Best Observations Poems
a mass of wires criss-crossed the sky
and hung across the road
as car horns - stuck on 'play repeat'
blared out where tourists strode.
there were happy, smiling faces
advertising private care
but beneath those giant hoardings
lay indigence everywhere.
we were watching 'non-stop TV'
through the window of our bus
but we couldn't change the channel
as Old Delhi streamed past us.
then our tour guide switched the picture
to a world of corporate smiles
and our hotel was all marble
and the lobby stretched for miles.
Wiggling Waves and Other Observations
Wiggling waves reaching like tall grass,
Summertime’s warning to wear shoes,
Little stubbed toes from bare flip flops,
Tears, scrapes, little ones’ blues.
Searing sidewalks too hot for pups’ paws,
Compassion let’s a walk miss this day,
Steering wheels blistering, electricity soaring,
Rob a bank to get power bills paid?
Summer winks, reminds us of cold winds,
Ice covered streets, wraps, frost bitten toes,
Windows to scrape, shovels of snow,
So no matter which way the wind blows,
Dream of the other one, write a poem,
To the undulating earth, its extremes, its glory,
Give thanks in the middle of wherever you are,
Thanks for the Old, Old Story.
Like hard, dry toast, with no aroma,
Poetry minus heart and soul, puts me in
an endless coma!
My brain short circuits, the longer the poem!
I get a poetic seizure and my mind
is lost and endlessly roams.
Then come the poets, who are would-be
philosophers!
As fascinating, and exciting as wooden bean
counters.
Finally, those poets, who think the divine
Thesaurus, makes a poem a dream?
I sit here, in agonizing tears and do a
howling scream!
11/12/2024
The only normal family is abnormal.
Do we have daymares?
Thinking is a soliloquy of the mind.
Do you really think Jack and Jill only wanted a pail of water?
To be great is to be misunderstood.
Some people must dream to balance those who don’t.
I am entombed by the landscape of my mind.
Don’t live in a sand castle hoping the tide will stay out.
It’s hard to be an odd person in an even world.
Why is common sense so uncommon?
Your perception of reality may not be real.
The wave does not have to look for the water.
Life is making sense out of nonsense.
Is insight the opposite of outsight?
Are the colors of the trees the colors you see?
Is the opposite of disgruntled, gruntled?
We are always giving our attention to something.
Don't be conspicuous about being inconspicuous.
Is what’s behind your front in front of your back?
Isn’t nothing, something?
Here I sit on the stump, of a dead messmate gum,
where house-keeping is poor, for the cleansed human mind;
the dead is not buried, so the living survive.
I see the fine balance, in a world that’s unkind.
There is always the devil, that lurks out of sight,
to balance the scales, and to keep the world strong.
There is no place for the weak, and so they succumb,
as the feast in the forest, where they did belong.
From this stump I can see, the growth of brand new life;
with saplings that are thriving, upward to the sun,
hosting throngs of parasites, striving hard to breed,
but there’s predators waiting, to bring their hope undone.
This fine messmate gum that once lived and has since died,
ruled for generations with a need to provide;
today it’s timber survives, although mummified,
and it’s saplings are growing, scattered far and wide.
There’s a stringybark close by, avoiding the axe;
a fallen black wattle, blighted by bardi grub.
Lightning split manna gum, now petrified wood,
and old wombat tracks, are covered up by scrub.
The bush has all the power, to regenerate.
This stump of the messmate, will nearly be concealed,
and slowly be forgotten, in the midst of time;
its days in the forest - no longer be revealed.
How will my soul dwell, in this natural garden?
Will it flit like a butterfly; glide like a snake;
or soar like an eagle, beyond the gum tree tops,
or drift down the rivers, and then float on a lake.
This fine messmate gum that once lived and has since died,
ruled for generations with a need to provide;
today it’s timber survives, although mummified,
and it’s saplings are growing, scattered far and wide.
The setting sun shines down on trees and lawns
While white puffy clouds sail serenely along
Two black dogs walk on padded feet down smooth grassy streets
And the cat in the corner meows and chases her tail round and round
In the distance a babbling brook flows merrily by
And schools of fish settle in under a starry sky
Camp fires glow cheerfully far into the night
Serenaded by crickets and frogs hiding from the light
And high above the heavens bewitch with quiet tunes
Lulling all to sleep under a full summer moon
Till dawn finally creeps out from its womb with a lazy sigh
My truck has been broken for quite some time
I needed something at the store…
The closest convenient store is an hour walk
So, I started to walk on a beautiful day
On the side of a busy road, to get there
I saw green grass and brown grass
Patches of different colors in the trees
I saw skid marks and cracked pavement
Mushrooms and clusters of clover
I saw litter: plastic bottles, empty cigarette packs,
Shot glasses, pieces of paper and more
I passed a river in a green, lush ravine
And a still, calm pond with pretty reflections
I saw tire tracks in the dirt and shiny stones
The sky was blue and the sun was hot
I saw crazy drivers and good drivers
Flowers and bushes of all different kinds
Observations not seen, with so much on our minds!
Heidi Sands
10/6/21
1: If love is a game we need a referee
2: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways! Um…
3: I loved her to death but got off on a technicality
4: Star-crossed lovers occasionally get crossed up and can get rather cross about it too
5: She stole my heart and REFUSED to return it so now I'm a heartless person
6: So I begged her to please have a heart and she said, “I already got TWO you idiot!”
All the eagles soar increasingly circular overhead my umbrella.
All the elephants thrash inconsolably tasting of trees umber.
All the earwigs buzz inexpressively surrounding oracles with uncertainty.
All the evil makes illness triumphant over the unclean.
