We had the way sent from above
then kept the parts we like,
and handed back the rest and now
we don’t even think twice.
It’s like it never happened yeah,
just like it never even was,
but there is no escaping it.
It’s coming back because
He’s coming back yes, it is true
then how will things play out?
In one day can we just adjust?
We know that life’s about -
having the opportunity
to learn to live his ways.
So then how is it possible
we’ll change in just one day?
We won’t, don’t fool yourselves
because we’ve played this all so couth,
we’ll someday have to face the fact…
we can’t handle the truth.
Firstly I loved a Libran who seemed so fair,
He lives his life with a certain kind of flair,
Yet over time showed he never would care
About the ways I would leave my heart bare.
Secondly I loved a Geminian man so couth
He listened to me even when I spoke truth.
But after few years, he took me for granted,
I felt a sudden silence left my heart slanted.
Thirdly, finally, I met an Aquarian so perfect,
I fallen so fast for his sweet, cool intellect.
I love him for all of what he is and has been,
I want to be in his future in which we win.
I loved through all three air element signs,
I indeed tried each like they were fine wines.
But now I see, fate was simply preparing me
To be mature enough for my true destiny.
It took but a bit
But used my good wit
To write what I writ
I'll try to use couth
And write about truth
Be it black or white
Be it wrong or right
It's just what I write
By chance I wrote wrong
What's writ all along
Then, I'll sing your song
And let me be bold
That truth could be told
It may not be true
According to you
It's your point of view
The thought weighs heavy on you,
Unworthiness is no mere common flu,
Spreading throughout your flesh and bones,
Beating you with your own cast stones,
Fallacious sickness hurled upon your soul,
You contemplate your toll,
For you think only you can pay,
The brain a malleable clay,
Imperfections pointed out by society,
Causing depression and anxiety,
But to many, a hidden truth,
There is the Holy One's couth,
A covenant made in blood,
Preventing another flood,
He has and will bare this weight,
Do not forget Jesus' state,
He carried the cross for you,
No matter what you do,
Do not let His acts be in vain,
This unworthiness must not remain.
I go here, I go there
I can go anywhere
I talk to him, I talk to her
I am confident, that's for sure
I do this, I do that
I go where the adventure is at
I work hard, I work fast
I make big bucks, cold hard cash
I found someone, we settle down
We have some kids in a quiet town
We make some friends, we have good times
We have come to know life dahling as simply divine
The kids grow up then leave the home,
we find ourselves all alone
It's not like before, when in our youth
A little bit different, and done with more couth
One of us dies, who will be the first
No matter what, the others heart will burst
"I'll take it from here". we gently say
As we say goodbye at the end of that day.
The pulpit of the womb
Is not the alter of the devil’s tomb
It’s not the deception of
a dichotomy of love
Death holds its breath
While a world calls evil good
And life death
The snuffing out of
All the naturally conceived of
The plagiarizing of
God’s creative wisdom
Grieve not the Holy Spirit
As the Spirit hovered Creation’s waters
So He hovers The Church
Seeing to it that The Body is birthed
The path of the pro-death agenda
Leads to a place He will send ya
And yes its ambiguity of my part
To call it a place
The place that is in the pro-death heart
All the hate that is spawned
As it rises on a dead world that’s dawned
The baby killers
Pornographic thrillers
Autonomous willers
Hollywood beguilers
And the common all the while-lers
Know its wrong but suppress the truth
Unrighteousness for couth
Let the Holy Spirit do within
Otherwise, it’s the unforgiveable sin
I am called Ruth, Ruth was my first
since then I have been hailed and cursed
by other names. This one is couth;
Ruth was my first, I am called Ruth.
The name means love, it's biblical
like the Ruth therein - merciful.
Never letting push come to shove,
it's biblical; the name means love.
I'm not ruthless, I forgive flaws,
straightforward, I want no applause,
precluding guile, daring kindness,
I forgive flaws, I'n not ruthless.
