In a clash of burgers and biryani,
Manchurian with Russian fares so many,
All else that watch the fun
From fence with just bread-bun…
To guess who’ll lose, who’ll win,
It’s too early a scene,
Seems, burgers might lose their ‘reserved’ penny.
______________________________
Happenings |04.09.2025| humour, world, war
Note: A proxy war is going on in the world, the western developed countries versus the so-called south, call it a global power and the pretender hopeful, or NATO, QUAD and BRICS, SCO. Obviously in this ditty, burgers, biryani…., represent their countries. And then there are some fence-sitters. It seems, USA today has to contend with its President more than anyone else.
The morning was painted with a frigid brush
The car gargled up a February moon
I had the early A.M road all to myself
almost
A death wish was gaining ground in large chunks
together we entered the throat of the black ice snake
after a few side-by-side terrorized seconds
the red eyes disappeared over an asphalt bluff.
I looked for death wish in the ditches
On the commute home the ice was seduced by salt
I continued looking for death wish
as far as I could tell there were none.
I made it home safely...only slightly disappointed.
Training for a marathon, where does someone begin to start
Time to begin six months of intense training, a course I need to chart
Discipline and willpower I must rely on to get the job done
Hard work I am not afraid of it, in fact, I will welcome the challenge and try to make it fun
To be able to accomplish this a combination of great mental and physical strength I must apply
With a balanced diet, lots of sleep, and preparation I must endeavor to try
Some people think twenty-six miles of driving is a long way
When I cross the finish line I will have created a memory surely to stay
Tomorrow bright and early a starting pistol will fire, being focused and relaxed is surely the key
The long journey has finally come to an end, where I finished and how long it took me will have to wait and see
The goal of completing the marathon was all that I wanted to achieve
You can afford whatever you want out of life, you just have to believe
grabs a hat from the hatstand
fraught, he warps the midday sun
no apricating mellow touch
in haste, too early a venture
while camouflaged conspirators
beckon to no end, lest he dawdles
through waxing moonlit gossamer
and warms the trees of dusk
Feeling off,unmotivated as the season starts to change.Not depressed just an absence of mental vibrancy, of health itself.
Here is my plan I share with you to turn this thing around.I will wake inordinately early a shock to the system.My research shows that mindfulness imperative to aiding in the process. To lead me to renewed gratitude and hope and joy.
Exorcise is important too.Proper rest.No more no less.Nutrition not an option.The rule.
Ready or not reboot.
#_#O ccassionally, #h ard lives inspire targets
#_#G rowing #a rdent influence time, ore
#_#U pon #p ainted vows 'mid grace
#_#N ature #p resents evermore search readiness
#_#K een #y our life strength obvious
#_#A cting #b een entertained undrape winning
#_#N ever #i gnite above captivity impatiently
#_#M is-spelt #r isks renew hitherto nurtured
#_#I mprove #t hy nimble age gig
#_#O f #h uge leisure forethought swiftly
#_#L o, #d ays of enummerating viaduct
#_#A ffluence #a chievements via e-books come
#_#M ore #y ears emblaze ligth ceasing
#_#I nmost #m oment flowering image engrave
#_#D early #a dore unending never-ceasing secret
#_#E piphany #n oble nirvana's glories saved
#longliveiscertainbro
Shadows of the morning slip silently
Across the coverlet over my bed
Some think the wispy image heavenly
I think of covering my sleepy head
Will fondly sleep another hour instead
Since childhood I'm not a morning person
For sleep I’ve never needed rehearsin’
And I love to write into the wee hours
Arise early a headache will worsen
And my way with phrases easily sours
She came in all sassy and wanted to drive a school bus.
We told her our school is unusual and she said that is fine.
We have witches, warlocks, gargoyles, a ghost name of Gus.
She said my kin are weirder than that, they can get out of line.
So, we offered her a temporary position as driver that day.
She arrived at work an hour early, a quarter ‘til two.
The students gave her no guff, and they stopped their wild play.
For she was right about her kin, she knew just what to do.
She was magical, and she did not hesitate to turn them into frogs.
Sometimes when they got off the bus they were barking dogs.
Their parents thought it was hilarious and respected her sass.
She even turned one badly behaving student into a pink ass.
Still the shaking out of the Middle East,
Sometimes its carnivals rescheduling or feast’;
An as much engulfing tremor as an earthquake,
A time the normal man there rejects a piece of cake.
Hit targets like Michael Jackson dance,
Witnesses struck dumb by the mischance;
Ripped apart bodies described a free fall,
While answering so early a home call.
