My interesting dinner date
said, "I want Hansel on my plate".
I said, "but you must settle
for Gretel".
INTERESTING SIGNS
progressive
neutral
metamorphosis
untouched
in
constant
flux
of
contemporary
theories
with
normative
effects
an
inability
to
interpret
or innovate
innocence
on
insistence
of existence
a vitality
naturally
lauded
in
hallmarks
celebrated
with
intensity
bringing
countless
delights
burgeoning
enthusiasm
sophisticated
sensations
flux
in
vital
disquiet
of
providential
paradoxically
designed
entities
It is easier now to peek behind closed doors
the walls are down, stomped into the ground by some
they post what they had for breakfast, supper and lunch
take photographs of themselves sixty times a day
and post fifty-eight of them, it helps us to see
they do not have a life
I admire the people who tried social media for a bit
then realized it is not for them and ran off to live their lives.
The ones who stick around to brag, complain or whine I wonder about.
Do they not have a support group of real people, relatives or friends?
One person I know spends between four to eight hours a day on one
of these social sites.
I cannot imagine spending forty minutes a day here.
It is not that interesting or exciting
certainly dissatisfying compared to meeting friends for lunch
or hosting a Halloween party or washing dishes.
I feel that some of these people have been caught up in
these “imaginary” relationships, allowing real friendships
and relationships die.
interesting
attractive, splashy
gripping, fascinating, exciting
concert, comedian, tax prep, silence
tiring, drudging, discouraging
tedious, humdrum
boring
A stare with the idea of coming love,
To build and design with simplicity;
By care, cheer, and choice as the one above-
To care for her taste's specificity.
Warmth of her heart, shines...
The regards of my mind's shrines
That love's worship dines.
A stare of imperfect realistic show,
That displays raw empathy within flaws...
Grows intent with fearless thrill to forego
Every scar shaping past, silence withdraws.
Money brings extent-
Depth issues warning torment,
Choice did not resent.
A stare with dedicating reflection,
Around heavy commitments offered game
To play such cum disappointing rejection,
When love no longer but feel learned cum shame.
Complexities cough,
Simplicity seems so rough...
To redeem love's tough.
A stare of loyalty not only beep,
But also calls for sweet invitation
My eyes can't reject but honour to keep...
Conflicting tests strengthening adaptation.
Lower, lower, dear
Your daring stare is so rear,
For my eyes to sneer.
Challenges make the game interesting.
Challenges make the movie interesting.
Challenges make the story interesting.
Challenges make the poetry interesting.
Challenges make the book Interesting.
Challenges make the song interesting.
Challenges make the day interesting.
Challenges make the people interesting.
Challenges are interesting...
Change can be so cruel
Especially during the real
Period of shredding childhood
To embrace the hug of adulthood
There is nothing more interesting
Like shaving beards
Becoming a father
Raising a child.
Change can be unkind
When childhood tears away
And the weight of adulthood
Wraps itself around your shoulders
Yet these are interesting times
The first shave of a stubborn beard
The trembling joy of fatherhood
The tender art of raising a child
Something very interesting happened
I looked at some poems that won in a contest
The winners were all top ten winners
There were very few winners in the contest
Just out of curiosity I copied and pasted
Each one, one by one into an AI checker
Guess what that AI checker found
All of them were written by AI
The top AI was 88 % and the least was 80% AI written.
I wonder if the AI checker was correct or
Was the AI checker wrong?????
So just out of curiosity
I put in part of Robert Frost's poem
Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening
It said it was 80% AI written...
LOL, LOL, LOL, ROTFL, Ha! Ha!!!
The comments we like for dessert
Are iambs that writers here blurt
But eating foul crunch
That slaughtered lambs munch
Tastes toxic like trumped-up bad dirt
When you rise from the ashes
the Phoenix emerges from the sun
when you awaken from the darkness
now we're having fun
The fear of a cross generation towards
a cross breed is wicked, the fear
of ashes pouring out the earth and
now a child has been born again.
No because sometimes reassurances aren't enough, you know?
Sometimes it isn't enough to remind yourself that you are alive despite whatever atrocities you've ever faced.
Sometimes telling yourself that it'll eventually get better, just isn't enough anymore.
Because sometimes bleeding feels better on the inside and it's a safer bet to drown yourself in the ethanol and pike yourself on a wooden cross in the front yard.
Sometimes trying to think positively is the last line of defense between your breathing lungs and your beatless heart, and it's ok to bite your own arms.
Sometimes it's ok to rip chunks of flesh from your own thighs and wallow in self whatever-your-choice-of-mental-poison-is.
Sometimes dying alone is not a big deal, and then sometimes it's the only activity you could ever possibly do to keep yourself from commiting a psycho-schizophrenic fueled genocide, because one overzealous "preacherman" told you that you are unworthy of rest, that one time.
Because every once in a while you need to hang yourself with a silk rope from an overdramatic oak tree, and that's ok.
Because sometimes dramatics are good for the nervous system.
“I wish the ferry had a fairy,” said Phoebe with a frown
to no one in particular (but everyone remembered later on).
That’s a strange thing to say on an excursion in Year 5,
especially when the teachers are around.
Eating hot chips on the seat just up from me,
a skinny man avoids my longing stare (Those chips of his, I wish were mine).
I hear a funny squawk. It isn’t me -
Chip-wishing seagulls probably, somewhere (I probably shouldn’t stare).
I cool my wishful eyes in harbour waves of green.
(The shore has nothing interesting to see –
No animals, I mean. Look -
Just - more - green.)
I hear a funny squawk. It’s under me!
No, it’s not a fairy penguin (as you may have been expecting).
“It’s a chook!” I scream…
…I scream = ice-cream…mmm…
I close my eyes and dream,
open one eye, have a sneaky look…It’s still a chook.
An interesting woman
An interesting woman, a special personality, a bit tough, hm, cruel?
She talks to me sensitively, like someone who perceives everything
I know her, she has a brilliant mind, a charming, controlling personality
I like her for some reason, and I know that’s why become a friendship
She sees into my soul, I into her, but I will not be her subject of Wicca
It is strange, I long for her company, her kind words, her kindness, her goal
She is often in my head, I wonder who she is. A soul that sees there me
It's very, very good to hang out with her, she's attracted to me, and she knows it
Strange English lady, what do you want? The answer will be given in the future, that
interesting views
wolf rabbit horse man and bird
many shapes in clouds
These are interesting times:
hordes of Hitler Youth
are marching out
from our institutes of higher learning,
those who believe that 'all lives matter'
are labeled racists.
We saw none of this coming,
and is that our kid in that zombie mob?
Dad has been busy at the golf course,
mom coaching Little Legue soccer.
We thought it was a good life
the dream
at the heart of the American Dream
not noticing the corrosive rot
being sold as truth,
and now,
and now,
we are all very sick,
even the dog has been brain-washed,
it is behaving like a rabid Nazi,
not a big leap for an Alsatian guard dog.
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