I filed a thirty page legal bill of complaint
about some things that aren't right. They certainly ain't.
I bought dehydrated water for a buck thirty-five -
how could a gentleman think to contrive
to sell me this product...without any instruction
(resulting in my home's near total destruction).
When I used too much water, it created a flood.
It flowed out of my house and turned into mud!
Truth is not for everyone --
some prefer lies...some prefer
dyes, and not natural soul color.
Some prefer love~ and some just mouth
the word...never to be heard nor
felt deeply nearer the heart. It's like that with
most things, the prose and cons of openly
living as opposed to falsely revealing:
Some contrive a story-line, while other
authors bare their internal organs, whether
well or wildly diseased! No composition
ever entirely cured beyond remission,
the literary beast, fed, caged,
though only temporarily appeased.
Haiku in English a strict 5/7/5
the most difficult to contrive
Tanka adds a couplet 7/7
show then tell the poetic leaven
FANTASIES
It’s said that fantasies are not real
But will reflect how you may feel
One more memory each can steal
Causing emotion to well up inside
Even when you’d prefer they hide
It is what happens if you speculate
Even fantasies are deeply personal
A funeral mourner, hearse and all
When one will become emotional
Thinking of death but staying alive
It is a difficult balance to contrive
Relief when it can finally dissipate
Fantasies excite, but can also scare
Yet I have none as far as I’m aware
But if I had, then I would not share
Some secrets should never be told
But quite possible they may unfold
So I will just leave you to anticipate
Merlin's wand brushes the sky,
As the sun rises with a groan.
The caw of crows are harbingers
Of brightening days tomorrow.
Full rightly is the special one
Seated upon the Stone of Scone.
Prayers bring full circle ancestors,
Whose Book of Charms they borrow.
In four more days is Christmas Tide.
Here Nature waits.
The tree alive.
These words are shunned
By Rome's contrive.
This good day gives each a gift
To the person by his side.
Sealed now with song of return,
May Earth, in wealth, be well-supplied.
In four more days is Christmas Tide.
It is fallacious to pretend
we contrive to “become ourselves”
when there’s no one to observe us.
Mere mice with conceits of grandeur
prowling proud like cats in the night -
Hubris holds high its hoary head.
We are ever just whom we are,
we can’t be more and can’t be less
until finally we are not.
The dishes can wait, they have waited before,
All my work problems, I’ll simply ignore.
The email pings call, they too can wait,
For I'm on my break, to procrastinate.
I’ll slouch in the couch, maybe stare at the sky,
Watch clouds drift by, as day's cares pass by.
My brain is in neutral, my worries on pause,
I’m doing my best to never show cause.
With coffee in hand, I’ll stare at the wall,
Pretending I’m thinking deeply, pondering on it all.
The world can wait, it won’t implode,
While I forsake my workaholic mode.
Stuff the to-do list? Do nothing at all, that's the go!
The churning of tasks is set to real, real slow.
A nap sounds good! Perhaps a little snooze!
I’ll wake refreshed, with nothing more to lose.
So I'm clocked off for now, I'm just taking five.
If you call me in, with can't-wait excuse, to contrive
My break will become ten, even twenty-five I'll yen.
Perhaps I'll take the whole day off, once and over again.
So here I sit, without a care,
Switched-off in my comfy chair.
Learning the art of taking a break
Goodness gracious! Am I still awake?
Here is my boasting I am hosting
If I could I would contrive a spacious
Garden flooded with all roses!
Mesmerizing magical Magenta
Roses! Iconic idealic indigo roses!
And the most bountiful bodacious
Brilliant bluest roses! Which the
Eye can bearlying perceive aah!
Yeah. Nothing. Short of MAJESTIC
REALITY!
