Long Beating around the bush Poems
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"Damn, do I really have to go? Do I?"
That's my thought bubble, every time.
I don't know what it is about hospital visits;
Like many, if not all, I hate it like I do cockroaches.
There's something dreadfully morbid
About making these trips, even when
I'm just picking up a prescription.
I bet a hypochondriac feels differently
On my way, my mind gets flooded with
Disturbing imagery of folks bleeding and dying;
Injection needle going into a vein in my arm.
"Ouch!," you say. I know, right? I recoil
At the phrase, "blood work." Call me chicken,
But I'd rather recuperate at home, thank you!
Going to the emergency room almost feels like
I'm headed to the gallows, nope, no kidding!
I sit morosely in the waiting area
For what seems like an eternity
Wondering why I came in the first place;
My inner child growing increasingly jumpy!
Is it just me or does it always feel
Too long at the doctor's office?
He could be simply talking to me
About the weather and my anxious,
Impatient brain would be
In panic mode...
"Are you softening me up for something, Doc? What ails me?
I'll be okay, right? Right!? Stop beating around the bush!"
Sitting at a corner, in the compound
At late midnight, stargazing
Arouse a feeling, feeling so strange
But never dismayed, amidst the strong feelings
Arouse a feeling of great fear, fear of detachment
Afraid of being alone, without company or companion
Entertained, without educating, addiction company
Doing what you knows best, Medicine without effect
Without result, beating around the bush
What do you bring to the table of life
Within your cycle, so you don't recycle
Among those cycle you've outgrown, it's stagnation
Choosing to stand, rather than moving, it stinks
While in the dual lane of life, afraid of speed
Forgetting slow but steady is smooth and smooth fast
Speed kills, when you're out of control, switching
From your space, running your race to another's pace
Life is not a competition, you moves accordingly
Run your race, according to your pace and grace
Not your age, fulfillment matters, age are numbers
A good decision based on knowledge, not numbers
Numbers don't lie. Women and men does, stay Vigilant
I'm writing a book. I've got the page numbers done.
Heroes get remembered, but legends never die
Life changes on a dime, so live life to the fullest.
People love a ingenue, it's true. And you loved her too. The ever-changing, charming, pleasing gift of past, yet a perennial anew. Little did you know how many parts I had to break, stories I had to shape and tears I had to escape in the wake, of becoming a little less bleak every afternoon. I sit in my room and plot like my life depends on it, whilst I lose the closest thing to me that is youth. I warm your embrace with my "gifts" without you realizing, some days, I need that warmth too. But I'm out in the cold with a structure to unfold so I can produce more truth. And to hell with the old version of me that was told, to "always be herself". Funny, as they say, they peel every layer of naivety left. Like a shift to the strings of her heart, not eased by the little-st but interchanged enough for you.
Criticize the way she talks, laughs, sleeps— wakes to a new day with a new dread on her face. All gray and frail. She wonders if she will ever make it through— the sleepless nights driving her somewhere. All the Machiavellian affairs of fiction on some latest issue? Clutching on to the most trusted of her soliloquies some didn't see through. Will the lights hold on, for long enough, or change at the face of a new brew? Will she ever explicitly love the one thing she wished she'd always do? Will the people see the "true version of her" she's made for them, or fall through the curtains in a drool?
Answers to questions so abrupt, almost as if she can never be enough. But what about you? Holding her hand to be the best or breaking the point and beating around the bush? Is it really the swift rush of anxiety or do you just not understand that love bleeds? Take a glance at her epiphanies, and why does that scare your reality? Are you too lonesome to be someone else's color, aside from your usual blues and tarnished, tricky moods?
Keep it brief, compact, concise.
Say it precisely, shred excess words.
Use exact simple words, chosen carefully,
pithy and strong to convey what you mean,
with no fluffy stuff or beating around the bush
Short and sweet the aim,
to the point skewered;
sharply focused, no fuzz to confuse.
Avoid coping out by adding weak,
mealy words that betrays
laziness and carelessness.
If you struggle to find the words
to express what you mean,
your uncertainty and imprecision
reveals that you don't really understand the issues.
Its time to think again and work it out.
If you can't explain it simply and succinctly
you don't really understand it adequately.
Rebirth of a flower
A month ago to the day
black bears came to dismay.
They uprooted everything I had
in the face of doing something bad.
There was no rhyme or reason given
not one hint of an word driven.
No e-mail, nothing, no ears
to my questions of fears.
It all seeded from a contest
a non placing, I addressed.
And true to form, black bears hush
a word, beating around the bush.
They stood sentry with iron fist
deleting my account with Hells kiss.
I cried that Christmas day
of dead flowers in my bouquet.
The next day a flower bloomed
on edge of fear of black bears loom.
A flower sees a little sunshine now
stemming from their plow.
connie pachecho
1/25/17
“The battleline between good and evil runs through the heart of every man.”
