Best Buffering Poems
There is always
a dull longing
that goes unlabelled
and hangs a layer or two
below a joy, a pang
somewhere in the soul
that can't be coughed up
or cut out, just endured.
A nonsense to the skeptic,
no more than perhaps
a twitch of an evolutionary
relic left unemployed within
the brain, now ossified
into an irritant jumping
across the boundaries
of our troubled sleep.
Whatever its origin,
it's always there
be it a hollow left in our psyche
from an umbilical when severed
by God or a buffering problem
in our brain,
the longing never leaves.
We try and quench it
with beauty, love, art
and myth but it remains
unfulfilled, as if a speck
of the infinite resides within
us all, that can absorb
everything we have
and then ask for more.
Categories:
buffering, longing, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
My dearest friend, I tip my hat to you
For all the wonderful things you do
I give you a thankful nod of my head
For the encouraging things you've said
When I feel that I might be drowning
You chase away my reason for frowning
When life is dark, and I need a guiding light
You smile at me and my world glows bright
When my heart was shattered and broken
You healed it with words, softly spoken
Then somehow you made me clearly see
That life has so much more to offer me
When you wiped away each sorrowful tear
My misery always seemed to disappear
You have a way of easing my suffering
By insolating my heart with gentle buffering
When clouds above me start turning grey
You take a deep breath and blow them away
And in those times I've been under attack
You rescued me; always guarding my back
You're more beautiful than any rainbow
You're no fair weather friend, that I know
You are the honey bee within my flower
Sweetening me when I suddenly turn sour
~ ~ ~
For your love, compassion and so much more
I must tell you, in case I've not said it before
You are treasured more than any work of art
Our friendship is carved deep within my heart
October 20, 2020 ~ ~ From the Heart
Regina McIntosh ~ ~ Sponsor
Categories:
buffering, friendship, heart,
Form:
Couplet
The Painful Facts
The nervous system originates in the brain.
Nerves send and receive signals to feel pleasure, fear or pain.
A baby’s diaper rash causes crying, pain and suffering,
Her torment needs attention , care and buffering,
She is so sensitive to pain, as were you and I ,
The slightest discomfort caused us to cry.
But because this is pain we can not now recall,
It does not mean we didn’t experience it all,
The nervous system is developed in Mom’s womb long before birth,
Of course, most people know this fact, for what it’s worth,
Why else does the babe instinctively move away,
When the medical probe is maneuvered her way?
She does not know the terms “women’s rights“, “choice” and “abortion”,
As she is killed, screaming in a fear and pain filled contortion,
But that baby’s pain simply doesn’t matter in this world of darkened lights,
She missed the boat when the flag unfurled for choice and women’s rights.
Dear child, you are just not old enough to be without pain and fear,
You see, we have too many excuses times one million a year.
May God buffer your pain my little friends when your shortened time is through,
And forgive your Moms and Dads for we may or may not know what we do.
And ask God to have mercy on us self blinded pretend Christians too,
As we vote for politicians who promote killing your siblings and you.
Dedicated to Chantel
This is a repost of the poem written 5/01/2010 in answer to a charge that babies don't feel pain anyway so it's okay to abort them.
The news today 4/17/2012 (AP news) reports that the fetal pain abortion law which recently came about in three states because of the scientific proof that unborn babies do feel pain is now under attack because people want to kill the little ones anyway in spite of their proven torture.
Perhaps some day our society will become civilized and history will reveal these acts for the barbarianism that it indeed is. Until then let's keep praying for our youngest most vulnerable minority friends.
Apparently now, Jan in the year 2019, States like New York have opted to let go of civilization altogether and drown their laws with paganism and child sacrifice. Lord God have mercy on us !? or not?
-Robert A. Dufresne
PS.
ET TU VERMONT ? FEB 20 2019
Categories:
buffering, holocaust,
Form:
Rhyme
So tell me was your soul weaved from platinum gold, liquified hot, bold mold when cold.
