Celebratiions are over, calibrations must
start'
trumps in office, the wars continue in fits and starts..God said they will celebrate peace and safety, then will come the end..
It could be amost upon us.? But i can't see farther than the next bend.)
Raindrops in suspense
from the gutter’s edge hang
Indecisive clouds stalled, then whisked away
in fits and starts all day
An easel indoors clears her throat
When will she have her say
Have We Not Had Some Fun (My Dear, Dear Girl)
Oh my, how the years have run,
Have they not, my Dear, Dear girl?
Have they not seen their share of struggle and fun,
Have they not, my Dear, Dear girl?
Have we not tasted defeat,
Drunk of delight?
Have we not known the pleasures
Of darkness and light?
Have we not known the warmth of the Sun
In the deep of the night?
Have we not, my Dear, Dear girl,
Have we not?
Do we not now carry within us
Those not so distant days
When we were clear inside our hearts
Pure in our ways,
When the sun burned bright
When the stars danced above
Celebrating our unquenchable love
Through the deep velvet night
Binding us in trust
Through the fits and starts
Of youthful dreams,
Through the rise and fall of naive schemes
Have we not, my Dear, Dear girl,
Have we not?
Have we not grown old, as One,
My Dear, Dear girl?
Have we not seen the passage of ten thousand suns,
My Dear, Dear girl?
Am I still your only one,
Through all the tears and fun,
My Dear, Dear girl?
I hope it is so,
For all I know,
I am yours forever
My Dear, Dear girl,
My Dear, Dear girl.
More can’t piddle with their piddler
Nor can fiddle with their fiddler
Age removes more than a little
Rage just leads to the hospital
Life gives us many fits and starts
Strife’s left once we lose bits and parts
If there’s less poke in your poker
Riff out some jokes from your joker
For the 8x8x8x8 contest
Our Great Hope
(An Easter Poem)
As sun arose
bright morning crept.
Night's darkness fled,
though few had slept.
Tears fell from eyes,
left wispy trails,
as night rang out
with sobs and wails.
The soldiers feared.
Stone rolled away.
They must explain.
The void archway.
Great doom and fear
filled cold, dark hearts.
Concerns grew fierce,
in fits and starts.
The ladies came
to change His clothes.
The body’s gone.
Their footsteps froze.
He wasn’t there.
Where did He go?
He kept His word.
He told them so.
An angel came
and asked them why,
they looked on Earth
and not the sky.
“He’s risen now.
He is not dead.
Christ is alive,
just like He said.”
Love always thinks it's chosen well,
Discerns no qualities to criticize.
In the loved one all is loveable,
And defects become virtues in a lover's eyes.
To speak, or write, or sing of love,
A lover needs no dictionary.
The words come tripping off the tongue,
For love provides its own vocabulary:
A girl who's pale is jasmine white,
And her purity is felt;
If swarthy, she's a simmering brunette;
One who's wafer-thin, with skin stretched tight,
Is willowy and svelte;
A chubby one's a sugar plum, a pet;
A sloppy and untidy girl's a wild and carefree soul;
On a giantess bestow a goddess air;
A small girl might be a mignonette, button cute, a doll;
A vain girl's assumed dignity gives her charms beyond compare;
Shy girls are smart;
Dull ones simple and sweet;
A chatterbox, engagingly bright;
The silent one's dark and mysteriously deep,
Affected, maybe,
But love makes that all right.
So a truly smitten lover loves all the faults of his beloved,
And ever has it been thus since "the Fall".
Whom your heart says love, you love her,
Not in fits and starts, or selected parts,
But farts…
And warts…
And all.
Absolutely surrendering to the amusements of fate
Benign benevolent sentiments within bring bodacious bait
Abiding austerely into the ageless absurd fits and starts
Never negotiating with nature's nebulous nuptial new arts
Divine decorum dazzling dawn is what the environs drive at
Obscure oasis of the omnipotent ominously pat
Nefarious, nauseous nostalgic nemesis kneels as a gnat
25 February 2023
At breakfast at the B&B
Four couples shared the meal.
For those who like their privacy,
That may not quite appeal.
