Shooting Star...
Twinkle
Sprinkle
Limited Technobility...
I'm not
Tech bot
Florescent Headlights...
White light
Too bright
False Teeth...
Denture
Venture
Two Sides Of The Coin...
Heads sails
Sinks Tails
On A Waiting List?...
Patient
Patient
Gaining Confidence...
Rejoice
Sound voice
Quick Temper...
Fire red
Hot head
Love In The Air...
Souls dance
Romance
Not What You Expected?...
Enlist
Tale twist
Lying dog-faced pony soldier*
Walz-ing for the cameras
As if you have the answers,
Young people are murdered
By men you swear to protect~
Say her name:
Jocelyn
Rachel
Laken
Kayla
Amber
Dayanara
Maria
Megan
Halley
How many more will die
While you are Walz-ing around
Protecting the sanctuary?
*Joe Biden said "you're a lying, dog-faced pony soldier" to a 21-year-old student, Madison Moore, during a campaign event in New Hampshire in February 2020.
The president’s bombing kids again.
Blood on the ground, ash in the air,
schools and playgrounds destroyed the same.
And I’m sitting in my ing rose garden,
silk garments pristine and
picking past the petals stained red,
nose clogged with the scent of flowers in the air
and not those that lie mangled,
torn to pieces,
eternally tormented on the ground.
What a privilege it is to be removed,
to have my head buried in this American soil,
ears chock-full of it so the only sounds
that bypass my earthen defenses
are high-pitched laughter
and commands to bend low
under the current state of affairs.
And bend low I do,
down to the bushes that haven’t been maimed,
the stems of elderly jade
that prospered by disturbing no one
and instead shining with untouched beauty.
My heart turns to stone with every headline,
that same jade replacing vein after vein.
Soon enough I’ll be a statue of enchanting green,
dazzling in the sun,
mouth open too late in a silenced cry
in my own damn rose garden.
A Poem of Fresh Hope
In the quiet dawn, an inspiring spark,
Awakens hearts with dazzling light.
Enthralling dreams break through the dark,
Painting horizons fresh and bright.
Sincere whispers in the morning air,
Promise kindness, gentle and true.
With every moment, hope is there—
Enthralling visions carried through.
Dazzling days that chase the night,
Fresh beginnings, honest and clear.
Inspiring souls to rise in delight,
Sincere in courage, conquering fear.
The sun is burning
Population growing
Poverty pulsing
Rich repeating
Man-beating
One meeting
Fleeting
Ding.
Phone alerts ringing
The chorus is singing
Fear is clawing
Up our throats, feasting
Least of all, dying
The moon is rising
While the Earth is spinning
Heads are pounding
Bosses are hounding
No more housing
Delousing
Ping.
The microwave meal is ready for eating
Time for feeding
Has your skin been shedding?
How’s the fat shredding?
Oh you’re still driving?
No that’s not quite thriving.
Who’s business have you been minding?
Theirs? You’re kidding.
Careful who you let be king
What keeps you ticking?
Ruthless ruling?
Careful clinging?
Shower singing?
Enjoyed by all that will ever -ing
The long forgotten hanging.
Written by Gail Debole
November 26, 2024
Adding "ing" to nouns has taken over the town.
English Traditionalists - turn your frowns upside down.
"Being an adult" is now one word.
We are all "adulting" or haven't you heard?
So I guess the next noun to be "verbed"
Is that a child is "childing" or is that absurd?
All languages evolve through the years.
Face the facts. Get over your fears.
Nothing you can do to stop the "ings."
"Verb-ing" the nouns is more than a fling.
Younger generations speak their own type of speak.
Older generations try to keep up so they do not look weak.
No one person controls the words we say.
New ones arise and old ones lose sway.
Now all the nouns can be "verb-ed" or "e-d-ed."
Language creativity cannot/should not (shouldnot?) be impeded.
And, in the future, how many words will survive?
Will acronyms and emojis be the language that thrives?