Tell me was your soul seamed with blindfold string, piece by piece so effortlessly, spiritually free
Oh baby please tell me was your soul dipped in gleam, a bright white light beam, directly into your bloodstream
Don’t you see your soul fascinates me,
So old, uncontrolled water mold, where’s the threshold, how do I unfold all that you behold
So my soul is so full of grieve, qunderachieved, with a heart on my sleeve
What do you see when you perceive me spiritually?
My soul so bold, not dipped in gold but aged mold, so old, covered in coal, a dust bowl, Aurora circle
Maybe you can see my soul isn’t half as glistening clean, but still it’s a pretty mean warrior machine, buffering to sheen as I speak... could you trust me
Soulful, is so full, every inch of mineral, drenched gold, covered in steel wool, it’s beautiful, are we compatible, maybe my love is magical, or unfathomable, let’s not make this tragical, to be honest I’m a bit radical, maybe a bit unpractical,
But tell me was your soul weaved with platinum gold, liquified hot, bold mold when cold?
Categories:
buffering, beauty, crush, love, relationship,
Form:
Verse
The nervous system originates in the brain.
Nerves send and receive signals to feel pleasure, fear or pain.
A baby’s diaper rash causes crying, pain and suffering,
Her torment needs attention , care and buffering,
She is so sensitive to pain, as were you and I ,
The slightest discomfort caused us to cry.
But because this is pain we can not now recall,
It does not mean we didn’t experience it all,
The nervous system is developed in Mom’s womb long before birth,
Of course, most people know this fact, for what it’s worth,
Why else does the babe instinctively move away,
When the medical probe is maneuvered her way?
She does not know the terms “women’s rights“, “choice” and “abortion”,
As she is killed, screaming in a fear and pain filled contortion,
But that baby’s pain simply doesn’t matter in this world of darkened lights,
She missed the boat when the flag unfurled for choice and women’s rights.
Dear child, you are just not old enough to be without pain and fear,
You see, we have too many excuses times one million a year.
May God buffer your pain my little friends when your shortened time is through,
And forgive your Moms and Dads for we may or may not know what we do.
And ask God to have mercy on us self blinded pretend Christians too,
As we vote for politicians who promote killing your siblings and you.
God bless you Chantel.
This is a repost of the poem written 5/01/2010 in answer to a charge that babies don't feel pain anyway so it's okay to abort them.
The news today 4/17/2012 (AP news) reports that the fetal pain abortion law which recently came about in three states because of the scientific proof that unborn babies do feel pain is now under attack because people want to kill the little ones anyway in spite of their proven torture.
Perhaps some day our society will become civilized and history will reveal these acts for the barbarianism that it indeed is. Until then let's keep praying for our youngest most vulnerable minority friends.
-Robert A. Dufresne
Categories:
buffering, caregiving, daughter, life, people,
Form:
Couplet
There’s a hole in my wall, a beautiful wall,
A hole that’s made out of stone,
It’s where I live, beyond this stone hole,
This hole that’s all that I’ve known.
This wall, it protects, it shields the world,
Buffering from the insane of my head,
It seizes all those thoughts that are flung, are spat,
It censors the ideas that are said.
And this hole allows the world to know,
It allows the world to stare
To see the small bit of my mind
While the rest of my mind’s elsewhere.
Categories:
buffering, introspection, psychological, self, senses,
Form:
Quatrain
She so delicate of visage
Veiled in obscurity
Intangible appearances
Faceted in flowing black mists
Eyes buffering the vagueness lit
Piercing through shadow
Contained within
Turbulent metaphors of dusk
Tempting destiny uncontrolled
Splashing hot crimson
Upon the life sparked cinders
Empathizing too late
Categories:
buffering, imagination, loss, sad, time,
Form:
Free verse
Everyone
enjoys to take
a ride or just
to go for a leisure stride.
Long winding road
Wide and free
or a narrow
straight route
Lure to the eye and for a try
promising pile of trees
on pied each a natural
beauty pride. Lights...
