Long Border on Poems
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Dump Artificial Goals, Live a Purposeful Life!
Do your goals disappoint you, like verse without rhyme,
There's an urgency missing; all go overtime,
Are you jealous of others whose goals play a part
In much larger endeavors that border on Art?
Your life needing direction? Your path lacking light?
Well, these simple directions can help end your plight.
First, consider examples of just what goals are,
They can be very simple, "Go look at a star!"
A bit more complicated, "Mow lawn before noon,"
Difficulty increasing, "Learn words and the tune!"
What do goals have in common? Beginning and end!
And you know if accomplished, no way to pretend!
So then why do some goals seem to carry a glow?
Is it not goals but actors that make them seem so?
Could it be there's a purpose that gives them their shine?
It's like handing girl roses to say, "Please be mine!"
If a boy just laid roses beside a girl's chair,
Without giving her notice, would she know they're there?
A child's purpose might change on a dime, be perverse,
But a grownup's can last for all time, the reverse.
If you're wise, you will know; use your purpose to grow!
When our goals do shine bright, purpose gives them their light!
Those who share our goals make us feel fine (as a friend!)
But the one who shares purpose we dine, (without end!)
Brian Johnston
15th of June 2018
Poet's Notes:
The poem says it all, but perhaps it is too subtle. Let me drive its point home. The message is too important for me to leave you mystified if you are?
If reaching a goal disappoints you, the most likely reason is that your goals don't align with your life's purpose. Ah, but if you have not yet committed to a life purpose, or do not know what yours is, how will you ever live up to your potential? Having a purpose in life is what makes you-you!
As a simple example of applying this poem to your life, ask yourself, "However, will I find the perfect partner for me?" The correct answer is not the one you have now, i.e., to find a partner who shares your goals! Instead, look for a partner who shares your purpose!
I have traveled the world over but like the United States best
From Maine to California, north and south, east, and west.
Born in West Virginia, I live in the Commonwealth of Kentucky
Have visited Vermont, New Hampshire and, of course, New Jersey.
Massachusetts, in New England, is historical like Pennsylvania
But not so much, I think, as the Commonwealth of Virginia.
My military time was spent in the beautiful state of Hawaii,
Which is nothing like Wisconsin or the Show Me State Missouri.
Montana is a state of wide-open spaces, unlike most of Indiana
And neither of them compared to the bayous of south Louisiana
New Mexico and Nevada are far out west, not like Arkansas,
Lying close to the Great Salt Lake Basin of neighboring Utah.
On a trip to visit some friends in the Willamette Valley of Oregon
A side trip took me to the northwest corner of Washington,
I went through the mountains of Colorado and northern Idaho
Before going through Michigan on my return trip home to Ohio.
Alabama is a long way from Delaware, not far from Mississippi,
I do not remember it having the green mountains of, say, Tennessee
I have some old and dear friends I visited in southern Minnesota,
I traveled on a Greyhound bus through Badlands of North Dakota.
The great central part of the United States lies north of Texas
Kansas is a wide, flat state where tall corn grows in summertime.
I remember visiting Iowa and Nebraska on several trips out west,
It is rather difficult to figure out which state I liked the best.
Neither Wyoming nor Connecticut border on North Carolina,
Nor does Arizona touch the low country of South Carolina
I didn't go through New York or Minnesota on my way to Florida,
Consulting my atlas, I found I was in the peach state, Georgia.
I have eaten delicious crab cakes by the seashore in Maryland
And quickly passed through Providence in small Rhode Island
I followed the Lincoln Trail through southern Illinois…then,
Having seen Oklahoma, what two states have I never been in?
I.
Conversation comes in polite manners
And natural tones.
We talk;
You of your early mornings
While I of scattering
Thoughts that border on nonsense
Debating with myself on a mind divided.
I babble, distraught;
Should I or should I not
Complement such aspect reserved
For poets' words and artists' eyes?
What with autumn and its golden flares
Burning your crown like a halo then and there.
Thus in laughter-filled sentences
This dilemma is masked in unintelligible disguise;
Little by little instead the moment
Is impressed on my mind,
Wishing it would never end.
