Best Adjustment Poems
in the frail blue dusk,
that comes as prelude to dark,
there's a fragile lapse,
one period so oblique,
it's called neither night or day.
this brief moment comes
as if designed to be our
period of adjustment,
before darkness wraps its arms
and the daylight lets us go
there is grace and ease,
that punctuates the twilight,
pausing long enough,
so that we are given chance
to embrace what we can't see.
when last,... it's my time...
to walk in frail blue dusk
one last time, I pray
to have the same exquisite
period of adjustment
_____________________________________________________
Contest: "Time is of the Essence"
Resubmitted for P.D.'s contest: 100 In a Row #13
Life is an Adjustment
Sometimes you gain something
Something you sacrifice for someone
this principle of gain and sacrifice
comes in the life on every segment
Because life is an adjustment
You don't get always
the things you desire for
Along with every desire
There comes the substitute ‘OR'
You have to makeup
with whatever you get
show love even to those people
whom you actually hate
You have to adjust
in all the situations
Keep a smile on the face
Even in critical conditions.
The things around you
may not be as per your demand
That is how life goes on
where you have to obey others command
Tears and sadness
are more than the happy
and joyful moments
even then you have to adjust with them
Because life is an adjustment
It is always after days like this one,
of a kind of proverbial snake chasing
its tail, its form flawless, its strength in
numbers of its friends all rolling together
carrying me to the end of a long day,
the end being where I started, just as
dark, my breath as clear on the concrete
platform as it was twelve hours before,
my insides still a Colombian neck tie.
But I am still one hour and at least two
languages away from there, here in the
bar car, my head against the stretch window
as the Norman countryside smears by at
200 kph, a drop of casis stirring towards a
mandarin horizon fuller than my plastic cup of scotch,
tilting with each banking of the train only to
level out sharply seconds later, the minimum
time required - I suspect - for the stubbly
driver to refresh his senses with a good chuckle,
which would surely be more
frequent if they let me ride up there with him,
playing "I Spy" with our eyes closed,
testing the emergency brake and
scaring cars at crossings with the horn.
My eyes open
Am I alive?
Yes, I decide,
Peering in the mirror,
I just feel dead.
I stumble into the kitchen
Seeking my morning miracle
But coffee doesn't do its job.
Back in the bathroom,
Make-up is futile and
To add to my misery
It's a bad hair day!
Checking the looking glass
One last time, I notice
That my clothes bulge
In all the wrong places.
Life goes on though,
And so must I
Although I'm ugly
Inside and out.
I stop at your hous to exchange our daily hello,
You look straight into my soul
Smile your perfect smile and say,
"You sure do look pretty today, Doll!"
Computer Adjustment
Oh! do I need a computer fix
I do want to throw some bricks
my life is wrapped around my computer
it is always playing its tricks
eighty percent is spent sitting and staring
reading, playing, and writing
while I sit here and play, my butt gets bigger
there is no blaming
behind the computer
everything goes to a blur
I started writing and forget to save
my language is a blooper
poor hubby gets neglected
at least I’m not mud
I'm addicted to the computer what can I say
while l lay in bed, I’m haunted
why do I even bother
to get the answer
while I sit here my butt gets bigger and aches
there is no reason for anger, it’s my comforter
© 3/26/2015
Oh flesh of many colors,
brothers all are we,
placing the Holy Spirit
above us on our knees.
No matter what we’re labeled
by those who sell a grace,
when names and slogans start to fly,
be calm and hold your place.
A yearning, kindly human heart
is only satisfied
through service to our Father,
not willful selfish pride.
Attitudes need adjustment
for loving, patient deeds:
objective understanding
not subjective, deceiving creed.
Oh flesh of many colors,
sisters all are we.
Beyond the ego, church, and flag,
the truth becomes a plea.
Out of the deepest broken heart I have ever had,
When I could not see the light of God anymore;
My directional flow of movement stood still, I
Did not move anymore.
Felt like it was okay to stay in ways past,
But you my Lord God were not having that.
With your mercy one of your angels who flies
Between both places swooped and picked me up,
The elevator to my my dreams with you.
Caught me up in his surety with strength of prayer;
A seasoned Knight of your realm dear Lord King,
And I am sure that I am not his only rescue.
No time to keep that broken heart; no, God's
Business is at hand.
I too must transform fully into what you created me to be.
While his guitar is his weapon of choice slicing through
Satan's waves of death... that bad Satan screams along
With his demons, turning whiter than any ghost could;
They can't flee fast enough, never seen the like before.
It is the same warfare I fight with my pen although this angel
Has those weapons and more... it inspires me to develop my
God given weapons to help fight the spiritual warfare that is at hand.
And all I can do is humbly say thank you Lord and walk into the beauty
And joy that You've had for me all along...
May I adjust and fight accordingly.
I'm all in Lord, I know that you will help me with the rest!
The rise in prices
Price increase becomes
Price adjustment
But the rise is something different
Unlike the tide
It only rises
And never falls
It's seasonal
Just like the durian
Every year at least once
With the Financial Report
And Unlike the durian it seldom falls
If it doesn't rise
The piece of cake is smaller
Less tasty
If it falls
The cake is even smaller
And maybe changes flavour
Unlike the fall of durians
In the olden days
Which makes everybody happy
Especially the poor planters
And the gluttons
The rise in prices
Makes most of the people sad
Especially the under income
And everybody centres on the rise
Has forgotten the rise of wages
I hope one day the wages will rise too
And never fall
I feel like a mean old woman sometimes
Shaking my hard-knotted fist at the world
Yet feeling sheepish over my attitude
Shamed by the angry words I've hurled
My feelings get hurt and I strike back
At other times Ill just sit and cry
Turn my face to the darkened wall
And I'll continually question why
In solitude I usually get answers
If explanations are there to find
Some things are hard to even fathom
It's better to simply clear your mind
So let me have faith in the world at large
And not show anger so easily
After all we are only human
If I learn forgiveness then I'll be free
To those trying to vex me I must say, "I don't mean to be rude,
But you need to make an adjustment to your appalling attitude."
October 8, 2021
Your Best Rhyming Couplet #3
Sponsored by L Milton Hankins
No one wants to go out of own sphere
Set theory is best for assimilation
The best way is the adjustment of life
to live life of compromised combination
Character matters addressed by the Kings,
By attitude adjustment - repentance of sin,
From heaven and earth with prayers for the dream:
Love is the standard, not the color of skin.
Society ever closer since the cross and the speech,
Elections - selections - the dream’s coming true.
Honest acknowledgment confirm it in fact:
The colors that matter are Red, White, and Blue.
Celebrate harmony, peace, and our likenesses:
Immeasurable benefits packaged in loveliness.
racing wind ignores clothes
freezing thoughts in sudden pain
ignored for stubborn gain
I need a new drug
One that won’t make me pee
A fresh new outlook that will just let it be
I want to see the world
Through rose-colored lenses
I want to fly like an eagle
And mend all my fences
But time . . .
Time keeps on slippin’
And I’m slippin’ with it
A month is a day
A year is a week
More is less and less is more
I keep thinking it’s 25 or 6 to four
Maybe I’m a drag
Cause I sure do need
A brand new bag
Don’t mean to be rude
Don’t need a new dude
Don’t wanna be crude
But Lord, wontcha buy me
A new attitude
Orange skies fade to black.
Hearts fall in graves to plaque.
by Nikkia Roberts
Contest: In Its Essence
Theme: Time