Signals on both sides
Providing travelers a guide
Keeping them always
on safe side... Our
BREATH of LIFE is like a ROAD
Each passing night and day
there's a heavy or light load
Sometimes a mystery
with a puzzle code
Each one efforts
careful to decode
Thanks, THERE IS GOD
that abides... ALWAYS THERE
NEVER ON UNDISCOVERABLE HIDE
Through all blessings
and trials tide. Bumps
and accidents slowing
Even stopping the glide
Problems buffering
life's tide... Ethics,
justice and society snide
they may equal to a lie
Whatever comes
however things maybe
Don't stop; Keep going. Even on a
Dark cocoon... KEEP BELIEVING! KEEP WIN-
NING! a road like never ending until it reaches
a happening may it be a grand or simple celebration of life
what is essential... YOU PASSED EACH WAY LIKE IT'S YOUR LAST
LIKE - IT - IS - YOUR- LAST NOT SAVING THE BEST FOR LAST.. so I never stopped..
Despite heartaches.. Hardships I went through.. I hold on..I keep moving.. Growing..loving.. For at the end of this road there - face to face at last with my Creator.
(C) olive_eloi
10:29am
REVISED: MAY 05, 2014
-------------------»»»»
Contest: Just down the road
Sponsor: Kelly Dreschler
3rd Place.. Praise GOd.. :D
Categories:
buffering, character, christian, inspiration, life,
Form:
Ballad
Oh my God! Am I ever sorry
I may have even forgotten your story
I ask of you to beg my pardon
Again I've eaten from the garden
The fruit is good and hard to detest
That's no excuse I took the best
For that your punishment without refute
Out of the garden I get the boot
I know your son did some suffering
Insulted both with all my buffering
God! Here I am begging your grace
Help me be a good man in this place
I'm going to promise never again
You've heard it before so I'll refrain
Simply show me the right path
I truly fear thy mighty wrath.
Amen
8/17/16
Categories:
buffering, bible, blessing, change, giving,
Form:
Rhyme
buffering.......................................
Categories:
buffering, humorous,
Form:
Monoku
nervous system originates in the brain.
Nerves send and receive signals to feel pleasure, fear or pain.
A baby’s diaper rash causes crying, pain and suffering,
Her torment needs attention , care and buffering,
She is so sensitive to pain, as were you and I ,
The slightest discomfort caused us to cry.
But because this is pain we can not now recall,
It does not mean we didn’t experience it all,
The nervous system is developed in Mom’s womb long before birth,
Of course, most people know this fact, for what it’s worth,
Why else does the babe instinctively move away,
When the medical probe is maneuvered her way?
She does not know the terms “women’s rights“, “choice” and “abortion”,
As she is killed, screaming in a fear and pain filled contortion,
But that baby’s pain simply doesn’t matter in this world of darkened lights,
She missed the boat when the flag unfurled for choice and women’s rights.
Dear child, you are just not old enough to be without pain and fear,
You see, we have too many excuses times one million a year.
May God buffer your pain my little friends when your shortened time is through,
And forgive your Moms and Dads for we may or may not know what we do.
And ask God to have mercy on us self blinded pretend Christians too,
As we vote for politicians who promote killing your siblings and you.
Dedicated to Chantel
This is a repost of the poem written 5/01/2010 in answer to a charge that babies don't feel pain anyway so it's okay to abort them.
The news today 4/17/2012 (AP news) reports that the fetal pain abortion law which recently came about in three states because of the scientific proof that unborn babies do feel pain is now under attack because people want to kill the little ones anyway in spite of their proven torture.
Perhaps some day our society will become civilized and history will reveal these acts for the barbarianism that it indeed is. Until then let's keep praying for our youngest most vulnerable minority friends.
