too much rain and
too much sunshine today
puddles dry-up upon windy licks
then shake like wet dogs.
rainstorms sweep the sky away
to make room for the returning glare
of a pissed-of sun
mercury Thermometers are frustratingly fickle
but we all know that this is Ohio
and so, dress for the chance
of the odd minor tornado
it may settle down tomorrow
or get worse
the farms animals are in the barn
the critters are hunkered down
yellow buses carry kids
away from or into danger
but nothing unexpected
happens here
its only the predictable weather
and still only spring.
My frustratingly obstinate hubby
Drives me crazy
Always loudly fixing the unfixable
Without any success.
He kept on tinkering stubbornly
Under the kitchen sink
Despite my fervent plea to...
"Just call the plumber already!"
True to form, he dismissed me with...
"No need, sweetie. I'll fix this, trust me."...
I told him, "But babe, it's worst off now!"
Even my daughter sided me on this.
"Dad, I actually agree Mom," she told him
"I think you should call it in," she added.
But did her advice penetrate? Of course not!
"No need, pumpkin. I know what I'm doing,"
He says to her, emphatically.
How typical of him.
The following day,
He's still scooping water out of the sink
With a salad bowl.
My daughter says to him,
"Dad, how about calling the plumber?
And then I said...
"Hon, why don't you ever listen to us?"
He finally calls the plumber
With my side eye trained on him.
I Shoulda Seen It Comin' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John lawless
Date written: 02/02/2023
Intuition flares,
prancing in ostentatious circles,
feather-tip proud.
Lugubrious grey wigs
speckle gregariously
bedecked by flamboyant gems:
they flicker frustratingly
in stifled Regency ballrooms.
Our embers, in contrast,
are quiet. Shushed.
They wallow in dark corners,
hidden from prying eyes.
Predators.
Our collective eyelid
flutters closed:
too shy, subduing to privacy.
A silent tear streaks
our collectively cold face.
Science ensnares our senses,
making ordinary life dim -
blindingly darkened;
teetering on Boredom’s knife edge –
we long to carve it free;
infuse new scarlet veins
into its unthinking, meaty flesh,
stoking a smothered fire,
rekindling its earthy,
endearing embers.
Why are we here?
my oppositional daughter
defiantly asks.
Because we're not over there?
her appositional dad
too often
and frustratingly
responds.
Sogyal Rinpoche writes
"To embody the transcendent
is why we are here."
I doubt my daughter
would find this more satisfactory,
sounds like more patriarchal malfactory.
Echeopnir Laygos has another impression,
To embody cooperative economic empowerment
and political win/win enlightenment
is why liturgy,
communion,
and transcendent meditation
are here.
So,
embodying Earth's transcendent unity
is also how we are here;
but this too
would not satisfy my daughter's constant questions
about why and how,
I fear.
Eleanor Rigby and Father McKenzie
Oh, so lonely -- Where do such people come from
They come from all walks of life, from the priesthood
on down to the hangers-on at village churches
And where do they all belong? -- In a desiccated church
where Father McKenzie preaches sermons that no one hears
and Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice thrown at others' weddings,
surely lamenting her own lonely, dreamlike existence...
They belong together, but Church doctrine, frustratingly, keeps them apart
this lonely woman with the happy face, concealing the ache deep inside
and the devoted priest, so determined to look ministerial, to deliver a sermon
for no audience, that no one will hear, that will save no one...
So many lonely people in society today, like Eleanor Rigby
people who come from nowhere, whose contributions go unrecognized
and who return to nowhere, buried along with their names --
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...
August 08,
Eleanor Rigby Who was she Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jerry T. Curtis
Looking around our old apartment,
Is like visiting a place from my childhood,
Familiarity hanging on the remnants of a memory,
Your favourite seat by the window,
Where the sun would refract off the glass,
And kiss across your eyelids turning them gold and red,
Now it’s just a space,
Frustratingly vacant,
Everything here reminds me of you,
And it hurts,
A deep aching hollow pain,
It’s endless,
The memory’s taunt me,
I don’t want to be like this,
To wallow in self pity,
I don’t want your death to be all about me,
Because you made me so happy,
Now I feel like I’m betraying that,
Live life you used to tell me,
The tattoo on your shoulder -
“Love is living life to the full.”
Now your not here,
Your nowhere,
And I’d rather be no where with you,
Than anywhere without you.
PTSD
My nightmares are violent;
rifle jammed frustratingly dead,
broken stock useless as a club,
only a k-bar knife and free hand
reaching for those darting figures
leaping over my fighting hole.
The night terrors are far worse;
bolting upright out of deep sleep
screaming from hidden memories,
violence lost in the awakening,
these trauma never remembered
hidden so very deep in my psych.
My days and nights span endlessly
while sitting alone in an empty room,
sightless but seeing forty years ago,
no longer living in the relevant present
the past becomes my personal quagmire;
a Hell beyond address never resolved.
Coping with a forced duality of life
accomplishments become meaningless,
every success is infused with doubt,
past decisions are seen in darkness
and the future unnecessary unwanted,
the value of my life feels wasted.
Old thoughts and desires surface,
my death in Vietnam more merciful.
I lived while more deserving men died
those who may have avoided a faulty life
avoiding a repressed and cloistered mind;
how these feelings echo among Veterans.
