Best Affording Poems
3/25/19
"One More Thing"
This morning
Clouds forming
Soon to be storming
Most ignoring
The warning
Continually warring
Waters forking
Rapids roaring
Avians soaring
As events continue coursing
Heard enough recordings
That were reporting
About global warming
Whether it's sunny or pouring
Cold or scorching
Dogs and cats arrive for boarding
In a building with tile flooring
Bottles uncorking
This life isn't boring
It's rewarding
This world, we're still exploring
Organisms morphing
Meanwhile plants absorbing
The sunlight, that's supporting
All life, according
To people and other sourcing's
Barely affording
Folks snoring
Out of the loop, close and far from any cording
Drugs and people used for transporting
Still gorging
Battling addictions regarding snorting
Far too many hoarding
And overstoring
Thinking they're scoring
Any bull, I'm thwarting
The honest and hard working, I'm supporting
You better stop lording
Before the public starts swarming
About to leave this world, after one more thing
Recycled Wisdom Lost
by Odin Roark
How common to recycle today
bottle,
cardboard,
can,
or bubble wrap.
How rare the regard for pleas from
mind,
heart,
memory,
wishing also to amend anew.
How satisfying,
To arouse the sleeping heart,
thrusting its comfort-beat
upon new rhythms made aware,
ensuing musical notes of clarity
not yet upon the staff of boundaries,
affording dissonance where only
harmony's familiarity once reigned.
To revisit memory
offering bygone experience,
wiser tools of perception,
scrambling dog-eared indexes
cross-referencing fact and fabrication,
allowing waste to fall free,
encouraging truth to persevere.
To sort through mind's many strategies,
discounting some,
discarding others,
dismantling exhausted cogs that
advance little the unknown begging at the door.
Such is…
To complete one's desire to remain conscious,
allowing distinction for that worth rebirthing
from chaff heretofore but a friction urging resolve.
How obvious to some:
the take-to-the-curb days of consciousness.
How misunderstood by others:
the smothering effect of effort
to treat excess destined as garbage.
How aware
those who
like the winged flights on high
weave today's nest
from yesterday's exhausted remnants,
knowing well the destiny of permanence
is but to replant where burnt forests once thrived.
And yet…
We often think recycling is confined to aluminum,
plastics, glass and other fabrications of man’s intellect,
but what of...
Changes
If I could change the world in more ways than presently,
Computers would not crash; nor could they ever be hacked. If competition does not increase in both NBA Conferences,
Playoff spots in the NBA would be reduced to 6 from 8.
In the automobile industry, Buyer Beware Rules would be changed,
affording buyers a fighting chance of getting a good car at a fair price.
No dictatorships in Asia or Africa.
No drugs from Middle East or South America.
Political parties would be discouraged in the US of America.
Terror would cease; and nations would study war no more.
Absolutely no one would pay attention to political polls.
The entire planet would be neither too hot, nor too cold.
Every person would live for ever, and never grow old.
The streets in every city would be paved with gold.
And there would be no pot holes on the road.
No nation would be aggressive toward another nation.
Every nation would humanely govern itself as it chooses.
There would exist the purest form of Sovereignty among nations.
Peace will reign from East to West and from North to South Poles.
All transactions would be fair, and nothing would be deceitfully sold.
There would be fair trades between people everywhere around the globe.
Plenty of clean water for everyone, even the birds and the bees.
Medicines would be minimized, and healing would come from trees.
Children would play without fear of pedophiles.
No human would be bartered or bought.
No child abuse or women misused;
No abortions and no rapes;
No cruelties to any animal,
Including elephants and whales.
04112016 PS Contest, If You Could Change The World, Dan Kearley
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
wrote verses ringing mellow
affording noteworthy fame.
Everyone knows his name.
A Poodle and Apple Strudel
To popular belief, it all had been according
And wondered if we really could be affording
To buy what some called the John B. Sloop
Bottom of sails looked like a hula hoop
While walking around we also just found
That when being on John B. you are bound
To become stuck up and also possibly a pris
While you gaze at wild water and reminisce.
