It’s never about
—what it’s really about
(Dreamsleep: October, 2023)
It's not a crime to be alone.
You barely survived the
turbulence that mimicked a pair of pretty blue eyes.
That turned into blanks of abuse.
You thought he was "the one",
until "it" finally came out of the truth.
It's ok to sit at the singles table.
Read a book on a Friday night. ..or take a solo hike.
I see you've decided to go man hopping...again.
Hoping to pluck the second "the one" from all the slag...
but this time it's different.
Because you're dragging a child into deep water with you....
The truth is the only soul mate we ever really have is ourselves.
That's not a crime either.
God fills the blanks of unvoiced fear,
since each tremor to Him is known
and in His womb the thoughts we’ve sown
borne by ego, in time appear,
which if we allow God to steer,
there’s nothing we then call our own ~
God fills the blanks.
If heart’s pure, we feel bliss beats spear
form; rapture that’s from God on loan,
blossoming as lotus full blown.
When lower mind doth disappear,
God fills the blanks.
12-December-2022
Rondine
A man didn't realize that even blanks will kill if a gun is put to the head.
He pulled the trigger and sadly it ended his life, he is dead.
He fired the gun at his daughter's boyfriend.
He wanted him to think that his life would end.
He started laughing and said it was only a blank.
Then his own life ended after he pulled his prank.
He put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
He died and his family was in need of a grave digger.
I wish I could say this poem is fictional but sadly, it's real.
He'd still be alive if he had known that even a blank can kill.
I died last night
All my worldly goods are gone
That ring you gave me,
it lies in the early spring
My heart with it's last beat
was for you
Recall the good times and
diminish the bad
Look to the sun
but also find me in the shadows
Only keep a few of my things
for the sentiment
Those little worthless things
Maybe remember when
we used to laugh
Maybe replace all the stupid
with blanks
When it comes to my wife, I sure don't get any thanks.
We're trying to have a baby but I keep shooting blanks.
We've been trying to have a baby for five years.
I'll never get her pregnant, that is how it appears.
It's frustrating and it's getting to be more than I can stand.
My wife says that because I shoot blanks, I'm not a real man.
We've recently been discussing going to a sperm bank.
We would've had a kid years ago if I wasn't shooting blanks.
(This is a fictional poem.)
SHOOTING BLANKS
I’m shooting blanks into the day, when I
can’t have my way, and talking to myself,
Of pain, of bitter truth, and lies. I cry,
And leave a stain, a heart in pain – yes, both.
Then love grabs hands, “can’t we just get along?”
My knees drop low, to beg, forgive - he laughs!
Tis all a joke! I’m played as fool! I aim
my hate into his eyes, this time no blanks.
It stings so hard, he falters sweet. I laugh!
This time he cries. He hears me say a line:
“why man, can’t we just get along,” - to mock!
Bang, bang! Your dead! And I am not. I walk.
11/17/2016
When one reaches the heady heights of longevity
frail as in wear and tear physical agility,
a license to look upon each imminent birthday
celebrated by all in sundry but one’s bemused self,
as a reminder of the ultimate arbiter, time
soon to come a calling with his rigid agenda.
With every sunrise this perpetual antagonist
whom delves in give and take creates the perfect diagnosis,
when he allows one a moment to dwell in years of their youth
then a fraction of an anomaly, forgotten one’s name.
© Harry J Horsman 2016
(Haiku or new haiku? That is the question!)
It’s awful, those days when you seem to shoot blanks,
When your poet’s voice just isn’t humming,
Your only sure asset is freedom of choice,
But the titles, ideas aren’t coming.
When Nature haikus seem to float in the air,
Should you give in, just pen a fluff notion,
It’s really enough that you “picture” us there,
With so many adrift on the ocean?
Humanity’s never been so out of touch,
Might not poetry help with the answer?
When fear as emotion is all that we know,
This emotion’s a new kind of cancer!
It’s time for the poet to teach us to feel,
And our standard be passion not turtle,
Our fear of life tempts us to just close our shell,
Concrete images what we must hurtle.
Brian Johnston
May 5, 2016
Idiotic.
Trying to take a jack hammer to
Writer’s block.
A chisel’s more suited to extract
Poetry.
Just
In time corpse shine twilight sun had tainted my inner vision
Twisted
Shooting blanks at the rooster just supose another number feeling somber
Doesn't any wonder?
Torpedo
Torn,
The inclusion within vile pathetic outrage
Shooting blanks as busy as Tyra Banks in bikini eating linguini
Torpedo, remember Frank Serpico?
Frantic in Autumn looking brightly colored orange
In pivotal choices sense of remoseful inclusion
In dirty laundry vile smell who could tell
A window opens air will blow to breath in the steam,
Shouts of glory to untold story morning glory;
Shooting blanks getting lost in the shark tank
Dellusional
Insanity
Romantic interlude toward vanity
In tuned harmony to its hidden beasts menagerie
Shooting Blanks in the phone at the door
At the beach while Mrs. Polly eating a peach.
Fill in the blanks:
_________ shouldn't complain;in faith ____________ should remain.
1-10-11
So what are you called? they call me Jude.
...................................................................
That's a strange name, in fact it's quite rude.
Do you come here often? I haven't seen you around.
...................................................................
I never peeked there, I just looked at the ground.
So would you like anything? perhaps something to drink?
..................................................................
Doing that with the glass would be quite painful I think.
I can see that you're angry, do you want me to go?
..................................................................
My mother's not like that, i would like you to know.
Well goodnight then I guess, I'll go lubricate my throat.
.................................................................
Really? are you sure? wait! I'll go grab my coat.
I would like to thank you for your visit.
I have removed these poems for a distant future book publication.
I believe we poets, can make a difference
in this world. We live in the 21st century,
we have tools( technology), we have our past, and imagination.
We just don't have the courage, because
I guess most are afraid to fail, to loose money.
All I have to say is we can't take money with us,
when we die. I also say hasn't mankind failed enough,
and isn't mankind worth the effort, our children is worth the effort..
Thank you, and my your God Bless you
John E WordSlinger
I am wondering if this is one of those moments
the kind that fit into that loop of tape
playing over and over in my brain
those fleeting moments when you you did not think you needed to pay attention
but realize later it was a pivital moment in youe timeline... lifeline
I remember staring out the window at the grass that had not turned brown over
the winter, seeing it peek through the snow on the graves on the hill
the brilliance of your red dress that summer as it spilled off the picnic blanket
and touched the grass
hiding behind the brick wall of my middle school on my bicycle, just to catch a
glance of you for the last time,as and i would be going on to high school
they are turned down corners in a mental scrapbook i carry... flashes that come
around without warning when i close my eyes in the sun
We used to joke about the soundtrack of our lives.. as if someday someone
would make a movie of or lives
and i would hear "comfortably numb" in the background
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