Mountain-Ana
A part of me ignores
The tranquility of disquise
A part of me that wishes to be part of you without compromise
A chord that can strum unison to our hearts
The Most intense feelings
Spawn from the instance of a flame
Creates Destroys and creates again
A song of beauty
Never written
Until then, At birth you are named
A song the birds know after a spring rain
Of fair a blue sky
Of fair a blanket of stars
I can always lie to myself
I can always wait
But then again I can always wait for a moment to arise
Just the curtains veil from your window
Too dark only the omnipotent has great eyes
Vaguely so do I can't see you clearly through
Where soft comfort can't deny you simply lies.
I know how lonely you are inside with so much rage
Languishing in pain secretly others may not truly see
No courage to gain help to rescue like a bird in a cage
How life is innocuous not loved, helpless you can be.
I see no freedom from self-love, one-sided, egotistical
You torture yourself loving someone not loving you back
It's calamitous, dancing on your own is so hypocritical
Choosing love your own way, love isn't fair, a life-hack.
When will your head bump on the door, so you will know
That love isn't all that life may depress, you can move
Here outside, I'm thinking here how would I help you go
Be like a hero, comfort you inside or show you my love.
Yay! Some cold at last, and even a dusting of snow.
We moved back into the dorm—braving knife-like breezes—yesterday.
It was bracing and heroic - do I want it to warm up?
That’s a hard no.
let’s wax poetic..
Think not of winter as bleak
wrap your steely bones warmly, wear a cap
—for gelid wintertide can bind us together.
Midwinter is the time o' the year to be warm hearted,
to find a companion, a creature fair, a lass (or a manly man)
and suggest a more temperate snuggle— it can do no harm to try.
Think not of winter as bleak
make sweet use of flattery, and face cold’s embrace
likewise, cheek to cheek, with a warming and open heart.
.
.
Snowbird by Rani Arbo & Daisy Mayhem
We'll Sing In the Sunshine by Thornbirds
How I peer at piano's lifeless plate,
And crave, covet to be that plucky piece
Which, silken soft her fingers gets to kiss,
Now dancing sprightly, now at gentle gait,
Whilst my lips starve, and eyes left but to stare,
To wait for once in lifetime blue-moon chance,
A flitting hope to steal a furtive glance
At gutsy keys I can’t but grin and bear.
O plucky keys, my bugbear and black beast,
Pray, seldom can I paint my attitude
Fair, a duel of hound and hare the least—
That, life-less wood so crude should prove so good.
So, let that wood blush O in rosy bliss
To have kissed fingers, if I can the lips.
__________________________________________
Sonnet |15.11.2008| kiss, envy
Poet’s note: This piece draws no mean inspiration from Shakespeare's Sonnet 128. Let imitation at best be still an imitation, but it is my way of paying tribute to the bard. An attempt that falls short of the bard’s subtlety in painting the scene.
At thirteen years, the world was new?
But then it changed, I lost my father too
A life so full, now empty and still?
A void that time could never fill
The pain it brought, I couldn't bear?
My father gone, it wasn't fair?A part of me forever lost
A cost so high, no words could exhaust
My memories of him are all I hold?His love and wisdom, now untold?
A guiding light, now lost in time?
Leaves me with sadness, no reason or rhyme
But in my heart, he'll always stay?
Forever with me, day by day?
His love will guide me through the years
?And dry my eyes, and calm my fears
Though he's gone, his love remains?
A legacy that still sustains?And though my heart still aches with pain
?I know I'll see him once again.
This royalty and hierarchy,
Makes little sense to me,
Being utterly against my morals,
To praise any type of hypocrisy,
I haven't ever understood why they are ''better'' than us,
Born into wealth and placed on a throne,
Born into poverty and without a home,
How is this fair?a
This cannot be just,
They are no better,
Than any of us!
Those who wear the crown,
Don't abide by the law,
They are above all,
They don't conform,
The severity of their crimes,
Make no difference.
We believe the hype,
And carry on with our lives,,
I'm not ignorant,
I'm not the norm,
I admire the French for past revelations,
If only the world would wake up,
Nation by nation,
Let the snakes slither away and interbreed,
But they are not going to affect me!!
Home lies ahead, the world behind,
Though family in that world entwined
Sure made it seem so fair a place,
To gaze upon a pleasant face,
To set aside all work and care,
To snatch a glimpse of those not there:
A grand repast, a foretaste, hint,
A banquet feast of heavenly bent.
A hearty laugh, the table, ‘round
With tales from past, a mirthful sound
Brings joy afresh to inclined ear,
Until we meet again next year!
I remembered sex and it resurrected Marvin Gaye
And I thought this a little fair a little unfair
But this let us leave for my red question for you,
Quite solid and rather out of the blue:
About the completely overmastered by love,
Soon breathless at some bridal shop for the innocent Dove
And it just as soon yielded An Officiating Priest
And its breathless screaming feast;
For six blissful hours never ceased…
Now, should The Joined that day start exchanging fire
And all night try to never tire,
Making grinding emotions of the raw
A Gulf-War-Recreating War…
Love I should your honest spiritual feeling
If ur be a bit spiced with Gaye’s Sexual Healing.
Sunshine rose earlier today, season of warmer weather
Rain and sun tempo touching soil and earth,
Vernal equinox weeks ago bring time of growth and renewal
Spring alive plants, flowers, trees, and live birth.
Life breathing into lungs and soul March, April, and May
Plants revive and people do too, Saint Patrick’s Day green
Shamrock pretty clover, tender and fair, a better indication
Groundhog Day may be getting it right as Punxsutawney Phil no shadow seen.
