An Eagle soars high above
His wings outspread, he glides away the day
Like feelings deep within a heart
Trapped inside, sometimes hard to say
He looks for some unsuspecting pray
Any small creature will fit the bill
But like love between two mortal souls
Passion rises at will
Sunlight gleams upon his wings
As he rises so high above
And as our lovers walk down leafy lanes
Their thoughts just filled with love
As the Eagle returns high up to his nest
Out of reach of any prying eye
Our incandescent heartfelt pair
Walk through fields as time gently passes by
As our Eagle settles down to sleep
His daily work now done
Two passionate lovers lay in the long grass
For them true love has begun
Does anyone still buy, for dad,
Some cufflinks on this day?
It’s what I sometimes bought for mine
When shirts were made that way.
It had to be a local store
Which carried varied clothes,
Including the accessories;
That’s how the mem’ry goes.
My dad’s been gone for many years,
Those cufflinks likely tossed.
His place within my heart, though,
Hasn’t ever gotten lost.
I wish a Happy Fathers’ Day
To all who fit the bill
And hope, with cufflinks or without,
Somebody’s heart you’ll fill.
“It is too late to shut the stable door when the steed is stolen.”
~ From John Heywood’s A Dialogue Containing the Number in Effect of All the Proverbs in the English Tongue (1546)
“When the well’s dry, we know the worth of water.”
~ From Ben Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac (1746)
My mission is to go back to eighteen-seventy-nine.
I’ve been authorized to repair history’s design.
Luckily, I’ve been trained on a Woody’s Time Machine,
and granted poetic license, fate to intervene.
I’ve set the dial to Braunau am Inn, near the border
of Bavaria and Austria. I must prevent disorder.
I’ll play with history’s chessboard, move a couple pawns,
and introduce Klara Polzl to a man named Franz.
Franz needed a housekeeper, and Klara fit the bill.
So, until pigs fly, which they never did and never will,
Klara wouldn’t work for Alois. They’d not have a son,
and the world would be spared what their young Adolf had done.
The Sparrow
by Positive Mark
Torch-burnt quills never offer apology.
Scorched earth policies revive a dead polity.
Force fed intellects give rise to economy.
Those who don’t fit, I advise you to follow me.
First, let’s pay homage to walls that were climbed.
Put in the time, and you’ll shine like Coach Prime.
Kill or be killed at the devil’s insistence.
If you lack fortitude, strike from a distance.
Fiery orators once fit the bill.
Now, they’re a hallowed list of confirmed kills.
Dead at the podium.
Dead on the balcony.
Genocide rhymes have become the new alchemy.
Armies of men show their butt on the street.
Reeks of an old auction, selling Black meat.
Honest comedians cancelled for jokes.
This is the new definition of woke.
Now higher frequency thought has been shattered.
Shirts weren’t printed when Black lives still mattered.
No reparations for cultural rape.
Modern day poets ain’t bustin’ a grape.
Torches on quills that were once burning arrows.
Who watches you, when his eye’s on the sparrow?
Today was so very brutal.
I felt my strength worked to the bone.
My family doesn’t seem to care.
At times, I feel so alone.
All the thoughts of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve come rushing to my mind.
There are many peaks and valleys, as I keep moving through my life.
The devil has always been right there, to discouraged and accuse.
But sometimes I feel he doesn’t need much help as others seem to fit the bill.
What now, I can’t go back.
What now, the future seems unclear.
Then my God gently reminds me, my child, you don’t belong here!
Your home will be in heaven, and my Son will take you there someday!
You gave your life to Jesus, and He will help you along the way.
You don’t need to worry, He’ll be with you in each moment of time.
They’ll never understand you, my child, because many did not understand me.
Just put your hand in your Savior’s hand and He’ll clear the path, you’ll see!
We used to hear of “wind chill factors”
From the weatherman,
Which meant that it felt colder out
When windy times began.
So if the temp was 35,
But gusty breezes blew,
The wind chill factor might have made
It feel like 22.
Today that phrase has been replaced
And here’s the latest deal -
Despite the temperature displayed,
We hear of the “real feel.”
You’d think that would appeal to me,
That catchy little rhyme,
But since I’m change-resistant,
I prefer the prior time
When I took into account the way
The wind would add its chill,
So I’d know if extra layers
Or a scarf would fit the bill.
Just what have I done with my life
A man put that question to me
I started to think and I gave him a wink
But my mind drew a blank, well, let’s see
I’ve not built a bridge made of steel
I’ve not a photographer’s eye
I’d not fit the bill of a fireman’s will
I’ve not flown a plane, no, not I
No land have I gardened or farmed
Machinery baffles my mind
Accountants are great, that wasn’t my fate
An autograph, never I’ve signed
Yet I knew I found what I sought
Without a degree and its pay
The bonds of the heart, right from the start
Yes, that’s what I wanted to say
And I’ve been the happiest man
I’ve done more than all else above
For all that I needed, I’ve surely exceeded
Quite simply put, I have known love
Nietzsche declared that God is dead
Since thoughts of Him man’s heart has fled.
