Best Launchpad Poems
Happy Birthday your getting old
Never mind we will wear a blindfold
forty six aint that sore
I should know been there before
just failing sight and creeky legs
and we usually get left with the dregs
But hey just wait another few year
Male menopause to look forward to
mid life crisis will arrive
Flashy cars for you to drive
skin tight jeans you will wear
I'll tell heather to prepare
So today your birthday dont be glum
Sit and smile for what's to come
cause forty six aint that bad
Just think of it as a wee launchpad.
By Kate Mcnaughton For her wee brother James. x
last dance with her dad
happy tears mixed with some sad...
honeymoon launchpad
YOU? Why are YOU up in here, all on the prowl,
looking closely at me, causing me to scowl?
DUDE, can't you see anger set in my jowls?
I just arrived brand new, so I still remember
how my last life ended one cold September
when someone - YOU - forgot to yell timber!
Are you listening, seeing this face, witnessing
my expression of disdain as loathing clad?
You scad ... what, huh .. what DID new Mom call you?
NOT grandad, no - no, that cannot be true.
You and me, related .. that I cannot do.
The angels must have placed this wee doodad
on the wrong heavenly infant launchpad.
Oh, me, just great - I'm already living mad.
I will always wonder what sort of love we had.
I was naive and blindly infatuated.
You were seventeen years older than I, and sad.
From the beginning our shaky love was fated.
We had met and I fell, but patiently waited,
a fact for which both of our families were glad.
Even though we spoke with words insinuated,
I will always wonder what sort of love we had.
I wonder if we were a curious dyad.
Was this acerbic love become hate belated?
Only God will decide if this is good or bad.
I was naive and blindly infatuated.
Love faded rapidly after we had dated.
I wondered if I should remain calm or be mad,
I questioned guilty feelings that were created.
You were seventeen years older than I, and sad.
You were time-worn, emotionally armor-clad.
I understand now you would never be sated.
You bore the spirit of an unsettled nomad,
from the beginning our shaky love was fated.
Achingly romantic dreams I had created,
a basis for lifetime togetherness’ launchpad.
Alas, I have become confused and frustrated.
Tomorrow, in a renewed search for Galahad,
I will always wonder.
Death’s Bouquet
by Odin Roark
Graves give much,
Willing wafted memories ride
The raven’s wind.
Into other air
Where spirits claim dorsal view
Floating beside trumpets jazzed,
While barefoot chil’en
Walkin’ the early talk
Stomp blues drifting skyward
Clinging to cawing beaks
Echoing wisdom’s chorus .
Voices wale discordant grief
Beside caisson rolling through new dust
Atop cobbled history waiting
A preacher’s new launchpad.
Bellowing spirit made to wait
As chilling cloud churns music’s air
Into jasmine colored layering
For a child’s sketchpad of crayon
Skipping across hopscotch chalk
All
Hitchin’ up-drafts
Atop silky black feathers
Passing over death’s bouquet
The fragrant moment moving on
Viridescent wrench
adventitious
sparks prompt
yet
cloned camouflage
for psyche’s
rue’d quandary
withered wisps
nebulous
blind sweep
to bolster
plangent paean
of
helium hinged
extraneous
life sojourn
brazen folly
as
crimson cordon
ushers blurred
mystic squall
quirky quilt
engulfing
behemoth blemish
post sequence
encrypted kismet
punctual launchpad
to
wizard woo
violin mesmerizing
allusive pluck
sun-dried spiccato
bouncing bow
on
ear adorned
murmuration
intaglio instant
pregnant alms
luxuriant
gazillion gust
oe’r
hint endowed
sky syndicate’s
phantom limb
an
opulent cascade
ubiquitous umbra
bequeathing
lush serendipity
propitious prism
shadow conjuror
of
lilac lavishness
tangibly material
as
cerebral chakra
intuits rapt
sublime sublimation
2015-05-20
Morning
This small fragment of my daily routine,
bathed in, drowned in coffee and cream.
When the animal inside my head awakes
my world rocks and rolls, quivers, quakes.
I love the morning, a rocket to the sun.
Launchpad, countdown, three, two, one,
zero, liftoff and another day’s begun.
I just wanna have…
…and I’m gonna have fun.
‘Nuff said!
I’m walking through the rough roads,
Losing traction in my current situation.
There is no scheme or death trap,
It’s a springboard to my launchpad.
A stirring is taking place during this hour,
Disruption and shift are in motion.
It’s getting messy and uncomfortable,
I sense climate change is in effect.
Discouragement comes and goes,
But life won’t be full of woes.
Lately I’ve been stressing out,
I just hope it doesn’t take me out.
I’ve survived tough roads in the past,
So I know I’m built for this, and to last.
