Hold your tongue
force a smile
count to ten
breathe in
than exhale.
There are times
when life is unfair
some bumpy moments
words unkind
feelings hurt
promise broken
a misplaced joke
feeling wronged
situation unjust.
So easy to blow your top
raise your hands loudly shout
scream and stomp your foot
let off steam
make a list
slap a counter
throw a chair.
But to what avail
will it solve a thing
make you look guilty
and somewhat the fool
or do you just
play it cool
agree to disagree
and go on with life
sometimes you gotta
bite your tongue
better to be nice
you just won.
He and his wife lived in a big two-story house
No one ever asked if he was a man or a mouse
Most people thought that he was mean
It's true that he would often let off steam
He was a friend of my dad
when I was just a lad.
But I saw him as my friend
And sat with him now and then
I thought him to be strong and brave.
He often helped us kids to be well behaved.
I remember back then when sunny days were long,
and kids couldn't wait to grow us and leave home.
Much of my leisure time was spent with Mr. Bains
Talked mostly about everyday life and baseball games.
A teen aesthete
wanders to the soul bartering crossroads
down from where the bus let off.
Gathering weeds and stray flowers
of windblown cemetery seeds.
To make a shrine, self inspired,
at the wayside of God.
To lend by ritual, and evocation
the passage of their development
lonely and gifted.
Shrugging off the ubiquitous pack
and taking from within; magical finds
discovered during cherished playtimes.
Collected in a self-adorned shoe box.
Things gleaned from treasure hunts
and fantastic pursuits.
A cache of light:
cat's eye marbles, chandelier crystals,
blue, clear, and green, sea glass
rolled and shaped by cousin sands.
Dull till spit wetted, salt licked.
By wave defying bravery
a pluck of pebble or sunny glimmer.
Run to Mom for her glamor, and approval.
Brought home in playful pockets
from beaches and picnics.
Now artfully laid in tearful grief.
Creating a mosaic of introspection.
The last to set in place
a paint chipped, wooden, geometric
puzzle piece.
An icon of fractured lullabies.
A dream ending; bare feet,
wet pajamas, and a long car ride.
Keep it to yourself boy
whatever it is keep it
unsaid.
So many times I wanted to speak out
to criticize what felt wrong...
Probably would regret it
a few moments of harshness
with words sharp and strong
cutting down foolishness perceived.
Silence with a shrug.
Not my business, not my time, not my problem.
No opinion just ease into neutral
live and let live, if there is trouble
look away eyes closed. Problems are never
what they seem.
Mumbling now and then, a way to let off steam
no one understood, just laughed at me.
Mumble Jumble guy he is.
At school I was the turtle boy, pulling my
sweater over my head to disappear.
Mocked and hit but strangely safe
in a shell within my mind. Secured.
Recluse not shy. I talk, I speak, stay involved
enough to pass as normal. But never really say anything.
Spoken but unsaid are my words.
Hidden are my thoughts.
Secret are my feelings.
I would like to express myself in a rhythm of
poetic phrases but its best unsaid.
The dainty walk of Chinese women
beyond the Wall in olden days
was due to cruel and unusual punishment
confined and constrained by strange customary ways
victims of fashion prisoners of fad
small feet were in sadly big were bad
forced to wear a pair of lotus shoes
very small baby steps were all they took
altho' it wasn't until 1912 or so
when the girls were finally let off the hook
back then 'pon seeing his new-born daughter
especially when she cried
a Chinaman was bound to say
'Those toes are fit to be tied.'
Depression
Its darkness.
A cold embrace,
An old friend.
It welcomes me,
like a lighthouse after a tragic storm.
I feel her claws like a deceiving caress
Her words drown me in blanket of numbness
Bitterness maws at me like a rabid wolf
I sleep
I eat
I sleep again.
Praying she doesn’t invade my dreams.
Too late.
Grades drop faster than silence after I tell someone I’m struggling.
“But you’re so happy?”
The mask I wear effective.
So effective I can’t breathe.
I’m strangled.
Ambition is an estranged family member
She doesn’t call. She doesn’t care.
I feel the optimism leave me like a dog let off a leash
The motivation drain from me like blood by a leech
I drown
I drown
I drown
And everyone is none the wiser
Depression is a mistress
Sneaky and seductive
And I,
I am her forbidden lover.
Recognising this form is dust,
an urn shaped from Mother Earth’s crust,
enlivened by the touch of God,
we feel each heartbeat as love’s thrust.
To get to the source, heart is thawed,
that thus by giving love our nod,
in stillness we get to the source,
gentling touch, as conscience does prod.
