sky is dark in the day,
light as shadows;
their invisible pull on
the girl falling pane;
black star beam
like Van Gogh striking
a frame, memories
clog fingerprints;
mad face of color;
on glass run ghosts,
window is looking in
dancy prancy autumn mouse
threw the leaves around the house
did the Watusi better than his mother
showed a clog move to his brother
did the limbo, did the splits
was full of all sorts of Halloween tricks
dancy prancy autumn mouse
ripped his pants, tore off his blouse
did the chicken dance in the rain
refrain! Yelled his dad. Refrain! Refrain!
But he was too busy dancing to see the rather large cat.
Who made a meal of the mouse who was all that.
The mind is like a system, it has to flow, if it is caged, it gets clogged.
Clogged and hurting it finds a way to release the pressure of the pain or joy it wants to send.
Like thoughts and hurts and happy moments, they want to be out there and feeling grand.
So, like a clog in the drain, our body needs to move and circulate with our own special way of self-regulating.
So, remember if you are in pain, if you have stress, release it in ways that will bring you calm.
Sometimes we can get relief by our favorite sports, like walking, running, or swimming.
Sometimes we pray and release our thoughts in our prayers.
Mind clog can make life hard, so learn self-regulating, and make all your days work like a charm.
I hope my rhyme gives you some thoughts on clogs and self-regulating through this life.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Pushing the envelope outside the box
if only here to accentuate
the many ways in which
emu may emulate
by delivering nutrients' benefits
and what's more
help repair with anti-aging hydrate
yet won't clog your pores
they herd the birds in a mob
not a troublesome job or task
with ladle fire pit pot and hob
'How is it collected?' I hear you ask
as allegedly good for the skin
anti-inflammatory emu oil
is scooped off the bubbling surface
when they're brought to the boil
Sparrows enjoy a certain reputation
For intimacy and hope
Crosby Stills and Nash sang of them
In Suite: Judy Blue Eyes
As compatriots to the morning
Air
With guitar strums and high notes
Truth be told
Sparrows are bulkier than the normal song bird
And not particularly
Pretty
Brown and gray as a mound of dirt
Chirpy jerky punk band
And they have no problem with crowding out
From a bush or bird feeder
Finches and chick-a-dees
They’re kind of a bully
Push around those that are smaller
Who carry pouches of yellow and pink
And tiny symphonies
They clog up my eavestroughs with nests
Right now
I watch one sparrow land on top of another
And the tree branch bends down
Under their heft
Bounces up and down
To their sex
Again
The limb
Seemingly
Waving them off
Or so it tries
As if it’s saying
Get off me you animals.
LIVING IN MUNICH GERMANY THOMAS MANN TOWN THE TOWN OF POETRY MARIENPLATZ TOY TOWN CHRISTMAS TOWN THE PLACE WHERE HUMMELS COME ALIVE WOODEN CLOG SOUNDS IN A DISTANCE UPON THE COBBLE STONE BRATS AND LARGE PRETZEL HANG BEER STEINS ARE SLID ACROSS LONG TABLES INSIDE ROWS OF TENTS OCKTOBER IS NEAR THE OKTOBER FEST APPROACHES THE CLOCK MAKERS GATHERED CARRYING NUTS BOLTS GOLD SPRINGS FOR THE COO COO CLOCKS THE WOOD CUTTERS SAWING TINY MILK MAIDS DANCES MATRYOSHKA DOLLS STACKED NEATLY WIENERWALD SNITZEL AND POMFRITTS GERMAN BLUEBERRY SKONES BECKON MY THOUGHTS CRAVING NAUGHT CALMLY I SLIP INTO MY LEADER HOSEN SIPPING A CRISP REISLING READING JOHN KEATS COMFORTED BY TIME THAT GOES BY
When my ashes are brought home
don’t place them on a mantel
between the tacky Hummel figurines.
Tip them out onto the backyard
to nourish the cabbages.
I am not coming back,
but check the wind once more,
I might blow into the house again
and the dust-buster will clog up.
Do not look for me in the sky,
I am not there,
nor on or under the earth -
please really?
I may appear to you at night
if you lay with another man,
haunt you
if you marry again,
but that’s just me
and my little insecurities.
Also dear, be warned
I still retain the power
to trigger the cat to pee on your bed
if you neglect
to dust my photograph.
Love yer.
