Blah blah blah
blah blah blah blah
blah blah
blah.
Blah
blah blah
blah blah blah blah
blah blah blah.
I stood under the tree
to see how tall I could be
but the roots kept getting longer
and the branches got broader.
The root is what you cannot see
because it is buried beneath the rock in the sea
the core of the root contains the transport pipe
that takes everything to the tree and absorb
all the nutrients from the sea.
I watch the fishermen come and go
rowing from shore to shore
catching big fish in their nets
while they cross the valley of death.
the seas are rough
and they cause the people to fuss
some people made it out alive
but others have to pay hefty human sacrifice
there is something lingering in the sea
that you must bail out for me
it's bigger than me
and it has caused mankind to flee
you must get to the bottom of the sea
to see what that thing could be
It’s terrifying to see
but take courage and get it for me.
Take me to the rock that is growing in the sea
there is something that you have got to see
What could that be?
Whenever my thoughts are numb
A realse from the emotional strain
Though still struggling to find some
Not always are they easy to obtain
Perhaps a much broader spectrum
Not hearing the same thing again
l guess can seem a little humdrum
Though ideas like a run away train
But trying to find a sense of wisdom
Seems l am forever racking my brain
here l am exspanding my cranium
Though l'd say to the point of strain
Old write l scapted rewrote bits taken from
Poems a state of confusion and wisdom written in 2013 rewrite 2024
.
Hello, Ego.
In this contest, I am to disrobe you.
Is that OK? Thanks.
What do I see?
What I expected to see—
Continued Universal Human Cluelessness.
It hides beneath the raiment of all egos.
Here is the Philosophy of Broader Survival.
It elevates your mind above cluelessness
and takes the pressure off of you.
You’re welcome.
Dappled pointless drizzled thoughts,
zephyr voices, shadow moods:
you’ve tried all kinds of games to play—
where your glance-born sunlight fits,
where your whispered meadows lay,
when the seasons autograph
your worn-out practiced smiles…
I have but eleven remaining lines
to wax poetic over you:
to sate your clueless need to shine
while posing on a cloudy ‘morn;
that blooms when basking in the dark;
that you will eventually leave behind
when I straighten-out your wayward mind
with a future mode of deeper thoughts
sitting in your lap today,
just beneath your clever lips…
I’ll then see you, disrobed, in a diorama
In a museum’s Wing of Cluelessness.
.
I finished writing in my head
And reached to type it, but alas
I dropped the text, and it fell dead
Just crashed to pieces, like a vase
Words on the floor at random order
Glint in the sunny afternoon
I wrote them narrow, they get broader
And jumped away, to die too soon
Words quickly rot, but some look fresh
Like fruits in autumnal decline
Few nouns shine, like burning flesh
Verbs ill-begotten, spilled like wine
Visceral fear I tied with hope
What was the purpose, can’t recall
Hopes rolled like pebbles down the slope
And fears ended with great fall
Words on the floor, farewell, my dears
I need to clean the room today
Brush off the trash of hopes and fears
They weren’t needed anyway.
On the seashore, stretching endless,
There stands a lighthouse, a beacon of light.
Staying alone, it faces the roaring waves,
Guiding lost sailors and ships aright.
It often watches thundering breakers
It doesn’t command them to be still
Nor chase the brewing storms away
But sheds light poised on a rocky hill.
How many stories a lighthouse has to recount!
Stories of havoc, plunder and shipwreck,
Tales of escape from the fury of typhoons,
Of love and romance enacted on the deck.
Each lighthouse holds a mystical allure.
Broader at its base and narrower on its face,
It has a cylindrical and tapering shape
And stands as a sentinel with a piercing gaze.
In each one, there’s a lighthouse shining within
It guards us from all storms brewing inside
Shedding light along life’s murky tracks,
Leading us to coveted destinations like a guide.
The danger zone gets broader
Within four walls I hide
Got window holes in order
From where I look outside
After the sun goes down
And green turns indigo
There’s nothing to be found
I haven’t seen before
But I can sense the air
It never smells the same
Since you’re no longer there
The air can’t call my name
Connection drops, then fits
To drop again too soon
The birdies treat the trees
With melodies of June..