She can't lie over that time behind mean,
From the bottom of life not planned to be lived,
It was someone else that she see,
But not in the state to grief,
In a sharp turn,things changed suddenly,
It felt as if everything was a bereave,
Tried all to get everything rightly,
She knew she was backsliding,
She knew she was not of herself,
Yeah,maybe you would be a talkative to that,
Deep within her ears,voices were directing her steps,
Not suitable to be at the bank of a deadly river,
The appearance of the river stole her instinct with a mutual urge of a diva,
Frustratingly,series of pain were developed in her neck,
No one knew where she fell as a victimized bird,
Even though one man concernedly said to her,
"Everyone is now giving a complain about you,
And I suggest you come back to your formal self",
All that he said was accepted to be a fallacy,
The problem was just a result of she being spiritually unstudious of late,
It wasn't easy for her to be repositioned,
Yet,she had everything needed to pass life examination,
Later realisation held her to revive by surprise,
And now,not even a child can deny the fact that she's alright.
An ocean, a calm vibrant ocean
The moon resting until it's his time to wake once more
and give light to night
No tides, no illustrious tides nor waves
to hinder the calm of this ocean
to disturb the depths of the sea floor nor the creatures it holds
It is there, there summons a shark
a silent shark, a small basking shark
mulling about, pacing back and forth in between it's giant walls
at first for thought, at first for a purpose, at first for a reason
but as time passes the moment is lost
the reason is gone and sits this shark with the ability
to swim like lightning
sits this threatening shark who is just as harmless as a starfish
fighting for control
trying to remember what purpose it has
trying to remember anything
anything short term but there it runs
an undersea rabbit as fast as it can be
and somehow the shark, sits a tortoise wanting to do something
but just sinks further and further hitting the bottom floor
A dark abyss, a darkness only lit by the sun fading ever so slowly...
'What's the point? ' he says frustratingly as he closes his eyes
What's the point...what's the point...
"The pen is mightier than the sword"
- In general, I guess that's true
But mine's a lazy blighter;
It treats sloth as a bloody virtue
It's not the liveliest of beasts
It's always at a halt
It likes staring at blank paper
As though that's the thing at fault
It lives a charmed sedentary life
Full speed is torpidly inert
It charges around at the pace of a slug
When flat out and alert
My pen possesses zero 'nift' -
I can't fault it for being too nifty
Its' sweet repose is a full-on doze
It thinks saving ink is thrifty
It's scintillatingly steady
So passively at peace
Unchanging in its' inactivity
Like a grazing wildebeest
So languid and so supine
As it munches on my thought
Remaining ever restful
Seeing hibernation as a sport
It's frustratingly calm and fixed
To the point of being plain dull
And that's when it's being lively
It's worse still, when in a lull
But now and then I drag it
Out of its' latent, dormant air
Force it to get some exercise
And treat my thoughts with care
Often it’s quite useless
It's rare for the spark to light -
But when thought and pen work as one
Well, that's the time I write
Bad luck,
It seems all I've been getting lately
Bad luck,
I'm losing my family
Bad luck,
Mother and uncle have kidney failure
Bad luck,
We need a savior
Bad luck,
It's frustratingly difficult to focus in class
Bad luck,
I've broken so much glass
Bad luck,
I have shitty eyesight
Bad luck,
Why can't things ever go right?
Bad luck,
We have no money to make my teeth straight
Bad luck,
I've been a victim of so much hate
Bad luck,
Yeah, I've got it pretty rough
Bad luck,
But hey, at least I'm tough
Bad luck,
When will things finally work out?
Bad luck,
I'm sorry, I don't mean to pout
WISDOM IN WAITING
You ask impatiently for clear direction
Frustratingly--it has not yet come
Refusing researching--wise inspection
Following our instincts we succumb
God’s silence can mean nothing
Except go ahead as we feel right
We move forward –hastily rushing
Human natures irresponsible plight
Never discerning His perfect wise will
He needs us to ask—our duty to listen
God won’t heed the deadlines we instill
His way is clear—revealing His mission
"My pen drips of sorrow and on this paper, I write each tear"
My life unfolds,i deflect love, braver face is worn
for top surface, iron armour,beneath dwelling cashmere
pantomine performed,staging through all acts
inside crying attention for love,outside the mask.
Deep deep, amongst depths of insecurity
conversational flow lacking,o frustratingly yearn normality
pent up tensions,no outlet,i just cry
there`s more unfortunate people, decaying in this world.
Paul Beadnall for
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
14/8/11.
Contest Name Just Write
Oh my goodness,
what humans are willing to bare
to attract...
Beyond, the mock and mocking bareness
lies the convoluted angst of man,
pleasure seeking, in a self gratifying
wallow of excretions.
The need to roll…down the road…in the hay
to move like corpuscles down
the multitudinous arties of man.
Some draped in fuchsia, an orchid’s blush
with legs so long they make an ass of themselves.
Others tricked out in comfy cotton boostieas
breasts jiggling like jello, mounds of molded eye candy
firm, run-ready calves, taunt and on point
strut
ready to rut
on stiletto heels
still primed for and pandering to
the sought after alpha male.
The androgyny of the 21st century male-dom
making marking the target frustratingly
diff I cult
these drooping, wilted, round shouldered
bow-legged, net walkers seem unlikely sperm donors
for the next generation beyond the pale.
And as their lives settle in to settle down
in the whirlwinds of climate change
oil shortages, constant alpha stripping
further neuters the human potential
as the haves, feed the have nots
into the furnaces of endless war
the heard is culled………
There is nothing so madly frustrating like the sky being slightly above your head yet
said to be your highest limit
There is nothing so sadly annoying like knowing your loved yet feeling so hated
There is nothing so annoyingly irritating like being so brilliant yet being treated like
the most stupid thing that happened to humanity
There is nothing so provokingly saddening like lighting the life of people around you
yet filling your life with darkness
There is nothing so badly spiteful like seeing the best in people yet finding only the
worst in you
There is nothing so terribly annoying like being treated as a very precious jewel yet
feeling like the most useless trinket
There is nothing so humanly degrading like being the wealthiest person on earth
yet knowing that you are less than the most wretched church rat
And there is nothing so frustratingly annoying like feeling how you feel
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