Gym goer hits the gym—me,
A dumbell slipped wild and free,
He fell on his mouth,
A tooth out, a shrill shout,
Oops! He realised—the gym hit me!
This limerick is fiction
what if perchance he said it? She asked me.
This was an odd woman
sharing personal information with me at a party
I had just met her.
Why don’t you ask him? I suggested.
We are not speaking, she told me haughtily.
Do you care if he said it?
Not really.
Why spend time thinking about it then?
She stared at me for a second
Then rushed away.
To speak to another party-goer.
As I walked past them I heard her say
“What if he said it?”
I walked a little bit faster
Grumpy Gray was not afraid of judgement day
He groused and griped and sullenly made his way
He had been a church goer, had missed no Sunday
What have you done for others? Peter asked Mr Gray
I gave money to the church, they bought cushions for the pew.
That’s what the church did; I am asking, what did you do?
He made our long walk here dreary, somber, angry and blue.
Suggested a small child who was wise at the age of two.
Grumpy Gray had to sit in purgatory for a long time said Lu.
He had to learn a lesson about being kind to people too.
He had no idea his job on earth was to not be so danged blue.
When will he finally get released? Asked his cousin Sibbly Sue.
The seas gentle lapping licks
at children's feet,
bathes the beach goer
in a cooling wash to freshen
nerves from summer's heat.
The afternoon settles down
beneath the drowsy shade
of beach umbrellas
and colourful tents and begins
to dream its numbing dream.
Yesterday, just beyond
the reach of someone's sleep,
the same calm water
took a life not far from where
it now bursts tiny bubbles
to tickle little feet.
Bright
summer
days ahead
swimming pool as
golden seaside haunt
children building castles
suntan folk blow warm kisses
blue sky chatter from wonderstruck
beach goer swept up by atmosphere
of oceanic green tide’s sweet ripple
Posted : 31st May 2022
As we face the reality of life
We hear the sounds of slap to our faces
Where we beg to live for another day
And thorns are kept in our flesh
We were told to prepare
For peace in the times of war
But how can we when we don’t
Understand the peace piece’s puzzle
We can’t afford enough for the day
Than we are to save for tomorrow
Told to provide what we don’t have
Our future flew out of our hands
So when will we do such thing
When the goer goes to the grave?
I saw a lad at the movie
He thought himself rather groovy
Laughing during sadness,
Growling during gladness
I thought he was rather goofy.
Then, halfway through the picture show
Everyone turned sour on him, though
He didn't seem to mind,
The crowd became unkind
And the usher said he must go.
written August 23, 2021
Born chosen,
in other spheres,
soon landed
where nobody wanted ...
Little sugary I grew up,
little salty I survived
to be kind of impish ...
I'm a fugitive son
from the sea ... being healthy ...
Stout escapist
commitments,
absent goer
of cultural events
intriguing inhabitant
of society ... but
even so intending to me
being a poet, I got here ...
Neither high nor low
meantime...
Neither ugly nor handsome
however ... I don't pay attention to fashion,
but I am inside everything ...
Gone in the years,
without having realized ... yet
I am faithful wanderer with
tired feet and body
sense...
I never wanted luck,
be preferred but with
luck I was always registered ...
I mix healthy and evil
accurately ... I'm almost
pure innocence ... further angel
than a demon by essence ...
But imperfect man
I am still ... I'm sure ...!
I am: A lady-My mama saw to that.
I am: An American- So proud of my nation.
I am: A widow- I buried two husbands.
I am: A mother. I bore three beautiful children.
I am: A grandma- I have six grand children.
I am: A great-grandma- I have 12 great-grandchildren.
I am: A great-great grandma.. I have seven great greats.
I am: A Christian.. My folks were believers.
I am: A Lutheran. Same church for fifty years..
I am: A church goer. I never miss a Sunday except now in pandemic.
I am: A gardener. Formerly vegetable. Now flowers.
I am: A garden club member from local to National level.
I am: A certified flower judge. For forty years.
I am A Washingtonian. I've lived here since 1943.
I am: A North Dakotan. Born and raised there.
I am: A rural resident. I live alone on my farm.
I am: An author. I have published a book of poems.
I am: A reader. I love books.
I am: A retired person after 30 years same job.
I am: An old person. I will be 102 on 7/7/20.
Sharp pains,
Bleeding of the heart,
Thought that separates,
Disguised in attitude,
Shown to students.
'Tolerance'
Am I to tolerate?
Just because he is a lecturer,
eggheads or book masters,
Mean or crooked,
A church goer or
A mosque goer.
Because I am Christian,
I am indoctrinate with a slice of humanity's paradox,
"When you tolerate you hold yourself in high esteem"
Yet we are dealt with intolerance,
With their red pens,
They toil with our destiny.
They disguise us with their ideologies,
We look away in tolerance,
Proud they feel.
We don’t crave for tolerance
Like They wish to be valued, respected, obeyed.
To be seen as saints,
Yet they label us revolutionaries,
Will today be the day
To be heard and have a say?
I'd go to church
Every Sunday
Often find myself there
On Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Friday
oh! what am I but just a glorified Church goer;
A modified, glorified, pew sitter;
Oh! God, help me, Lord;
I don't wanna be just a pew sitter;
Praising you inside this church building;
whom am I but just a forgiven sinner;
I should be more than a pew sitter;
When I leave a church I should be a soul winner;
Not just a holy than tho! Christian just chilling;
oh! what am I but just a glorified Church goer;
A modified, glorified, pew sitter;
Oh! God, help me, Lord;
I don't wanna be just a pew sitter;
I need to be the church, be uplifting;
Be a witness, be forgiving;
Feed the poor, help the elderly;
Be the eyes, hands and feet of God;
Be all I can be;
oh! what am I but just a glorified Church goer;
A modified, glorified, pew sitter;
Oh! God, help me, Lord;
I don't wanna be just a pew sitter;
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.
You are a writer?
Yes
What do you write?
Poetry.
POETRY! Big eyes now.
Mostly, I agree.
Is there MONEY in that?
No.
Big eyes swiftly leaves my side, to speak to another party goer.
I pick up my notebook and pen, listening to all of their conversations.
Hoping no one else sits down.
The Obsessive Theatre Goer
Culture
Vulture
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Stand Alone Footle
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Placed 2nd
© 21st November, 2017
Unlike the pond life living here
you're the one I hold most dear
knowing you're mine makes me the glad one
I'd give you my heart if only I had one.
A nucleus is all I've got
trapped in a body like a pool of snot.
Though my looks won't cause surprise
as neither of us have been blessed with eyes.
I treasure your touch, and that's not sarcasm
there's nothing like the feel of ectoplasm.
I'm Solomon, you're my Queen of Sheba
for me you'll always be my darling amoeba.
Graceful and slender, a bit of a goer,
one mighty fine super-slime protozoa.
* Just an example of what I'm looking for in the contest I've submitted, folks, although I'm sure you'll do better. Viv *
What are my pronoun options?
The conference goer asked
He, she, it, they – anything you want – make one up even - the friendly greeter declared!
The conference goer asked the greeter if 'he' should really be an option as a pronoun choice
You know, with the issue of the generic 'he' that we all suffer
The greeter was confused and stunned with what was thought to be backlash from the conference goer
A security guard was called and the goer tried to explain the rationale for the statement
You know, that we hear and use 'he' so much that it actually impacts equality in our society
The security guard would hear none of it
This conference is over for you - the security guard shouted!
He or she or they handcuffed the goer and put he or she or they -- or you can make one up
In the squad car
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