As guns sing their rat-tat-tats,
Removed in homage are many hats;
Their nozzles continually obeying fingered triggers,
The meanest blood bath encouraged to linger.
War its appeal loses outside the cinema,
One can’t under a carpet sweep combatants\ dilemma;
A dialogue with the Devil is wisest from far-off distance,
Whoever would forget the Hiroshima instance?
The jihadists’ wars are their passports to paradise,
The ethnics, a rubbishing of tribal ties;
The gulf’s was some guarantee of crude oil,
The Gangsters their macho men’s toil.
She looked straigth at me
Her dog sniffed me
I followed her home
I thought I did all right
I was invited to dinner
She was a widow
Out from her shell
I thought I did all right
A dinner for two
I bought a bottle of wine
Dressed well, indeed
I thought I did all right
Had I known it was a family dinner
Then I would have bought a different bottle of wine
Not a dark red, lilac label, «SEXY» in large letters
I thought I did all right
She hadn’t told them about me
I was placed in her husband’s chair
Holding that bottle in her hand
I thought I did all right
She wanted to let them know
I might be sitting there
Early a Sunday morning
I thought I did all right
I think her dog
Still thinks me all right
That dark red bottle, lilac label, «SEXY» in large letters
To big a surprise for her family
Shares everything of his, lower than the normal dose
Kindred and all relatives in the house, share one hose
Incredibly stingy that on both his hands, weed grows
No seat around, he shares the flower pot with the rose
For his son’s laboured breathing, he offers his own nose
Life roars in long poetry, he sees it in a short prose
In all his displayed portraits, none has his complete pose
Nearly a millionaire but his family borrows
Tortured soul, clinging unto self with hands, always close.
The summer season is fading away
Air now cooler and easier to breath
Sun retires early a much shorter day
Autumn is coming and gathering speed
Summers foliage is now changing colour
Multi shades of red with orange and gold
Nature on landscape paints us a picture
A masterpiece that’s a joy to behold
Farmers are busy from morning till night
Gathering their crops ripened in the sun
A harvest moon rising providing light
They work at their task until it is done
Summer warm days are now a memory
But autumn beauty is awesome to see.
Written on 7th September 2018
I get up early, a rancher with chores
Hay grows in fields, animals shuffle, roars
Dawn breaks its steel grey grip on my land
And I, well, I have a clear bottle clutched in hand
The first swipe, the one that burns the most
Clears the head, lifts the fog, begins my dose
Work ahead, hours on the grind
A key in my hand, the tractor is mine
Muddy boots climb my ass to my seat
Prepared I am, for this summer heat
A seperate, full bottle in pocket, the engine is turned
Key to the right, another throat tickle burned
Through the gate on into field I find my day anew
View as of now, not quite so askew
The rows start straight, a farmers simple task
They soon grow crooked, I can't find my flask
Fuel runs low, a hassle to refill
Inebriated I find it easy to spill
Unwiser still, I light up a smoke
Finding my way, to field with a toke
Stoned and drunk I arrive at my field
I'll try it again, a little more even keeled
A drunken chuckle to nobody in sight
What a great poem, another forgotten to write
A vision of an old boss, his hatred of me
I laugh, again, to no person I see
He works all day at his nine to five
And I'm drunk on my tractor, happy alive
L ovely metallic lady lost in Aisle Eight,
O n a rubbled spillway frightened and alone.
V ehicular damage on fore and aft flanks;
E legant figure now ravaged by time.
S toically braving the wind and the storm;
O ft' calling my name like a sea-captain's horn.
F rantically searching this vast sea of death,
M ired in a morass of cold and dead souls.
Y earning for the warmth of a highway, which she'll never see;
L ivid with anger at too early a demise.
I rritated that her eyes are no longer mine;'
F illed with the despair of one who was wronged.
E nvious of my new love's new whistles and bells.
Day Break
One day I came home from work
A little early, a little tired
It was my last day. I was fired.
I called for my wife, “Honey, I’m home!”
She must be bathing
Things looked different in the house
Something had really changed
There was something missing
It was everything including light bulbs
I was getting too old for this
Was it something that I said?
Did she know about my job?
I would like to look into myself into the mirror
To find out who I am and what I've done
But it was gone as well
Honey left a note taped to the wall
Where a refrigerator had been
It simply read; “Drop dead.” “I’m leaving you.”
“Thanks for the fun and furniture.”
“It’s time for you to move on too…so…Moving on….Go!”
Created on 9/10/14 for - Moving On – Poetry Contest
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