Nine months have quickly passed since the mind
was provoked to write many lines of rhyme
Does this stimulation arise from some type of hormone?
is there some thought arousing release of an enzyme?
Most it comes from memories
go back to when one was a child
A few from visualisation
just let thought patterns run wild
There is gratitude for hardships
that shape the growing soul
Sometimes a base for humour
that forms a playful role
One day upon a Zen Chai massager
body"s rockin to and fro
Seems Im back upon a steam train
stimulates poetic flow
Take pride that my daily way of living
has deviated from the norm
Poetry is a platform to support others
fulfils a desire to inform
This is a form called a Pensee, but I deviated from the true form. Also, somewhat an example for my contest. I use Isaiah first as it relates to me then how I try to figure out my best trait. Soon we will be married sixty-three years, and I feel that God gave mankind a command to marry, love each other, be faithful, stay together, and have children so I have done that.
Free drinks
Water, wine, milk
Holy Spirit offers them
To a child at small church years past
He loved me as I was
Filled me
Now a clean pot
He saw some promise in me
Though I saw it not, so now search
For my positive trait
Loyal
Sticking, holding
Through good, bad, sickness and health
For sixty-three years stayed, prayed and loved
I obeyed God and man
Is my sorrow real?
Were we doomed…
I’ll be damned
if the questioning is my devotion.
Though I never deviated,
love only takes one of us.
Love or lust…
laughter, lies we shared
Was I wrong?
I Love My Life
I love my life , it’s only right.
I struggle and have to fight.
I have not deviated slight.
As needed I work day and night.
I choose my life in joy and rue.
‘Cause I can’t live your life for you.
I’m decisive, hold my view.
No way, I am to bid adieu.
I wish to fly in open sky.
Me, righteous, never to sigh.
I’m satisfied feeling high !
I’m strong minded and hate to cry.
In my ship Me the only crew.
Me lone fighter, really true.
Own aim ! I always pursue.
‘Cause I found out just what to do.
Finally, the light opens its mouth,
speaks for the fading shadow-forms,
that are slipping away,
over the pale moon.
Dogs sniff the freshening air.
Cats roll over, nap again,
for as long as it takes.
I used to smoke,
I would go out into the unmade dawn,
and smoke until the world
took shape around me.
Now I sit in a dark kitchen,
sip black coffee,
breathe through a deviated septum,
waiting for the next sucker punch,
or the birth
of a newly christened Jesus.
Last night, in an addictive dream
a spectral Amazon van,
delivered a box of Lucky Strikes.
I smoked them all by morning.
Narratives or at least that's what I call them
Without doubt win hands down every time
I've deviated with limericks and couplets and stuff
But I'm back to the old poems that rhyme
Very similar to when we go away on vacation
It feels so good to finally get back home
Everytime we deviat from our regular patterns
Though we enjoy it a bunch when we roam
Guess it's familiarity that we're always craving
Friendly faces of the people we know
No hidden agendas, no scams to contend with
Just the same old routine, same old show
Comfortable is a very good word to describe it
That down home feeling when with friends
Like always being in style with jeans and Adidas
Instead of trying to keep up with the trends
Give me that plain old simple way of living
It surely wins hands down ever time
That's how I roll, I'm just a simple old hayseed
Sitting around chewing the fat is just fine
It is worn, patched, and tattered, frayed about the edges. It has at times offered me adrenal ascendency, scared me out of my wits, challenged me to act, or to be still. Its warmth has often failed me. Its compass deviated from true north or at times just ignored. I was told to “wear it as a loose garment”, yet it often felt too restraining or cumbersome. Still it is my choice to slip into it each morning, share a quiet moment, a sip of coffee, a laugh about a patch or stain.
It is more frail now, more likely to require re-stitching of old wounds and faded patches. And yet it serves me well. Its distant colors chuckle as we recall a hot sauce stain, that bar in Angelo, the too often sewed pocket still holds its own. Several of the “original” buttons remain to taunt the newer ones. None are sure where the others went, or why.
And so we sip coffee and recall the tears and joys of birthday cakes, of babies snuggled in its flannel fierceness, and carry on.
loosely worn garments
a history of flannel
frayed edges of life
2/25/2023
It Means A Lot To Me Poetry Contest
Mind is in a confused state
As happiness is fully lost
Nothing I can communicate
As life moves damn fast
Sorrow comes like a friend
Whereas mirth is an enemy
Former lives with no end
Happenings are stormy
Often my mind is deviated
And it takes a new track
Confusion is created
What a sad drawback!
