Chi Chi Rodriguez made golf fun to watch
He’d sink a crucial putt
Then throw his hat down over the hole
and do a spirited dance around it
A smile overspread his face
a silent tune flowed through his veins
His dance inspired fans to cast off their inhibitions
and join him in joy unrivaled
Taking a sport of fiercely guarded emotions
blowing it wide-open
laughing in the tense face of tradition
37 Tournaments wins
First Puerto-Rican inducted into Golf’s Hall of Fame
~ put his uptight compadres to shame
Backyard Hopscotch is my thing, my favorite backyard game,
And today I was inducted in the BH hall of fame,
Nobody else is quite as good as me I tell myself,
As I grab my chalk and hopscotch rocks from off the hopscotch shelf.
I draw squares on the ground and throw a stone to number two
Then hop from square to square like a demented kangaroo
Some people say I'm crazy as I play it every day,
However, it's a game I always win whene'er I play.
I'm always by myself and so I never ever lose,
But soon I'll have to stop as I've worn big holes in my shoes.
"Limerick - Syllables 12,12,8,8,12" ~By Poet~
Stevie Wonder.
Blinded after birth by a hospital blunder.
At three he played music with pots and pans.
Self taught piano, at nine he played to young fans.
Stevie Wonder decided to bet Tiger Woods
To play golf at a golf club in their neighborhoods
Tiger, he chose where they would play.
Stevie would choose the time of day.
Stevie chose midnight. He won and went home with the goods.
At 13 he was the youngest solo artist ever to top the charts.
Being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, warmed hearts.
He won a Grammy for "That's What Friends Are For"
Stevie Wonder, an incredible performer has fans galore.
There is only love
when we leave the other
behind – our world of others:
Commitments deemed by
self so paramount,
we become perpetually
addicted to treadmills;
inducted wrong-tracks
adhering as a second
skin –
The rain can
fall but the plain will never
give back, if the permeable
depths irretrievably
No benefit by making
of one's self a non
irrigable desert –
having wandered too far and
stored up too little –
the well used sayings
about burning bridges
and being a spendthrift,
they apply to the heart and
soul as well--
Love often...but wisely....
Brothels have closed now what?
Does anybody care?
Did anybody think about the hapless women living there
What about them?
What will they do now for two square meals a day?
Many saddled with children
Can they go back home?
Will their families and society accept them
That too with their children?
Will anybody give them a job?
For some it maybe a great relief
But even they
Where will they go back is the question
Most of them uneducated
Inducted into this trade while young
Whole life lays in front of them
Many have only one option-
To die
Along with their children.
19th February 2021
Have you been inducted in the herd community and
received its graduate certificate yet?
I hear Nietzsche's Twilight of the Idols' rant on 'herding the herd community',
thinking, will we hear next the Covid-Uberman, i.e., the longing of new body invested with addictive anti-body, redeemed yet forever subverted, but showered with accolade? History's now split to before and after the pandemic, bifurcating the (decaying) body and the (deaf) soul.
Pessimism of intellect never rescued one from a disease, overwhelmed by
vaccine optimism -- a panacea or cure, or twilight of reason (i.e., Benjamin's apocalypse foretold)?
Nothing is everything when you put your mind to it, subliminally and refined.
Odds of survival is higher when you see a light at the end of tunnel, no matter
how dim or treacherous the path, or faulty optics, i.e., Hegel's chronicle of the absolute spirit that never dwells too long in limbo of alienation, enlightenment's last defense. Behold, the light of Zarathustra shall illuminate and the new herd community will turn sun-worshippers yearning for the paradise lost under the eagle wings of their shepherds wielding
a long stick.
The Joburg city sounds go crescendo
As I slowly ascend, from beneath the subway tunnel.
I am Inducted to the rush hash pace of pedestrians
And the hooted frustrations of motorists on the crowed roads,
This often happens, Itineraries synchronizing
As everybody makes their back home.
Once emerged, on to the foot traffic I go, I inherit the pace
And find myself mindlessly whooshing on the road side pavement.
As I penetrate deeper in route, the city odor gets rather unsavory
And my focus is drawn to avoiding hawkers and hobos
As I’ve learnt that conversation Invites tragedy,
I abstain to keep my valuables and most probably my life.
I take a right on Bree, opposing the traffic flow.
Imminently I’m greeted by the amalgamated Jozi reverberations,
Like a lullaby the city sings as it surrenders to the night
And its occupants numb an¬d calmed to its cannabis effects
As yet another day is promised to them,
Another day the it sheds it’s gold to them,
For a good day’s hustle.
