Who could not be happy,
When surrounded by,
Hearts that beat day after day,
Week after week,
Year after year,
To bring me good cheer,
And Love that is unconditional,
Always congenial,
To keep the negatives at bay,
.
Now I am happy to say,
My heart has picked up the beat,
That works a treat,
In making my life sweet,
Making my life complete,
As attention I no longer need to seek,
Every time I speak.
if you want your conversations to be
more stable,
Never having to sleep in the stable,
Then conversations over the breakfast table,
Or the tea table,
Whenever you are able,,
Will give you a life that is more workable.
A day planned at the table,
Means no dishes in the sink,
or on the table,
No crumbs on the floor,
As you are heading out the door,,
Giving no reason for the slamming of the door.
Congenial conversations over coffee at your table,
Brings others to the table,
Who will always respect you and your home,
Whenever you are home,
To enjoy conversations at your table,
So, you can have a life that is more stable.
I collect kindred spirits . . .
friends who become like family
people congenial and compatible
honest, trustworthy, compassionate
people akin with me in many ways
bound and amalgamated in thinking
affiliated, unified in most things
we are stuck like glue . . .
think and feel things, emotional
though, at times have different viewpoints
which we each respect
we love the same things
birds, fauna, walking, nature
gardening, art, music, hearty debates, writing
and talking over coffee for hours
and thus we are forever
kindred spirits . .
We need to feel the cheer and inspiration of meeting
each other, we need to gain the courage and fresh life that comes from mingling of congenial souls of those working for the same ends
Quote by Josephine St Pierre Ruffin
Publisher and Journalist
We mingle with like minded people here
across this worldly spectrum we appear.
A melting pot of thoughts turned into words
each one unique, when passion has occurred.
Yes, writing is a solitary game
however when you think, we're all the same.
Our universal language when we write
when mixed together makes us all unite.
Therefore, we mingle in our hearts and mind
creative forces seen when we're combined.
We are our words when all is said and done
We bare our soul with each and everyone.
There was a congenial soul
who said, "Please come into my hole!"
It would be just divine
where the sun doesn't shine -
"Mi casa, su casa", said Mole.
When I met him, he was hungry and homeless.
Rumor had it that he once played basketball
for the infamous Harlem Globe Trotters.
Three traits that I observed in him would
have proven great for any area of endeavor.
Reuben was bold, persistent, and congenial.
His BOLDNESS did not render him arrogant or rude.
Although our first encounter was eye opening
when he suggested his own breakfast menu,
I found it to be nonthreatening but humorous.
When he continued to drop in for a meal day
after day, his PERSISTANCE was dully noted,
making it difficult for him to go unnoticed.
In spite of his size, looks, and offensive odor,
Reuben was a very CONGENIAL person. He never
resisted or hesitated to conform and comply with
whatever was required of him. He always quietly
agreed, not because he was desirous of a meal,
but because he was simply a very genuine person.
Greet me--Spring sprite,
fresh, docile smile,
whose whispers woo
with hymns of lover's tune.
Enamor me with fizzy phrases;
As doting night enthralls,
with stars,
the bashful moon.
Cove me within
thy bossom's veil
of plusing neverending
blazing charm.
Congenial hover, as clouds do
to pacify and gently soothe
the brassy, heated,
brazen flaming sun.
Dreach my dreams
with valiant gales
of furor baron's
kisses gained.
Like Nature's gift of life,
revive the plains' drought
with cloudburst of
Heaven's inundating rain.
Covid
commiserate, conjugate
circumambulate around the
circumference of the
continent
covertly circulate
in the crevices of
confederates
cramped, crawling,
crooning in the
cavern of
Copulates
we concurred
that the crisis
was going to confabulate
Covid closure
clamped and comorbid
into crass and crumpled
consternates
constipate crush
collapse and confiscate
curious conjugates
carelessly canned
into cisterns of
congenial but classless
contaminate.
i cannot continue
to calculate
the cost of our
confusion.
Why is the sky blue? Asked Jimmy
Fantastic question!
Why indeed?
Why did The Creator
Whether God or Science or a Scientific God
Choose blue
Instead of forest green, pale yellow, or maroon?
Is it because the day seems cheerier
The world brighter
The people friendlier
Due to the color overhead?
A Mount Everest of evidence shows
Humans are happier
Outside
Under the blue.
So, why do we equate blue with sadness?
Certainly, blueberries are one of the most congenial of the berries
And Superman always dazzles in blue.
However, I suppose not all blues are the same.
Midnight blue is complex in color and to contemplate.
Almost all have gazed hypnotically into its majestic fluidity.
Many onlookers discovered hidden inspiration and birth.
But, some couldn’t see past darkness and conclusion.
Blue, sky blue, and midnight blue
Among those shades lies many lessons
Including the fragility of stereotypes and prejudice.
What’s that Jimmy?
You only need an explanation to relay to science class?
Oh.
Sky color derives from air molecules and wavelengths of sunlight.
