Life may be hullabaloo now,
Perhaps apoplectic,
Conceivably cuckoo,
Or it feels like the
World is ending,
Apocalyptic,
But maybe—
Just maybe,
Someday
I'll be me,
Happy and free,
Like a ballerina
In a tedious tutu.
In the end,
All I want—
Just one thing—
Just one—
Inscribed on
My headstone
“ I have loved,
I have lived”
Plunged in the bleak jet sea
waves swirl indigo pain,
haunted by sharks' treason;
lost soul in nightmare phase
chilled by icy season.
Plunged in the bleak jet sea
algae reality,
starfish harmony dims;
searching for fairytales
conceivably red sins.
Plunged in the bleak jet sea
ebony surf seeps eyes,
mind shaded by grim lies
polluted with regrets
pleading to self-love rise.
Plunged in the bleak jet sea
desiring birds' light joy,
weeping automatic;
flying high is my goal
love is problematic.
So much flavor and happiness in anticipation
Long-awaited events, aspirations.
Simple and nimble to evolve
Something deep in the heart.
What a relief when reality feels akin to fiction
But success is the tenacity to cope with the truth
The resilience to deal with mistakes.
And conceivably to grow out of failures.
Written: March 10, 2023
Earthen songs! from handsome angel throngs, opsoletus
Intervals and spells of the scope of temporal rondure,
A surging of the populus in singulari confluentia
So the book does diagram guthan, guð, and god,
Khute gaia, of poured earth, where legend sleeps
The burial dunes of Zeus, Aether, Erebus, and Chaos
Seasons advance with a tempering of wind’s instruments,
Sweltering bloom to hyperborean calm of frozen seed
Daughters and sons! from cildhama, fruit of the womb
Roaming deeds, of sin and samaritan, per omne spatium
Space of continental breadth or old borough border rings
Century to century in continuo, each end to seamless end
non vigilemus et dormimus in aeternum, of briefest history,
We do not speak of ages dissolved in lights of admiration
Stygian time cannot lie, and there will be other Dark Ages
We now originate and architect machines from the earth
Greater eyes and senses than what natura dedit nobis
What have we committed that we can conceivably survive?
nihil est quod in dulcedinem originis non evanescatin,
There is nothing that does not fade into the sweetness of its origin.
Who can conceivably ignore
A Lion’s judgmental Roar
Or an approaching ferocious Boar
No qualms about disappearing Raw
One ten times or its double sure
That either would heed our Human Law
Or look on as one makes it to some door
To later funnily narrate what one saw?
Who would The Very Grotesque allow:
Oneself deliver up like a Cow
To Enemies’ Murderous Vow
Or to their Intrigue bow;
Today, This Hour, Now,
Hearers asking A Bamboozled “How?”
Imaging one under some spell
Or an hour one’s stupidity would swell?
I reliably detect it in lush colors
Instigations from a distinct era
this sidereal day, the oscine didn't sing
conceivably it is squandered
In the cognitive hourglass
I scavenge for unmistakable echoes
We jumped off the rainbow
Dark stains hide beneath my lids
they stepped
on pure inner bliss
a single dormant desire dazzled
an emotional need whirling in a whirlwind
pearly flawless passion
the finest word of life: I love
Written: April 5th, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
I am a prodigal Son of a gun
Who fears nothing under the Sun
I am a brave and defiant soldier
I am a peaceful gladiator
My pencil is my substitute sword
My pen is my deadly weapon
I write one word at a time, one word
Which can destroy their plan
My pen is like a machine gun
An M16, which spits with a lot of fun
The words, the poems, the bullets
The rhymes, the truth and the pellets
I am not a namby-pamby, a yellowbelly prisoner
Because my mind is free
My mind is free like the air
I have a brain that no one, nobody
Can conceivably control. I am a free Man
I am a Soldier who carries a pen
As a deadly, unprofaned and dangerous weapon.
Copyright © September 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
God’s hell fire for weevil
Like his final for the Devil,
For the weevil is equally evil
To our rice never civil
And to its consumers a rival
Always some marvel
How it ends its travel
In the sealed bags it quarters
And the grain of rice it scatters!
I grant the weevil is insect
But why every grain dissect
And its wholesomeness affect?
Yes, not by a little real
The weevil cherishes cereal
But is it the wisdom of Daniel
And is it conceivably ideal
That holes it punctures in a nutrition
For consumers reserving malnutrition.
Timid upon standing
Flailing at equilibrium
with outstretched fingertips
Desperate to grasp that which is unattainable
for now and conceivably forever
Anguish consumes the frontal cortex
as the lower brain pulls the strings emphatically
Enlightenment is thwarted by an insatiable thirst
for pleasure and unapologetic indulgence
Sedated and aloof
Injected with a serum that nullifies
cerebral interjection
The mind becomes a host
for any poisonous intrusion
Undefended and vulnerable
Trembling in a remote corner
before ultimately succumbing
to a sobering silence
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis
Background of the word: This 45-letter word was coined in 1935, by
the president of the National Puzzlers' League of the United States, Everett E. Smith, in a presentation about the ever-growing length of medical terms.