Yet conversation did take place,
At least in fits and starts
And everyone made nice,
Nobody throwing any darts.
As different as we were, though,
We shared stories and some laughs,
With no one talking politics
Or making any gaffes.
Once plates were cleared, we headed out
And wished each other well,
A pleasant breakfast for us all,
As far as I could tell.
Whirr! Clank! Buzz! Clunk!
The gears of my brain seize up,
No longer meshing.
No inspirations, no images appear.
No lofty thoughts, ideas
Tumbling over each other waiting
To be brought to life.
No stream of poetic impulses flourishes,
No silver verbs or round nouns
Slipping into space and place.
Just rusty fits and starts
That produce only empty noise.
Where in my mind is the slipped cog,
That word, the missing tooth,
The slippery oil of sibilant syllables
To lubricate the machinery?
Perhaps here, by diligence
I can search and find the missing part.
I’ll sit and write and write and write
Whatever comes to mind.
Words, words, words, words
That might break free the rusty wheels
And release syllabic oil to restore
That free-wheeling flow
Of passion, wonderment, and awe.
That play of script
That once poured forth so strong
From easy mesh of imagination
With its sister, reality.
So gears, set to your work.
Turn together in perfect sync
To change my dusty prose to poetry.
Outside the room
a steady rain
drip-drip-drip-drip...
He, pacing to and fro
up on his toes
then back on his heels
A dull pounding
in the back of his head
his tongue and palate dry
Perspiration coating the
crooks of his elbows
the backs of his knees
His breathing shallow
coming in fits and starts
punctuated by overloud hiccoughs
A thrum-thrum-thrum in one ear
a high pitched whistle in the other
What's the jury doing, brother?...
The rain-smeared windows
reveal a downpour now
Frigid slants, arrows into the ground
Chain rhyming scheme: aaba bbcb ccdc dddd
Iambic tetrameter: da-DUM-da-DUM-da-DUM-da-DUM
And Yet, Another
An errant wind ran dead in spring
lost lives chilling ain't no big thing
saints live across where river parts
just love of life freedom does bring
no spades facing just ace of hearts
a bro bought smokes payment imparts
store clerk alleged fake bill, and drunk
nine-one-one called, by fits and starts
flashlight taps car glass, clunk, then clunk
show hands gun drawn obeys, blue funk
from hooping his mouth foamed, not crazed
begs mom, as three pressed, his heart sunk
ignored pleas, time and time, sets phased
swarmed crowds sadly look on amazed
stagnant with no pulse, warning raised
shocked city and country soon fazed.
2021 April 12
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
In my heart I knew little of
the world and all its parts
As I drifted idle and wandered blind,
through constant fits and starts
My mind reached out beyond its grasp,
with the questions close behind
As time unfolded upon itself
—each moment to define
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
I stand here 'neath these vines of old
Wrapped by the arms of stories told
The lads and lasses, bright and bold
A dancing brown-eyed blond
Of whom I'd been quite fond
I'd found her here, below this green
Those chestnut eyes, all of fourteen
Brought I, a senior, still quite green
Thru metaphor, to my knees
Her fain pawn, if you please
Then shared in all that love imparts
We gangling fools, in fits and starts
Too zealous for our bleeding hearts
To care where passions led
Found reckless in its stead
Now I'm back here, gone the years
Yet stirs my soul, amidst the fears
Her sweet voice still avails my ears
From all the memories lost
How much our loves can cost ...
How much, our loves ...
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Late February 2019 Any Form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
O hell! O hell! I see you will not repent
To say against me for my descent;
If you were civilised and knew the truth
You would wipe out your wisdom tooth.
Can you not hate me enough without malevolence,
I do not think so for you seek prevalence;
If you were humans, as humans you are not,
You would not use a vicious tongue to rot.
To lie and conjure, and ridicule my parts,
For you know humans have the wrong hearts.
Hearts filled with envy truth that comes out by fits and starts.
Now my rivals are ready to cheer my capsize
For your pleasure and for your heart’s enterprise;
To conjure tears from my weary sad eyes.
With your disillusions, you became out of sort
To offend a human like you, and to extort
A God’s creation all to make him thwart.
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