When it comes to creating they story of our life….
chronicling the adventures that have stretched out before us…
may we be blessed never to have allowed anyone…
to do the writing for us.
Categories:
chronicling, life,
Form: Rhyme
Where does one find humour?
Everywhere one looks... at least I do
Others may not see it like me
But maybe I'm just built differently
I was blessed with an oversized giggle gene
It's certainly not a bad thing I guess
Could have turned out to be a serial killer
Often thought I may have missed my calling
But I guess I'm a wee bit old to be starting a new career
So I'm really sorry, youse guys are just going to have to suffer
“Did you hear the latest one about...”
Sorry! I promise to make it more sophisticated
And only post hoity toity type humour like
“Didst thou heareth the most recent humorous episode chronicling...”
Holy crap! That'a really snotty!!!
Categories:
chronicling, humor,
Form: Free verse
These poems I've been chronicling
Are for my children's sake
If I die tomorrow
I want them to have the skills
to watch out for false love
That through my journey of healing
from the sociopath that is their father
They gain understanding and insight
For them to see I truly love them
It's in a mother's soul to protect
her children in her heart
I've wrote poems about love bombing
I've wrote poems about psychopaths
And most importantly I've wrote poems
about true blue role models who can
impart skills for us to use
To be safe and self sufficient in this world
that can take from us if we let it
None of these poems are a seduction for
anyone I know
These are just my artistic soul
Like a love song that's sung for everyone
and no one in particular
To enjoy the artistry of it and take what you
will from it
So be safe my babies
When mom is gone
Imagine me tucking you
under your covers at night
and saying sleep tight
I won't let these psychopaths bite
I love you deeply and completely
Goodnight
Categories:
chronicling, caregiving, deep,
Form: Free verse
From depths of magnified sleep, we'd exchange pleasantries;
elated temples inspired love romantically;
Creating colors
no other has
experienced
instrumentally.
We cast amid
purple sea,
our feet
distant from
jealousy; Our eyes,
our lips and our hands set out chronicling this
moment as select memory.(Sigh) Delighted to awake, cradling love bout me!
Categories:
chronicling, dream, love,
Form: Free verse
Where does one find humour?
Everywhere one looks... at least I do
Others may not see it like me
But maybe I'm just built differently
I was blessed with an oversized giggle gene
It's certainly not a bad thing I guess
Could have turned out to be a serial killer
Often thought I may have missed my calling
But I guess I'm a wee bit old to be starting a new career
So I'm really sorry, youse guys are just going to have to suffer
"Did you hear the one about the... "
Sorry! I promise to make them more sophisticated
And post only hoity toity type humour like
"Didst thou hearest the most recent humorous episode chronicling..."
Holy crap! That's really snotty!!!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Categories:
chronicling, humor,
Form: Narrative
Surrounded by heavy tomes
Chronicling the history of
countless generations
One can only feel a sense of
awe that the weight of
the past has upon the living
A brief look around me
allows me to see the coming generation
Working diligently
to achieve their goals
What will become of these youth
in the next few years?
Some may die fighting on foreign shores
Otheres will die young due to bad habits
Some may achieve great success
Picking up my pen
I try to evoke the scene in the library
of the Borough of Manhattan Community College
Where many different
nationalities
Merge into a quilt of hope!
Categories:
chronicling, education, history, tribute, may,
Form: Ballad
In a dreamlike setting,
Illustrated with dark drab browns
And deep shades of gold, lightly shading
A bursting clock.
Action is suspended,
In a cloud of broken clock pieces,
From the moment of explosion.
Chronicling a time of immense pressure.
Inspired by the,
“Soft Watch at the Moment of First Explosion"
By Salvador Dali
Categories:
chronicling, art
Form: Ekphrasis
As we touch...in the dark,
Our hands read...braille poetry,
Written by ardent goose bumps
...in great romantic sessions.
Chronicling our love,
In stanza after stanza..
...of passionate body poems,
filled with indefinite...
............
.
.
.
............
. ............ . . ..........
. . . . . .
. . . . . ......
. . . . . .
........... ............ . ...........
. . ............ . . .. ............
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . ...........
. . . . . .
. ............ ........... ............
Volumes...of our intimate collaborations,
Grace the series of our body poetry...
Categories:
chronicling, love, passionbody,
Form: Free verse
An outdoor scholar,
Chronicling nature’s truths.
Once rebelled against authority,
Way back in his youth.
With a love for soil,
He relocated to Tuscany.
Over by the mountains,
Of Lunigiana Italy.
A photographer at heart,
With a knack to disperse.
In retail I mean but
Gives his heart in verse.
He is Nigel Fawcett,
The one and only one.
He blesses us with words,
From below the Tuscan sun.
_______________________
A dedication to Nigel Fawcett,
a fellow souper and inspiration.
Categories:
chronicling, dedication
Form: Quatrain
I remember every poem
Mental pencils scribble
Out in your honour as if they’re
Written on real not mental
Paper like the marks your
Eyes leave on my soul
Moments spent lost
In thought writing endless
Lines caging in words to
Mask any feeling
Still scribbling in my mind
My mental scrap book filled
With unfinished pieces
Complimenting your smile
Or those just meant to say HI
Writing chronicling pain
Of relived evils
Unleashing caged in
Masks of feelings
Trace lightly over my scars
Step high over walls
Erected to keep those out
Razor wire fences cut deep
Where there is intrusion in
To my psyche’s wondering
Space predator lying
Awaiting the moment to
Devour my facial sequences
Demons haunting mental states
Of reasoning
Tell me why your eyes
Insist on teasing mine
While I flee your gaze
Inventing clouds to
Haze lines of sight
Increasing the width
Of paths to plight
Tread lightly
For rose bushes
Have thorns
Categories:
chronicling, introspection,
Form: I do not know?
The charisma of his car eclipsed ambition,
By a margin that defined his wife's contempt,
It became a precursor to superstition,
That he'd lose some race from which he was exempt.
As his ego baulked at masculine pretentions,
While his Missus cringed at alcohol-free beer,
The addiction of his sixty-four abstentions,
Were the prison-wall-marks chronicling his years.
He had dreamt mis-matching figures prior to midnight,
But retirement loomed resplendant as his soul,
And some whisper that a risk gives birth to insight,
Made him seek expanded knowledge as a whole.
The excessive engine ate acceleration,
Like an orphan who'd forever ask for more,
But pathetic was his brief emancipation;
When he hit a bus, at only sixty-four.
Categories:
chronicling, funny, introspection, on work
Form: Rhyme