As I lay on mounds of a shoreline,
weightless in eyes' astounded spirit
blending with angels, dirt, and crosses;
my soul bears this emptiness
in writhing streams omnipresent for day
and twilight's heavy float-- hours change
beyond primitive instincts--a landscape
of bittersweet cycles appear, and below it,
the fluidity from incandescent waters lap
on mouths of frozen stars requesting patience.
Here am i sprouting below, above and under
their flesh; fulfilling my need for deliverance
out of some needled pinch :
awash by whimper of rain , all senses
moored and fashioned so lamely
on brittle soil of life unlived ,
seeking a depth of quiet within myself
time rippling upon this decayed shell undersea...
yet nothing came except a leaf falling.
Age is but a number
The encumbment one often disagrees
its better written in the parody of French
were the realisation is not so grand
cheating in knowledge
at 59
I can say time has lamely gone fast
Yet my lounge needs a lick of paint
To allow the Sol to replenish its soul
Small responsibilities carry me way
LOVE
Some find love by choice ,or in my case by chance.
Love isn'ta game, but an intricate dance.
There are many that deftly show poise and grace.
Executing the steps while setting the pace.
Instinctual tempo coming forth with ease.
Like a leaf plucked from high on an autumn breeze.
Then there are those such as I that you'll meet
Who rise to thier partner with two left feet.
To entice the one chosen they boasted of skill.
But exposed on the floor their rythm is nil.
Sweat beads on thier brow and they clumsily sway.
A great many errors they sadly display.
If fortune is his he need not dismay.
He'll defer to his lady and she'll lead the way.
Who knows better than she how to move?
The harmony of her heart getting into the groove.
The song for me was one I did not know.
But I plod on lamely putting on quite a show.
But for all my missteps and stumbles that shame.
My lady with elegance pirouettes like a flame.
I do not attempt to lead through the refrain.
Learning to defer if we are to sustain.
I had to admit that I was so inept.
Whatever I must do I will fully accept.
Blame game players sigh and lamely cry,
“Not my fault” each time plans go awry.
Date: November 15, 2020
entered in Brian Strand's Du-O Your Two-Line Poetry Contest HM
Date: September 23, 2021
Contest: Your Best Rhyming Couplet
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
January 20, 2022
entered in the Bite Size Poems #33 Contest placed 2nd
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Disappointed she bends on her knees
Ears shut, not to catch his brutal words anymore
Spilling her painful tears on the floor
Desperately prays for her dilemma to freeze!
Mind recollects.....
Soon after her wedding ceremony
Life started pedalling her emotions strangely
Darkness had swallowed her insanely;
And lamely egressed her love harmony.
He thwarted her from achieving goals
Surrendering to his orders,
She feared to cross borders
Neither sneaked out for short strolls.
Will she opt for a mutual divorce?
Unable to bear the impact of desertion
How long can she survive with no affection?
Unhealthy relationship might not reinforce;
She needs to sort out
As this is utter ridiculous
Being very meticulous
With a well planned route ..!
In shoes with their laces untied, a picture frame with image faded,
in a hotel room whose guest is dust, a drawer, empty, but for rusted pins.
In the letter that you never reply to, the bin not emptied,
in a phoneline disconnected, a priest flockless - no sermon to utter.
You got up from the dinner table and told me to wash the dishes.
I put them in the sink but left them, neglected, and the memory
of you hardened, crusted. I told myself I’d scrub them when you
came back. Flakes float in greasy water like leaves aimless
in a puddle, the suds lamely lapping at burnt leftovers - a
tired ocean current feigning interest in destroying castles.
In a kettle without water boiled, a car seat with no belt,
an artist’s palette blank, a notebook with no impressions of thought.
The deaf person’s signing without hands, in the umbrella without ribs,
in calendars void of days, a clock with hands counting backwards,
trapped in the amber of time. A mosquito caught in a tree’s sap.
That Winter night, he slipped on ice
and, sobbing, lay there in the snow;
he feared he'd catch another cold.
He couldn't stand but felt so cold,
his hands and feet had turned to ice;
he shivered, covered by more snow.
He looked just like a man of snow.
Oh, to experience such cold!
He lamely struggled on the ice.
He died on ice and snow, so cold...
written 21st February for Charles' Tritina contest
Where is your costume? This question comes from my boss, who is dressed like a mouse
With a cookie.
Best of all, she has brought us all cookies.
I have already eaten mine, and it was scrumptious.
I do not say I did not think it was fair for teachers and the principal to dress up when children cannot
Today, Halloween, so I do not say anything, lamely pointing to my zebra costume as she is my principal.
Why are you not wearing it? The Mouse with the Cookie queries.
That is easy.
I have a very serious talk coming up in three minutes with the fifth graders about anti-bullying
And Title IX law.
The law that says bullying and discrimination are against the law.
So I have a great out.
I explain this.
Understood.
The day runs smoothly until I explain Title IX law and a fifth grader asks me, “Why can
The President bully people and make fun of them if it is against the law?”
So much for a smoothly-run day.
Centuries are done!
But my land and I exist yet,
Under the visage of desolation,
Camouflaged by an arrogant power;
Bloody soldier, assassin, executioner
Amending, mastering it;
While I stay in abstract hatred,
Robbed off my cream of youth,
Whose blood has left no stain;
There, on the blood-saturated land,
And set up, halted in mockery,
I watch the mockery of time prevail;
While my clamors rise and die,
From waning throats void of charm;
Yet, claiming to breach the walls,
These labyrinthine walls rosy-red!
Painted by the blackened blood of innocence,
Leading a stair of my ancestral stair!
Persecuted by that savage beast,
Still, famished, void is their gut!
And to my rueful disaster,
I slumber!
Cushioned by my half-dead people
Walking in the procession of death;
Towards their safe haven.
But I exist yet,
Brooding upon my mute calamity;
That brings naught but humiliation,
Before my soul; Crestfallen;
Plagued every day and every night,
By dint of a dawdling tempest,
Lingering upon my lamely eye,
Lamenting upon my beleaguered land,
For my heaven has come to a stroke of doom!
Dependent
How long will you lamely follow
Determined to eat and to swallow?
Should you run away from toil,
Who will fill your pot with oil?
Not as dependents (mouth agape;
Greedy and garrulous as an ape),
But, as a benefactor in this land
Who, to toil, employs his hand-
Whose arm and back is trained
To badly twist but never sprained!
JM
02nd February 2014
Remand
A desperate prisoner
Out on remand
Am I
Till sentence do us part
On her hand
Lamely hung;
Inconsiderate
And
Irascible woman’s
Husband-
Suspect of love
Treason
(Heart’s betrayer)
Defying reason
To forever wear garb
In a wrong season.
JM
05th January 2014
RainCoveredSKY
RainCoveredSKY
The sky is Western Covered sky dark for half the canopy is covered up the smell of rain
filters down some conflicting with the surroundings the landscaping the hey fever springing
here nearby. The birds were swimming in the sky the western sky with wings folded they
glide then extend the wings again then fold them back confused by the wind in western sky.
They glide then fly then glide. The poet however must walk than lamely then halting lame he
walks under the western sky rain never falls but clouds roll out of the valley walls but back
they come as poet walks. He walks and as he limps along he notices them the gliding flying
birds are gone.
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