Best Admissions Poems
I like to exercise my mind, but how I hate to work.
Whatever needs exertion is the action that I shirk.
Labor with the brain is fine. I do it all the time.
How I love to sit and read or think of words that rhyme.
But send me to the bathroom with a brush so that I'll scrub,
and I'll barely rub the ring off. Then I'll lie there in the tub.
Peek inside; you'll find me, a novel in one hand,
resting as I'm soaking in my own little Bubble Land.
Clean the oven? What a joke. The most that I can stand
is loading up the wash machine (a task that's merely bland).
Maybe run the vacuum once a week across the floor,
and quickly dab where dust is bad; most stuff I ignore.
As my jobs all pile up, housework's even more a chore.
Why must work that's physical be such a dreadful bore?
My well-ingrained aversion to utilizing muscle
does have one exception: at the gym I like to hustle.
To kick box is so fun although it makes me sweaty.
Step and dance are choreographed. For those I'm always ready.
But I wish that just as quickly as from running on a tread
I could burn up calories doing workouts in my head!
All Wonders Are Free, No Admissions Price
Lord grant me, days in Nature's rainbow hues
Walking among wildlife, searching for clues
Thankful for these very fine hiking shoes
In splendor of morn's new risen sun
This peaceful, calming walk will be fun
Later, short picnic before I run
To find butterflies fluttering about
In Nature's pleasing joy, no need to shout
Here waters 'aplenty never a drought
Blue lake lies just beyond Oak-tail heights
Flower banks and ducks a graceful sight
Even more beautiful seen by moonlight
Lord grant me, more years in this paradise
All wonders are free, no admissions price.
Robert J. Lindley, 12-14-2016
Written as was promised this morn, to my dear friend and that very kind and generous poet, Peter Duggan.
With my thanks for introducing this new sonnet form in his fine poem,
In the Hills, Of Walyunga..
Jussaume’s Sonnet created by Christina R Jussaume on August 20, 2015.
It is a 14 line poem left justified as all other Sonnets.
It is made up of 4 Triplets and 1 Couplet
Rhyme for my Sonnet is aaa, bbb, ccc, ddd, ee
Syllable count is as follows: 10, 10, 10, 9, 9, 9, 10, 10, 10, 9, 9, 9, 10 and 10.
Escalated had it, through mere words
An argument with a drunk, leaving none sober
Avoidance I practiced, consequential to unity
A day of togetherness, spent alone
My desire to leave, superseding my will to stay.
You were right, I conceded; true or untrue
A waste was it to speak, when I would be unheard
To read was it my choice, to refuse
A key preventing entrance, denying inebriated lectures
Solitude enlightening the festivities, more than company.
The skies were blue as I walked toward a reprieve
Blame was exchanged, for a norm that was apparent
Maybe a little disappointment, wooed me forward
But an excuse does that afford none, for irrationality
Irresponsible was I in not informing ; irresponsible were you in trying to find me.
Your defence would I always assist, to rectify or sway
Good to me were you never not
Imperfections denied by a bond, unbroken
My respect wanting to yield, but not confounding
Your pedestal never lowering, even when your actions requested.
Maybe forgiveness is to be asked, to relieve
An apology would do well, to alleviate
One person, a victor, the other not; egos choosing
Toxins I am unaccustomed to, poisoning minds
I want to hate, but love remains true.
When I join myself in prayer
all the survivors; all those still able to bear witness
regarding my twisted way through the moments
and decades come together in the nothing flat
all eager to tell their tales once more.
The dead speak little;
ushering blindfolded angles
lead them into my presence
yet they are reluctant to testify or blame.
The survivors line up ready to spill all the beans
or elaborate upon some minor escape from
a near miss, or a cliff edge pull-back
when I gabbed myself away, not from the fall
but from the hard ground.
I listen nodding like a priest in a confessional box
absolving some, scorning others, dismissing many.
After this séance with myself,
I take an Ambien and sleep
dreaming of a life that once had meaning.
Merely, the hardest thing
I must ever do
Is express myself through remorse
Especially when being in the wrong
And alas my dearest, in this moment
You were in the right, all along
Thus, where my heart begins to fight
It starts by raging war
Against that of solemn shame
And now of 'tis wounded pride
But, the forces they gather among a storm
And begin by choosing up on rival sides
But, out of whitest mist
Onto that of whiter horse
The guardian, love comes rushing in
As that of saving arbitrator
Destined to always win
“On bended knee, I plead unto thee
My fairest, grant thy just and forgiveness
All that I have to offer is my humbling sincerity
And that of remaining heart
As to thee, now I hand these words “I am so deeply sorry”
12 Minutes Ago