If it is true that God is dead
Let hearts of men be filled with dread.
Once God had died the race was on
among the gods man’s mind would spawn,
which one would fill the space God left?
Yea, who would occupy the cleft?
The no-God notion tried and failed
To fill the void man’s proud heart veiled
The need for one greater than man
Whose essence man’s mind cannot span.
Materialism also failed
As grift and greed man’s heart assailed.
Possessions could not fill his need
Once man from his God did secede.
Scientists tried God’s role to fill
Their efforts cannot fit the bill.
The inventions their knowledge yields
spawn hazards that are like minefields.
Marxism, and all the other isms
has left society mired in schisms.
Man sought freedom by declaring God dead,
The absence of God brought bondage instead.
God’s replacements have failed to quell
The yearnings that in man’s mind swell.
These cravings only God can fill
As man accedes unto His will.
Well, the time is finally here my friend
You’ve reached retirement age,
Your working life is over now
You’re on the final page.
No more early morning get ups
No more starting work at nine,
You’ll be chilling and relaxing
With your favourite glass of wine.
All your work colleagues will miss you
And your handy, helpful ways,
You’ll find other hobbies to pursue
As you while away your days.
We’ll really miss the jokes you tell
And those quirky little quotes,
But the thing that we’ll miss most of all
Is seeing you writing all those notes.
As a member of the escort crew
You really fit the bill so well,
Our teamwork was fantastic
But alas, you’re saying farewell.
Being your friend, has been a privilege
And working with you, it’s been fun,
But your time at Hopwood’s over now
So, it’s goodbye, good luck, job done.
Indigestion
Is the question
Brain illusion
Or misdirection
Doctor's pill
This sickly ill
Cannot repair
To fit the bill
Just time to heal
Oh, heartache feel
Is all to quell
My ache and reel
Restlessness
Just to confess
Invades my very
Consciousness
A hope that sticks
Physician's tricks
The long-shot risk
Of one more fix
Like fracture weld
Or soulful meld
Simple solution..
Just to be held
CV
31.10.23
Sitting here drinking a glass of morning moo
Thinking about what I want to do
A lonely place I want to find
Leave the crazy behind
A little hill
That will fit the bill
Dig a hole
Like a mole
Build a hidden place
One of which no one can see a trace
One hard to see
Life there will be free
No more do I care to roam
I want a home
Sit there watch the world go by
Invisible to the everyday eye
Under the blue sky
A place to rest
Cause I have done my best
Invisible like me
No one can see
Hiding in plain sight
Just turn on the light
That's right
Far away
I stay
Build my house
Quiet as a mouse
Live off the land
Something which I understand
Just getting set
So many things I need yet
This is what I decided to do
The thought is not new
Live in a cave
The new wave
To the grave
Watching time pass me by
There under the far reaching sky
Somethings we may never do again
Because of once getting burned
So we jump on the "never train",
When from a painful lesson we have learned
Some say they would never drink again
But once the hangover is gone,
They drink once more, it's insane,
Here comes never, rising with the dawn
If you say you never will
Beware, never might return,
And never, once more, will fit the bill
Will we never learn?
A child named future sired by the present from a lineage past
Fresh ink born out of a pen inspired by the stone cast
A yarn wading through the pulling strings to learn the ropes
Through the words that make the promises that build hopes
Is the same way fathers father fatherhood and fatherlings
That make generations of prophets, priests and kings
And the honourable ones of skill, will and zeal that fit the bill
Having dominion over the sandy coasts and lush hills
As is God's mandate to all and those to come
That we may be found upright by the Almighty's plumb
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY
THRUST AND SLASH
A sword in a scabbard, hung from the belt
For the Teutonic Knights, it costs much geld
Heated and tempered but it does not melt
Most blades are l straight and double sided
Easy to draw as the long blade is guided
To the old Eastern mind, such is derided
The Moorish influence is in Toledo still
With a special steel that is designed to kill
For fancier guardsmen it would fit the bill
A cutlass is curved with cupped brass guard
Designed for slashing when stabbing is hard
But need sharpening if the edge is marred
Knives however, like most daggers, are hid
An arm for a lady to grip, and quietly slid
Ready for determined action, as many did
Some thin to a point, as a poignard will do
But there are other places to find them too
As for a Scot in a sock, that’s a Skean Dhu
'2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 19' entry, 03 Nov 2022. Sponsor=Mark Toney
Get Thee Up is an old way
Of saying Giddy Up, latter-day.
I rather like the original best,
Although Giddy Up has stood the test
Of time.
Cowboys and Horsemen use this still,
It seems to fit the bill.
As horses have got to know,
Giddy up means go.
If they do not go fast enough,
The horserider gets tough.
And uses a whip to strike the horse,
Of course,
It should not be allowed,
The Animal Rights crowd
Maybe one day will win,
As this is a sin and a crime,
Perhaps this also will change with time.
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