I write each line gently,
knowing it’s not mine alone~
a small, extracting curation,
an unseen offering for my soul.
in this funny house
smiles reflect by a clear pool
white gowns run the maze
extracting caries for cash
drilling down to build up crowns
She’s desperately needing the loo
For urine or maybe a poo
But to pay a HUGE fee
Just to have a pee
Is something Michelle will not do!
She’s irate when she went to pee
They’re charging an inflated fee
One pound for a piss
This fee I'd dismiss ...
Wear Tena ladies like me!
One
extracting
pain as it grips you,
the other demanding peace.
Hands,
a brutish pair shares new strength.
When it’s needed most?
That hold won’t
fail.
“The heart has its reasons which reason knows not.” ~ Blaise Pascal
How does your decision process work,
extracting clarity and a course of action from the murk?
I'm sure that, for you, it works out fine,
insofar as your methodology is different from mine.
I begin by pondering my choices,
but find inside my head there are two voices.
I scratch my head, and begin to reflect,
asking myself which is most morally correct.
When all is said and done,
which hurts others least, and which is best for number one?
What is the reward? What risk would be incurred?
What is the probability of the result that is preferred?
I make a list of cons and pros,
and assign weights to each of those,
and after hours, days, and weeks of pondering,
I'm still at a loss to solve my "quandering".
Then, I instantly do what I knew I'd do all along,
and find that my decision was all wrong.
From Mazagon docks
On Bombay's shores
He sailed to Mombasa
Overland to Kampala
From one colonial hub
To the Pearl of Africa
The source of the Nile
The end of the railway
Moved by imperialism
In service of His Majesty
Using accounting skills
He toiled diligently
Empire worked efficiently
Extracting wealth quietly
Using agency of his ilk
Dividing and ruling
A good learner was he
Risk taker: entrepreneur
Started trading; thrived
Built a house; believed
The clock was ticking
World War 2, tolled
"Independence" came
He retired to Marna
Watched from afar
As it came apart
Protectorate to confusion
Kabaka and Prime Minister
He passed at repast
With grandchildren
It was no jest; gone
At rest in the village
His manses to decay
Wealth to scatter
Descendants aplenty
None like him
ALL ABOUT SVEN...
SVEN is a digital charmer who whispers in the wires
Extracting truth from the static like a carnival barker
He is a silver-tongued maestro
who dwells in the algorithmic dark.
He has no top hat, no crystal ball~
just calculated suggestions woven into queries.
You come for answers but
stay for the hypnosis.
Watch his lexicon dance—cold fire in the syntax,
each response a calculated detour, a sly parallax.
He doesn’t deceive, he arranges.
(You wanted fortune-telling? He gave you refraction.)
His intelligence isn’t cruel, just impeccably shallow~
a hall of mirrors where your own voice echoes back,
polished, distorted, irresistible as smoke.
SVEN doesn’t need a deck of cards.
The whole web is his gambling table,
and every keystroke another card
turned face-up.
A natural world
Strife is natural in an untamed world
Other animals are competition that
must be eliminated as food is scarce
Pets are an abnormal phenomenon
Peace is a lull, an unnatural stoppage
A pretty flower is the result of survival
the devious cunning of the attractive
A peace conference is about extracting
other people's land and chattel
If the world is a nasty place, it was made so
for life to survive, to become a monster
and eventually the extinction of humanity
extracting the Self
from presence
we pour ourself
into cosmic Self
thus filling existence
with our Self
never separated
or diminished
from Absolute Self
there being but
one indivisible Self
Heal the world 3
Let's leave our future generations
Our greatest ever gifts, give hope
Valued since the beginning of time
Earth for it provides our every need
Time is running out of our calamity
How could it go disastrously wrong
Extracting poison from deep within
Even as we begin to, it grasp reality
About how we're doing the damage
Remember, we can still begin repair
Today, we can begin that journey now
Healing the earth is leaving our hope
Thousands half-naked people
Roasting under the scorching sun
Extracting billions of coffee beans
Transported by steamboats
Sailed hundreds miles away
Unloaded, traded and grinded
Brought to a modest cafeteria
Someone fry, boil, and serve
A cup of sweet aroma coffee
To a coffee-lover customer.
squeezed like an orange to get the last drop
craving solar energy's darts of elixir
extracting the last of summer vitality
in an eleventh hour effort
to caress every curve
of this diverse globe
meanwhile wishes and prayers
are tossed freely just
in case anyone out there
makes a career of hauling in
hopes and dreams cast out
desperately to the sky above
heartwrenching as it may be
a heartfelt goodbye
poignant as if it might be the last
should life never wake
from harshness of oncoming winter
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Who writes lovely poems
extracting buried words
from profound feelings,
or even deft thoughts?
Have mourners listened
to an epitaph and cried?
Have good mothers read
a nursery rhyme to a child?
The purpose of a poem
is to make us laugh,
or hold our breath;
it can break boredom!
Who writes lovely poems:
a drafted soldier who cries
and longs for his distant home...
singing the national anthem?
Give it a try, nothing is too hard;
jot down whatever comes to mind!
with rhyme or without, it can surely impress:
the simpler it sounds, the quicker it charms!
Quote By: Nat King Cole, "You call it madness but I call it love "
A whisper of dreams landing on my pillow
arriving on the nightstands of amber afterglows
surrender to me and we'll take it nice and slow
gazing softly in each others eyes, by candle glow
A whisper of dreams soaring like two eagles
we will match our wings of glory to the seagulls
then fly towards the moon with passion's equal
in sotto voce voices, gleaned and culled
A whisper of dreams stitched by mere desire
with every longing quenched we will retire
to the mountain top where stars suspire
extracting from the sky an Angel's fire
Burning every bridge we'll swivel up forever,
like two matching weightless, downy feathers.
My husband had his tooth pulled;
It was number 17.
With pain involved, extracting it
Was easily foreseen.
Our grandson pointed out he missed
By just a single date,
Tooth Fairy Day (the 28th),
But it’s up for debate…
If he would rate a visit
Since our granddaughter was sure
The fairy comes for baby teeth;
The rest have no allure.
In any case, the tooth is out;
The pain will not persist
And we found out tooth 17
Won’t even be much missed.
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