Is that the answer you’re seeking son?
The whirlwind of time drifts my soul
from life rooted transient in the present
to the distant desolate nowhere
where I was once, but left forever.
That’s the fading past receding fast,
yet to be abandoned and obliterated.
Out of the shadow of perennial future,
creating the convivial flood of copious love,
time cascades to inundate
the lavish landscape of life sculpted
in my mind where dwells the desire of perpetuity,
the deathless dream, eternity.
The entrancing memory undying,
subsists in the restive recess of the past,
as my enticed bird soars
in the fleeting firmament of the present,
spreading the dreaming wings to embrace
the halcyon horizon of the future.
With the imperishable soul,
afloat in the sublime sea of timelessness,
wafted by the congenial longing wind,
I’m on the sanguine sail,
yearning to get from time's magnanimity,
the surreal gift, eternity.
Ice cream and jelly, with a punch in the belly.'
Is what some in Britain Abhor.' Boris is in
Trouble, he blew too big a bubble, where he
And others did abide.' There is agony and much
Beration by the media of the Nation about who
May well have lied..? Er I mean died.' Yet i find no
Contention. On arms shipments and war intentions?
From any who, debate or decry ' about lockdowns
Such shockowns while B L M protests spread wide
How can he be so wrong? Yet also right? For so-long
While his sucessors continue in that war like stride.'
What of the elders, in throes of dementia? or now the Myocarditis high tide ' if he's wrong in his house party's
Though we are not all smarties ' surely history will itself
Truth decide.' Is there poison abounding? in congenial
Surroundings? Addicted to rampant turpitide ? How sick
Are 'lost leaders?' Who took their nation blindfolded on
A fear churning ride.? Forget ice cream with jelly and great
Bloated bellies.' Smile and turn well aside ' make no talk
Of sound reason, rejoice in silly season April fools days
And santioned genocide.?
The wheel of time carries my soul away
from the life rooted in the present
to the distant desolate land
where I was once, but left forever,
that’s the fading past receding fast,
yet to be abandoned and obliterated.
Lying in the shadow of the perennial future,
creating the convivial flood of copious love,
that time carries on its cascade to inundate
the lavish landscape of life sculpted
in my mind where dwells the desire of perpetuity,
the deathless dream…immortality.
I like to see the entrancing memory undying,
subsist in the discarded recess of the past,
for the soaring bird of my love
flies in the sky of my present,
spreading the dreaming wings to embrace
the halcyon horizon of the future.
While I drift with the imperishable soul,
floating in the sublime sea of eternity,
and with the congenial wind of love,
blowing on the sanguine sail,
I yearn to get from the stalled time's magnanimity,
the surreal gift…immortality.
_______________
December 21, 2022
For A Brian Strand Premiere Choice No 55 Contest
HAPPY CAMPER
Cultivation of thought with in the heart
That has been seeding in the soul
Journey of the bare mind state
Agitated, while the lifeline is Un whole.
Designing the stream of desires goal.
As time fly's for what is untold
Digging deepest heart of the intellect's gold.
Unwrapping mystery what has been fold.
Following the cycle, revival of the wounded existence.
Up in the hill taking your consciousness talking of its presence.
Persistence of scintillating essence.
Foundation of your livelihood under pressure and pain
Foolishness of awareness for the manhood
Maness and madness laconic repressor of the chain
Disdain oneness, openness of choice
Brain damaged, flawless lack to entertain
Humiliation abashed the self-concept
Simulation of nature without any intent.
Here and there Notion of right or wrong.
Congenial sound of the soul's freedom song.
Beating in muscle like twitch vibration.
Happy camper for the melody of revelation.
[9/17/2022 7:48 PM]
Must we debate the virtues of a period
Or even a comma at the end of a line?
As poets we will do well to remember
Sometimes no punctuation, at all,
is just fine!
Then there are those who use ellipses
Which mean nothing when and if, in fact,
The line which these little dots follow
Is completely devoid of the meaning
it lacked!
A word on the absence of the semi-colon
So absolutely necessary in congenial prose,
But in poetry is almost never employed;
Absent in almost all poems, scarcely missed
I suppose!
Written September 24, 2022
As time passes by, people pass through
In all walks of life and ways of behaving
Most are congenial, but I’ve noticed a few
Who, apparently, have an inane craving
For causing a ruckus whenever they can
For the life of me, I can’t figure out why
They enjoy riling, and getting out of hand
But, I am thankful they’re in short supply.
Their type explain why we always have war
[Oh, on a much smaller scale, to be sure]
These people who have a burr up their a***
And want to spread around their manure.
They seem invested in getting their way
Always expressing a different point of view
Being confrontive and oppositional, I’d say,
It appears they have nothing better to do.
I appreciate many diverse ways of thinking
Knowing my opinion isn’t always the best,
But when I discover my attitude is stinking
I try to back off, giving the situation a rest.
Written August 16, 2022
[***the British pronounciation
rhymes, well almost!]
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