-Robert A. Dufresne
Categories:
buffering, family, life, love, god,
Form:
Couplet
The clown
Circuit circuits
moving round in circles
swings and roundabouts
junctions dead ends
living closures and
beginnings
The fool wise man
woman child in all
posits mocks
understands the world
beauty horror
misgivings paths
ahead and gone
retrieved adventoured
learned felt inspected
long gone present
Re-chisseles
comprehends in
jest and wonderment
The jester
foolhardy
and foolproof
scribes in stone
and pencil
when fool’s gold
is just enough
where paradise
develops based on
hopes beliefs
and inner truth
The clown speaks
joy in face
of darkness
insight desperation
inspiration sweating
away the clouded
skies of dogma
digma paradigm
A joker true to
juddered jibes
jewels miracles
astonished tunes
informal charters
melodies and scented
wordings
bridges schisms
buffering the madness
infinite insanity
impoverished delusion
A senseless idiot
giving idioms
meaning iconoclastic
impromptu impropriety
making sense of what
there really is
A bubble blower
whistle blower
soapy gentle creature
carbolic and pugnacious
peaceful warrior
observing pulchritude
a journeyman
The circuits circle
circuses' loops
and rounded
loopholes spirals
intervening interweaving
fabrics
tapestries
makes
the clown
Categories:
buffering, life,
Form:
Free verse
I wouldn't want you to walk away
with any miscalculations about me.
I am about as wild and crazy as society will allow
without confinement for my own protection.
Whenever I read a self-marketing sign
Please Help...
Vacancies of home and body,
Needing to be filled.
I feel bearers of these signs
of proper society's margins
raw and naked,
erased to try again.
When I notice long-haired grunge,
low-budget nomads with backpacks and shopping carts,
heading toward me asking to not be excused
for excusing relationships they need,
I head in their direction
to find our best resurrection
of civility
together.
My husband begrudges every dime
and points out I'm too wild
for pouring mostly alcohol
or worse down throats
without a home.
He claims they're addicted suicides
awaiting death's forgiving embrace.
But, I say this is too often true
and who am I to judge
those who explore doing their best
of worst available options
through self-medication
mixed with sheltered soups
and public kitchens
serving lines of autocracy's dark drama
Were I or he on that street
rejected by our own history of defeat
I would hope to find those wise enough to stay
with me long enough
to help medicate
lubricate
meditate my way
to suffer with human emptiness
and ask me please to stay,
tell MAGAs all my blues,
sing and dance this suffering
buffering away.
I'm retired.
Have more cash than I could ever need,
and don't want to go out that way,
hoarding funds for those who already have too much
while somewhere out there stands
a homeless sign whose bearer
needs to drink her lunch
at least and most this day.
If our legacy manifests
both what we do for love
and what we do not do from fear
and shame
and blame
If both our actions and omissions,
our positives and negatives,
remain behind to feed up and starve out our kids,
then why would I not choose
to offer social caring
when uncivilized neglect to care is so clearly that of which
this homelessness was made.
Categories:
buffering, happiness, health, heartbreak, political,
Form:
Free verse
Distain, dripping now, from lying forked tongue
Transcending eyes upon shattered back door
Your poisonous breath has filled your black lung
My skin, silky beneath rough hands, has tore
I beg, freedom from bleak endless suffering
How your hands fit perfectly ‘round my neck
My mere flesh no longer is buffering
Your dark, hysterical, heated mad trek
My soul never was yours for the taking
A thought that has never crossed your small mind
I soon shall be dead, my heart now aching
Exposed, now I see that true love was blind
In my passion I had learned to forgive
In my folly he took my choice to live
Categories:
buffering, angst,
Form:
Sonnet
If I had Angels wings, I'd fly around doing good Angel things. I'd sprinkle lot's of Angel dust to make nice people be a must. I'd take away the pain in souls. And help them in their God given goals. I'd help the sick and suffering with good Ole Angel buffering. Giving them comfort, guidance and hope. SO THEY WON'T KILL THEMSELVES WITH A STUPID ROPE!
Categories:
buffering, magic, satire,
Form:
Chant Royal