eventually the overthinking had stopped
meditation and prayer had settled emotional scores
and bygones became a bright shadow of hope
past performance was no indicator of future success
the Tarot cards merely pictures of a possible path
a fool on a journey of becoming wise and serene
he settled for what was there at this moment
in immense gratitude and with blossoming faith
in his dream he was transported by a yellow convertible
surely a yellow brick road of transformation ahead
and he settled for amber curiosity and anticipation
conversed with Higher Powers to be in absolute charge
he dusted his boots and polished up an experience
that he had not chosen but lead to freedom and mileage
laced his walking shoes and ventured in patience
floodgates had closed once the earthquake diminished
as a rainbow and solemn star in the sky offered guidance
to move on and embrace a waxing moon of departure
destination not yet disclosed one day at a time
Against the back drop of green leaf copses, dulcet bird chirp, and bubbling pavement fountains,
that dawning from the azure blue sky a silken whisper,
to follow street signs on my route to work with ample gusto and much verve,
each metal
pointer to destination a micro mirror on its surround,
stoic indicator of direction, that upright unique urban compass,
clustered by behemoth scenic grandeur at its mint spring zenith,
and surging throngs who sashay in brisk step patterns so diverse yet firmly focussed,
as I am whilst counting on that reference point, that fixed point usher,
that deep-dyed friend at each crossroad safe in the knowledge of arrival,
and in tandem with a spotless day’s heroic toil in bright prospect,
how symbolic are these pathway guide rails to one who warms to flagship growth,
in its august transit on foot slog pitfall strewn road of expertism,
pole mounted emblems, silent sentry solid, detail for me on daily passage.
look for a smile
can he play poker
frown indicator
each one is unique
staring into eyes
reflects your soul
honest feelings
recognition
first impression
pointed chin
puffy cheeks
soulful eyes
one nose
one mouth
face
In the quiet hours just before dawn, she found herself caught between the softness of two pillows, struggling to choose between the comforts of sleep and the thrill of her dreams. As waves of pure ecstasy washed over her, the gentle blinking of a device’s low battery indicator cut through the blissful haze. It became a glaring disruption, pulling her abruptly back to reality and leading to a sense of disappointment – as if her moment of joy had been abruptly curtailed. "Ouch! Sorry, low battery," she murmured to herself, wishing she could have stayed in that blissful state just a little longer.
I give thanks to the Lord,
Because he cares for me.
His love, I can never ever deny,
Through His Son Jesus,
I have been set free.
That day on the cross he died.
Problems will come,
But I will not fear,
Because I know just where to turn.
I wanted to tell it to you my kids.
Of one event in my life
So that each of you may learn.
I was up one night,
Having lost lots of sleep,
I was broke and it was no joke.
Several cars indicator,
Were flashing their warnings,
Saying that something inside was broke.
Missed a bill payment,
My water was turned off,
I thought, "I need peace and now!"
All these things hit at one time,
It was stressing my mind
The answers, only God knew now.
Don’t know what I would have done
To have a God, that didn’t care.
But trust me we have One that does!
Right when I began to despair
Some unexpected money came from nowhere!
It was just enough for everything I needed to pay.
We can trust Him to be there.
During times of despair,
God took care of me once again on that day!
Don is the ultimate user
His deals seal you as a loser
When Trump holds the cards
The lives now in shards
Bear witness he’s an abuser
The Don has a trick to reveal
He’ll dick you and cancel your deal
Like hands on your neck
Trump voids your paycheck
And feels ecstasy when you squeal
If acts are life’s indicator
Don’s a classic woman hater
Though cratered with flab
Trump will pussies grab
As rapist and a dictator
What will show how Don’s dick-brain thinks?
Trump’s thrusts come with lies and high jinks!
Amid this disgust
Some high and non-plussed
Have heads up his rump with what stinks!
Coal tar zombie mouth leaks town gas syrup
Meat hook telegraphy indicator cameras hypnagogic
Liverwurst elegy beneath the frosting
Cinderblock reverie churns with mildew
Manus? Grilled cheese sandwich.
Cantonal enchantress, covered blossoms.
Necropolis euthanized, springtime salad.
Rhinestone rookery smothers loquat
Giant heart, relentless kindness to all she imparts
Intelligent, bookish, fashion-smart,
Leader, plants her trail with dedicated grace and flair—so you'll follow.
Laughter, as tuneful as the airs of larks or swallows.
Inquisitive, indicator of a legal luminary,
Admirable looks and acuity sounds in sharp commentary.