Liking to laugh a new habit now has become
And best part of pudding is a pleasant plum
Then through life as things all get tougher
From an illness, you will soon start to suffer
Cathy many have said is short for cathedral
And according to problems that are procedural
Process was becoming kind of quite inviting
I discovered best thing to do is be delighting
So finally forget all I said without fail
Go out on John B and around should sail
Be sure that you bring your pretty poodle
Who always enjoys eating some apple strudel.
You were born in a war ravaged state
You lost your man to the caprices of fate
You fell prey to your wayward ways
Victims of betrayal, greed or circumstances
You were drowned in the tide of darkness
Depraved incidents of forced sex and perversions
Rooted in carnal desires and unsated frustrations
The fleshpots in town frowned upon as receptacles of sin
Wisdom of society’s views wearing very thin
Thwarting those in heat from living out their dream
Objects of titillation and subjected to derision
Unfortunately placed or forced in a profession
Reckoned as the world’s oldest
Harlots you are, courtesans at best
Buffers to man’s baser side without respite or rest
Mistress to royalty or a gangster’s moll
You’ve mastered the act of a defenceless doll
Apparently enjoying the bizarre and the extraordinary
But behind this masquerade is the quintessential mercenary
Pandering only to the philandering of the paying strata of humanity
You frequent raunchy night-clubs and sleazy bars
Walk the streets and lurk around dark corners
You are often just a number in the telephone directory
Or recommended for unusual skills, honed to a speciality
But you seldom blackmail, reflecting your innate nobility
Possibly you booze to drown your pain
And get your high on heroin and cocaine
You are accused of ruining marital ties
And of driving your lovers to a life of vice
Who squander fortunes, just affording your price
Hail lady of the night
Only death can release you from your sordid plight
You are the paramour without the strings of a wife
You are the reprieve from loneliness and strife
But alas, you suffer damnation in your earthly life
My Sons
by Odin Roark
They are branches growing,
A tree’s vulnerability forever their care,
Spreading roots long ago fused with love’s procreation,
Yesterday’s memory so sublime.
How fragile their early growth.
Vulnerable budding winked into the light,
Unaware initiation’s early storms,
Were but an intrepid horizon away,
Tomorrow’s wind and torrents patiently waiting.
At times…
Whipped about by uninvited tempests,
Growth became a determined willingness,
Nurturing leaves of graduating seasons,
Into the recycled mulch of knowledge,
Fermenting preparedness into wisdom.
How glorious…
To watch from the bows of my aging oak,
Your tenacity of will,
Expanding maturity’s girth of protection,
Now yours to honor and share,
Affording conscious coverture,
Shading your saplings’ journey
Begun barely a cosmic moment ago.
a solivagant by nature
the need for acceptance grew
hot tears pooled
a phenomenal resilience
affording solace to others
impressive psyche tooled
esperance is the driving force
behind your enigmatic smile
in hiding betrayal you’re well schooled
Examining love from all different angles, one can come to appreciate the connection
how it is so often used as the vehicle, by which we share with others our deepest
affection
and this love no matter how much we have, never do we seem able to get enough
yet had we been forced to live without it, we would find living in starvation just too
tough
This constant need to possess a measure of love in our life, must be part of that
divine plan
enabling us to maintain our emotional health, and affording us a way to become a
better man
perhaps an additional reason might also be, to share a little of our love with those
in need
we can become so lost in our materialistic world, easily forgetting to pursue this
noble deed
The greatness of man’s creation exists from within, and lies dormant for us to find
accepting the fact that we are spiritual beings, and the most unique of our kind
innate potential to reach the highest of heights, in the service of our Creator
choosing wisely to do good, while rejecting evil, and thus becoming even greater
Fooling yourself with alluring transitory pleasures, this world leads you astray
fleeting momentary happiness, causes you to believe you are here to stay
furthest from the truth you could never be, because ultimately all will see
when the end of that long road arrives, you too, will be just another deportee
Only with constant toil and unremitting effort, could we think it possible to overcome
to successfully subdue evil that is now a part of you, would be nothing short of
awesome
better to consider the end, when your immortal soul will be in need of an abode of
its own
what a tremendous loss it would be indeed, for your soul to be left in the dark and
all alone
Winter Cabin Reality
by Odin Roark
The storm door
Improperly closed
Bangs violently
The clapboard shedding
White paint chips
Wounds without first aid
Flecks of age
Mixing with the drifting snow
Walls shudder with the gusts
Windowpanes rattle their death threat
Should one shatter
Beware flood gates of frozen forever
When will guardians arrive
The stewards of their weary retreat
Providing solace for this place
We so willing endure
Harsh punishment
This loneliness of disuse
The fear of abandonment
Looming
Looming
Always looming
Such anxiety for...