On and on,
To never end this talk
—I wish.
II.
Inexplicable
How the sweetest voice can be
A knife thrust in my chest
So beautiful
Yet it is murder, this subsequent longing.
What Dushenne has given a name to,
Yours has dissolved the defiance from all
My peers and I;
A smile that begins from the tones
Of earth in your eyes
As you speak of funny anecdotes,
Sharing shortcomings with wild abandon
As if there I was standing
Your confidant, your closest friend.
Albeit in hindsight lies the irony:
Whilst I talk with affection
Of comradeship you spoke.
III.
Talking in circles, round and round;
Lost in the boredom of redundancy,
You depart.
Having dispensed of farewell's pleasantries,
On opposite direction you walk;
As free as the wind that takes you away,
Bound only by being blessed
To be amongst all of Heaven's creation
The fairest.
While I, on opposite direction, walk;
Punished
With tacit solicitude and its rubbish fantasies.
Turn on the radio, plug in the phones;
Searching the radio for liberation,
I find only more poison
Among the melancholic remedies it offers.
Fevered I am with the sickness
Of wishing
For what can never be.
IV.
On opposite directions we walk;
You depart
Naught of burden of memory nor nostalgia,
While I,
On your first parting step,
Died;
V.
You have taken with you my heart.
These are the people that voted for our president
And these are the people that buy all the tabloids
And these are the people that wouldn’t notice talent
If it hit them over the head repeatedly
Last picked at your sporting events
Last picked off your publishing lists
These are the people that succeed because they know people
These are the people that scoff at true attempts in art
And get drunk on whatever they find in their parents’ cabinets
These are the people that fall into stereotypes
And don’t even care
And consciously avoid being noticed
In their looks
In their actions
In all things
And are so grateful and happy
Just because they belong somewhere
(It’s “conform or go crazy”)
These are the people that buy everything they see on TV
And believe every word their psychiatrist tells them
And believe their doctors when they say you’ve got 2 years to live
And f-ck and f-ck and f-ck all the pain away
Or get drunk
Or get high
These are the people that go to bars
And buy cars
And pinch womens’ behinds
And these are the women
That secretly like it but just play hard to get
And these are the shows
With all the perfect people
With problems that border on inane
And these are the reality shows
With the people picked from set types
“The black guy, the gay guy”
“The b-tch, the jock”
These are the people that rely on instant and never-ending gratification
To the point where gratification no longer exists
These are the phoneys
Holden knows
And so I sat thinking of something I couldn't live without....
As if my house was on fire and I had 5 seconds to grab one thing.
A very hard decision to make. Or is it?
I'm a gut gal.
I go with my intuition always.
Relationships have taught me that.
The struggle is in fact the struggle.
My magic wand.
Without it I can not resume a life of study.
I can not find my rhythym.
I can not sing.
I can not dance.
I can not think.
So, I can not live without a pen.
A pencil is ok, but isn't permanent.
My thoughts are permanent, at the moment I think them.
I don't erase.
Words I have erased in the past were the most important.
I rejoice in the errors of my ways.
I learn from my mistakes.
I think too fast, therefore i need a pen.
I'm not rainman.
I'm attention deficeit.
I'm smart, so I border on insane.
Too funny.
That is what the "experts" say.
Originally it was named the Biro.
Now its called " an object mightier than the sword."
That is powerful.
If you think about that meaning it can boggle your mind.
Mightier than the sword?
So it can kill?
It can hurt?
It can cripple?
It can destroy?
Hmmmmm....
It also means penetration.
According to the slang dictionary.
That does make sense.
A pen penetrates because it becomes real when it is public.
In your mind it is hidden.
On paper, it becomes alive.
It's a marker.
It's your memory.
It is the best weapon.
Use it carefully.
Your thinking in print.
As I lay listening to the steady thumping of his heart,
I can't even begin to explain how much he has become a part
Of me of my life of my heart
It began at the very start
My mind drifts away
When we first met on that day
His eyes his smile his outspoken yet quiet way
God I love him what more can I say.
