Can you hear the absence of bickering,
the snickering, snide remarks and animosity?
The pomposity of inflated egos in blogs
that just shouldn't be taking place.
A blog without the chance for someone's
feelings to be trampled and hurt~
Just once~ humor me for creating such a blog.
The gate creaked, moaning and groaning to shut,
Sealing up, quelling, the bickering blame-game glut.
No you can’t sneak around, and jump the fence,
With grave looting cries of grief-stricken offense!
That won’t work anymore! So don’t strut up on-bail,
Clad in your ghostly godforsaken gossamer veil,
Claiming it was not your fault, 'cos you told no lie!
For snake-eyes have tears that very quickly dry!
The gist was far to hollow, for back-sliding disdain,
So go! The gate’s locked - you won’t get in again.
For Aunt Carolyn, in memory of Uncle Dennis
They were just teens outside a gift shop door,
He said, "Come on, Darling, let’s go explore."
With a wink and a grin, and her hand in his,
They stepped into life, not knowing how rare love like this is.
From navy bases to state lines they flew,
Boxes unpacked and smiles that grew.
Never a house—always a home,
Because love made each place their own.
He’d kiss her forehead, she'd fix his tie,
Even their bickering made cupids sigh.
Like teenagers dancing in a kitchen floor war,
Even their "fights" left you loving them more.
They held hands through hospital halls,
Through birthday cake crumbs and late-night calls.
And even when life was painfully tough,
They reminded us all—true love is enough.
Now she stands where he once stood near,
A bit more quiet, but holding him dear.
Because the thing about love that’s truly true—
Is it doesn’t end. It just waits for you.
So Aunt Carolyn, brave heart, please know this is true:
He’s just ahead now, saving a seat for you.
Still saying with that boyish grin so clever:
"Come on, Darling... let’s do forever."
Angie and Ruby, the Honky Tonk Women,
wanted to paint the honkytonk. Their heads started swimmin'
when I says, "Ruby, Tuesday's a good day to paint.
It should be sunny, but even if it ain't,
I'll have my radio blasting The Rolling Stones.
What kind of colors you want? What tones?"
"Paint it Black" says Ruby, but Angie, she says "white".
I says, "Tumblin' Dice can decide which is right."
Ruby said, "We got this old black paint from DuPont -
Angie, You Can't Always Get What You Want".
I painted up the honkytonk, nothing more to discuss.
I gazed at some Wild Horses, and picked a mean ol' cuss,
tired of all these women folks's bickering and fuss.
I had paint Under My Thumb, and my clothes were in a muss
as I saddled up the horse, thinking, Some Girls are pretty funny,
and I won't paint no more honkytonks for that kind of money.
What I see in stars above is extremely wearisome,
with useless inane details that I wish I never knew.
Light years, space-time, black holes, big bangs,
myriads of pricks 'n specks a billion miles away - who cares?
I've been over-dubbed, deluded, and robbed,
of the romance, songs, stories,
and delightful spiritual legends
that ancient master star gazers saw
in stars above.
Hunter and archers with sword, belt, arrows and shield,
A veritable zoo of animals - lion, ram, bull, bear, llama, emu,
goat, scorpion, fish and severed heads, under arms.
Pots and pans, the scrub-a-dub dish that
ran away with the spoon.
Regal Heracles, Achilles and Troy in battles raging skyward
Bickering Gods, Virgins, Kings and Queens with kids and twins.
Action-men Pharaohs, wannabee Gods,
leaping from pyramid tops,
onto the ladder of the Milky Way, which is -
The River of Heaven, Road of Souls
The Spilled Breast Milk of Hera the Mother God
The seed-strew pathway the mighty Emus trod,
pecking their way,
In stars above.
We all should get out and look up more!
Gazing with ancient eyes into the sky above,
reveling to see and enjoy what they saw,
in stars above.
Beneath bickering brass, bluebirds balance beats on baritone branches.
Words clash, sharp and loud,
No bridge built, just walls rising,
Nation's breath held tight.
