long gone, by the wayside.
I wonder what other belongings
this person, or maybe I, have left behind
to intrigue passers-by.
People may wonder from whom,
or from whence, they came.
These passed-on-by-things left,
where sleeping dogs lie,
are best not awakened, shaken nor stirred.
For no one really cares
or even dares to try
to find out to whom they once belonged.
Perhaps we should?
The last destiny
A secret place to go
A mysterious journey
And a frightening experience indeed
For finding out any more
And before one go
One must leave behind all the belongings
Money, properties,knowledge and
experiences
Hatred and love
Friends,family and the loved ones
One'll find that one has a lot
But all the time one said
One has a little
One's greed has betrayed oneself
Like one has betrayed one's God
I hope I can drop off
All the burden of knowledge
Before I go one day
I'll drop off all the poems
Which I gained from the earth free
Stuff, stuff everywhere
I'm surrounded by stuff
here and there.
Stuff, stuff everywhere
Hiding in every nook
and cranny
Stuff, stuff everywhere
everywhere I look I see stuff
I see books, books everywhere
I see guitars, ukuleles and paper everywhere
Stuff, stuff everywhere
It's so overwhelming.
It's time to stop writing this poem
and start clean, clean, cleaning
and getting, getting, getting
rid of stuff
Packing My Case.
Dragging my case from off the top of the wardrobe, I disturb the spiders, the case lands at my feet with a mighty thud ! its, my time too fly away to warmer places, to visit loved ones and familiar faces.
The case is all dusty and needs a scrub, but it's seen some journeys over the years, and I know it will get my belongings safely to their destination. The case is green, plain green, with a black piped edging, solid, an well made. It has some scuff marks on it, and some scratches but in all, it has served me well.
You can get very attached to some belongings, and my green case is a familiar
piece of kit that I have owned for over twenty five years. It reminds me of lots of trips I have taken, places I have visited, and it has helped me move house several times.
This time I am going on a very special trip to see my first born get married on a beach to the love of his life, where does the time go ? it hardly seems five minutes since he arrived as new baby, know he's getting a wife.
Green case and I shall travel and see it all, and watch and wonder and smile, and gather some precious memories to bring home, to relive in the quite small hours.
You, my most favorite darling, get my grandfather clock said she.
When I am dead. Unapologetic, diabolical laugh.
You, sweetie pie, get my off-key piano stated easily.
To keep in my tiny efficiency apartment? Is she daft?
And you, honey babe, get my jewelry, she prettily pointed out.
Indicating her only grandchild who does not like jewels.
Grandma was directing everyone bossily. No one dared pout.
Knowing the wrath that comes easy from old related fools.
Also knowing that when she is gone we can trade
Up and down, in and out, no one fully caring.
We will throw all the extra stuff to her loyal maid.
We sisters are all about dividing and sharing.
Where do I not belong
Here
Here
Here
Here
Here
Here
.
.
.
I am
It's not without reason that it rained that day.
Those winter clouds were paler than my dead
grandmother's face. The wet blanket, which
the morning air wrapped around my sleepless
back, bore no pearls. The ever cribbing qualm
that sings the separation of leaving me to love me
wrote those broken words in those striped stones,
Sutlej gave them to me.
"Start again, let go of the bygones -
The simple is not meant to be complicated.
If you're walking your grave through, walk alone."
The body craves as the soul does and only more.
Yet the constructs of love keep me waiting
for the impossibility of being felt the way I want.
The poet sang for the wingless bird which longs
to fly and fly away. Images from a half shut door
of the unvanquished spirit keep my dreams alive even
when the winter clouds turned paler than my dead
grandmother's face.
Watched All of My Belongings
Some say of liberalism sure was to smack
Which is what I had said in my wisecrack
There were also other people who said
They think I should have dropped dead.
Lacked any ability of being eloquent
Even said I sounded like an elephant
Budding behavior was unpredictable
That ended up becoming despicable.
After into strange story I further read
As usual, down the path again was lead
By the time I went around the bend
I then did end up being at a dead end.
What can a dead end be deadlier than
Took some time and only a short span
Bare big bosoms had been on my brain
Died because I couldn't stand the strain.
James Humorous As Usual Horn