To show total lack of
compassion and mercy
makes a person
completely unworthy
for political office.
It is no place for
the reckless or incautious.
A simple request to have mercy
does not in any way make someone nasty,
and to say otherwise
is, frankly, cruel and unclassy.
One's period of chieftaincy
is always best remembered
when the rules of common decency
are wisely followed with proficiency.
The task of a true leader
is to protect and respect,
and a mature leader understands
that nobody's perfect.
Of ocean’s roar, dark tales are told
Of swimmers dragged into its fold
Incautious choices, foolish-bold
Ne’er seen again, their bells have tolled
Of hairpin turns on mountain roads
Huge semis bid farewell to loads
Then likely starts an avalanche
Once boulders fall, they can’t be stanched
When life’s not valued, thrown away
To God we turn and fervent pray
~ Iambic Tetrameter ~
Your bones are scattered in a boggy field -
it happens all the time.
Time is your pocket handkerchief,
your shattered wristwatch,
your best evening pants,
all reduced to insect dust.
Hundreds of years later
they discover,
a distant tooth with its crown intact,
later still, a being reports your broken jaw,
unearthed by the sludging rain.
Bit by bit your skull is discovered.
Eventually they have enough of your head
to commence a plaster likeness
of your skull.
Your life is so distantly buried into the past,
that the new beings have to speculate...
some assume you died,
at the hands of an axe wielding foe,
others that you succumbed to a
primitive tooth condition.
None ever guess,
that you flew off your girlfriends Honda,
practicing one last incautious wheelie
on a minor road
in darkest Derbyshire.
The target keeps shifting
brains fly around, bad ideas rain down.
There should be no limit of 'takes'
for the hunting season,
for the sky is thick with dumb notions.
Some are just silly, some are malignant
Good intentions quack like ducks
feathers flying, beaks flapping like fork.
Just when we think the sky is all clear
here comes a kamikaze goose
dropping turd-thoughts.
It takes a keen eye to clean up
unless one smacks you
because you forgot to duck.
This is an age of blood;
an interesting era,
corn and potatoes rot in the fields
or are sold into slavery.
Money walks inside a Viking helmet,
Mars is rising red with anger.
This a time for poetry,
for the old and young
to scribble over burnt stones,
to whisper into hurricanes.
The world spins on
but an axis of madness reigns,
its spin is out of kilter,
drugged by addictive illusions.
Only the wild child
with a charcoal pen
can write down the pain,
can see the fire simmering bright
in the chilling snow.
The path is crazy
it has lost itself in a concrete maze
of insane ideas and frothing words.
It babbles, it has only spears
to shake, as if such weapons' were
as sharp as clear eyes.
The soft neural tentacles of poets
wave in the ash filled air,
gather reasons,
moments to sew together
incautious words
on the edge of a dire dawn.
A pale light feeds them
they report the storming storms
camouflaged as they are
by the in-between;
their small testaments
writ upon scapes of scorched insights
for the readers and trackers
of lost footprints.
MY DREAM VACATION
Sharing juicy oranges on a dusty Spanish pavement
The cloudless sky offers no respite from the relentless sun
Free of time concerns, we cycle to our next ad-lib adventure
Guided by suggestions not structure
Blown by the wind, we wing it to wherever
We are not bound by the books
They say: "life is just beyond your comfort zone"
I would add "memories do not follow a timetables"
The unknown awaits the unscheduled
I will long remember the feel of the sticky juice on my hands but the memories of luxury dinners have faded
But planless isn't always painless
Carefully consider your companion
A timid friend will be too traditionalistic to escape
An incautious friend may be imprudent or frivolous
A considered choice of companion opens off-road experiences
Be brave, be adventurous
Escape from conservative chains
Liberated, fly free.
Sponsor L MILTON HANKINS
Contest Name MY DREAM VACATION
Written 29 March 2022
Above the Blue Ridge hills
flights of stealth owl
glide in from the moon.
Strange how a jungle is never quiet
but these Tennessee woods
sleepwalk along moccasin paths
watched over by the velvet foliage
of dreaming tree.
Owls are the true eagles here,
they hunt the thriving flesh
and distain all that no longer trembles.
They do not scavenge
but scatter prey before them
hunting the huntable on sonic waves.
Sometimes on a summer night I leave a cabin
to walk among the owls and nightjars.
To sit silently listening to the rustle and scurry
of a timid pulse and the silent wings
of its pursuer.
Occasionally a deer is startled
by an incautious movement
sending it crashing through the dark brush.
I do not carry a gun here, but if I did
I would never break the silence of these woods
for the voices of the dead and the living
sing in the air as softly as stars do
when reflected in the eyes of hunting owls.
Though this she'll deny
I caught her incautious eye
staring at me, yes she was
unabashedly
'Twas but a moment I grant
the evidence scant
My word against hers
in no court of law assured
Yet it matters not what she'll say
at the end of the day
I know what I saw; and what I saw, I know
builds my confidence so
SELF ACTUALIZATION
Simple, Smart, Straightforward, Sophisticated.
Energetic, Enthusiastic, Efficient.
Lively, Lovable.
Faithful, Friendly.
Assertive on Analytical Approach.
Cary, Cultured, Creative.
Truthful, Tender-hearted.
Undaunted.
Affirmative, Active, Adventurous.
Loyal, Liberal.
Intelligent, Idealistic, Impulsive.
Zealous
Accomplished
Talented.
Incautious, Ingenuous.
Optimist.
Noble by nature.
Self Actualization Contest by San Woo
C aught and snared
A nchored to a sharp hook
R ash choice of "food"
P roducing its' own demise
(rash in incautious of what it chooses to ingest)
beneath all the war stricken tumbleweed burrows
lies a maiden
of faith
her longbow is golden with platinum arrows
and somewhere to someone this woman belongs
her present is tainted with hints of tomorrow
when someone to others will sing her a song
in a garden
in may
in a predestined moment beginnings dissolve
an aforementioned instance
to which it
resolves
on a horse in a gallop by ripe sloping fields
rides a knight
taking aim
his steel hardened sword in a sheath silken woven
and somewhere to someone his heart is avowed
his past is still waiting for closure to cover
and fighting for spring he will sing for a crowd
in a garden
in may
in an incautious moment where failure lies waiting
an expected condition
to which it
resolves
The Confessions of a wicked Soul …………By Peter Onyancha
I am looking for a girl
Who is a little foolish, so I can fool with her
A girl, incautious, to flip
A girl who never reasons, when I give my reasons
She will not be rude when I am crude
One I will insult, and she won’t sulk
Warm at heart, when I raise the heat
But she, oh yes
Must be meek and weak at heart
And quick to quench my kinky time
Constant conversing, distant canvassing
My way is the way, anyway
Where? Here –
What? Your Service, Sir
When? Your Command, King
Ok, come? I am coming!
I am looking for this girl
Now, How –
They say I must chase her
With my soul; the whole of it
Ah! The soul is never given in part
But in whole; the whole soul
Tell me, one thing
Can I lie I do not have a soul
Just for her, for her only
For my sake’s sake
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