175.
Worthless Workless
Day by day as I wake up in the morning
Knowing that I prepare for nothing
Makes me to rise up unwilling
It's hard being workless
The air whispers I'm worthless
My inner stamina depresses
As the hands of time pass by
And I do nothing but standby
My soul chides me, I just sigh
Being jobless makes me feeble and fat
Becoming disgusting to look at
Like a weak-limbed fattened rat
Without a job, I feel unworthy
To take in meals three times daily
Consumed by aura of lethargy
Oh Lord, deliver us from this abeyance
Give me business or work by chance
Lest I be caught by an ambulance.
-07/18/2012
(Dumarao)
*My Dark Poems Collection
I placed my sword down in the snow
outside the dragon's lair
and breathed in deep the sulfur smell
that hung in the clean crisp air.
and lo' my heart was heavy
weighted down by my fear and despair
I thought of the king's only daughter
whose beauty was both fragile and fair
The reward was both silver and knighthood
to the subject who braced dragon's den
we started out sixteen and twenty
now our swords numbered fewer than ten
and as the snow fell I called to the others
but found I was now on my own
so i placed deep my sword in a snowbank
then with dagger in hand moved alone
the dragon blew patches of fire
but I leapt fast the fiery blaze
to scale fast the neck of the bellowing beast
and drive in the point of my blade
now when snow falls my queen always
chides me; " be still with that old dragon's tale,
don't you listen to a word that he tells you. It
seems he's had too much ale."
So full of laughter my prince chides,
‘This tale is a screwball romance.
Do you enjoy deadpan perchance?
I was swept into paper tides.
They remind me of us besides,
today what else have we to do?’
Gazing into a soul so true
I said ‘ I enjoy a good book.
You’ve entangled me with your hook.
I can think of something in lieu.’
How glad I could be if, like the teaching of the Gita
I can renounce the fruits of each of my tireless labour.
Being a long way from the perfection of Lord Krishna
Midst lost gifts, I'd seek my son's note that I value greater
As boyish, buoyant naughtiness navigated his road
Fun and frolic outwitted his fervour for true wisdom.
Roaming carefree, like a hippy, his youthful trails he trod
My hopes for him were hushed like the glows of a broken prism.
He grew up with his mother dead; I was his all in all.
My chides pierced his heart, which, I know, might be like a knife.
Like a gipsy, with a note, he left; didn't write or call.
That precious note is lost; I feel as though I've lost my life.
Silver, gold, or gems would never match a paternal bond.
Though in the travails of time, bonds tend to fly far beyond
A sun encounters a probing of it,
course a bargain at a remote lea.
Jilt Thistles yields to breeze that never quit,
brush forces the stately Yellow Daisies
dressed, and clips wispy tall grass they'd cornered.
Giving Geraniums, lil' fuss yet mild,
errant gust o'er feral terrain, murmured
along roads of spooled vines, draped plain Pines filed.
Jumping Junipers Jurassic epoch,
weighs low Violets in check of their guides.
Mute untamed bouquet dells, wouldst edged dear Puck,
herald of joys, Baby Breaths, never chides.
Parts spring inseparable their lil' games,
divided droplets formed handheld mirth tames.
He hides the key to my heart
Away from himself, especially me.
He chides me for my want to take part
In his life, because I just cannot see.
His divinity is not mine to claim,
My divinity is longing for his anyway.
I'll wait forever without shame,
For another divine kiss someday.
He hardly speaks, but I love his voice,
Perhaps my purpose is to reassure or sing.
While proclaiming my love with rejoice,
He in a way completes me, always listening.
His divinity always reassuring me
That someday I shall be free eternally
Alongside him, my own divinity in her beauty,
She promises she will wait patiently.
Subjected to futility,
poor Eden now must wait.
Misunderstanding deity,
she’s put upon of late.
Imagining she’s mother now,
she suffers little ones.
Her clarity won’t be restored
until again He comes.
A mix of rage and bitterness,
the storms brew on her brow.
With wounded pride, her maker chides,
trapped in the here and now.
But is her world so different
from our corrupted view?
Her gown, like ours, from red blooms white,
when He makes all things new…
————-
for the Robert Frost’s Nothing Gold Can Stay Poetry Contest
sponsored by JCB Brul
written on 02/22/2023
Pressing lips a kiss
This love has longevity
How she chides her tears
Intrepid gadfly;
the voice of dissent.
Multiple times stricken,
multiple times resolved.
Though he bleeds,
still the pen that chides never bleeds,
nor is it obliterated.