Time has passed altho still only a bit
My heart beats for him louder and doesn't quit
Sometimes my tummy still gets butterflies fluttering in it's pit.
I'll love him forever you can
believe that .
I was so guarded so leary of feeling
My heart was on the mend but still only slowly healing
Little did I know it wouldn't be long and that heart he'd be stealing
My love would be showing brightly revealing
Tonight as we sit here in our home peaceful and content
The days roll by the happiest I've spent
No limbo no drama no one hell bent
Breathing deeply thinking how blessed I am that this is how my life went
After all my struggles and setbacks
The sleepless nights and all that my day lacked
I'd change nothing from this day back
For life wouldn't be the same my heart would still be black
My days are now some of the best I've had
Even the ones that border on sad
I wake up each mornibg now happy and never mad
Life is will remain good to hell with the bad
There was an eagerly keen schoolboy,
Who when used the Greek term ‘hoi polloi’,
His teacher, a pedant--
A kind of stinging ant,
Corrected it to ‘the hoi polloi’;
Sir, my apology,
Ain't it tautology?
No, use grammar, boys as would a toy!
___________________________________________
In Greek, hoi polloi means ‘the people’. Thus, hoi is the article ‘the’, and when we say ‘the hoi polloi’ which is the way the expression is used in English, there doubtless is tautology. But usage determines grammar, not the other way around. Further, when we say ‘eagerly keen’, there too is some tautology as well. Further, the word pedant comes from French and Italian, and perhaps from Greek ‘pais’, whose teacher is called pedagogue. Pedant earlier meant only a teacher, but later on acquired its today’s meaning: one who lays excessive stress upon trifling details of knowledge.
My fellow poets might have sometimes faced comments that border on being pedantic.
______________________________________________________
Ways of words |04.06.2020|
Topic: humour, school, boy, teacher, apology, tautology
Hej and Shej made everyone cry, and they did not care.
It was fun for them; for they were a mean god and goddess.
The sun observed their meanness during the day.
The moon rolled his eyes at their evening antics.
You are the best! Hej said to Shej.
Not, it is you! Shej said, giving him the high five.
You made more people cry today than I have irritated in a week.
Their antics were beginning to border on cruelty.
Let’s appeal to the Goddess of the Hemisphere, the sun said.
The moon agreed, and so they did.
The Goddess of the Hemisphere took their notes and shook her head.
I do not want them to disappear completely. Let me think on it.
The next day the sun appeared and the moon said
Before I go, I have to show you something.
God Hej and Goddess Shej turned to stone forever
Never bothering anyone again thanks to Goddess of the Hemisphere.
There lies before my eyes a soaring mountain,
For certain at the top there is a view,
A sight I’ve seen before the falling curtain,
Of chapter and of life that I once knew.
Perhaps I long to see a new horizon,
So far beyond the looming pile and peak,
And yet it seems to border on delusion,
As truth of lassitude begins to speak.
What heart and strength that bore me ever forward,
Reminds me still of ceaseless strain to bear,
That I could earn a future unencumbered,
No longer to endure or to repair.
And so as every step engraves behind me,
Another page of epic on my soul,
And every wall ahead that falls before me,
Assumes its place as saga on the scroll,
Pray stars above would guide towards the summit,
A life far past the edge of spread too thin,
And gentle wind would echo to the sonnet,
“Dulcius ex asperis” from within.
Hold out arms, hands and fingertips,
spread shoulders…shake loose.
If you’re not clouded by flesh
you’ll feel it - your verge shifts,
sometimes an inch,
sometimes a million miles.
A bright brim begins to look at the stars
as if they were your own eyes looking back.
You might even shoot inward
into your own glitzy center.
Maybe Her tulle skirt,
and sparkly, silver, magnetic panties
will draw you into Her cosmic Ferris wheel.
All this is just over the tip of a reach, the brink
of a fingernail, where you ride the milky cosmos
seeding worlds with the art of your mind.
Let yourself border on the fringe,
the hem, the flossy slip of Her short sassy skirt -
shimmy a while.
Elderly men have been known
to dance a step or two right there
at the glitter-edge of life,
as they fall for the same girl.
again, and again.