As life then charters its own course,
soul ascends without use of force,
revealing that life’s but a dream,
where we repay debts through remorse.
Ego spawns desires, then thoughts stream,
pursuing which, we let off steam
but come what may, we’re doomed to fail,
because things are not what they seem.
The code of love is penned in braille,
that even the blind may set sail,
going way beyond time and space,
where dark fears no longer assail.
One with oneness, invoking grace,
steps towards heaven we retrace,
by our soul’s choice to vaporise,
that lower mind we thus deface.
Wonderstruck each morn at sunrise,
witnessing each breath in surprise,
clear light dawns, even as we yawn,
whence transformed as light, ego dies.
Let off a lead,
freedom bounds
as if all joy is held
within a bouncing ball
to be retrieved
and brought back to lay
at a lover's feet. Then
sent off to do again.
Smells wafting
from tree trunks,
fence posts and tufted grass
flood the air with molecules
sending canine bladders
into spasm eager
to mark the moment
as their own.
Focussed on what is firm
beneath their feet,
every nerve they have
is wired to ‘now’
whilst I, looking on,
try and retrieve phantoms
bouncing across what was
and what is yet to come.
The world finally
extricated itself
from my thoughts
and became a sunlit park
being awakened by children
escaping from car seats
to run unrestrained
into the wide freedom
of a morning - broke into
a sudden eruption
of water from a sprinkler
coming to life
in the far distance,
seeding the warm air
with mist.
I felt the easy float
of clouds in a blue sky,
the bounding joy
of a retriever let off its lead
and the effortless hover
of seagulls tilting
on the edge of a breeze.
For a moment
I had the strange desire
to lift my arms, almost sure
in the belief
I could leave the ground.
The winner of the women’s match,*
An absolute surprise,
Delighted all the fans who know
How hard she always tries.
In forty-nine attempts, she never
Had a Grand Slam win
And posing with her trophy,
She could not contain her grin.
The runner-up, whom everyone,
(Which did include herself)
Expected to go home and add
That trophy to her shelf,
Displayed, for all to see,
A rather nasty fit of pique.
She smashed her racket on the ground
While uttering a shriek.
She said she had to let off steam
And thus was cut some slack,
But as a pro, she should have known
To hold that anger back.
We’re only human, that is true,
Though athletes who compete
Should, in public, hold their heads high
With a win or in defeat.
*Australian Open
climb up high
on cold leather seat
and put the key
into the switch
set the handbrake
good and tight
step on the clutch
make sure it’s not in gear
pull out the choke
and pump the gas
switch on the power
and step on
the starter pedal
once it catches
let off the pedal
give it some gas
ease in the choke
foot on the brake
one on the clutch
shift in the second
not compound low
step off the brake
give it some gas
ease off the clutch
with a lurch start off
some today
will proudly say
they can drive a stick
but I wonder if
if I put them in
in 1950 truck
if they could start it
let alone drive
Angry Citizens
Tired of the sitting woke government, the fake
niceness and the depletion of Germanies
heavy industry, not to forget her sycophantic
behavior towards Israel, a far-right party has
emerged.
There has been dark plotting afoot by some of
the party members, namely a famous TV cook
a welder from Austria, a GP. an astrologer
and presumably a tealeaf reader
The plot was to kidnap the prime minister
parade him on TV in his North Korean hairpiece
the one he only uses at home, hitherto a family
secret, although there had been rumors
force feed him bratwurst, boiled potatoes
and chicken nuggets until he promised to end
his pathetic practices and make Germany
great again.
The would-be terrorists were caught there
will be a trial, but we sense they will be let off
with custodian sentence
"Only the heroic has the right to gloat.
Today's Mother's Day Cafe closed, I scream.
Going bonkers place to place wheelchair bound.
To irked to do whatnot I let off steam ,
Saturday, same crap. I wheelchair around.
Last week Cafe closed 3 days,no daydream.
Ice water and popcorn ,diet not sound
Times like this I do not know what to do
I feel put off on I surely feel screwed.
Oh you lucky dog
aren't you glad you're not a frog
as easy as it may seem
you just lift a leg and let off some steam
instead of jumping on a log
like a frog
you just prance around the yard like a deer
playing with your toys with no fear
The music festival is about to start
Some great bands rock and play their part
A massive crowd has gathered in the noonday sun
It's the perfect setting to let off steam and have some fun
The speakers vibrate as the music starts to play
The open field is now a dance floor with people beginning to sway
We sing along to songs that shape our past
Today new magic will be created surely to last
Smoke from barbecues spirals into the air
Time to line up for culinary delights no time to spare
It was a day of great music and making new friends
Moments like this on life's journey I wish would never end
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