Another chance to grow and learn,
That’s what milestones make a major turn.
In the midst of modern day's fray—
The leaders with dispiriting sway,
—make the youth feel small and humbled,
Their potentials wilted, withered, crumbled.
Education, once a glittering star—
Now merely a launchpad.
The city's fruitless search for jobs
Entices graduates to farm-filled blocks,
Certificates, once signs of our worth,
Now bind us to soil's sun-kissed earth.
We struggle on the land with pride,
—though the dreams are swallowed, denied,
Forcing us to compete with those—
Who never drank of learning's hose.
Oh! Great Spirit,
What nation have we become inside?
Where education's light no more shines.
The bitter fruit of jobless hours,
Turns bright minds into danger's flowers,
—fraud, the fickle fortune-teller's chariot,
Lures many into ritual's dark lair,
Prostitution's shadowed bower.
In this land where hope is strained,
—where life's bleakness is ingrained,
Our nation's youth must fight to survive,
Their future's not a given, but a strive.
In this land where wealth's a shield,
—integrity's a toy to yield,
The lower class is pushed aside,
—their worth rejected, seen with pride.
Offices, once merit's seat,
Now dance to wealth's deceit,
While empty heads with cash in hand—
Lead the masses in a merry band.
Connections, the thread of power,
Weave the fabric of corruption's tower
Bequeathed of the faculty of
balanced return, of equilibrium,
turning the totem burn of caloric expectancy,
cause and effect
translating universal machine dialect
satellite positioning itself in the physics of
affection, affinity, sistered brotherhood in
reality check of relative fee.
Beneath the atmosphere, here,
clings one to another like faded dusk
to a pregnant dawn.
As he leaves, she returns, again
to meet him in circular run.
In Fibonacci launchpad portals of
action and reaction chained to loop again.
Chi and grace turns,- will and space.
Like a cog that swings the pendulum scale,
weighing relational phi in the window of pi?
Certainly in the window of possibility
where the harmonic scale is like two dragons
chasing each other's tales,
hooking claws into foothold of reality,
like a fitting piece of harmonic puzzle poetry.
There is no facade here, no illusion or trickery.
Science is poetry and poetry is the science
of the mind in artistry, intertwined.
Everything with potential, dependency.
Yin and Yang,
of the divine.
Eternal Surprise Productions presents
the It's Time For Your Enema show
bringing news of the day coast to coast
reading every offhand inflection
as though it were a rescue beacon
from the constant din of battle
between intensity and superficiality
being close to utter annihilation
I can recklessly speak these equations
without fear of instant retaliation
does being a case of political neutrality
make you an international arms merchant
knowing who is doing what to whom
while dodging the cosmic stun gun
manifold low hanging clues lying about
a do the math cesspool of exasperation
which sure as hell has proven to be
a reliable envelope that salts our times
while the bounty of human invention
winks and sparkles as dew on a leaf
willing a more pleasurable landscape
bouncing branch twitter birds dart
among dahlias blooming like starbursts
before the pillars of signal relevance
subject predicate object modifying
in any sequence durable or not
in my swaying tree top launchpad
tethered to the great psychic magnet
leaking secrets of collosal dimension
to the passenger list of the Titanic
riding in a sea of treachery and amnesia
wallowing in the new amusement
then lightning struck him 3 times
Prayer Summarization
Miracle Man
3-15-2022
My tomorrow’s are uncharted save by God,
and today a brief moment in His time.
Let this day be spent not behind a facade,
as any mountain placed before me, I climb.
Let today not drown in innuendo, but fact,
not repeating things, thought to be untrue.
Always considering others before I speak or act,
and my thoughts today be centered upon you.
Help me not become engrossed in newsy things,
for most broadcast news only highlights the bad.
Help me find joy in whatever this day brings,
viewing today as my tomorrow’s launchpad.
Amen
The man with launchpad hair glides by
Glowing orange in the mountain view
A red balloon bobbles by his side
The other man holds his diaper high
Blows bubbles and waves a magic wand
Hand in hand both men dance in circles
Skip right off the cliff together
Or is it to the left of heaven
As the media suggested
They kiss the world good-bye
Off to see the wizard and Jesus in the sky
And as many other constituents who can fly
Morning Musings
For 3/14/2020
By: Tom
life is an assemblage of days,
linked together, both good and bad.
For many, only a short phase,
for me, it's been Heaven's launchpad.
molecules in body become aligned aware
purification a process of mind
equanimity the reachable finely tuned kind
keeping balance is a high welfare
pain and pleasure in equal measure
Faith Patience and Love together
Sun needs Rocket and Launchpad
Most High is Ascension and Grounded
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