Those were my teacher's comments,
as she handed back my poem.
And as I walked dejectedly back home,
I ripped my masterpiece to pieces
and flung my failing words ~ at the birds.
Reginald laughed,
Entering the bar boldly.
"Just another day in paradise"…
Escaping the cold,
Clasping the big envelope
To his chest, not letting go.
"each to their own", he said,
Dejectedly.
Huge worn stone lid removed
--- dragged to one side -
centuries ago, and not moved since ---
nestled in grassy pasture land;
cistern filled -
w/ cool rippling water -
brilliant and overflowing:
big open sky above,
azure, brighter, deepest:
one last dark cloud
dejectedly drifts away.
He slumps dejectedly today
Unlike he walked in his youth
It’s like he sees the ground
As his most intimate truth
I yearn to tell him things
Like my love for him is alive
Willing him to live longer
And find purpose in his time
I want him to know that
He means the world to me
The pain he feels today
Is something I wish I could free
I hope he can find it inside
The strength to get through
Today, tomorrow, next week
Through years of anguish
I want him to know I will give
Pieces of my heart and soul
To make him feel a bit better
More like staying, going on
I reach out to embrace him
My touch is filled with gentleness
He takes my hand in his own
And together we continue on
Will he be here tomorrow?
My heart surely hopes so
But how can I truly understand
How it feels to grow old
Without experiencing it myself?
With time… I will learn to accept
And, perhaps, feel as he has felt
They play the blues on Thursday nights
And oh, we love to go,
But obligations in the way
Don’t often let us show.
Last night, though, we would have a chance
And left our friends behind
To catch up on the music scene
For which we’d often pined.
We got there early, but we found
All tables filled or saved,
The locals guaranteeing that
Our hopes were crashed and caved.
Dejectedly, we turned around;
Drove back to Hemlock Farms*
Where our buddies welcomed us right back
With warm and welcome arms.
*the community where we have a home
People like spokes of a wheel
Streaming in the church on a Sunday morning hill;
The preacher talks of the prodigal son,
While the gathering ends in a reverend song.
And Mama cooked a roast on Sunday.
The smell of the enticing pot
Of chuck and potatoes and onions, carrots,
Conjure memories of Sunday dinners,
Where a table was set for returning sinners.
And Mama cooked a roast on Sunday.
Filled and sleepy I had to wash dishes,
And left alone with my own wishes
That I, too, could nap while the folks read papers,
Instead of stuck with cloth and scraper.
While Mama left the roast on Sunday.
My mind would drift to people foreign thin, hungry and hot.
In other worlds across the seas,
And my young girl’s heart would dejectedly drop
Like my recent church bowed knees.
Where Mamas don’t cook roasts on Sunday
And now that I am old looking back on my life,
I hope my little coins helped feed a needy child,
Shooing away some flies from its mother’s eyes,
I pray that I’ll remember why,
Mama cooked a roast on Sunday.
No way is left untried, now
what a devotee is to do
to prove the depth
of his devotion to you.
No more bearable is
to carry the thought
of having been so thrown
in the lap of luckless lot.
So much apologetic he feels
for his words and action,
wholly left disheartened
at your insolent reaction.
A foolish fondness of the fool
has turned into devotion.
He ceaselessly worships you,
so sincere is his adoration.
You have cut him mercilessly
off from all your friendly ways.
Look, how dejectedly living
in solitude, he passes his days.
Your constant indifference
ceases not to hurt his heart
that has yet to learn to lead
life from his lively life to part.
He admits his mistakes
for which he does pine.
Remember, to err is human
and, to forgive, is divine.
So much sensitive in nature
you are, so much kind,
your loving looks give solace
to the disturbed mind.
Come out of silence
to shake his levity,
with a touch of wisdom
fill him with maturity.
Spare the blunders he made
that must, in no way, be done
and accept the devotion of
your devotee, your dear one.