For three decades and four,
death he evaded,
still, multiple times stricken,
evasive he remains.
I close my eyes to see his face,
I bow my head to feel his grace.
He holds my hand when times are tough,
To give me strength that's enough.
My Shiva lives inside me,
Guides me and chides me.
He's my protector and my friend.
He's the light of my tunnel's end.
He is naive like a child ,
sometimes harsh mostly mild.
Lover of milk and wood apple.
His aura can make anybody bedazzle.
He is like you and me,
Nothing grand just ordinary.
He's a paradox and a hyperbole.
His existence is simply exemplary.
Deep in depression when I felt,
I just closed my eyes and knelt.
He was there in my mind,
how could I be so bilnd?
The step I wanted to take was so wrong,
how could I not see , this is where I truly
belong.
He truly touches my heart and soul,
He is the one who makes me whole.
My Shiva lives in my heart,
I know for sure that we will never be apart .
Date: 19/07/21
Contest: Touch My Heart
Sponsor:Regina McIntosh
I wake up with her,
check myself,
eyes creaking like blind stars.
She’s strange, she’s yesterday,
I remember us the week before;
wonder if tomorrow
will fade us both out completely.
We don’t get to know them -
the wives I mean.
Living together we grow
too myopically tangled, and the vows,
the wild love with a facsimilia of what
we thought they were,
the sharing of a frowsy bed,
a grody toilet,
the live-in tales of indifferent playwrights.
We forget to know them
and forget that we never really did.
An ex-wife chides me in my sleep now,
but occasionally I dream of erotic sex with her.
If she had not assumed that she knew me well,
we might be still turning around a togetherness
like hands on a clock, instead of just
doing this body-mike thing to each other.
I am up making coffee.
She comes into the kitchen
deliberately brushing her hip
against mine…nothing strange about that,
but I do wonder if sometimes
she thinks I am someone else.
An earthy smell with whiffs of evergreen
greets my nose as I stroll through Autumn woods.
And the scented breezes smell fresh and clean,
unlike the stench of city neighborhoods.
A pathway of pine needles and green moss
leads me to a grove of ancient oak trees.
And a chipmunk chides me, like it's my boss;
upset, that I come and go as I please.
I wade into a sea of crumbled leaves;
that crackle and crunch with each step I take.
And watch bushy-tailed squirrels, Nature's thieves;
steel from stashes before the first snowflake.
And a murder of crows, cawing above:
seems apropos, for the season I love.
Monday
mocks melancholy
chides children
plagues parents
traumatizes traffic
meanders meaninglessly
toward Tuesday
John G. Lawless
9/28/2020
The lockdown is a knock down.
We can all run back out there!
So we are dancing in the streets.
I drive to town to dance with people.
Yay, for the Covid heroes!
I yell it too, only more loudly.
This strange person I do not know glares at me.
My first instinct is to stick out my tongue.
Really mature my inner voice chides me.
Yay, for the Covid heroes!
Now I get it. It is annoying to be mimicked.
This yell from my least favorite neighbor.
She gallops over to see what I am about.
Going to the store, I tell her. Better be off.
Yay, for the Covid heroes!
I agree they should be revered and honored.
Cherished and lifted onto pedestals.
I have the utmost respect for what they have done.
But it is driving me insane that we are all yelling the same five words.
Yay, for the Covid heroes!
Donkey Neigh flaunted his family, hence Sis, the cat, purred,
"My male ancestors are viewed very well in the Good Book."
Whereupon, Sis drives the point home, "I'll wager you’ve NOT heard,
we cats proudly hail from the Lion of Judah, you schnook!"
"My male ancestors are viewed very well in the Good Book,
we donkeys bore His mother, Mary, to Bethlehem town.”
"We cats proudly hail from the Lion of Judah, you schnook!"
Neigh crows, "Jesus rode grandpa wearing Jerusalem’s crown,
we donkeys bore His mother, Mary, to Bethlehem town.”
Cat nuzzles up to donkey. She chides, "Enough bragging, Neigh.”
Neigh crows, "Jesus rode grandpa wearing Jerusalem’s crown
while those conniving humans planned His fate along the way."
Cat nuzzles up to donkey. She chides, "Enough bragging, Neigh!"
Whereupon, Sis drives the point home, "I'll wager you’ve NOT heard,
while those conniving humans planned his fate along the way,
Donkey Neigh flaunted his family.” Hence, Sis, the cat, purred.
April 11, 2020
Gif #2
contest: Pantoum Rhyme Personification
sponsor: Eve Roper
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