Ambition is inviting
But, progress is zero
Glory, life is awaiting
I am still not a hero
Age does its damage
Body has grown tired
Somehow, life I manage
Hope has fully expired
Life goes on and on
With losses piling up
Comes and goes dawn
So far no victory cup.
Narratives or at least that's what I call them
Without doubt win hands down every time
I've deviated with limericks and couplets and stuff
But I'm back to the old poems that rhyme
Very similar to when we go away on vacation
It feels so good to finally get back home
Everytime we deviat from our regular patterns
Though we enjoy it a bunch when we roam
Guess it's familiarity that we're always craving
Friendly faces of the people we know
No hidden agendas, no scams to contend with
Just the same old routine, same old show
Comfortable is a very good word to describe it
That down home feeling when with friends
Like always being in style with jeans and Adidas
Instead of trying to keep up with the trends
Give me that plain old simple way of living
It surely wins hands down ever time
That's how I roll, I'm just a simple old hayseed
Sitting around chewing the fat is just fine
It's been one of those weeks
I feel rather down and meek
I miss seeing your smile and red cheeks
honestly, I'm so sad, I feel like a freak
I haven't been motivated
my feelings aren't liberated
My wins aren't celebrated
My mind has deviated
I wonder why it makes me cry
Hoping that the truth is a lie
I was not the right kind of guy
and, maybe that is the real reason why
Narratives or at least that's what I call them
Without doubt win hands down every time
I've deviated with limericks and couplets and stuff
But I'm back to the old poems that rhyme
Very similar to when we go away on vacation
It feels so good to finally get back home
Everytime we deviat from our regular patterns
Though we enjoy it a bunch when we roam
Guess it's familiarity that we're always craving
Friendly faces of the people we know
No hidden agendas, no scams to contend with
Just the same old routine, same old show
Comfortable is a very good word to describe it
That down home feeling when with friends
Like always being in style with jeans and Adidas
Instead of trying to keep up with the trends
Give me that plain old simple way of living
It surely wins hands down ever time
That's how I roll, I'm just a simple old hayseed
Sitting around chewing the fat is just fine
Lessons taught and yet to teach
Unfurl themselves from your unknown depths
Power and promise, false for each
To prove corruption with every breath
Alone, the world is blind
A push to prove our selfish ways
A push to see the truth
The people try to avert their gaze
Misfortune exists to improve
A lesson staked with life
Be appreciative...It could be worse
A new phrase engraved in my mind
My family, my friends, in love I’m immersed
My perspective was altered, by design
How strange a new normal
My want for change ever increases
Never more have my close ones been so appreciated
Taken for granted, my old normal left
And from my hopes, my life deviated
For good or not, that’s yet to be seen
Election
Nervously woke early to witness a questionable distraction
Playing my nostalgia as I looked at two color graphs,
Songs I Themed an American Pessimist mix;
Dr. Hook with the freaks
American Pie lyrics
Hard-times with Tyler
American Idiot from Green Day
Helping me feel my roots and love
Decades of low turn-out to millions-in
Deviated numbers effected me but
The shear of the many
…. The beautiful.
I glimpsed a funny sight the other day;
A cactus with a mindset of its own,
Which seeking out a horizontal path
With comic singularity had grown.
The poet,with a self-reflective eye
Considered this quite unexpected course
At times she too had wandered from the path
And deviated from the true light source.
26.09.20
The rose bud
The soft petals
Clad between the sepals
Oblivious to daily dismals
Drops of water dribbled
Gliding soflty off the sepals
Not a single drop
Reaching the smooth petals.
Sweet Little Rose
She was protected likewise
by her beloved parents
Shielded was she of difficulties
Not a single hardship did she encounter
They were deviated vehemently
By this armour called Parents!
The rose bud had bloomed
Into a beautiful flower
The sepals had curled downwards
All the same supporting the rose.
The rains came again
How the droplets
Landed ruthlessly on the petals!
Poor rose flower was drenched!
Little Rose blossomed
Into a lovely maiden
Her parents were bent with age
Yet upholded their Rose.
Challenges arose again
How they bore down
Upon Sweet Rose
Poor Rose was burdened!
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