Cyber poets seeking buried treasure
filled with rushed rapture A.I’s hurried;
Robotic words never ringing no soul,
outraged console steady lagging;
Pop goes the weasel suddenly alive;
Bourgeois contrive it’s meant to be;
Left a jack in the box out of control
technology stole all the word docs;
Infinite is always within arm’s reach,
victims of a breach much too often;
Criminals that dip into a writer’s mind,
the destructive kind with quite a quip;
Murderous impersonation DM’s,
virtuous victim’s dark liaison;
Laying waste to the pen’s process it falls,
there’s nothing that calls or will impress;
Desperately seeking any sparkle,
you are not mortal and you’re stealing;
Cyber poets they cannot look within,
weak source of jargon without a hook.
Mind marooned
in complex convolution,
obscurity singular
in each living entity.
The psyche silhouettes
unique elements,
to alien attributes
they won’t adhere.
The reserved recess
hides the riddles,
sub-conscious search
completely clueless.
Probing entreaty,
the preserve persuasive
of outside world,
can’t contrive
the forsaken mind.
A pining prisoner
of own making,
a crumpled cocoon in
introvert isolation,
I see subsided
all the faces fading
faceless in oblivion,
me wedged secluded
in egoistic web
of self-adoration.
My morphed mind
turns Nemesis,
makes a mirror
of mirage for me.
Gazing gripped,
lurching to the oasis,
it’s only me
I always see,
reflected radiant
from cobalt cauldron
of the luring lake,
confined content.
In self-veneration,
a pretentious perspicacity
of fake facsimile,
I notice Narcissus
in me lonely lurk.
A secret switching
over to obsession,
specter senseless
lies latent,
languishes listless
beneath brazen layers
of arctic acuity
in the dark,
frozen…
Writing my poem while sun comes low
While queen's song plays on the radio
Where poetry and music contrive
The seeds of faith come alive
February 7, 2024, PST, SPC
WORK IN PROGRESS
Why wait for a muse to get inspiration
When the words are there in your head
If not in the brain, perhaps in the heart
As seat of emotion and passionate drive
Where all feelings must escape to thrive
Creativity fails if reliant on concentration
Try detachment and an open mind instead
Ideas always find you, they need no chart
For that special connection one must strive
And free thinking can keep that hope alive
New ideas may emerge from recreation
Some fly away, others are heavy as lead
But capture and nurture is a good start
With no limits to depths one may dive
For old and dusty words one can revive
Short term memory loss is an aberration
And rapid recovery may work as is said
But it is like pulling all the strands apart
Yet creative success can suddenly arrive
Much better than what fate can contrive
Any finished written piece brings elation
Despite the stamina meter dial in the red
Yet celebratory drinks can taste a bit tart
Was it your own work or that of the hive
As there’s still no good rhyme in line five
______________________________________________________________
Will I descry my consort before I settle?
Always ecstatic but never got a medal
Abide by the authentic route, even if slowly
I purport to originate, although closely
No difference in inducing if I am late
As long as I reach my destination, sedate
I won't strain to delight everyone I meet
There's always someone who goes deceit.
Instead, I contrive on my own fate
Leaving no whiff of evidence, a cold case
I strive to stay relevant, to clutch weight
Learning from past experiences as I retrace.
No one has sustained anything from me
Nobody ever got out with it, do you foresee
Justice won when my door was kicked in
Justice revealed the culprits were jailed within.
If you can't stand the heat, avoid the kitchen
Since the kitchen stove is waiting.
My hand folds in awe with every sigh, God-given,
I grasp and cherish life's depth relating.
I am not what I look to you;
To my soul I am always true.
Because of it, I am alive.
God, out of it, joy I derive!
What is good or bad my soul knows;
On my character, light it throws.
For my sake, I let it contrive.
God, out of it, joy I derive!
I would like to be what I am,
By not involving in any scam;
I follow my soul to survive.
God, out of it, joy I derive!
How will the robots remember us?
I’d like to think they’ll write poems in some
Style they develop for themselves, contrive
To move their electron-shifting hearts,
Inheriting our passions good and bad,
The joys and bitter miseries that they
In their birth and evolution never
Thought or ever dreamed we had.
Related Poems