~ Alexander Solzhenitsyn
Call me outspoken, blunt, forthright,
But I’ll say it as it is,
Straight-from-the-shoulder,
No wishy-washy, no beating around the bush;
It might hurt some feelings, upset a few
but freely I speak my mind and no preview…
The only solution is to tell it like it is,
Only way to make a clean breast of it.
Man, they say, is made
in the image of God,
But inherently
he is more malicious than the beast--
The epitome of evil.
Lurking in him is
A Jihadi, a Crusader, an Inquisitor,
A rapist, a ravager, a marauder, a warmonger—
The very incarnation of the Devil!
Man is godly
albeit with the beastly instincts,
Universally perceptive
albeit narcissist in nature,
Benevolent yet bedeviled by his demons
Eternally yearning for salvation yet
intrinsically entangled in a web of self-delusion,
Neither able to adapt to the earth nor earn the paradise,
Garnering good deeds but scattering them to the winds;
God must surely rue the day He created man!
~02/10/23
~Contest: Writing challenge "E" word
~Sponsor: Constance La France
So, maybe you can tell
Heaven from hell,
blue skies from rain,
a day full of pain.
Can you trade a walk in the park
for a glimpse of the dark?
We are the captured souls, like fish in bowls.
Do you want to exchange, from living in chains?
Beating around the bush is not of any use,
in the blink of an eye, you will die.
Life in the Cape Flats
has been taken over by brats.
They will rape, kill and maim.
even though they don’t know your name.
Every gang has a name,
they also have no shame.
People here live in fear.
There is always some parent who sheds a tear.
Young girls falling pregnant
from boys who will not leave a remnant.
A child heavily pregnant with a child
has been left alone like an animal in the wild.
The boyfriend is long gone
making a call to another one.
Parents going to work, trying to make a living
leave their kids at home in a life so unforgiving.
Kids must look after themselves,
even though the oldest is only 12.
Most households live a life of struggle.
That is a life so radical.
The gangs rule the street.
To them, somebody must bleed.
The community forms groups
but everybody has their moves.
The gangs make them fearful.
If they cross the gangs, they will soon be tearful.
The gangs of the Cape Flats
are like wolves in a pack.
If you cross them at your own risk,
you will end up on their hit list.
The gangs have no regard for the law.
To them, the law is a flaw.
Drugs rule their lives.
They will do anything to survive.
The Cape Flats has become a hive of activity.
If you are not careful, here you’ll meet your destiny.
Known for the activity of many gangs.
The shots fired, bang, bang, bang.
Innocent people run away.
There is no way they would want to stay.
They have no chance of leaving.
On the Cape flats, their lives have little meaning.
-Quiet voices with low decibels are taken with offense. Preconceived notions, spoken words without thought, inserting smileys to disclaim. Invertebrate personas can be seen evaporating from the skin, with the naked eye. Forming a resin that keeps building up over time. Labeling you with defects of character. Beating around the bush, hiding from problems; loose ends form. Texts twist the dough sprinkled with good intentions. Life's a *****, it hurts, don't it? Untied shoes are today's special, featuring potential failure. Intentional lack of preparation. Detached from the lanyard of civilization. Eyes disconnect; declining their calls. Reading the texts with disregard. Getting notifications and silencing alarms. Misdirected; free-falling off the imaginary edge of fictional beliefs. Playing a new version of make believe. Pretending with the help of it's big brother assumption, the answers we do not know. Taking offense to the actions committed with good intent. Overthinking the simple things in life. Misinterpretations of the harmless innuendos.
Knowledge is the key in this modern world
the truth can neither deceive nor be deceived
a fractured coil has so many errors to put right
very hard to know where to start or begin directing
powdering over them dusting every cobweb in years researching
My God as so big and so strong and so mighty
There is nothing my God cannot do
to be brutally honest from the heart existing
banks are now disguised as a country stealing wealth
I do not understand a vast majority of people these days
there is no point in beating around the bush with tender words
it feels like one has entered a different world filled with bitterness
everything revolves around hating something or someone
The silence is deafening when you use a bit of logic
anti social has used a net covering putting a blanket over facts
deeper and deeper they sink beneath human dignity
No respect for Wisdom challenging them to a debate without conflict
to learn is to be quick to listen when instructing the ignorant speaks with volume cowards
quite as a mouse then will begin to listen under troubled gnashing teeth
lost cursing is their only educated reply throwing a few blind personal words in reply of the subject
declaring war under radical terms examined without foundations
We cannot undo the past we need to fact check what lies ahead of us
St Agustine of Hippo said
People hate the Truth for the sake of whatever it is they love more than the truth
they love truth when it shines warmly on them and hate it when it rebukes them
Faith is to believe what you do not see
the reward of Faith is to see what you believe