Poetry is what happens when your mind stops working, and for a moment, all you do is feel. ~The 2nd-century Greek philosopher, Atticus.
giving lip service to trending topics
might ensure a broad reach
with ample accolades
but does the multitude
actually read the words bleeding on your page
written to the heartbeat of fear?
history does not prepare us for the reality
where we are now adrift in uncharted waters
our voices drowned out
by a tsunami of opinions
even in the legend of Noah’s ark
the basic human need of a partner
is understood
I don’t have a need for the populace
but an innate need of you
just to sit with me
as we ignore the broader reach of Lilith’s shadow
washing over mankind
People talk of the birds and bees
As a placeholder for the broader world
Reproducing in fecundity along with May flowers.
But there’s a deeper reason for the association
And it’s the sight and sound
Of them being relentlessly busy.
We notice them, their flights
And their buzzings and chirpings,
And more importantly we feel those sounds
In our very core,
A vibration that relieves of us stress
Releases endorphins
Makes us whole, and thus holy,
And reminds us
Maybe we too should take the time
To dance and sing, and build our nests
In the rejuvenating comfort
Of spring’s warm embrace.
(5/3/26)
My windows were wide open.
I learned to think broader,
I used to see the broader picture through my windowpane.
My wider views never taught me to squint my eyes
when it was time to look through others' spectacles.
I felt human bonds were made in paradise:
thus I evoked all the pain.
Failing to endure all the mental tortures from humankind,
doubts are evoking in my mind;
I don't know if that was just a green screen behind my windowpane!
It’s over now, I am at rest
This is my little home
With my head looking to the west
I’m lying here alone
I’m done, but did I ever live?
Nobody gives a damn
I had to take, I had to give
According to some plan
I don’t remember the details
I had that great idea
About getting on a plane
To fly to you, my dear
But fortune swiftly turned away
My passport was returned
Without a stamp, they changed the play
This was part of the plot
They didn’t charge, but criminate
Deprived me of my rights
Forever grateful for this fate
I didn’t curse and fight
It could have been much worse for me
I’m glad they didn’t seem
To know that we were living free
Inside our precious dream
So that was it, until one day
And afterwards it went
A little humbler role to play
More letters to unsent
You see us clearly from above
And in a broader view
Those ashes know about love
Perhaps more than we knew
You say we’ve gone a bit too far
I'm back, my little man
You must remember who we are
And what will happen then..
“Your ocean lives- some depths unknown;
perhaps new life- a cornerstone.”
__by Poet
Oh, Arctic Ocean, you are one of five-
smallest and shallowest for sure.
But you are deeper in places
covered by ice all year, perhaps with unseen life.
Your continental shelf is broader than the rest
with underwater features that
impact all species' great diversity
in managing climatic shifts.
But, will your freezing temps begin to warm
and sea ice start to melt away,
to change the Global Climate and the rising sea?
With this, you play a crucial role.
For those who have not traveled far
to feel the beauty of such Arctic grace
can see in videos the bluest pristine skies
that frame your glowing crystal caves.
Your calving scenes so mystify
as giant blocks of melting ice fall in the sea!
Though smaller and shallower, to compare,
your might and beauty rise above!
Boys To Men
Of twenty-one years, the world
A boy's path becomes a man's
He stands at a new threshold
The future is his to forge
With a strong and knowing mind
He takes the first adult step
Leaving boyhood behind him
Girls to Women
At the door of her new age
She leaves her youth far behind
A woman steps out to meet
Her world where she'll make dreams bloom
Future's hers to shape anew
With courage met every day
Boundless capability
Neutral to Potential
To your new, twenty-first year
The past two decades recede
The world is a blank canvas
Your own vibrant path unfurls
Embrace what you will become
With heart and a broader life
The future is yours to shape
Just smiling, shining & indivisible,
All at the broader punch!
Alone approached the dependable,
Before-head a worst crunch.
My heart heading innocent,
Gave-up myself, my soul.
Wasn’t sure of the pretend,
To her, just in a joule!
She went, her shadows too,
Broke my heart in a bitter truth.
Cracked the confidence inside a blow,
I am at North, she’s at South!
You certainly would have,
What I had been living,
Yet, you will have,
What I am having!
Crayon Box Dreams started song of my life.
Song sung from carefree innocent childhood.
Mellifluous music, I couldn’t wipe.
That ran in prelude-interlude-postlude.
Childhood passed, entered in adolescence.
World extended, becoming brighter broader.
Life spreading scattering different essences.
Youth showing colourful spectrum in splendour.
Vibrant dynamic youthful days were gone.
Ran sublime serene seniority.
Lost importance in next generation.
Felt misfit holding no priority.
Crayon Box Dreams still calling in last phase.
But all obsoleted : Dragging dull days.
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