In order...
In order to...
Appease elements restless
Unhappy
Feeling forsaken
The stove sad
Laboring for no one
The refrigerator longing
Waiting like a giant petri dish
Anxious to be opened and examined
Bed covers squirm amidst
Nature's innate seekers of shelter
Six-leggers pass four-leggers in the night
Perplexed
Wondering
Where is everyone?
Field mice
The basements fortress of faith
Anticipate the happy slogging
Of drunken feet above
The excess food celebrated not
Falling through spaces of beamed flooring
Affording reserves for future seasons of need
Thus awaits the wilderness shelter
Determined to remain creative
As temperatures drop even lower
On this little respected life-saver
Multiple-soul make-over haven
Urban's satellite arbiter for sanity
Earnestly it awaits yesterday's loyally
Its generational-visitor relay
Its reason to hold on
Its inducement
To stay whole
Just one more year
Crunching snow outside raises hope
Two mice
Three spiders
One gentle squirrel share
"Got to be more than a bear"
Finger-tip power.
Galloping into a world of finger tip power were we no longer admire the beauty of flower,
We care more to acquire the excessive power— that same power that effaced those towers.
People falling too their deaths, others trapped and glowing red.
Hearing voices from within the furnace, a novel affording, my tears of disturbance, surface.
Never before in our progression, could the universe witness such tragedy, with such projection.
Let me ask you, who was to blame? Terrorists? Our government? …Their both the same.
Alas, we shall never know, case-close, frozen, in internet snow,
an avalanche of opposing views leaves very little to the truth.
This brings us to the point- information, rendered, void.
Just look at wikipedia if you want some proof of how accuracy has gone aloof.
It may seem human-kind is further afield, but our connection to nature, we no longer yield.
So how strong can one’s mind be? If the glare of our iPhone is all we see.
How can one really know if what he’s taught is to stop not go.
There breeds within a terminal illness, thats claiming the souls of all our realness.
George Bush can barely string a line yet we take his authority without a dash of lime.
As if we can trust a man of such stature, a puppet to the powers that inflict our fracture.
Allow me, to invite you all, open your minds to an empire, ready to fall.
How much more can we take before our laboured legs begin to break.
In a world of finger-tip power, we no longer care for the flower. We default to hide and cower because we are diddled and fleeced by that mythical power.
This revolutionary fella followed by
Adams family patriarch,giving rise
twin heir (plain lee gifted "Renaissance
Man") Jeff force'n without hemming
and hawing, subsequently conceding
nexus (nor horse drawn Lexus) of Colonial
power to Madison, thence Monroe
buttoned up as suitable candidate after
which younger Adams elected.
Thirty four followed Jackson's club
trumpeting (some Obama nib bully)
bushwhacking their way predicated
on faulty Algorithm, charming
charismatically with hint of Clint
like glint in eyes, blinding populace,
sans ray gun (Reagan), Car Tour ring
with peanut gallery in tow, affording
(unpopularly pardoning unfashionably),
a Jerry rigged nixed son, followed
by John's son tainted by stain of Vietnam,
but with said Southeast Asian debacle,
one ken heady (sporting thick styled hair)
inherited an internecine conflict, essentially
precipitated, when Eisenhower hardened
political stance against any allies of the
Soviet Union, (sans The Viet Cong), and
pledged his firm support to Diem
and South Vietnam.
