A large green iguana fell out of a tree
onto my head.
Ohio has no invasive Iguanas.
I don't smoke anymore.
Right in front of me
a speeding red van killed a woman.
I have developed an allergic reaction
to all kinds of blind spots.
Latterly,
balding eagles have buried their memories
under symbolic windfarms.
Since moving to where I am,
the mail truck arrives far too late
to do anything about it.
I used to leak over sterile tabletops.
Now and again, a thin lifeblood still drains
through systemic digital aqueducts.
Upon a time, I considered following the ways
of an autonomous wildebeest,
no matter,
an habitual herd instinct
led me to drink from only shallow waterholes.
I have reconsidered.
Ever since,
a rung-less ladder gets me high enough
without the use of heel lifts.
I choose my socks carefully.
Have to say, the morning rain picks me as a trustee
Rather often latterly, and he states the same
Silly point that it’s all staged, anything we see
It’s a trick of mind, he says, we just play the game
With no rules and regulations, no objective judgement
And it doesn’t matter much, in a grandeur scheme
From our private world, we can point a little argument
Like a stone thrown in the pond, splash is what it means
What you have to say aboit it, laughs the morning rain
I’m the one who pulls your strings, while behind the scene
Actors eat McDonalds food, everyone plays tame
The drops run down the windshield, the cars look shiny clean.
ADELAODE CRAPSEY american cinquains form * first motivated my interest in poetry
For the lovely Adelaide Crapsey
a long life was not to be
But one day, freed me, to be me
her cinquained syllables ,I confess
awakened the poetic
..I guess
Innovative and never staid,
Unmarried,single but no old maid-
A short life,latterly full of pain,
Adelide's epitaph,the American cinquain.
In syllable,two,four,six &eight
she created the cinquain anew!
~s~t~r~e~s~s~e~d
s
y
l
l
a
b
l
e
2~4~6~8~2
Don’t Worry Love
The hot redness of her face, as if Mars,
Surrounded by flashy yellow a-bright;
And pure snow clouds dancing, chastefully, light.
Orbit’s blush and puppy love eyes with stars.
Latterly, bestie speaks it out loudly.
A sudden volcanic moon of madness
dries her throat, a disruption of sadness.
Virginal countenance, burning brightly.
Then her crush softly grabs her hand in his.
“Don’t worry love. Let’s step outside,” he croons.
She is startled - her cheeks begin to swoon.
Fresh air cools her down. She enjoys the chills.
The robins sings of lovely things - knees weak,
as he brushes a kiss upon her cheek.
My tribute to this favourite poet:
A well travelled lass named Adelaide
Innovative and never staid,
Unmarried,single but no old maid-
A short life,latterly full of pain,
Her epitaph,the American cinquain.*
For the lovely Adelaide Crapsey
a long life was not to be.
In syllable,two,four,six eight&two
her cinquain made imagism anew
*definitive article link as above
For many years now,
alongside me,
a presence
has accompanied.
It is that helping hand,
that saved me,
from your wrong opinions,
your self-delusions,
and the lies you tell yourself.
Latterly,
it has been attending my own
mistaken assumption,
and foolish humbug.
Tribute vignette
A well travelled lass named Adelaide
Innovative and never staid,
Unmarried,single but no old maid-
A short life,latterly full of pain,
Her epitaph,the American cinquain.
in the American Cinquain style Adelaide Crapsey
These be
the keys to life,
faith,hope and agape,
love,the greatest gift of all three-
to thee !
Nearly fifty years ago
His life came to its end
And I lost a much loved
And respected old friend.
Born cruelly disabled,
Paralysed by surgical knife,
A calculated risk in the hope
Of a more normal life.
Enjoy your life
The surgeon had said,
It won’t be for long,
And you’re a long time dead.
A bon viveur and raconteur
He spun many a fine tale
Enthroned in his wheel chair
Clasping his pint of real ale.
At first on foot, taxi or train
Latterly in the car of the day
We wandered and forged
Our merrily desperate way.
A sudden blink of fate
And Old Hawkins was gone
Still only in his thirties
As time, uncaring, moved on.
I cried at his funeral.
His loss twisting like a knife,
Celebrating the memory of
His short but well lived life.
Latterly skies blazed
after gold riches were lost
mourned by seas of blooms
exuding heady perfumes
Scarlet sun has gone down slow
A well travelled lass named Adelaide
Innovative and never staid,
Unmarried,single but no old maid-
A short life,latterly full of pain,
Her epitaph,the American cinquain.
Who remembers the Yardbirds
and their moniker Monkey business
Relf , McCarthy, Dreja and Samwell Smith
Blues boys with Beck/Page on duo guitar
latterly Happenings 10 years time ago
seeking people through the world of time
through to Renaissance
and all the falling angels
“Love is like a rose. When pressed between two lifetimes, it will last forever.” – Anonymous
In vast wilderness of emerald summer, rose blossoms brightness,
Like the moon's latterly visits, in pearly, glimmering contriteness.
Her scent lingers in the hearts and minds, of those who knew her,
Through the precious and golden days, gone by in a piquant blur.
Grace, beauty, and cool elegance, in a thousand delicate shades,
Swirling and dancing in silent places, that honeyed sun pervades.
Unforgettably luscious and languid, visitor to many dreamy hours,
Pursuing on a winding path to eternity, with odd, hypnotic powers!
Written on August 28, 2022
For: Eight Lines of Rhyme - Your Favorite
Flower Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
See Dick run, in the golden latterly years,
When past is gone, the future premieres.
Jane is a librarian, in the floral ruby days,
Sally is a teacher, in the tangerine phase.
Puff pursues orange butterflies in heaven,
And he and Spot frolic, in sunshine lemon.
Mother and Father reside in assisted living,
Where the blue jay to the moon is singing.
We live in a world of time
everything is controlled by the clock
always looking to see where it's at
engagements band meetings in its lock
Social media is not my scene at all
whatever it is Twitter, Instagram or Facebook
people wanting to tell all that they think
nothing is secret not even how we look
What do people want to know about me?
I'm a pretty boring kind of bloke
people are not really my favourite item
they would want instead a diet coke
But having said all that about me
suppose they are things I do too
that when I think about it are a waste
taking photo pics just to show a view
I love to write and receive emails
also, watch westerns from yesteryear
love being retired being just myself
dislike speaking verbally to avoid fear
Now these things latterly others wonder
what a waste of time they would be
but to me, they bring me peaceful content
just as meditating upon Calvary's tree
Being a lover of poetry so much
but good to make time for other things
variety they say is the spice of life
enjoy real satisfaction for what it brings
I've always been a great lover of books
so I still love a really good read
whether history, bio or Christian thought
obviously, poetry inspires me up to speed
Walking is something I love to do
especially among nature colours so clear
among the woods branches and twigs
has such effect to inspire all that's near
Music has always been a love of mine
tastes have changed over the years
at one time in my 20s, punk was my thing
now latterly classical soothes all my fears
In all of this, I've enjoyed variety
brings joy to my life fort each day
so good being alive whatever our years
enjoying these pastimes hoping to stay
(This is a piece to describe what hobbies/pastimes fill my life other than poetry.)
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