The sun reaches highest point of the day.
But lower and weaker than evening of the fall.
The sun makes time shorter to stay.
And it rapidly intends to fall.
Sunlight comes obliquely,
My shadow grows longer dejectedly.
Wind throws fresh but freezing air,
Which people don't want to bear.
It is still cold on winter noon.
Who says spring comes soon ?
But look at the park over there !
Children under sunlight are playing cheefully there.
Currently I'm on moving to my client.
I was so encouraged at this brilliant ambient.
Fengleishanren.
The Sadness of Small Things
The tin of beans sits dejectedly on the shelf.
Why is it still there?
It's not like he's going to breeze through the door
Demanding beans on toast.
Not now.
But there they sit.
I don't even like beans.
I take them off the shelf.
I'll give them to the first person I see -
No, I'll leave them on the garden wall,
Someone is bound to take them.
Why didn't he take them?
He took everything else.
Why am I crying over a tin of beans?
I don't want his bloody beans,
I want him.
Mister Right and Miss Right met at church the other day.
However, they didn’t recognize each other.
And, too sadly, they didn’t know what to say.
They awkwardly looked shyly at each other,
Then they went each their own lonely way.
Fantasizing endlessly about Mister Right,
Miss Right pined “What could he ever see in me?”
Also dejectedly sulking about Miss Right,
Mr. Right mused “How could she love someone like me?”
Both thought there’d probably never be a Mister and Missus Right.
Individually, they both came to the same conclusion:
They both needed some drastic self-improvement.
Mister Right studied management skills for a better vocation.
At the same school, Miss Right learned to cook and gained cultural refinement.
As their paths crossed, they’d get into better conversations.
The moral is that it’s more important to be Miss or Mister Right than to just find Mister or Miss right.
Happily, Mister Right eventually lived up to his name
And felt himself worthy of charming Miss Right.
And happily, Miss Right also did and felt just the same,
And she walked down the aisle to become Missus Right.
Pieces – Broken dreams injected into the soul of a loveless man, blown apart dejectedly
Entered into Black Eyed Susan's "Pieces" contest
3/5/2013
Let this rain rain
Let its shower pour
God's supposed blessings
The thunder is drumming
lightening strikes incessantly
the blue sky is downcast
Day has turned to night
Alas,i feel a drop
but that's all i get
For hours,i stare and yearn
For the downpour from above
Unseen hands keep it at bay
Immortal forces deny us of it
My disappointment reaches its peak
I scream out like a pained dog
ALLOW THE RAINS TO ROLL IN!
but to myself do my voice hit
dejectedly,i start to trot away
Alas,i felt two drops
The sky opens and it all falls down
I kneel and savor the rain's cold
The gods must have been listening
The tax bill came;
They could not pay.
Their bank foreclosed
That very same day.
They dejectedly walked away!
Another child;
One too many to feed.
The abortion clinic
"Took care" of their need
They callously walked away!
Young evangelist preaching;
On the corner of the street,
Desired that the people
And their Saviour should meet.
They rebelliously walked away!
They left this existence,
Very far behind.
Their names, in the Book of Life,
God was unable to find.
They sadly walked away!
Charlie Pelota
He wears his depression
like a tarnished, tattered,
scratched and dented halo,
scavenged at some demented
yard sale,
bought and sold on the cheap
(But, oh! The price he pays -
priceless!)
His pants hang
dejectedly, sadly,
drooping and dragging,
two sizes too large
His shoulders, dripping
with no self-confidence at all,
have given up
even trying to unbend, unstoop,
down-trodden, hopeless,
no energy,
no spirit,
no charge
His head hangs forward
on a neck with no spine,
cocked slightly sideways,
avoiding a long-ago
slap
a resounding shadow
of ancient, horrid history
still ever-present,
still looming large and very, very
still
Given the gravity
of the situation,
I can no longer push
the elephant
up his steep and treacherous
hill
Still…