Laze Poems

The 4 Seasons - TFS

Sweetly
comes spring
with rain
and sun;
nature 
is so
alive

Hotter
days make
me laze.
I thrill
to feel
summer
arrive.

Autumn
brightly
adorns
trees and
cool nights
lengthen
out then.

Snow drifts
aglow;
winter
brings cold
till spring
returns
again.

On the Birth of AI Poetry

On the Birth of AI Poetry

With reckoning, we must conclude
Our techno masters have pursued
The human brain to cast aside
As muse embraces its new bride

And so the columns that once fell
To keep us bound within their spell
Are churned out now, crisp and clean
By soulless, heartless cold machine

No use here, mill of the mind
No sweat to pen, or the grind
All achieved through lounge and laze
With ego gorging lauding praise

Is Shakespeare turning down below
At creators course death blow
Will Frost be wearing sour sorrow
What path now, would he follow?

F the Doors Open

I am he who says goodnight. 
Don't take me for a label. 
At least I'm from a time when thought,
Use portents undue fable. 

Vuck doors and rules to hide lyrics lying for a sadist,
Lest the sense of selves perchance; employ spells of'n alchemist. 

I invoke the inner man.
I invoke to see that who wants for we.
Gather us, from we you'll be,
And carry such until we're free.

I invoke the word of man,
Laughing at such laze.
Pretended by a lack of can,
To be without my gaze.

Round about the cauldron go,
The trumper sure to ever know.

Gasp for breath and ask for why,
This stunt d'serves 'nother try.

A Vine in Winter

Sleeping, my darling. Laid out, my sweetheart. Cold.
Memories of springtime, sappy. Doormat, dormant.
Tolerance in the hush of Winter. No hurry to bud.

A vine in Winter;
Winter is slow.
Just how I like it.

Nutrients, in a nutshell; the soil spoils me with its richness.
I shake and sip through a straw; divine all the royalties,
whilst sleeping, dreaming of a verdant summertime.

Winter is slow.
Just how I like it.

Carbohydrate-filled, I don’t need much energy to laze
about in the hills, watching flakes melt upon my vines.
My time; I am expecting to thrill, when warmed to the gills.

A vine in Winter.
Just how I like it.

I don’t mind this tender time, for in due season, I’ll grow.
For now, cryoprotectants let me safely tarry. Tomorrow
is a sunny disposition, Annie; the terminus of dreamland.

One Spring

Each morn’s breath was the scent of bluebell sprays,
                          Buttercups lay on the field all ablaze
when on those blankets of grass I’d laze
            watching little lambs that came along to graze.
Bliss was that one spring time’s fleeting phase.

Passing of the New Year

Passing of the New Year
We could have had champagne and not Buck’s fizz, but then we aren’t in showbiz. We glorify and harness God’s creation in full spirit, praising his glory. The passing of the year, nothing to fear, his goodwill to mankind, it is without deploration, acutely aware of the labour ahead-January blues, that first Monday does lamentedly lurk, far from jovial or jaunty as work is around the cruel corner. Unadorned is now the room but the fire still ablaze where the cat does lethargically laze. Snow did disrupt December endeavour and to avoid the roads, we’d be more than clever-force winds doesn’t hinder the odd ocean swimmer-madness to those who take hot wine from the beach’s cafe with views of breaking waves which battle the surfers. Many a woman is all too aware that more mincemeat won’t make a tactical nighttime dancer trimmer. A fanciful occasion for many albeit far from a duchess, but prone to impress to celebrate the New Year is without much persuasion.

On W H Hunt's 'Our English Coasts'

'Strayed Sheep' Contest Judged:  12/20/2024
----------------------------------------------------
I stare at the English coast where a flock of sheep 
graze and laze on breezy summer day
To risk for every flower, bramble and blade of grass 
for them is sweeter than sweet hay

Marked and blessed flock of sheep feels no 
danger, fears none, and has sure-footed take
The green moss on weathered rock cushions 
beckon some to ruminating break

Horizontal ears read, there is no surprise or 
fear, the flock is safe, happy, calm and gay
The herd knows the herder - they never stray, 
the herder knows that the herd will never stray

Like one happy sheep I recline to enjoy the 
English coast, feel the sun and feel the breeze
Blessed are the delicate hands that did such rich a 
blend; it holds my gaze, puts my mind at ease

The Picture on the Parlor Wall

All became purview in her constant gaze ~
eyes that followed, no matter my corner,
nor settee where fleur-de-lis begged recline ~
and, no peace was found in voyeuristic laze.
Even in the vestibule - through the door
            she stares
~ her beauty lingers there and captures 
daydreams that share this moment in time.
I wonder ~ did the artist love her too,
he, who captured every seductive line
of wanting eyes and impatient grin?

How can one wish they'd never met a painting
   without knowing ~ lost love...

O Young!

O young!
Do not stop.
Till then you do not cross your aim line,
Getting your aim , likely sun you'll shine.
This is your golden age,
Give up your laze.
You can do now what you want,
Learn hard working from ant.
Which, the tiny body can do work whole day,
Then you, too bigger than that , can't lay.
Make your way and progress on it,
Never stop, o young! Never sit.

Believing

Believing
Miracle Man
8/11/2024

Life has been a journey,
bursting with desire.
Where I had a choice,
to simply laze or aspire.

But God placed in me,
an eagerness to achieve.
But to make things happen,
I first had to believe.

For too long I loitered,
on the roadside thumbing.
When believing was mile one,
on my highway to becoming.

Source of our muse

Innate to heart is soul’s creative urge,
crystallising as a rhythm shaped by mind,
borne by subtle desires that tend to surge,
conjuring a poem divine aligned,
delighting as we script words as assigned.
Even when listless our gaze, as we laze,
imbibing what it can, presence does graze
in meadows of vibrations in its range,
as earth life continues to so amaze,
in this realm of contrast, our soul finds strange.

Thought of the day

making mindful our soul’s gaze ~
in the vast void, gently laze

sunrays slanted

powder puff clouds laze
o'er fields of hued floral flame
mellow sun glimpses

The Soldier's Price

It is a fine day to laze in the grass
And to think about that beautiful lass.
Her pretty eyes are lit with laughing fire
And she fills me with impassioned desire.

Alas, in this green field I cannot stay.
I must rise and go and be on my way.
Hardships behind and many to the fore.
How far must I go to settle the score?

It may be long and long ere I get home,
For far and far life has lead me to roam.
Time and time I have studied to go there
And day and day drink in familiar air.

I stand and pick up my gun and my pack,
Setting my feet to the long winding track.
Will she be there when I am home again?
Or, will I have to find another, then?

A man is not a man when he observes
His nation attacked and himself reserves.
He must make a strong stand against evil,
Or see all destroyed in the upheaval.

I may lose too much as an absentee,
But this is for those who come after me
I want their future to be free from fear
And have the kind of life I hold so dear.

The Summer Looms

The summer looms, with days to fill
Since things are not routine.
No school means extra time to kill;
No rules to intervene.

Yet structure helps to pass the time,
So people won’t be bored
And having fun is not a crime;
It is its own reward.

Once plans are made, it’s extra nice
To set some time aside
To laze around and roll the dice,
For life will be the guide.

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