In each of these restful poses
To sleeping's own posture
What he boasts in never leaves her;
An eye for fine sculpture.
Idol. Harmlessly inactive!
Disabused of, disturbed!
Through whose then cracks, sounds again for
One with living perturbed.
Deep within the city park
stood Barnaby, a highly
grumpy, semi- sentient apple
tree.
He absolutely despised
when children approached
with fawning, goofy faces to
steal his fruit.
Whenever kids giggled and
reached up, Barnaby would
furiously shake his wooden
branches.
THWACK! A barrage of ripe,
juicy red apples went flying
like heat- seeking missiles.
He pelted the screaming kids
right on their bottoms, chuckling
a low, creaky laugh.
The children thought it was a
hilarious game and ran through
the park intentionally.
They made ridiculous,
exaggerated kissy- faces just
to trigger the tree's flying fruit
defense.
Barnaby snorted woodchips,
launching a rapid- fire green
Granny Smith straight at a
nose.
The park echoed with loud,
joyful snorts as apples
bounced harmlessly off
targeted bellies.
The grumpy tree finally
smiled, realizing his thrown
treats made everyone incredibly
happy.
Softly, she lobbed the serve across my heart
it fell harmlessly on my arm
Intended not to tear me apart
only a harbinger of harm
Her game gained traction soon enough
darts and arrows whizzing ‘cross the net
Stung my forehead where I once was tough
her ringing accusations captured the first set
My counsel – my coach – gave me his advice
not to fight fire with fire, which never works
He’d seen it fail not once, but twice
wouldn’t let me look like a jerk…
Alas and alack, to no avail, as a forehand smash
won her the trophy, the kids, and all my cash
I can’t handle
ornery
brooding
detachment
My parental figures
romantic
warm
close
Oh, they yelled
momentarily
harmlessly
humorously
(to me at least)
like when Dad
spilled sugar
sugar lips
martini cheers
against her urn
I can’t handle
grief
tears
a broken heart
I was obviously hiding under a rock
Out in the hills
Amid my animals and gardens
Happily and merrily going harmlessly on my way
When the great cancellation began
And suddenly every slight innuendo and reference
To some historical moment
A moment which could possibly have offended
And caused great hurtful harm
To those so inclined
Was deemed hateful
Instead of just ignorant or silly, funny or crude
At first in my oblivion I didn’t take it seriously
It didn’t seem like my battle to fight
But you know, hate is just the child
Of fear
And fear can get a society to agree to anything
(10/28/24)
The black guy on the white paper
Is pointing a gun at me again.
As always I wonder
why not a white guy on black paper?
He is a brutal gangster.
Behind the stylized caricature
there is nothing
and that is why he has to be killed.
Aim, pull the trigger.
The black man trembles,
a draft ruffling the target
as it hangs suspended
25 yards away.
What happens next
is too quick to take back.
Circles of light
punched into shadow.
Behind the gun sight
a slug passes through my eyes
harmlessly
I've dodged another bullet.
By your electric light,
you crawled to my heart,
baby how sweetly you
poisoned my soul!
I die harmlessly now, not by a
cruel act. And on my gravestone
it will read: killed by love.
Love lasts, and for those who wet their feet
in its lava, there's no cruel destiny.
Love is a sumptuous blood affair, flees your loving heart
under an oak tree.
Death is ephemeral like our rainbow love under the clouds.
Stirrings of heart in poems symbolised,
creations crafted as heartfelt emote,
oft by narrow minds cursorily sized,
since heart and head ride in different boats.
Nonchalant to criticism, we do float
as a bliss mist, in joyful innocence,
engaging not in this churlish parlance.
The jibes and taunts whizz by us harmlessly;
our centred presence in tranquil balance,
throbbing in rapture of love endlessly.
07-November-2020
Written for: ‘Judged By A Jury Of Your Peers Poetry Contest’
Being attentive & observant
We become sentient
To desires the moment they arise
Nipping them in the bud before they rise
Meaning thereby we catch them in mid air
Such is our dexterity and unmatched flair
The desire flows, neither repressed or sublimated
Yet contained harmlessly as not yet precipitated
That state being thoughtless
In the void of no-thingness
Is where Shiva manifests!
30-September-2020
--- "no dirty minds" --- ;
w/ out human hang-ups ,
symbols harmlessly wed sight, sound,
free speech.
Inevitable that our past
Indulgence in many an unholy repast
Brings now ego borne ferality
Seeking to penetrate our open porosity
Having no fear we do not resist
Our emptiness within offering no target
Grossness seeking an anchor
But there being no corresponding rancour
Onto which it may attach
Past karma whizzes by leaving us unscathed
As ordained the arrow penetrates
However flies by harmlessly unable to permeate
There being in our presence
Nothing else save the elixirous blissful fragrance
As a mist of bliss
Identity vaporised in the divine entwined caress
The external inconsequential
Ensconced in love beholding the divine miracle
The flowing continuum
Observed in dynamic stillness from the fulcrum
As the spacial void
In & within the flow of life we are always overjoyed
Dharma
Annihilating karma
i found Venus
de Milo's
arms
laying next
to van
Gogh's
earlobe
her fingers were
signing something
in Italian while
he frenchly
drank another
bottle of la
fee verte
she harmlessly
was miles
away
listening to deaf
Beethoven
conduct his 9th
symphony
Rust ate away the Tin Man's heart,
but I never stopped loving.
After abandoning me, who wouldn't
need a wizard's magic to restore
some semblance of feeling?
Loving me was like loving a tin can:
I always had something to offer.
Loving him was no more than loving tin foil:
he crumpled from every wifely demand.
After passion had worn out his iron cock,
he marched into the woods -- as he fled,
my desperate words flung from a resolute mouth
bounced harmlessly off an impenetrable backside.
I cried, threw things, carried on for days,
but nothing flipped the switch in his mind.
[The robot was intent on leaving me.]
So alone as I was, I did not regret my actions:
I sold that bastard's heart to a junkyard.
This poem appears online at Words are a Need.
http://wordsareaneed.blogspot.com/2014/07/married-to-tin-man.html
Everywhere it soaks and seeps collecting
more as it journeys to destination
starting life as a single water drop
this life giving fluid of such sweet nectar
Seeming coloured one moment clear the next
we give it such little thought as we pass
maybe we reflect stirred by a lake
for a few moments struck by its beauty
We moan when it is wet, even more when dry
cry when in rage it floods causing havoc
one drop by itself harmlessly benign
joined together such a powerful force
Water without whom there would be no life
each drop a sacred blessing from above
purifying and cleansing as it passes
on its eternal and endless journey
a heart made out of everlasting ice.
fiercely ferocious claws scratch and scrape at his iron like scales.
a streaming battle cry from behind him.
soldiers fleeing as soon as they meet his gaze.
one stayed.
he swung his sword mightily .
but with one swipe from the slippery tongue of the dragon.
was enough to send him flying.
his glare looked as if the ice dragon was on fire.
with all his might he thrust his dagger.
but it shattered harmlessly into millions of shards against the ice dragons back
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