Time always move
Forward not backwards
The future has already
Been written and engrave
By the lord, and no man
No plot nor plan will prosper
Even if the plan seems ironclad
It will never change what
God has in-store for his people
He is the power, just call upon
with prayer
As I sat with Edgar Allan Poe,
my heart beat like a so-and-so.
I invited him in for tea
and, as that the son-of-a-gun looked at me,
I looked at him through my filmy eye,
and asked him if he could deny
that if I was anything, I was not mad,
that my case was ironclad.
He had the disposition of a grouch,
but, as a writer, he was no slouch -
though he made it his chosen mission
to exploit me without permission.
Nerves can play havoc
worst type of prison
one’s life is a hell
just the simplest thing
sets off an alarm
slave in ironclad chains
Formula Fe2 O3
Iron is just awesome – let’s see!
First it was prehistoric man
Who was always an iron fan
Iron is a third of the earth
Industry is iron by birth
Pritchard designed and Darby made
Iconic Iron Bridge won’t fade
Smelt pig iron from iron ore
Produces cast iron galore
Backbone of skyscrapers, bridges
Organs of cars, washers, fridges
Clever Bessemer carbon gone
Heralded steel for everyone
Mankind’s most ingenious feat
Turning raw earth to steel – so neat!
Iron’s compounds are versatile
No wonder it’s used all the while
Inks, fertilisers, pesticides
Paints, enamels and more besides
Many iron phrases pervade
Each as an English language aid
There’s ironclad, iron curtain
Iron grip and more for certain
We need it in a small amount
For on haemoglobin we count
Open your eyes and look around
Everywhere an iron surround
Iron has magnetic appeal
First place must be iron with steel
This Father’s day I’m grateful for remembering a truth that’s ironclad…
How any man can father a child…
but it takes time, energy love and patience
for that man to become a Dad.
Sometimes I’m guilty of making a bad decision,
when thinking no farther ahead than that day.
Something in my day perhaps clouds my vision,
or before my decision i didn’t take time to pray.
For each life decision there’s a consequence I’ll pay,
and this payment may be either beneficial or bad.
I won’t let negativity make it’s base in my day,
prayer doesn’t make decisions all appear ironclad.
By Imran Ahmed
Two Men Stood At Fate’s Gate One Loved Her More Than Stars One Loved Her More Than Light Both Were Ironclad In Devotion,
She Loved Neither Only Her Reflection Her Scent A Spellbinding Elixir Her Voice Honey Laced With Fire Her Presence A Throne She Refused To Share,
One Was A Ghost In Daylight His Love Deeper Than Oceans His Heart A Candle In The Storm Burning Waiting Never Fading,
The Other Was A Master Of The Game Tearing Veils Like Old Paper Turning Love Into A Contract Offering Wings But Holding The Leash,
She Chose The Gilded Road Not Knowing The Thorns Beneath,
One Man Became A Forgotten Verse The Other A Victor Without A Prize,
Who Won A Question Lost In Smoke Love Was The Currency But In The End No One Cashed In.
My Life On Display
“Miracle Man”
January 1st 2025
On December 29th I took the “Widow Maker’s” best,
then three days later, survived Sudden Cardiac Arrest.
It was New Year’s Day on Two thousand seventeen,
only three unconscious days had passed in between.
Doctors conveyed to my wife that I had little chance,
this prognosis wasn’t hasty, or made by first glance.
From a drip frame, sixteen bags of fluids were dripping,
that it was in God’s hands, my life quickly slipping.
Doctors said too many things at once had gone bad,
and nothing they could do was considered ironclad.
But the next seven days saw the bags lessen to one,
and everyone became excited at what God had done.
I was called the protected one and then “Miracle Man,”
Now eight years later I celebrate God’s game plan.
God had a purpose, for changing life’s course that day,
His display of power has put my life on display.
Thank You Jesus!
Such a fate we all share, yes, every single one.
Set in stone and sealed, awaiting Kingdom Come.
However you may enter, each differential circumstance, the difference made is none.
Hands of a ticking clock strike the hour, declaring that time Living here will have reached its end, and our final day be done.
Resting besides those unfortunate less fortunate souls.
Riches remain within rich pockets of inheriting soles, unlike others whose feet are bare and are cold, stand firm on the earth you now lay beneath.
Families of both either benefit or wealth, share puffy eyes and salty tears as they heavily weep, the same sadness and the same feelings of heart-aching grief.
Blood bled and bleeding red, layering cuts skin deep, choosing one's self-choices, and ranking bestowed upon by society, mean nothing once we sleep.
To Kingdom Come, shall our destination be ironclad, placing our final sitting seat.
Opposite living and separated by morality.
Yet each for a loved one is waiting to reunite with, and again cross paths they will meet.
Three US peace proposals for Gaza
Bibi Netanyahu accepted every one
Sinwar of Hamas turned them all down
Then Hamas murders six hostages, gangland-style
And Biden-Harris puts Netanyahu on trial!
Where is the pressure on Sinwar and Hamas ~
Or is America’s ‘ironclad support’ for Israel just verbal gas
Hard to stand up for what’s right
when POTUS gives up on the fight
Right away he abandoned Afghanistan
forsaking our own soldiers to the Taliban
For two years he’s supplied arms to Ukraine
but never sent what would recapture terrain
And now he’s all-in for a Gazan permanent cease-fire
fueling Hamas’ ‘thousands of October 7 massacres’ desire ...
Just part of POTUS ‘ironclad Israel support’ ~ the bald-faced liar
The day before a storm
belies calm and quiet,
wispy clouds bounce in skies
bright with boundless blueness,
Southern summer surprise.
The day before a storm
promotes a sweet fragrance
blown by light, gentle gusts,
softly scampering through
with breathy upward thrusts.
The day before a storm
imprints the Southern sky,
a taunting, teasing wind
caresses blank canvas
and moves colors to blend.
The day before a storm
rattles ironclad glaives
of battling stratus clouds,
a lull looms in the air
warning of what it shrouds.
Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,
they face whirlwind snowfall, freezing ice,
while others brazenly squirm,
not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,
exodus of the half-hearted humbug,
but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,
eyes and ears are substitute antennas,
of this genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,
peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,
velvet moon worlds sidereal captured,
crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,
icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,
deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,
who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,
as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,
drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,
river stream babble, blind alley gust,
eavesdrop on historic past teaser,
litter swept aural gossip whoosh,
eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,
darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,
yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,
each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,
for inert sleepy after hour dozers,
who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep
As I reach for the handle to temptation I am struck by a future I cannot ignore.
Guilt is the only reward when we ignore the voice to our right shoulder in all its' attempts at solidarity.
What torture is this to be married to an addiction with an ironclad prenup that serves to destroy my soul.
My inhibition brought to light by a chemical demon who refuses to be denied.
There In Morning Sun, Hope Circled Enticing Dreams
From inside gaping jaws, golden honey slow drips
its taste as if bitter hell came with deadly judgment
life turned into a bevy of sunken ships
with the dried up bones below a sadden statement.
With solid granite illuminating moon 's glow
ironclad hills buried secrets sadder mysteries
impropriety ran in and melted wicked snow
starving for more people ate from empty granaries.
The wicked angels flew about on leaden wings
watching for the innocence of the golden truth
dawn's light erupted brought the small songbirds that sing
for hot romance and the vanities of our youth.
There in morning sun, hope circled enticing dreams.
Father time gave its fruit to fill the icy streams.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet,
Feb 25th, 1971
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