Prosecution Opens It's Case-Eight Word Challenge
A horde of illicit cartridge was brought into evidence
drawing a trifle smirk, albeit mordacious, from the
defendant, elderly and wizened, who's past crimes include
loiter, but was now inducted on child **** by the prosecution
throwing the proverbial shackled book at him, that elicit pages
of justice protecting the young innocent.
3/24/17
cartridge-(computing) Magnetic tape storage, used for storing (backup) copies of data.
Infer a wasted respite for all my doubtful times
inducted in me for all that you and I might chime
So soft a sound enshrined to all but sight and
willing ground
indelible, enthralled for seams in time were found
A sound so damned that each of us rebound
from me to to you, and back
denied...
trounced by simple crowds
And stoic moves from you to me defied
as creeping sparks remind me you were mine
For days and weeks and dreamless peaks
that slow to weaker sounds and wins between
To stay this way required deeper means
that strike and weep and ever leave you still
And seek a will to drive your even keel
and slow you down to depths
this sound can kill
Instruct your pride to see a thrill in me
so wound and drowned
by all these feeble sounds
Justly fallen, infinity seventy,
Written woes, failures fallen prey
Responsibility introduces itself to "Forgiveness", an immediate family tree connection, all held accountable beyond agony of chaotic miseries, memories cemented forevermore,
Blood line thickens, claiming grudge fulfilled lives, before their time, a rare commodity in a known community of an "Eye for an Eye" district, county, cities, countries, now, inducted
Baptized in sincerity, key element, head of household, "Forgiveness".
Dozing off behind the wheel
Sleep-deprived decapitated
Dillaudid consequences
Incarcerate
Betrayed confidences
Incriminated
Responsibility blotted
Dead friends
Incinerated
In reality
They rotted
Alive.
Years prior to demise.
Burnt bridges. Dead ends.
A hell we created
Causality to impend
Insanity
A cyclic continuance
Doomed to repeat
Again and again.
Just more tragedy
Easily equated
Karmic
Punishment I deign
Education in pain.
Deliverance in suffering
Salvation
My moral
Bearing reign.
Controlled by one nation
Daisy Chain – Bottom line - capital gain
acid rain
Acrid – floral
Bought and sold
Artistic creation
Liquid – Forced oral
Ingestion
VIA TELEVISION
Visual vomit – soylent seduction
Initiate
Indoctrinate
inducted
Programmable People.
Hypnotic STATE.
Spell-bound
Too Late.
I have been called a writer of song
I think to myself, how could that be wrong.
Eight years have past when I became a Published Poet
And wouldn’t you know, most of my friends don’t even know it.
I was inducted into the International Society of Poets as a poet of merit
and an honored member.
I’ve told all my friends and everyone in my family, but they don’t remember.
I have received Editor’s Choice, Laureate, and a nomination for Poet of the
year
One would think, praise like that would most likely bend an ear.
So low and behold and woebegone
I need to stop using,
The White Crayola Crayon
I know I dream, my angel --
I know how deep it!
Ghost aren’t welcome --
The worms are dead
Because I see only you
Nearby the October's Sun.
Night like disdain eyes
None of you --
I know -- because I belong to it --
Just as it's bleeding me -- away --
Where, my angel, if I turn --
Where can I find you --
Uninterrupted body
As an inducted rose --
Wet -- despair -- before me
I die many times
To hold your bloody hand.
You were born in 1924 and you died in 2011.
You died one year ago today at the age of 87.
My grandparents gave me one of your records in the late seventies.
And I bought another of your records at a flea market in 1983.
It's a fact that you were a great pianist.
You were talented and you will be missed.
You began recording for Kapp Records in the fifties.
You did an amazing job when you performed Born Free.
In 2010 you were inducted into the Hit Parade Hall of fame.
When you died of pancreatic cancer, it was a damn shame.
You made beautiful music with those piano chords.
Now you're in Heaven playing the piano for the Lord.
(Dedicated to Roger Williams who passed away October 8, 2011.)
There is a ceremony
But not a time for bologney
Where I will be inducted
Not instructed
Into a program
One that I'm not sure serves ham
Called NJHS*
And I've heard it's one of the best
Along with other scholars
Some bearing a couple dollars
Will accept this invitation
With great emancipation
And this will look amazing
Not to mention far from cows grazing
On future high school applications
Along with my unique creations
So yes, I have a ceremony
Where no one will serve boloney
I hope you wish my luck
But do not mail me a duck
For I am to read my poem Followerª
And I hope I don't feel like a wallower
So yes, I have got to go
And get ready for my show
*NJHS - National Junior Honors Society
ªThis poem is included in my list of poems, although the one being read has some changes in it... I will make sure to post the revised one in a few minutes :)
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