I’ve been eating Dannon coffee yogurt
Oh, so many years,
So learning it’s been discontinued
Didn’t quite bring tears…
But a wave of disappointment
Since it’s hard to fathom why
It’s no longer waiting on the shelves
For customers to buy.
I Googled it and found it was
A “marketing decision,”
A reason which will surely meet
With clucks of pure derision.
A number* seeking feedback
Linked me to a friendly voice
Who took down my information
On my lack of coffee choice.
Maybe if they’re inundated
With a thousand calls like mine,
Those in charge will reconsider
Pulling coffee from their line.
*877-326-6668
Some are inundated with floods
Others, buried in snow
It’s early January, friends ~ Smile!
Winter’s got quite a ways to go…
Defying Evil
The moment an urge to surrender emerged
Inundated with fear by the impalpable devil
One must assuage and strengthen your will
To awaken the spirit profoundly submerged
3:54 p.m.
September 26, 2025
Aboard the Vision of the Seas
Cruising towards Boston, Massachusetts
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men." ~ The Bible, Gospel of Luke 2:14
"...peace on earth, goodwill toward men" ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from the poem, Christmas Bells
and later put to a melody as the song "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" recorded by Bing Crosby, Johnny Cash, and others.
Once thoughts inside a poet's head,
an uninspired conscious thread,
they are now this poem instead,
one you might regret you read -
but can I call it a dream?
Poets with no poem, it seems,
cannot place dreams within dreams.
I generate no conscious streams.
A silent voice in my brain screams,
"what happened to my muse?"
I'm your muse, but I've run dry
Do you know the reason "why"?
No matter how hard I try,
I can only sit and sigh,
inundated by the news.
Yes, inundated by the news -
if you were walking in my shoes,
I think you, too, would have the blues.
So, here's the inner dream I choose -
if you can believe it.
Poet, this is your muse, come in.
Shut out all the noise and din,
Here's your message without spin.
Your dream is these words herein,
- "Peace on earth, goodwill toward men."
Snooze of peace reigned on a collage
of sacred impulse for serenity of shelter —
bower-girthed and soul-inundated —
but along the line, a stampede, peccant
and harlotic,
framed the sun.
The whirlwind rolled in rings at the eyewall,
Wild gale blew through the open tropical field.
I'd forgotten to close the windows tight,
And the ensuing rain inundated each inch of my niche.
The hurricane hurriedly stripped the veld of its peace.
Dry air pacified the expanse of the grassland,
The massive flood drained into a sunken cesspool,
My thoughts swayed to the windows the storm had slammed,
Now a zephyr traverses the meadow's breath;
Calmness fills the eye of the once-raging storm.
I gaze upon an opaque silver sky,
Descending dewdrops, developing above the mustache maw.
Ascending the nape to taste cherubim cry,
Permeating petrichor, pervade the nasal in auspicious awe.
Palpable pain of tactile taps
Kissing canker sores and rainstorm rush.
Radically rampaging, for its rapid relapse
Rain, it's infinite, swirling fervor flush
To drown by an inundated impound,
A vehement, vicious, void that immersed,
Wandering weakly on the ocean gored ground,
Drowning, isolated lungs; bellowing burst.
The tyrant tsunami my miracle world-wide flood,
Exploding existence, imploding insistence, ichor pools; blackened blood.
Incessant drizzle soak pith
of each and every dense tree
in evergreen forest where
moss, algae, lichens paints lush
hues of green, blue and rich brown
While wet birds forget to sing
glistening snakes search shelter
termites, ants, crawlers, stingers
start climbing slippery trees
inundated forest floor
Near to dusk, a shy sun shaft
reaches decayed fallen log
adding chill to eerie air
a great gray owl looks at me
I count my heart-beats to dawn
Conflict bears messages
to be discerned;
revelation lies in the spirit.
The soul is the gatekeeper
of the spirit; bear your soul
and let the spirit of love flow.
Forgiveness does not require
forgetfulness;
memory is the flowing river
of growth.
The sea of life is inundated
with waves of conflict—
flowing to shores of resolution
with frothing memories;
There is no unsolvable conflict
in the ebbing and flowing
of the seemingly tidal waves of life;
We may not always be
where we want to be—ought to be;
but we are never always
where we once were:-
Remember, it is the wisdom
of the spirit that gives
understanding and healing;
The soul is the gatekeeper
of the spirit; bear your soul
and let the spirit of love flow;
And when that flow froths awareness
of what is and what it is that should not be
It’s time to correct life’s frothing ebb and flow:-
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
This uncompromising Sunday
has agreed to let us enjoy
what is left of a boring day
as we ardently seek the brief presence
of a radiant sunset resembling red clay,
attesting the inevitable evidence.
The purple lilacs and pink tulips gently sway,
nobody listens to the crickets' soothing sounds;
early at sunrise they were inundated by big waves
and torrents of unmerciful rain pelting on the bay.
Every Bayberry and Crape Myrtle shrub has fragrant flowers,
they attract Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers and Monarch Butterflies;
they all feast on them, then they take off with incredible swiftness:
while the tranquil and brilliant sea resounds with various shrills.
I spot from far the noisy seagulls landing on the Church's steeple,
scattering the Gray Catbirds huddled on long cable wires that were
listening to the choir of faithful marching out with glowing smiles,
cherishing their last moment of glory under brilliant September's skies.
As I sat beneath an old willow tree,
low limbs shaded me on this summer day.
A cool breeze mussed my hair, setting it free
as I sat beneath an old willow tree.
Childhood memories inundated me
while watching my children running in play.
As I sat beneath an old willow tree,
low limbs shaded me on this summer day.
As I sat beneath an old willow tree,
a cool breeze mussed my hair, setting it free.
Childhood memories inundated me
while watching my children running in play.
Low limbs shaded me on this summer day.
A cool breeze mussed my hair, setting it free.
As the blush of a lovely breast spreads
Harpy eagle's desire hovers over the Tigris River
Taurus rides the high tide of excitement.
The Cliff gets inundated by huge floods
Turbulent is the danger time boat-
Turning the inkpot upside down-
Principia Mathematica gets blurred
Young sailor is disoriented without a lighthouse
Falling are the rudder and mast on the waves.
VORACIOUS APPETITE
My washing machine ate a sock today.
This time it was a blue one.
Last week, it had a taste for red
And worse, it was a new one.
I’ve read the user’s manual
To make sure I’m doing things right,
But I can’t find any reference
To the wretched thing’s appetite.
I now have a drawer full of odd socks,
I’m completely inundated.
I suppose they might come in handy,
Should I have a leg amputated.
But now I’ve found a solution.
It was obvious I suppose.
I’ve bought a pair of sandals.
You don’t wear socks with those.
“Unadorned is a heart that’s stripped of its beauty.”
- Quote by poet
She saw an empty room,
A place that had lost its bloom,
She walked through a hollow space,
It was a gloomy face.
The place had lost its beauty,
It was a book with no continuity,
The silence took her down memory lane,
Like a parched ground inundated with rain.
Her homeland had been recalcitrant to light,
Cloaked by perpetual night,
It had become an utter shadow,
And a shrivelled meadow.
Tears streamed down her eyes,
She became cold as ice,
Redemption seemed far away,
Her homeland was an unyielding clay.
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