Speaking Of Boxes...
(Nobody Was:)
I Don’t Really Think
Outside The Box
As Much As I
Think In Two Boxes.
One Box Is
Slightly Off, In Fact,
It's Where The Other Box
Should Be...
And The Other Box
Is As Far Away From
There As Possible.
On To Impossibility, Entangler!
(Imagine That.)
-Gray Squirrel
12-08-2025
Inception of true life,
Incitement of new birth,
Immaturity pure,
Instruction to follow,
Information from books,
Inexperience but
It leads to deep learning.
The infancy of TV in Norway
He came home early to see the news
on TV. After the news weather forecast
Then a bit of entertainment
a lady played the guitar and sang badly
end of TV for that day.
He cycled down to the nearest pub
they closed at eleven, the town only had 3
Uphill was more difficult.
On Sunday. the Tv was more lively
mass, sport and the Flint Stones.
Monday evening, film night, often
a dreary Polish film. Good night!!!
Human being, a bundle of abundant emotions: Positive and Negative.
Choose it wisely......By Poet
A LIFE CYCLE: ENDLESS EMOTIONS
A smooth transition of emotions
From one stage to another one
From teeny-weeny to young age
Then adulthood to old age.
Infancy
Squeals with delight
Screech, scream, shriek with might
Bubbly and jolly
With full ETERNAL energy.
Young
Playful and carefree mischief
Cementing EVERLASTING friendship
Creating nostalgic memories
Wonderful ENDLESS queries.
Adulthood
With INFINITE ideas and aspirations
And a tinge of BOUNDLESS inspiration
With LIMITLESS solutions
Execute to make it happen.
Old age
BOTTOMLESS pool of love and experience
Lively, UNBROKEN spirit and patience
Contented and happy well-being
Strengthening the pillar of human being.
THIRD PLACE
Date: 8 JUNE,2021
Writing Prompt - Endless - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
younger than the may
and full of innocent joy
tomboy needs his toy
A flying elephant
I wish I could be;
in glowing elegance
clear for all to see.
Yet a crying infant
buzzing as a bee;
ignorant of the substance
that is holding me.
I hear them say: I'll also grow.
Till then, I have no idea
but I long to just glow
concretising my fantasies to be real.
It's fun being your own lord
with a view unlike that of the world
Oh! young persimmon tree how ripe and seraphic art thee; ignorance at thy feet, when thou were but a babe,with no words to cede, mum as the mummy. How life welcomes thee, ephemeral and saccharine, as so forth, life begets thee. Brushing past the simple melodies, until the arrow of time strikes, she bears her fangs into thy lungs,and screams and yelps and wrings her tongue, she knocks thee down, and weighs thy wrongs, and captures thee in her wings of thorn. However, thou art at thy golden age, for dried persimmons are at their finest!
so come and rejoice!
for empyrean angels
call to us with delight
1-9-18
ANGELS DANCED POETRY CONTEST
Sponsored by:lu loo
Syllable count: howmanysyllables.com
Television way back in it's infancy
Pure as the driven snow, no naughty imagery
Bikinis, not a chance
No extra tight pants
This distorted view of life will go down in infamy
A defenseless seed planted in spring's tempestuous furrow
Nourished with fertile juices; warmed in caressing burrow
Escaping subterranean cavern into formative strand, roots still
shallow
Sprouting into a strappling seedling that doth hope, promise bellow
In sweltering, summer haze; tender stem bows and bends
Strong, directionless winds blow; the fragile stalk spins
Froward pests snip at the intestinal fiber, productive growth
ammends
Heavy torrents of doubt seep inward drowning the hidden tentacles
on which outward growth depends
After arduous spring travails end, summer's balmy season begins
Long, dry days with timid growth to begin
Steadying anchor balasts the green adolescent, promise to portend
Stronger constitution allows the fecund shoots against blight,
predators defend
Stiff resistance, ample growth produces fruitful dividend
Late summer, vibrant plant reaches it's zenith, ripening fruit
suspends
Toils of younger days along with the growing pain ends
Mellower-toned follicles displaying strong genetic traits from each
stem extends
Acclimated to unforgiving environment, with spare fuel, for its
place ardently fends
What silk conducts the frail nocturnal moth?
What hand commands its drunken fabric flight?
Whose guiding threads are weaved within its cloth?
--the same maternal moon that knits the night?
Can such a lantern lead it to neglect
the sov'reignty endowed within its wings?
Can such resplendent light induce defect?
Does radiance incite its ragged rings?
If so, what poor parental sense does she,
the nightly wife of dawning's eye, display.
What mother lets her children toddle free
when faulty fathers seek to singe their way?
Why must the moth revere the mother's name,
yet turn to ash before a father's flame?
Trees sway ever so lightly in the breeze.
Clear streams flow along the earth nearby.
Birds sing natures melody happily.
Wildflowers paint the meadow in colors.
A gravel driveway completing the scene.
As I, afraid to touch anything,
for it may dissapear,
As I may awake from this dream,
Having drifted from my mind as if it were never there,
And parish with it's infancy...
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