Neoteric, check the artistry in her stare; note the future at the tip of her fingers.
Gillian!
The fresh round-faced babe wears a teeny ribbon in her hair
Did they attach it with a bit of glue or what?
It is the only indicator she might be a she.
Little girls in Sunday school have ribbons on their socks,
Their collars, the edges of lace on their dresses
Their satin sheen shines up nicely, sprucing them a bit
Boys are not eager to get ribbons unless they are Iowa 4-H boys
Entering their livestock – lambs, calf, sow or steer in a fair
The white green and yellow ribbons do not mean much
But the blue and purple ribbons give them much to smile about
Girls are growing up, entering pageants, wearing a fat vertical ribbon
Saying Miss New Jersey, Corn Queen, or Pancake Princess
Brides dangle ribbons under their bridal bouquet
Ribbons are memories, tucked away in albums,
Brought out to admire when nostalgia prances about.
I like to Just get to the point in Word The indicator showing the Way Eternal guidance life and death leading to empty or full convergence eminent I advise choose Life the Gospel true Only Truth sets free See
PRAYING TO THE CREATOR
Praying to the creator,
With our heart so sincere.
Rejoicing without fear,
Tears as sign of indicator.
In times of joy and sorrow,
He is the author of tomorrow.
We bow our heads in reverence,
Our identity is a sign of reference.
With his love so strong,
Nothing will go wrong.
We find solace in God love,
His love is divine from above.
In moment of darkness,
We hope for light in excess.
With gratitude in our heart,
God is the beauty behind art.
PricelessPEN
Attempts to defraud my
poetic values via
the varied poetic
formats
My eyes were drawn to a perfect one
yet 'Im' turned out as a mere prefix-
seeing my error, I was in need
of a third eye
I thought this was it
but it was another
mistake, so I tried
to correct it
But I created a
problem that I
tried to fix
But it turned
into a mess
and as all
trails do
lead, to
a trial
And in truth
on the stand
Bible in hand
I lied and on
I chose Elegy
appropriately
Today, a ...
poet died
using ...
A.I.
"p.s., Bible is a good indicator that the rest post/past, A.I. use, zilch, nada, nicht, nein, Trump-O-Biden tix."
Mandela had the right idea for sure.
How can the law get justice for crimes of a repugnant nature,
That are bought to light 30 or forty years in the future,
When evidence is scarce by nature,
And either party having a lapse of memory that has no cure,
With either party now believing their own lie as a fact of which, they are sure.
In these sorts of cases money may or not be the motivator,
And we may be looking at justice through a dirty window pain,
With Justice not looking to have much to gain,
With no side able to point to a reliable indicator.
So, we come back to Mandela having the right idea,
With a truth and reconciliation forum,
To encourage an atmosphere where forgiveness is more than an idea,
And truth can be seen once more to bloom,
With healing now the only worthy sum,
To be pursued at all costs at such a forum.
On this for me the jury is well and truly in,
Hopefully never to be recalled,
With each member free of such an impossible task,
Of being just to either party after 30 or forty years.
Zenith of being human
By Michelle Morris
09/11/2023
The echoes of the losses
May remain in your soul forever
But remember that it is an indicator
That you were connected to other souls
The love and light and shadows
The heartbreak and joy and peace
It's all part of the experience
This human thing we need
So, don't be afraid to feel it
Don't be afraid of the abyss or the altar
Our emotions keep us human
But our divinity frees us to live exalted
The echoes of our faith and hope
The depth of our love and commitment
It's the zenith of being human
It's incredible and special and unlimited
We are all designed to be magical
For we are creatures created from stardust
We are warm and sparkly and inimitable
A blessed part of our Universe's eternal vastness
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Written: September 4th, 2023
Fall Splendor Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
______________________________________________________________
August walks out, ushering in a chilly decay.
Buds on the shrubs started turning shades.
Winds mock foliage as they swing and sway.
Anyone who finds will feel ecstatic by serenades.
Aestivating under a full moon, an inner tune swells.
Fragrant leaves litter the aurous floor where one dwells.
Night-flying fireflies escape being caught.
Feel the splendor of nature without a squat.
A breeze from the scarlet trees cools the night.
Before winter frost, the chill brings delight.
Crisp air, a yellow, crimson, and violet maze.
Jade autumn foliage whispered winter glaze.
Summer, now fading, begins to elapse.
A telltale indicator of fall mishaps and haps.
Dance to unheard carols; they flutter.
Hypnotic motions beguile a splendid stutter.
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