It’s the little things you notice
That make other little things in life shine.
Like an overflowing outhouse somewhere else
Makes the flush toilet at home seem great
And how this little thing
Makes you appreciate the greatness of a life
You may have disparaged out of familiarity.
The bottom line is it can always be worse,
But as our day to day life just gets better,
Softer and more luxurious
It’s easy to see our life as terrible
When others see it as blessed.
So which is it? Whose subjective view?
Beauty, comfort and appreciation,
Is always in the eye of the beholder.
Go with the flow they say,
Appreciate what you’ve got,
Because it can always get worse…
(8/16/26)
Summertime, summertime
And homemade vegetable soup
This is no place for fruity loops
Only foods from the garden that rhyme
Oh! Give us soup in the summertime
One writes tomatoes, another squash
Another corn with peppers by gosh
End with dessert a pie from lime
Summertime, summertime
Oh! Summertime
Shoestring budget on a dime
Carrots, potatoes, butter beans prime
Awesome soups, mighty fine
Cut some okra, dream a dream
Snap a few beans then just steam
Cook some cornbread, make a design
In that soup mixture, have some verse
Maybe a sonnet, where love comes first
A stormy day Haiku, and rain clouds burst
Maybe a clerihew somewhat terse
Maybe precise wording, in every line
Just the right noun, verb, or conjunction
To have it just blend in a junction
On soup write, then forever to it consign
with others compared
causing me to seem so scared
for me no one cared
with others compared
causing me to seem so scared
for me no one cared
Each time ringer sounds a bell
He has something big to tell;
Like driver who honks horn
And just few ears would it scorn…
News from Bell as from Horn sharp:
Messages on which lips harp;
A bell gets all men involved,
Sins of lateness not absolved;
Cars’ horns say you could be crushed,
Survivors to doctors rushed!
Each time hitter strikes a bell
Things well might turn to hell:
Fast actions to leave one’s shell
To prevent yells of “Oh! Hell!”
Soldiers’ Horns for Approved Wars,
Bells of churches to change whores.
I find little wrong with lotto.
They don’t play it in a grotto:
Hotels and parks lovers go to;
Camera free with its photo,
On some scene of play priest’s motor.
He knew where the rivers flow to...
Or should we fault the lotto:
It make a thing to say “No” to?
An airplane to stop its rotor?
Then, it is igneous-hard: your motto!
The lotto not like marked gambling,
For which you dropped not keys jangling,
Later on some walls fists banging;
For evening up of scores angling.
Hopes of gain rule the mind in both
But gamblers lots of feared laws quote:
Risk consciousness less in lotto,
Gambling: frequent site in ghetto.
Afford lotto guys could child’s smile
While few things gamblers stretch a mile:
You love gambling, you love some gun;
Mad gambler takes along his son...
So, what little wrong has lotto?
There are holier games to cling to.
China seems to say at all times
Great Movie sprouts from The Cheap Crime’s;
From kicked persons who could kick back;
From nimble moves that didn’t slack;
A herald of breathless combats
And plain request men turn Tomcats,
End victory to Innocence,
Because that’s about what makes sense…
America longs to be god
By always checking every odd,
No space granting “” stereotype
That could off dollars from hands wipe…
Yet, sometimes, their pistols are heard,
Now not by Cowboys with their herd,
A badly stretched distanced mother
Ready finally for murder…
It’s an amazing spreading-out
By a unit which hates to rules flout;
In some films makes sure few guns shout
And for best actors for roles scout…
Picture an industry aware
You don’t image sell like a ware.
.
"mine breathe" says the scop
filled with verve 'bout love's passion
"compares not yourn touch"
One privileges wars and knitted eyebrows
One explodes graceful candy in virtual rows
It was a new routine , one she never tried before
All from what she had seen In looking for more
She had lost her zest and seemed to be burning out
But this was a test where they needn’t be any doubt
She woke up early on Sunday and began to get ready
Hearing what others would say, this she had to see
The church began to fill as she sat in the back
Reflecting upon her will, how every part seemed to lack
More people would arrive then they turned on the lights
Her heart began to thrive at all the beautiful sights
Soon everyone would sing as the priest walked about
The joy this would bring in beginning to end this doubt
But what the priest had said in his sermon that day
Just stuck in her head and would not go away
As she laid there that night thinking about his story
Oh how life is so finite compared to God’s Eternal Glory
Isaiah 40:28
Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable
Shared and Compared
Our food should have shared
For those in need always cared
And their needs compared.
This said it all.
Jim Horn
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx
My love, to you, I think tis fair
That all the world is thus compared
In evenings eye the stringy ray
In mornings stir the colloquial way
Which nature flaunts her sallow cheeks
Or bats a blushing eye indeed.
For in the call of natures wake
Which sun and moon do both partake
No crimes of passion are proclaimed
No hearts abashed are yet ashamed
For sun is star but simply-bold
Drawing nigh the world of olde
And moon is rash with subtle charm
Embraced by midnights wanton arms
Thus sun and moon-what ornaments!
Revolving round thy comeliness
For men of science thus have deemed
Some force or weight draws them-see?
But in a quiet hour I’ve supposed
Thine earthly presence lures them so.
Hence-my love I think tis fair
All the world is thus compared
A field of rose upon thy cheeks
The sound of autumn when you sleep
The slight and fragrant whispering
Of all that nature can achieve
God hath surely granted thee.
Compared to Bungling Idiots
To my poems pretty soon should be immune
And to receive comments I must impugn
Your delightful mind to become more diligent
Trying to find where party platforms went.
What if I put in thumb pulling out a plumb
Could you make a morsel or maybe crumb
For me to try and eat after learning later
Into your camp thought I was an infiltrator.
Trying to keep Hilary hounds at bay again
While cold outside and want to be let in
Changer wanters exist with their dignity
Needing a check which we can call reality.
Two Presidents in White House at same time
Could that be considered a capital crime?
When in past husband he had been there
With Hilary adding more than a fair share.
Why together your teeth continue to grind
When you want to have much peace of mind
And are old resting in your rocking chair
Don's trumpets are creating quite a scare.
James Thomas Horn
Longer Compared to Yours
So if I was such a great scholar
Why do I always hoot and holler
In every poem I have you read
Do you think they fulfill a need?
Are my poems mindless and disgraceful?
Or did become drastic and distasteful
And may even part of a missing link
Have been harboring on being extinct.
If perfect example you are looking for
Might marvel at my poems and adore
Now that I have learned a new trick
Poems won't look like written by a lunatic.
Now to you this probably is no surprise
My fingers flow faster then my two eyes
When on paper writing poems down
And while at screen will I forever frown.
After my poem and mind finally meet
In pursuit of battle with much heat
Preparing new poem that is exquisite
You can be ready to read at next visit.
Why exist in shock or live in remorse?
I now love Poetry Soup of course
Anything my each poem endures
Are always longer compared to yours.
Kiss me until the stitches on my heart dissolve,
and I forget what it feels like to breathe without lungs.
Touch my skin until your fingertips warm my muscles,
and help my blood run smoothly
Your apartment is cold, but your eyes are colder;
emptier too.
Your hands held nothing but bad intentions, not even my own
and as you tossed and turned in-between worn sheets,
so did my mind.
get me out of this bed
give me back my clothes
get out of my head
I know your moves before you make them
your hands, up my thighs
whisper sweet nothings into my ear
bittersweet lies to help pass the time
before the sun splashes into your room in-between the blinds,
reminding me once again
you cannot make a home out of a human.
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