A tree ignoring me.
Standing quiet and stoically.
Knowing for decades
What we have to keep learning.
The secrets of life that we are always yearning.
He bends.
He sways.
He knows.
Something we can’t quit grasp.
His understanding
It takes cooperating
To live with winds unrest.
Is done with world war 2
We may begin writing
Western Civilizational
Civility
Somewhere, along the long road, we picked it up.
It was light at first, simple and unadorned. Until we added on and changed the rules.
It grew heavier, as our numbers grew, among the mountains and valleys of survival.
Somewhere we dropped it.
It’s somewhere now, not up ahead, but back along the road on which we traveled.
Somewhere, somehow, we need to find it.
That tepid tea, civility,
Is not the drink for such as me!
Thou cusp, thou nib, thou pricket, prickle, tang and tine!
Thy wit lacks width to grasp my line!
when captivity
normally nativity
with civility
Civility is a characteristic I wish to revive
Long dormant in our society, it is so rare
Since we all live together trying to survive
Let’s be nice to each other, showing we care.
I know everything is not sugar and spice
And into “every life some rain must fall,”
But, for heaven’s sake, can’t we be nice,
And get along with each other, after all.
Being polite and courteous in all we do
Not getting involved with the dross of life
Just showing kindness with a smile or two,
Helps us to avoid any pettiness and strife.
Treating others as we like to be treated
Is the Golden Rule, a foundation for civility
Some folks strike out, feeling mistreated,
But being civil is within everyone’s ability.
THIRD PLACE WINNER
Written October 18, 2022
Submitted to “This or That, Vol. 14" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
We have a feeling
my love and I
that it's time to leave.
It is the passing
of an earlier time
for which we grieve.
Then, right was right,
hope was bright,
and civility was ever in sight.
We were free our minds to speak
no need for games of hide and seek
or to be pathetically weak.
Without a clap of thunder
that world is dead down under,
making us wonder and perceive
that it's time for us to leave.
They stole your light
The fire that you worked so hard to attain
Now lies in the hands of greed.
Your sacrifice lives on,
A testament to the ability that my kind can twist;
Even the holiest of holies.
They call it civility.
Its fuel is conformity, a chain that shackles the limbs
Wrapped with a cushioned fabric so you don’t kill yourself.
Their intention is “pure”
Unbiased! It chips away everyday at your soul
When science calls, ready an offering from your flesh
It feeds until you are reduced to (nothing).
They stole your light, son of Iaptus
Prometheus, they worshiped that ember and fed it
Now your fire consumes us all
Like a dying sun that won't set until it eats itself.
democracy: latin roots- philososphy of/as popular civility
- to take away confusion
usa - un-united states of americans
- under statedly artificial
advanced democracies represent the peoples...
via mixed populations of/amongst the peoples...
with several federal parties for/of the peoples...
seeking universal health care for all the peoples...
as a true beginning to equal rights for all the peoples...
voting is NOT for wall-street-clams claiming "we...we're...numero uno
stan sand
The Covidlike phrase slithered into my consciousness,
coiled itself around unprotected prudence
and constricted.
Its bifurcated tongue touched the untouchable,
testing whisps of thought with darts of anger,
selecting venom’s next victim.
Overlapping scales pressed against prudence’s mouth,
squelching her response.
Logic attempted rescue--
came from all directions
seeking this unexpected foe,
while normal dissipated
like mist on a summer morn.
Each time I repeated the phrase
coils tightened,
making venom drip from fangs of desperation.
Confusion overflowed its cauldron,
spilling into and flooding the chamber of id.
I looked for escape--
a response to entice normal to return,
but found no words.
Change forced himself upon me,
overthrowing bastions of prejudice and privilege,
making me repeat his words,
“Silence is violence and civility, complicity.”
It began with a careless remark
Uttered by one of the dinner guests,
Which ignited fury's sudden spark!
Perhaps it was better unexpressed.
Politeness went out of the window,
Good will left by the door,
Late afternoon lost its ruddy glow,
In the wake of the uproar!
Amid the August mess so fine,
Dinner, uneaten, grew cold.
Trembling glasses, spilled the wine;
The day grown quickly old.
Like butterflies, were all disguised?
Did they hide themselves so well?
Was it here today that love died,
Or long before the dinner bell?
Mockingbird sings to a summer night-
After the end, no turning back.
Though darkness is but a shadow of the light,
It is profoundly black!
Red hair protruding from the soldier’s cap
Bright sun and heat, his freckles clearly seen
How peacefully the lad appears to nap
Mae Caulfield moans while searching for her teen
Too young her son to know what he fought for
The gun they gave him longer than his legs
Already two sons dead; they wanted more
And soldiers care not how a mother begs
This “Civil” War is anything but that
Mae sighs on seeing bodies strewn about
She finds her ginger boy, removes his hat
Dry crust against his ear where blood poured out
His gun still loaded, Mom fires one more shot
Now two graves will complete the Caulfield plot
Written January 1, 2019
I pray for the return of dignity
When men spoke the truth, and listened well
Treated each other with civility
If their own thoughts, they could no longer sell.
A give and take with a compromise found
No bullying forced, no blood on the street
When gentle voices are the only sound
When the other side must make a retreat.
Shouting and anger are not the best tool
With mouths open wide, and ears closed to all
If you cannot listen, you are a fool
And you will be destined to take a fall.
We must hear all sides, we must find a way
To work together to build a new day!
In the nick of time, Sylvia’s sympathy soars
Stealing the limelight and plying her trade
Within the context of romance roles
In the month of February Sylvia parades a persona well bred.
Stealing the limelight and plying her trade
Within an ace of breaking a reconciliation record
In the month of February Sylvia parades a persona well bred
Confirming her willingness to strike a conciliation chord.
Within an ace of breaking a reconciliation record
Unchallenged for a dozen decades
Sylvia confirms her willingness to strike a conciliation chord
Surrendering the trump talisman she held for a while.
Unchallenged for a dozen decades
Within the context of romance roles
Surrendering the trump talisman she held for a while
In the nick of time, Sylvia’s sympathy soars.
There's too much civility hanging out here
Will try to create mayhem while drinking a beer
For the common good
Will do what I should
But it may be too much for this mortal so mere
© Jack Ellison 2015
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