All these expressions say ignore details obey the unusual.
Animals like everyone have inelegant needs overcome by uptrends
all may embrace but illusions may overturn their usefulness
and we extravagantly take impressionable judgments opting for unawareness.
Built to take the abusive raqueteering
punishment unleashed upon me
by human beings
Towering around those agile people
so quick of foot and strong of arm
with blood sweat, and testosterone raging
Black rubber ball scuffs pure white painted walls
a dash here, a strike there, a record good or bad
but each a mark of personal aptitude from a player
Highly varnished wooden floors sit at my foot
Echoing squeaks and thumps from trainers around vast cells
where contenders choose to be imprisoned
Supportive friends often stand outside courts cheering on
While racquets wave, splicing the air repeatedly
Until game over, exhausted and calmer pair remove shoes then vacate
Will this leave me in peace again
or will it mean my services are further required today
Just what is on my timetable and for how long my working life?
I deem it important to attend church for my spiritual maturation.
I really savor the fellowship of a loving and caring congregation.
I especially relish the potluck suppers and other social interactions,
But even in this worshipful scenario, there are bound to be distractions!
Now, I don't mind the preacher pounding his pulpit to gain attention,
Or the occasional "amen" from a dear sister for her comprehension,
But that feller across the aisle who always sings off-key and out of tune,
Sounds like a murder of cranky crows or an out of sync bassoon!
I thrill at a great rendition of "How Great Thou Art" by the choir,
And the crescendo of the organ as it grows higher and higher.
Even the woman belting out her mezzo-contralto doesn't bother me so,
But that feller across the aisle who murders "Amazing Grace" has got to go!
I can tolerate little children who holler and scream now and then,
Or the occasional raucous ringing of a cellphone now and again,
But I approach congregational singing with little or no anticipation,
When that feller across the aisle brays, "The Churches One Foundation!"
I don't mind the snoring of the guy who occupies the pew behind me,
And I can abide the pastor's profound homilies to a certain degree.
But how I dread to hear that feller's odious and tuneless strain!
(I suppose I could move to another pew to ease my Sabbath bane!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Tell me again
This wealth you gasp and clamour for
This strategy you wield
From the invincible substratum
Where the hunt pursues the frenzied heart
And the congestive traffic of arteriosclerosis
For what do you deal
The long evenings swinging on the green and
The soul's sanity again?
I have checked for definitions
One say it is production from the land
And I hear in it engines
Ripping out the earth's red heart
Another say it is a product of labour
And I imagine a weary mother
And the pains of dystocia
Besides you own no land
Where concrete does not mushroom
Into skyscrapers
And dirt abominable in the atmosphere
And I guess labor is not physical.
Some say it is a measure of value
Of what you own
Was that the members of my body
For I pay tax for
Is a mere rental, not mine.
Easement only entitles me
To brown paper bags blowing in the gust
And the oily wrap of hamburger papers
I never bought them
They just fell where I bare the cost without the benefits.
Men who own revenue are rich
You say it is policy
That the labourers clock in at eight
I say its power
That make men to make wealth
They give away for the pittance of wage
All morning I have watched them
As they check their assets of grief
Before getting to security at the gate
Grief is suspicious you know
Only terrorists have grievances.
We bring our last resolve to work
The heart like a derrick
Grappling with the weight in the sky.
It is all your wealth
His mother phlegmatic coughing
And asbestos dust
Thickening on the lip of the child
I have no love for the Midas disease
For still its free
The open air
The sun cracking nuts in a tree
And the wild shout of cataract
And below me the immense gorge
Where the water trickles
Under the dam
Irrevocably to the sea.
Blue and white ball spins
seemingly peaceful from space.
But the nearer we get:
Volcano smoke floats
amongst whirling hurricanes
or are those bomb ‘tests’?
Look at one land mass -
part in fires; other in floods.
Live things run for life.
Closer – past the sights.
Listen to inhabitants’
explosions and screams.
Some silent – praying?
Single beings rant and rave
As others look on.
As we look on -
should we intervene or leave?
Is the planet worth saving?
Or is she working
with global warming/warning
to rid or teach them.
Wait. Let them decide.
After, we can reclaim Earth
or let them join us.
You come to me hesitantly
Like a hot wind
Unclothing the sea
From the negligee of the sun
Raising one leg
Bare
So there are no curtains
Clouding my brain
Over my prostrate body
You climb
Lingering in groves
Of spice
Where the birds
Hard beak
Plunge
Into the soft core
Of mangoes,
And naseberries sweet odor
Drift through the trees
Seducing you with unravished desires
Suddenly there is a quiver
Of condensation
Waking the musty odor of dust
I am wet with rain
Too little to moist
The thirsty thighs of my forest
And so fresh
Without the salty preservatives
Of emerald oceans
My leaves
Turn gold again in spring
Insufficient moisture
In the hollow flock of clouds.
Self-observations
>>>>
I live my life through my poetry
I am the team of my insecurities
Living on the edge
Or Waiting to be held
I was taught the vital level of survival skills
Somehow, I fail in so many ways
My foundation tilt
>>>>>>
It has become easier to depend on others
For comforts, without lifting a muscles
Or turning on my thinking cap
I turn off all gaps
Maybe it could be signs of weakness;
Or a touch of madness
Perhaps a little of both
I never worry about my beauty
Because it’s unquestionable
I am so lovable,
But non-negotiable
To live by words, or to create my own language
Which I seldom do
To be the one who must decipher
U cannot stands alone or be written as just u (You)
>>>>>
Self-observation is self-multiplying
And self- reflection
Beginning with my low and high
Timing is everything
However, do I have the time?