“Like minds think alike.”
Why is that?
Are we connected, somehow?
Our brains blue-toothed to each other.
A telepathic togetherness.
Enlightenment is possible.
Tune in. Turn on.
Connect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clock coughs twice—a phlegmy tick~
We wrench its hands with clumsy might.
An hour tumbles, lost from sight.
Like dentures down the kitchen sink.
*“Daylight saving time (DST) is the practice of setting clocks forward by one hour in the spring to extend evening daylight during the warmer months, and then setting them back by one hour in the autumn….In the United States, DST begins on the second Sunday in March and ends on the first Sunday in November…The concept was first suggested by Benjamin Franklin in 1784.,The first widespread implementation occurred during World War I to conserve fuel.” (Source: Wikipedia.com)
I place my hand on your heart, and wipe the sweat from your brow,
I ask myself how I got here and I honestly don't know how,
I believe in faith and forgiveness and that love overpowers with prayer,
And when no one else is looking, His heart takes me there,
I recognize the fear underneath the behavior that can become the root idol of the soul,
And the trade off to release the one stronghold that plaqued them is to once again become whole,
The love is so deep in transition, the world's logic can't even touch,
When the mind is incapable of understanding, the spirit reaches out with love.
would you like some advice?
No
would you like me to….
No
Would you …
I shake my head ‘no”
I ja ja ja juh just
Wanna let everyone na na na nuh know
Wuh wuh wuh what I’ve learns...
Fph fph fph fuh faith is grace fph fph fph ful and
Na na na nuh not earned.
Miming my bamboo fph fph fph fishing pole,
I rig the hook with a wuh wuh wuh worm.
I ka ka ka kuh cast up ma ma ma muh my line
Into Heaven...
Wuh wuh wuh wuh wondering
The time away and
Pa pa pa puh pondering...
What kind of fph fph fph fph fph fuh fish
Will take da bub bub bub buh
Bait?
dingaling I heard
your mind mingled
within hearing
just that singular
sensation of
bully for you
I would cry
or would scream
likely run
downstream
if I knew what you
were thinking
but
thank God
most surliness
surfs with its dread
not out of the mouth
for we rarely mean
what we think
as
our mind machines
turning over and over
tumbling, bumbling
about
and keeping friends
doesn’t let our inner
beast out
S/He walks in bias
As s/he thinks not of himself.
S/He has many a vice
By which s/he does more to others than to himself
As s/he feels his/her disservice to others
Makes him/her nearer to Himself/Herself.
The Modern (Wo)Man.
Full of knowledge
Sans wisdom
Lacking the tryst of self image
For s/he nourishes the advanced sciencedom
Which brought Moscow, Mumbai and Madrid nearer
But a cleavage, so dearer of minds.
So comes the external prejudice
Which reins the seminal minds
With a little or no vision.
Today has all to say
Not anything for tomorrow
The Modern (Wo)Man,
The most civilized and
The most savaged to protect
Her/Him and the burden which
S/He has promised to be obliged,
Is the confluence of
The venomous Chemistry of the mind
And
The meanest mundane of Biology
Short of Historicity and Epistemology of Time.
Mulies stotting in the sage,
from my rent-a-car they run away,
big ears stiff against the breeze,
scrambling frantic, in fear of me.
I’m no hunter…well, not today;
just a tourist who wish they would stay
steady for a roadside pic,
good shot for a Christmas card, rustic.
But can I blame them? I think not,
they’re right to fear what mankind has got;
so I watch coats of mottled gray
as they dash into the desert’s haze.
Fig and Feelings
Silhouette the wary Shadow
Swaying away
flinching from the beaming Sun
Virtue a hallowed vacuum
embroiled amidst a hollow world
Bemusing minds
Wrath, swaying with swagger
Swirling with astonishment
Dripping wails and wills
along with a tempest
but who lives there I wondered
an artist perhaps
or a unicorn
it was a gorgeous castle
in pastel hues of pinks, greens and corals
is it a trick? does evil lurk behind those walls?
Is this castle a wolf in bunny rabbit’s clothing?
I suddenly had a horrifying picture of what this could be.
Just give me a smidge
A speck
A tiny little bit ...
All I'm asking for is some sign
Some chance
Some hope ...
That even just a small piece
Will save us
From ourselves.
Only creative species
Have the potential
To reach the stars
And colonize other planets.
Only intelligent beings
Have the ability
To leap into the Universe
And connect with other aliens.
Only smart people
Have the good sense
To help each other out thru hard times
And seek out truth and happiness.
Only you and I
Have the opportunity
To become enlightened
And discover the art of peace ...
Together.
Have you ever said “I don’t know what to write about?”
Me neither.
Did they say it round the tree?
Was it the initial-peek-a-boo?
Was it said with diamond-degree
or with rhinovirus achoo?
Was this thing called love catching?
His youthful looks and ruthless-hanky
and her wavy brunette sway fetching
before love sickness got too -panky.
A linen cloth could have harbored
the germs from which no antitoxin.
She’s amused by whistling on starboard
and forthright first-sight-neurotoxin.
Later, they stare into empty space.
She used her ring for scribbling.
Gin was her tonic, a cold head case.
His knuckles, not her ears, nibbling.
An unlikely spark brought them back.
They wrapped arms around the oak.
Surprised by touching fingertips, smack
of lips that mollified disparaging gin-soak.
His debonair looks and ruthless-hanky.
Her wavy snow-white sway, fetching.
Battling love sickness with its -panky
Forever-after-lips relentlessly catching.
October, the month of cooling breezes
and adorn,
this morn-
my daughter said, “The tree cutters will
be here.”
Just as soon as she spoke they appeared,
my being aged shuffling to the table
with my coffee,
through the sunroom window I did see,
a lithe and handsome workman-
long dark ponytail scaling a tree
with ease.
Suddenly it seemed a Pavarotti aria
resounded through the turning leaves.
Well, this old biddie wished I was in
my twenties again,
when the thought of golden years
was foreign.
Yes, I love watching the backyard
birds and such,
but the autumnal beauty of him
enchanted me much.
My daughter and I laughed,
because I’m really quite daft,
I felt the need to return to my
morning prayers,
I’m sixty-eight and I
don’t dare,
to think too much as if a youth-
but, now and then,
it’s delightful to gaze at comely
young men!
Specific Types of Light Verse Poems
Read wonderful light verse poetry on the following sub-topics:
christmas, friends, funny, kids, love, music, nature, school, sports, whimsical
and more.
Definition | What is Light Verse in Poetry?