Eyes obstructed, where miles go
So important, who we kill intentionally
Even ourselves, risk to injury
To death do we die desire
In our own mind silent misery
Living a life we take, if not our own
Text-ing, a straight neck deadly society
They drive and text, walk and text
Even on a call and text we done
They eat and text, some crap while doing
Has tech consumed even outside play
Days of call me at home
A phone booth on a corner street
People use brain we call a library
Now all AI doing thinking before speak
Crime in streets, Internet isn't safe
A worm hole, a back door
Sounds like wild sex, it's electrifying
Text-ing, an erge as addicted as drugs
Phone always in face even while sleep
Early morning coffee, grab on way up
Where's excitement to life's adventure
A computer leading lifes way
If it's man-made it breaks
Down even our soul's drama fill world
Text-ing, as deadly as a phone to the ear
"flicker ing flicker"
wait for the
dancing
candle
can
dance
if you
want
it to
but
...
..
.
The muddy water creek-ing along pines
meandering, windless scene
absurd, acerbic, honed.
Ground zero?? Zero tolerance?? Carbon zero??
Zero vision?? A catchisam of the green-religion??
You don't need a passport.!! Not if you've been
Max-xed.! To stay in your country, district, flat!!
Or to enter.!! From wherever! Oh so strange?? In fact
On observation this seems most de-ranged.!!
Yet maybe however?? its just ( my theory? ) and
We will be assured upon a (building back better)
With a whole new history?)
I
The You that tells various organs to start, end, adjust secretions, and your lungs to do respiration while you sleep ... will easily join SPACE where it all is ( where it's at!)
II
You and I are "allowing" the universe a human experience; just as waves allows the entire ocean to experience & absorb individual waves
Our earth rotates with a wobbly spin.. could that be
Indicative of the presence of sin? Not perfect yet living
Maybe that's so.? yet here's another truth many won't know'
A ball of Release was created and run where the sun
Starts to shine, while in the earth's north; there is none'
Reports from dead media, deny it was done.?
Yet I saw so many all enjoying their fun, it was titled
For freedom though to close it some tried,
For to smile is now frowned on; and no singing inside.'
Like the scouring of 'the shire' in the Lord of the rings
How could it happen? In tightening things.?
Fear was It's trigger; as deadly claims just grew bigger
In their 70 and 80s people's actions escape me.!
They'll do the mask-task, but ever do they ask?
How they lived to this good age.? Were their mothers
So.. Unsage.? I'm sure they would cry if all this came
To their eyes.' This insult to good reason cap's
The silliest of seasons.!
I
Wolves howl, wonderfully if eerily, as winds -
Under the weather when weather is artic
One least expects this clime in the tropics
His tin roof resists, rattles, reverberates
Wrapping a cloak more tightly, he falls to his knees
The spiders, sparrows, and starlings cohabiting hear, "LORD, please -
Save my roof. I can't afford to lose mine." By degrees
The winds cease; the man remains on his knees
For the rain is heard in sleets, sheets of water
Welcome for fauna and flora ... do they feel an aura?
A man who once knew God as Friend, had then turned -
Like Grandfather in Spyri's Heidi story, on everyone
Gone up on the mountain, monk-like, beyond year 1
Rarely came down among people and provision
Surviving all kinds of weather with few books and Bible
A small radio, and no other luxuries, but a kettle
That whistled its witness: weathering heights again!
Among eagles and kites (and a beloved peregrine)
My back’s in the sun with a ring-a-ling-ding
Have to admit I am doing my thing
I sit outside with couch, but no vase of Ming
The dog and cat are here, bringing me bling
I hear a cardinal alight with a teensy ping
She begins to open her beak to try to sing
The cat jumps up and she takes off on one wing
You see on this porch Shark my cat is the king
A Prime delivery truck stops; I hear a cha-ching.
Have no idea what it is; I ask him to fling.
He refuses to do it, what a ding-a-ling!
I grab it and throw it myself with a zing.
He gives me a good day and leaves after I sling.
This package of cookies on the couch, tied with string
I would continue this poem if I was not out of ing
But since I am, I will limp inside on my torn-up hamstring.
Written 8-15-2021
Contest: Monorhyme
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Morning to give it’s ending
Ing....thing
Evening to bring
Evening to give it’s ending
Ing....thing
Morning to bring
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