Now with preceding administration, one
harried true man unleashed advent of atomic
spectra upon Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, this
purported preemptive measure scary ruse
felt to thwart exaggerated Japanese government
threat (military intelligence) scheming to
wreak untold havoc upon American troops
within the Pacific theater of World War II.
The former horrific decision controversial,
then and to this day Hoover expert historian,
diverge, asper corroborating the necessity
to usher in the Cold War, yet majority foreign
policy wonks might grudgingly attest that
said thirty first commander in chief did maintain
a Cool Edge throughout onset when doomsday
clock began countdown to Armageddon,
an unimaginably blaring, deafening, earsplitting...
cacophony distant rumbles heard, nonetheless,
no Hard dinning ghoulish nightmare (potentially
obliterating all life on planet Earth) haunted
Wilson, nor Taft, only gunboat diplomacy
mere child's play exhorted, less catastrophic
comparison, when Teddy Roosevelt wielded
"big stick schtick" namesake corollary to the
Monroe Doctrine in 1904...ad nauseum.
I am not amazed he lost both sight and fight
She walked unfettered into calm
In "Paris Blues" one peach-clad pussycat was pursued
The Proprietor's goal lacked glitter
Historically, he knew better
She departed
He felt the blues
He wore imaginary badge of entitlement
and breathe air of pseudo pride
She read his lips, looked him in the eyes
Then smiled her clairvoyant smile
His words were weighed on scale Source
She sat snug with fuel from the Source
She knew lighthouses affording light that guides
They were transparent with genuine streaks
Should entitlement be legalized?
One fine day, more folks will cut the crap
They'll stop getting what they've got
crippling the crippled now stats
The dumb, the deaf, the blind is made new
What goal of goal beckons you?
*
MUSICAL TEA WITH A VIEW
My first and principal comfort is tea
Which may be prepared in a weakened form
And must be hot or the afternoon free
Will be spoiled by a tiny teacup storm.
The cup should be large for added volume
And not too narrow so that my biscuit
Doesn’t - as I gaze over the cup’s rim -
Fall from cup into room:
If I must needs leap about to catch it
Then the afternoon’s outlook will be dim.
Window with a view over a garden,
Preferably with a lawn and flowers;
And let no one have to beg my pardon
For trampling over the grass or bowers.
Oh but the shape, the form, and sweet design,
The delicate choice of the trees and blooms
Must have good taste in texture and balance
(Of necessity mine)
So that the garden seen from all the rooms
Will you at once delight and then entrance.
When I’m fully tead and gazed-with-eyefuls
Out come my guitar and harmonica.
I make, with strings plucked and air in mouthfuls,
Music and song from Spain or Africa.
And when I strum and blow those melodies -
Arpeggio, vamping, or free chording -
They flow o’er the garden and teacup edge.
They come about with ease -
Great pleasure and delight affording
The pansies, the heather, the rose, the sedge.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written by Sydney Peck
Entered in Cyndi MacMillan’s Contest
AN ODE TO SMALL COMFORTS ON A RAINY AFTERNOON
A lean figure, bearing love
Burdened by a need for belonging
Starved by abandonment and disregard
With eyes of plea that look upon man
Rejection's curse; an unmet gaze.
The cold, the toll
An attempt to live diminished by ignorance
Loyalty pledged, discarded by the heartless
A tale of sorrow; a tail of fatigue
Walking away, a strained wish - running away, an insuperable thought.
False safety found in humanities' trenches
Malice offering an invite, with little reward
Torture imposed upon by a hand of crumbs
Survival, not a guarantee, fortitude, a hope
Blood that oozes for paper, congeals to mark.
Escaping acts an option that imprisons
Time slows but age shows
A sight of ruggedness in motion
Wounds that offer a feed, delved into
Movement that agonizes, inciting condescension.
Unsteady breaths, signaling an end
The search for an owner in vain
Brutality suffered in pursuit of a home
A last limp affording no sympathy, still
Callus paws giving way as love remains unrequited.