He coined it to show how ridiculously long medical terms had gained acceptance.
It was created by stringing together a series of Latin stems that,
taken together, could conceivably describe an inflammatory lung disease caused by the inhalation of fine silica dust, a real disease already known popularly as black lung and technically called pneumoconiosis or silicosis.
Source:: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Untitled
Artificial long word said
to mean a lung disease caused
by inhaling very fine
ash, sand and quartz dust.
~x~
ALPHABETICALLY REPENTIVE-
All I want is just another chance
Be it instantly so conceivably
Can I be forgiven even if I preform daily wrongs?
Do I merit such, this much forgiveness?
Every time I sin I call on Him
First my regrets, I confess Lord Jesus I’ve messed up
Give me another chance
Help me to be
I am so very, very, very, sorry
Just need another chance to
Keep in mind
Love is pure this I’m sure
My heart, my soul, my spirit
Never shall I go back on my word, Father…
Oh, my Lord, Oh, my heavenly Father
Please, please forgive me
Quite possible this is my last offering
Release me free me from my sins
So that I may see you again in the presents of the Son
Teach me to survive to stay alive on this ole world while I’m alive
United I stand in your mercies grace
Virtues flow, flowing from your love breast
Welcome I your ever-presents
X out, blot out my sins
You are my Father God, you’re my forgiving Lord
Zealot am I, I am gratefully forgiven
12/17/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Cork The Hole!
" Luv's-A-Leakin "
What does God see, what does He think?
Where will man, his value, place?
Will it be in this physical birdhouse,
or in the crafter's smiling face?
And what if this birdhouse should become
part of your home's decor.
With It's aroma of wood, glue, or paint,
but wait, there's yet much more.
It all began as a labor of love,
conceivably crafted by future Church leaders.
Perhaps, from among them will come Missionaries,
Pastors, Deacons, or Church greeters.
Crafted by small, yet unskilled, hands,
each accomplishing a given task.
And as recipients, you were chosen,
you bargained not, nor dared you ask.
As you enjoy your priceless birdhouse
Think Vacation Bible School, 2001.
Recall adults, sharing their faith in God,
while making this undertaking fun.
While actual birds may never opt,
in your Birdhouse to abide.
You will surely need a cork,
to keep It's contents secure inside.
INCESSANT SUMMER RAIN
In morbid humid summer heat I feign, easily drain
Prospecting for a cool, crisp meandering breeze
Conceivably, nature might spill a gentle "summer rain"
A dismal cloud generates, an inkling of relief to gratify, such a tease
Now I sit in disbelief up upon my slimy unscrupulous roof
Optimistic the local church will indeed appease the pleas
Answer the call and dutifully open its doors , "Poof "
For I live in the crippled, dripping, drowning state of Texas
Where relentless rain & Lakewood megaplex turned infectious
Positioned on my slurry roof I could swear I witnessed Neptune
Eyes ablaze, he was wearing a distinct gnarly grin
Throwing damning lightening bolts and declaring a monsoon
Rooting for the pastor, during disaster, to literally sin
Incredulous Neptune didn't anticipate people together
United would take care of brother & the chthonic weather
word count 143
Another day of endless pain
emotional conceivably hard to explain
wanting more than what you bargain for
trying to get the most out of life
trying to get the most out of life
another day of endless joy
blissfully magically easy to enjoy
seeing the best out of everything
getting the most out of life
getting the most out of life
Extravagant lives are the ones meant to live
Never forget and Never Forgive
you are your actions and we are our words
We try not to fight when our tongues are the swords
Oh na Oh na Oh na na na Oh na Oh na OH na na na
Another day of endless pain
immaculate deception hard to contain
wanting less because you are a mess
getting the most out of life
getting the most out of life
Getting the most out of life
Extravagant lives are the ones meant to live
Always Forget, Always Forgive
you aren’t your actions but still are your words
we try not to fight when our tongues are the swords
Oh na Oh na Oh na na na
Getting the most out of life
Simply softly these guileful feet do trot
Those cavalier whisper my name in glee
Hiding I pray from dear loves noble lot
My attire a smirk, though my voice distraught
I'll squirm far away, yet they be carefree
Simply softly these guileful feet do trot
A fervor shared though I am not caught
Innocuous yet gentle I agree
Hiding I pray from dear loves noble lot
Conceivably hidden in such a spot
Amenity relaxation could be
Simply softly these guileful feet do trot
Quickly to safety overhead I plot
Why does all the attention land on me?
Hiding I pray from dear loves noble lot
Perhaps one day I'll play whilst being sought
But as a cat I may just disagree
Simply softly these guileful feet do trot
Hiding I pray from dear loves noble lot
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