I gather the stars in my trembling hands,
Though one by one they fall.
The night does not ask why I grieve—
It simply listens to all.
A whisper lost in the willow’s breath,
A shadow on the sea,
I speak my sorrow to the wind,
And let it carry me.
The roses close when day is done,
But bloom again at dawn—
So too must I, though wilted now,
Learn to carry on.
Not every heart will echo mine,
Nor every flame will stay—
But still I hold the light inside,
And I just simply walked away.
Thou art O Lord a unique One,
And I am a value-less nought,
(Sans thee oh what a worthless dot!)
And an object of abject fun!
I've come thence to thee, this to plead:
Be thou Good Lord my life's sole lead
And let me just tag on to thee,
To One-- zeroes like chicks of hen--
In various powers of ten,
This way can we grow, ye and me.
Sans zeros One remains just one,
Sans One, zeros are next to none.
This way it may sound a wee bit selfish,
But so-how’s cooked in this world every dish!!!
______________________
Sonnet (tongue-in-cheek) | 02.03.2007 | humour
Note: Most prayers sound like a bucket list of wishes and wants. Often, they are conditional give and take— if you grant me this O God, I'll do that, so on so forth. This ditty has reduced it to a business deal, no less!
Read also 'Take heart, thou canst all I can', a sequel from this.
Tim Roth gets shot, and what emerges? Blood.
His innards act like wrecked intestines should.
Those fifties-movies injuns really suck,
with tactics redolent of Donald Duck!
“The whiteys circle wagons, as we feared:
so let’s just ride around them – get mown down!”
You’d see more bloodshed watching Charlie Brown.
And why does Tarzan never grow a beard?
Tim Robbins plans a prison break. Oh well,
they’ll catch him quickly when they search his cell.
It’s never searched, or posters changed, in fact.
And why was Thomas Hagan never whacked?
And Cage’s “Wicker Man” was just plain weird,
and not remotely scary. I’m at ease
with oddball cops with masks on: “Not the bees!”
But why does Tarzan never grow a beard?
“Commando” – Arnie’s shooting-up a storm:
a hundred dead a minute is the norm.
The baddies take ten thousand shots at him,
to no avail. They’re not from Arnie’s gym!
You want to know why Rin Tin Tin’s revered?
The dog’s so smart, he counts: he knows when you’ve
exhausted all six slugs – then makes his move.
Yet why does Tarzan never grow a beard?
They say heaven is for real,
that is really a great deal.
I will get to see you,
I am happy not blue.
I am filled with much love and zeal.
You can’t make a deal
with a Judas
As tenured
they govern on high
Like the British
who sought our indenture
With graft and self-interest
they lie
You can’t play the game
any longer
When rules only favor
the few
Where freedom is held
as a hostage
And verity’s fairness
— askew
(The New Room: March, 2025)
I see them coming,
all smiles and slick words,
their eyes like cold marbles,
rolling lies off their tongues.
The narcissists, the leeches,
the grinning wolves,
the hollow men with poisoned hands,
digging into whatever’s warm.
The psychopaths with their games,
the ones who hurt children,
the ones who carve scars into soft skin
and walk away laughing.
I don’t deal with them.
I leave them to their own rot,
to their own fire,
to the mirrors that show them nothing at all.
what was a real deal
after a wound had to heal
would have much appeal
Greenland not for sale
but Abo big Chowcha is
do you think that's so
In twilight's hush, where shadows play
A figure emerges, come what may
With eyes aglow, like embers bright
He offers deals, with a wicked delight
His voice is smooth, like silk to touch
As he weaves promises, with a wicked clutch
He'll grant your dreams, with a twisted grin
But at a cost, that's locked within
A soul for sale, a heart to bind
A deal with the devil, forever entwined
In darkness deep, where terrors roam
You'll find yourself, in a wicked home
With every step, with every fall
You'll realize, the deal's not worth it all
For in the end, when the darkness fades
You'll be left with, a heart that's enslaved
Yet still we tempt, the devil's snare
Lured by promises, that seem so fair
But beware, dear heart, of the deal's dark might
For once you sign, there's no turning back the night
In the maze of commerce, a tale unfolds,
A deal both juicy and complex, as the story is told.
A buyer steps forth, with hope and trepidation,
Wondering if this purchase will bring jubilation.
Was it the allure of a bargain, too good to resist?
Or the pressure of a deadline, a contract to enlist?
Perhaps the buyer, is stuck in a rut, sought a change,
A rollercoaster ride?, through a market so strange.
With status on the line, and decisions start to shatter,
The buyer pondered deeply, what truly would matter.
Would this be a a calamity in disguise?
As the purchase came to fruition, under watchful eyes.
Yet, through the plummet of doubt, and the rise of belief,
The buyer found solace, and a sense of relief.
For in the dance of deals, both ruinous and grand,
The heart of the buyer, held steady in hand.
How could a corpse like me ask for more
Than this faucet from the showroom floor
It may look a dud
But it cleans off blood
And came dirt cheap from the Zombie Store
We had a deal
And I cooperated with zeal;
Thinking it was real.
You gave me no dime,
Yet you stole my precious time;
This I read like a rhyme
Or even if you paid me,
That was little, very little;
I could not with it fill my tea kettle.
I gave you trust and loyalty
But you gave me distrust and disloyalty;
My commitment you rewarded out of inequity.
At heart I held you as myself
But you treated me like your chef
Meats stewed in a greedy pot while you did jeff.
Why then did we have the deal,
When to have everything is your meal,
That I struggle today because of your selfish will?
Disappointed!
I wish to be anointed
To discern deals flouted.
Do Seal Deal with much Appeal
when we would seal deal
after we ate a great meal
was with much appeal
Just seeing the reflection
Already imagining the pleasure
Judging from her eyes
She prefer both wear and tear
She understood everything
Experience cannot be fooled
I forgot everything
And about the taboo
Got embarrassed and began to flow.
When you write poems,
there will always be people reading them and reflecting.
Don't worry if you haven't got comments or many people who have seen it yet.
By writing your brain processes the situations again and again, what you might interpret as overthinking, since sometimes you might talk about these much more often suddenly or dream, even though it was 1,2,3 or more years ago..
I call it healing.
It's a protective mechanism.
When you write and write, you might sometimes be sad that you are still not over something even though you have written it.
People say it's therapy isn't it? And that you might get over them like that much more quickly.
When you write, you might start write plenty about the same subject and that's okay.
Since like that you will get more mature and know that being mad at the person still is not the answer.
That the answer is to not pay attention to them anymore.
First my eyes couldn't do anything than look at them,
but now my eyes don't bother it anymore.
Even me going to the restroom is much more important than him.
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