©bfa050825
Sunlight finds a gap
between two bickering stones—
moss builds a cathedral.
i wake up in the morning
on comes the news
same foolishness and bickering
same pettiness and insanity
same old sh*t different day
shake my head 'cause here we go again !
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
An Ice Fishing House, Abandoned, in Need of Repair
That same shed waits
by the trees.
Waits on its skids
for the lake to freeze,
and the for the creaking
joints of bickering
stoop-shouldered men
as they push it out to the center
of a pool of glass.
It houses the stories of fishing
in winter, pulling sustenance,
wriggling, through chiseled
portals into another realm.
Old men would wait
like death, slow,
their breath
turning to steam
until they could abduct
their prey from the world below.
Trout would flop
with the thickness of a muscled fist,
striking ice like distillery rage unhinged.
They would twist and corkscrew,
mottled black and silver slapping
the frozen pane of the lake,
waiting for suffocation to take them,
as the old men drifted up in
the steam of twice-warmed coffee,
and the willow-the-wisp exhalations
of ribald stories, retold, and finally forgotten.
Poetry has died replaced
with raining madness cunning
thoughts battered heart
bickering minds the absence
of simplicity a calming time
the laughter of Amos and Andy
reading of Langston Hughes the
braising nesting belligerent from
Ernest Hemingway mingling with
this fondness of Robert frost
the bold sassiness of Maya Angelo
mastering the crafty sinking mental
turmoil of Virginia woolf needing to
die to be heard cradled beneath
painful sighs of Emily Dickenson
brillantly craving morbid hints of a
pastel death blooming tangible
lessonscovenant only by dramatic
hues canvases Jane Austin's youth
bestowing the missing pieces to
caressing thought of the creative
mind separating emotions embracing
thee enchantment of the galloping
Greek muses within a moment of
silence poetry is simply no more
• Will you, won't stop your yapping?
• Leaving me scornful with my foot tapping
• Should you, need you waste our time?
• Bickering about needless and petty things
• Do learn to mute it sometime
• 'Cause my leave will leave me with glee
• With the knowledge that I'm finally free
Sandy sat staring down at the cracked photoed frame. Two little smiling princesses playing in the mud. She loves traveling in her dreams, imagining glowing and bickering in Juane's sweet sweet nectar as in the framed photo.
But the hornet came buzzing, bringing forth a reality of pain She knows not if Juane was more of a lime or a bitter leaf With a scorching desire to thwart her lustres and thwack her wounds while she sang a song of purity on the streets. Confusing all with her orange scent and ravishing strides.
How Sandy wished to travel once more
Where Juane could never pierce a dart to her heart, Where she could once again be a smiling princess together with her beloved SISTER Juane.
When I chose to be a witch, I gave up true love
I love to be alone, 'cause eventually people really bug
There is too many mind-games & selfishness in humanity
Thanks, but no thanks - I wanna keep my sanity
Everyone's always in it in the end for just themselves
There are way too many far too gone - they can't be helped
I believe that those that do not bring to the table - don't play
And when the times get rough - they never do stay
When bickering begins, there's much too much of each other
(I'm sure you wish you were doing another)
Like she once told me - when the cat is given - they change
But once you catch on - they then become enraged
If it's not their way, it's no way at all
(Says the motherfvcker, too afraid to fall)
Love is oh so temporary - and only convenient for the moment
If it's gonna be forever in your eyes - then fvcking show it
Compromise, show attentiveness - do little things
'Cause everyone knows what a healthy companionship brings
Quit going into something new - thinking they're like your ex
Why not give everyone new a chance - then see what's next?
Between my thicker and thicker lobes
Lies a much less thick wick
Which reflects a dimmer and dimmer glimmer of what was once brimming with more than a shimmer of hope and optimism
Two parties bickering and flickering
While a third party that many think green has a luminous base as it soaks in combusted blue and red particles
Yet its growing flame is unable to sustain as what it has absorbed is erratic and wanes and leads to a slimmer and slimmer glimmer smoldering to a simmer and ultimately leads to a blue or even worse red flame that my cerebral struggles to cortex.
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