This old brush would once brush cleanly
This old brush once smoothed my hair
This old brush once snagged a single strand
When I was kempt and fair
This old brush began to clog up
With the hair that it had pulled
This old brush was like a fur ball
Can my barnet be refuelled
Ain’t gonna need this brush no longer
Ain’t gonna need this brush no more
Ain’t got time to rub those creams in
Nor to tap the surgeon’s door
This old brush served through my youthful days
But now lives in a drawer
If this old brush could be bigger
I could use it on the floor
This old brush outlived its uses
This old brush redundant now
This old comb is all I need now
This old brush must take a bow
This old comb ain’t working proper
Like that old brush always did
There’s a dumb old tufty bit
Of which my comb will not get rid
Ain’t gonna brush this hair no longer
Ain’t gonna sweep it to one side
Cos I’ve got this centre parting
It’s about four inches wide
Ain’t got time to rub those creams in
Nor to tap the surgeon’s door
Ain’t gonna need this brush no longer
Ain’t gonna need this brush no more
A cloud clog of the city that keeps cars
at bay waiting fir the car in the front
to speed fast just to meet you at the light
the loop sends thoughts of madness that
lurks through the Dan Ryan of gain as a toll
is organized to blow some of the congestion
through a different channel at canal sending
you back across the Irish river within the
lights of Wacker drive as the west suburbs
calls you to get off at the next exit or at
Jackson for then and only then is the
union station in sight as you drive through
Gotham city headed south in a westbound
lane causing a blowout on the side of the
road where common wealth Edison buries
the wires for in coming trains while the
pedestrians leave thebtracks like at the
harness racing leaving behind old news
papers for the bums to cover their heads
in the rain or perhaps a comfy pillow
under the police dept at 11 and state
we call it congestion
Written by Yolanda Nicholsen
May 19th 2004 right before my
sons graduation fort myers Florida
Malcolm x birthday fond memories
of the Irish river That's Chicago
My mind is like a river,
And constantly it flows.
Something's always floating by,
Whether or not I want to know.
There is garbage and pollution,
Tossed in by what others say.
If I don't dodge them by refocus,
They can affect my day.
Accusations and false statements,
Just floating garbage in the stream.
Tossed in there by others words,
The ones that want to be mean.
O' boy here comes condemnation,
They are the big floating logs.
They always come, grouped more than one,
My thinking they want to clog.
And of course there's floating plastic,
Made of material like it's source!
I step aside so it can pass,
Because it comes with such force.
Lord, help me focus on You alone,
And not the garbage of man.
Help me to keep my river clean,
By focusing on your plan.
One day I'll gather at your river,
At the end of my life.
Where there's love, peace and unity,
And there will be no more strife.
Traditional Sayings
Traditional sayings that are
widely understood as
being true clog the
arteries of
the strange.
Carolina home
In the great Palmetto State
Place where I was born
Boy was free to roam
On a ninety-acre farm
Free from fear and harm
In dirt, sand or mud
We sandlappers had it all
To work, play, or brawl
Turning the dark dirt
Putting the hounds on the trail
Tussling with cousins
Having dirt clog fights
Making toys out of pine bark
Plowing fertile fields
Running through the pines
Wading through the boggy swamp
Swinging from a vine
Down in muddy swamp
Turtle is called a “cooter”
Anglicized slave word
So my cousin says
Parents were missionaries
Belgian Congo
Many days have gone
Much water under the bridge
Since I left that home
Days of yesteryear
Now, home is where I reside
But memories last
Revolting
political ads
Clog internet
Just dropped by to add to the flap,
a choice between that or a nap.
I’ll clog up the list;
your post will be missed.
Nine more and we’ll call it a wrap!
From out of the lacustrine,dense tract, green
Lining the silent mossy forlorn lake keen ,
Came out leaping and hopping,a fat frog ;
He landed and stopped on a reedy clog ,
As he saw the Chameleon on a stem frail ,
Gripping fast the rush with its prehensile tail ,
Croaking and flicking his tongue around,
To relish one and all the insects found ;
He made his own way on the rich moss,
And back and forth on the spread-over grass ;
His acrobatics envied and enraged the rival
Watching silently with rolling eyes since arrival .
The crestfallen had missed his chance thrice
And retracted to sit still like frozen ice -
Having lost to the place his colour and stance ;
Thrill and anxiety did the crux spell enchnce ;
A surly serpent suddenly sprang,as if to mock
Hissing , out of the crevice beneath a rock ;
It was a measured move -a prize catch ;
The victim was more a meal than a match ,
And went in neatly with a suppressed wail ;
The avenged lizard quirked and muttered his hail :
Pride goes pouncing and swooping before a fall ,
Thus to end up with a whimper, defeat and all.
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