I have a hope in this brief life
to live my name in joy, in strife,
to show God's love, to help folks cope.
In this brief life, I have a hope.
A couth poetic platypus,
Choosing words that are never rude,
Carries a heavy blunderbuss,
And softly croons a platitude.
Close up, on the smooth couth
meretricious pod, vibrantly
violating my optics violently,
even through the microscope.
Its swarthy stare is maliciously
resplendent and evoked from
parsimony.
Nature's beauty is suicidal.
pulchritude through lens,
but a spike to the neck.
Even in risk, identified ignorance is ignored.
veracity is a voodoo doll,
if you toss it out it re-emerges like
a comet
relentlessly.
the microscope aggrandize on its perilous magnificent shock.
like an arboreal boat it is shielded but
pops in agitation, adjudicating what
personality to adorn.
It feels like a placid charade,
for toxicity comes with respect
and beliefs, adherence.
just like a horse belch loyalty
and a den of destruction
her seeds swell calmly in hot dosage bean.
opulently lethal.
I see her dancing high on the bed of pleasure
through the microscope, with feets enveloped in predicament and her lips covered in crimson ichor.
A queen, so clean, a routine as green.
They sure bear battles but no enmities,
At borders build brotherhood’s bonhomie,
Exchange smiles and burry adversity
That may arise from mutual miseries.
The wars are won by kings and their counties,
Soldiers only fight battles and lay life,
Their families suffer deep abject strife,
And forgotten once settles all the crease.
They that build bridges soon are forgotten,
Conquerors cross over, Ravan to hunt,
Victorious, Ram-Laxman feel triumphant,
And monkeys that made it miss all the fun!
They that know nor yet hate, each other kill,
Those that hate, scarce with scary battles deal.
__________________________________________
Sonnet |02.10.2023| war
Poet’s note: ‘Ravan to hunt’, the reference is to Ramayana, an epic poem of some thirty thousand quatrains called shlokas. Today’s world is full of conflicts. Whilst battles rage, who suffers? The common folks, the so-called couth and innocent of the society. This sonnet is born from this anguish.
Skinny floral Christmas elf with eyes so green
Your attitude and holly is totally and fully seen
We marvel at your body, so lithe and loose
You are skinnier than a wiped-out chicken goose.
Skinny floral Christmas elf with your attitude cute
We don’t know what to say, you are pretty couth.
We see your skip and hop and your limber bod.
You are more like us than we thought, not so very odd.
The garden haunts me with tales of terror
whispers the last sighs of wilting flowers
chills me with its predatory silence
torments me with its unheard shrieks
beauty edged with talons, thorns and stingers
innocence complicit in its evil
as hunter’s dance the hunted’s last duet
beneath the blood-stained moon of nature’s nest.
And yet, soft sun will rise as will the trill
of shadows slowly fleeing ‘neath their roots
for the moment now is all that matters
as daylight’s demons masquerade as couth
The garden is the stage and not the play
Its curtain call an avant-garde display.
Do you know what really burns my ass
A flame about ass high, now that's quite crass
Have you no couth?
Not a bit, that's the truth
Something's burning, TOO LATE... my ass is ash
Do you know what burns my ass
A flame about ass high, now that's quite crass
Have you no couth?
Not a bit, that's the truth
Something's burning, uh oh my ass is ash
Remembering the glory days of golden youth
When love and laughter ruled the day,
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
And every boy was a neighborhood sleuth
With nary a moment to be whiled away,
Remembering the glory days of golden youth.
When hell was to be paid for a rash untruth
A principle to be upheld, come what may,
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
A typical boy was seldom known for his couth
Always jaunty, but for an insult would repay,
Remembering the glory days of golden youth.
Maintaining his pride so important, forsooth,
While holding his peer antagonists at bay
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
Well-groomed and natty, ah, so very smooth
Careful never to be thought of as fem or gay
Remembering the glory days of golden youth
Barmy frolicking was ever the gospel truth.
Written May 5, 2022
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