Laughter for fun in popular legend brings a bit of spice in life
Springtime bright yellow, red, orange, blue, and violet,
Enjoying spring showers on porch sipping pink lemonade
Early planting and harvesting spring crops, grateful to pile it.
Easter arrives in a beam of morning light
Christians rejoice everywhere deep gratitude,
Touching human souls tears stream down cheeks
Love gives peace, and we live the golden rule in attitude.
New life pauses for Memorial Day
Members of the Armed Forces killed in war,
Never to be forgotten, freedom and life they granted
Infusing patriotic loyalty, and patriotism roar forever more.
The Thief
Would you believe on a quiet Sunday afternoon,
An unseen thief is stalking my room.
He holds my memories in his hand,
Oh, I just don’t understand.
I want to revisit the kiss on the hill;
Was he blonde, blue eyed, what did he say that filled,
Filled my heart with hope and joy,
He has stolen the details of my first-loved boy.
When did we walk through those colored night lights,
Was it a fair, a town, a vacation sight?
Was it you or another, and what year was that?
The thief has my memory crumpled neath his hat.
Can I sing tomorrow what I sing today,
Please, oh, please don’t steal that away,
Would you believe on a quiet Sunday afternoon?
An unseen thief is stalking my room?
The truth in life is lost with insincerity. A lonely life is gained once you accept insincerity. Fake promises, unattainable, unsustainable, draining on the soul is insincerity. Among millions, one cannot pretend, words do not make or break friends, it is insincerity. Actions alone, hold truth to reality, words like “how are you”, “I am sorry” “how is your day” are empty when you live with insincerity. kindness must be natural, must be real, it cannot be selective it cannot be surreal. I do not live by illusion, if I ask I mean it, to me it is not a reflex, a false inquiry, to me it is a genuine interest with no date of expiry. When you really do not care please do not insult with me with false pretense, fake words, pretend interest, just treat me normally with no interest, and be fair, a simple hey, a simple yo, a simple what up is suffice you know. Leave genuine interest to those who care, be real, be genuine when you feel it, be it, see it, then you are true to yourself. Insincerity has no place among truth, no life among friends, it is an illusion a life of pretend…Poetry by Dean
THE GREAT AMERICAN RACIST
I stand my ground and white is what is me
as fair a man as there could ever be
I'll not apologize to anyone
for what the world's dependent on
but love my own, for that's the way I see.
Excuses come from those who ever fail
or educated by their time in jail
and racist it may be
but it's the side of me
who stands by justice, in its final wail;
the die's been cast; and juries set the stage
and let out are the crazies from their cage;
while whites proclaim all guilt from high
and others only live the lie
expecting things to change because of rage;
Whose knife has cut the thread once meant to bind
depriving all the love there is to find?
The greatest tragedy of all
is when our backs are to the wall--
the ending won't reveal, the truth we find.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Retiring Cowboy
He hung up his bridle by his bed on the wall.
His rig is preserved on a stand by the stall.
His old Appaloosa has been turned out to graze.
As he sits in his rocker and dreams of old days.
For years he worked hard herding cattle all day.
He worked hard to earn a poor cowboy’s pay.
There were days he would rise barely bearing the pain.
He would climb in the saddle and hang on to the mane.
Starting out riding drag then flank and then swing.
Then point man a position he wanted more than anything.
The job was hard but it beat the rest.
It didn’t take long till he was the best.
He worked hard to work his way up to trail boss.
He was tough but fair a man no man would cross.
And his horse came to be his very best friend.
They stuck together through thick and through thin.
Hot summer days and winters so cold.
Misery torment and torture untold.
But when it was finally all said and done.
He would never have traded with anyone.
Wandering And Loafing thither-stunned I knew,
Scorching sweat-and a grim creature view,
Aye troubled and loaded vista of misery,
Swirling with abjectness seeming weary,
Nor they stand upright neither they sit calm,
Where they where ,never in placid nay in ominous realm,
Prepare for prepare on this abominable flame of war,
They freaked out through futile power,
Hence ‘tis a royal road through eke’ out but volatile,
Ye- grudgingly yet’ a way but vile,
What he must –must he be, but far and away,
Gibbet solemnly- but utter mere no word-to say,
Confined yea bind ah! Archaic men-at-arms,
You’d be among these, with no charm and warms,
Maunder surreal-y even in the day-and night watch,
Discern–castles in air while-lying on a patch,
Fair a mere simpleton creature, when dies,
Forgot at-once posthumously with no suspiration and sighs,
No well being and vivification where he dwelt and grew,
Aye beneath the troubled shallow’y spring under the yoke of fo,
Regime demand integrity, excelence and professionalism,
They say trinquality, solace, and humanism,
Tongue introverted, knees knocked, head stood,
Muster out as OAP, at hoar,man-made-wood.
THE GREAT AMERICAN RACIST
I stand my ground and white is what is me
as fair a man as there could ever be
I'll not apologize to anyone
for what the world's dependent on
but love my own, for that's the way I see.
Excuses come from those who ever fail
or educated by their time in jail
and racist it may be
but it's the side of me
who stands by justice, in its final wail;
the die's been cast; and juries set the stage
and let out are the crazies from their cage;
while whites proclaim all guilt from high
and blacks can only live the lie
expecting things to change because of rage;
whose knife has cut the thread that's meant to bind
depriving all the love there is to find?
the greatest tragedy of all
is when our backs are to the wall
that's when our hate clouds every mind.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
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