Some people seem to live their lives for show
But often they just don't know which way to go
They take offense whenever none was ever meant
Not caring if bad behavior is to their detriment
Insecure peers judge me as if they know who I am
I am wiser than them because I know where I stand
.
yet i am not ready
for mine
fluffy
vinter
snuggle bunnie
spoon
gone so soon
hmmm
summer sweat'n
in own
her
hammock though
libertine
If the dress fits then ware it.'if the mess hits, then share it..The best advice is give
It a try, why take all the blame? Just be spry.' When next comes time to test-ify
Thats if you are bill-ary clinton? Just in
In this note, and as a bye; the bye.)
Written on 17th November, 2025
for the texture of minimalist poetry contest
by Nette Onclaud
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tough for rough stuff
workwear for casual fits
rugged for donkey years
closets still store its cool warmth
twill-woven blue
white strewn over indigo
softness toughened with dye
its glory a wardrobe song
My garden is quite exclusive
I only invite fellow cultivators of peace
We nurture serenity and harmony
Wordku: 5-7-5- words
AP: 3rd place 2025
Like trying on your mother’s shoe;
they do not fit, but still they do
and yet, your father’s, never tried
for what secrets do both shoes hide?
She is a child of the mountains, of meadows, lakes, and seas.
A pirate queen, faerie princess, ninja warrior, consultant to a king.
Sliding into crevices others might not understand; only herself to please.
She fits in with so many; her plethora of talents of which others sing.
A bit of a pyromania, loving the reds and oranges of a gobbling fire.
A loner, and yet, with many friends. Others cannot tear themselves away
She follows her muses, writing and painting, in comfortable attire.
Her days are filled with joy, for she knows the therapeutic use of play.
She is a child of God, but not the one that hides behind a church steeple.
A spiritualist, she believes in the beauty of mystics and esoteric art
She is followed by a multitude of adoring friends, strangers, people.
A marvelous friend, a fine citizen, with a generous glowing heart.
If Pearl misbehaves
throws fits, rants and raves
What of the parents who raise her
If Johnny can’t read
or do simple math
What of his teachers who instruct him
If Darryl kills a man at age 14
After robbing him blind
What of the system which releases him too soon
Where’s there no supervision or accountability, little teaching, less review
the quality products turned out number between zero and a few
Inspired by Bill Baker,
A friend in Texas
add on's welcome!
If The Sneaker Fits
I bought blingy gold sneakers with Trump's magic in it
A guru with genius, that's how I spin it!
But deep down in my guts
I think I'm just nuts
Another one of those suckers born every minute
by Robert Gorelick
If The Sucker Pays
Nice of you to support that Fother Mucker
Who's your daddy now Carlson, Tucker?
Deep in my guts
I too think you're nuts
Trump took you for hundreds you poor sucker!
by I Am Anaya
clutch them …
nourish them …
draw all to your being with
a lover’s hunger
the cosmos bears suns, innumerable
each a rarity of scintillation
unlike any other -
a macrocosm of nascency and
divine chaos
in a measure to rival every
pinch of dust that ever whirled
upon a whisper…
like the ache of fidelity,
each has its own bountiful awe
and who can know what
wonders lay in wait beyond the gleam?
they are not stars
they do not churn with fusion
nor do they bedazzle the heavens,
but they are just as precious -
despite the size or weave or breadth …
so treat them with
deference, regard and quiet consideration
for the big things are the little things
and the biggest of
all the small …
are moments.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, February 2, 2024
love is not Archie Bunker ~let his hatred stay in Hitler's bunker
when circumstances appear cruel in life you need not be cruel with them
a dodged serve, the ball is now long gone~a pond rife with many lost balls
a lie will soar throughout the land before truth wakes and gets out of bed
controlling ones diverticuli ~should control shouting from poop shoot
attention seekers turn your gaze outward to life’s welcoming bounty
no physical traits shared with your harem~save face so not to scare ’em
a friend can't be betrayed if they were never a friend~non-existance
liars can't believe in their own existence~how can they believe mine?
given every clue~if you don’t know me by now it's yours to undue
pure love’s nature cannot take pleasure in other’s sorrows pain and sin
poets with grand gushing font~sage with a pen or idiot savant?
It fits.
It just simply does.
My arm fits behind your head,
as we lie on the bed, in the glow.
Your head on my shoulder,
comfortable and light.
It fits.
It just does.
Staring at the ceiling;
at the cobweb on the fan.
Nobody cares. There are no thoughts,
just reverie, and peace. Just to be.
It fits.
It just fits.
This life with you,
and who we are.
This growth together,
to become, more than one.
It fits.
It has fallen into place.
I can’t explain why,
but here we are again.
Another time, when a smile came,
and we knew it was right to be.
It fits.
Again and again it fits.
All our concerns drift away.
All our days become one.
Our hopes become shared,
and our dreams spring alive.
It fits.
This life together fits.
A replacement for physical love
Is a more emotional love that rises above
Lasts a lifetime
World's in rhyme
A love that fits like a perverbial glove
You carry a place within you as a talisman.
A remembrance of where your center is.
The air here is old, the sound still.
It is the place where things
Turned upside down, are righted;
Things that are backward, turn around.
Truths revealed within the breathing of the earth.
It is where you see each creature as yourself,
Where you find in all things the quality of mercy
That brings them together.
It is a place where everything fits.
You know this is so.
You have only to live this truth.
Now is the time, there is no other.
You needn’t move to arrive.
Leave the busy mind you have been visiting.
Travel through stillness to your home.
My dilemma is this
I am not , never a poet
Could try my level best to pose
for one but in all credibility not
seriously pass myself
off as one neither profess
to claim or be an artist even
an aspiring one
Merely a fella who loves nothing
more than time well spent
Stringing and expressing
word's into verses and
short sentences
By using and turning an
oxford english dictionary
definition into my own
personal individual meaning
With a point and a question
thrown in for good measure
A simple backwards hobbiest
soup meop-athic wordsmith
if there is such a thing at all
Who writes and posts not
in paper , pen or ink but by
touching pressing qwerty
key's on a phone touchscreen
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