Long Burning the midnight oil Poems
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There are people who
live in the fast lane,
Swim upstream
Enjoy the fruit of their labor
riding on the coattails of the devil,
Chase rainbows and find the
pot of gold awaiting at the end.
I wonder…
Are you one of them?
I, for one,
I mostly followed
the beaten path,
But on whim
strayed off a time or two.
Ha yes! I also ran,
Stumbled and fell,
but finished the race, all the same.
I didn’t know
which faith to follow
but kept my trust in God.
I guess I didn’t
labor my life hard enough and
was just content to sit on the fence
burning the midnight oil
to earn a pretty penny.
an inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax
(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting icecaps or igloos,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget
Old McDonald with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
to appease ghost oh Rachel Carson
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu)
or poor ole Whinny The Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue
doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
mien hating solution
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...
Take the time to glance all around you
And to let yourself warm up
At the joy that you can see lighting up
Everyone's faces
When you all glow with the freshness
Of youth
While still in your adolescent days!
Take the time to breathe in exaltation
When burning the midnight oil
For your final university exams
In your twenties,
Aware that if you succeed,
You shall have the world at your feet!
And when marriage comes,
Let your partner paint poetry all over you,
Poetry enouncing of his love for you
And rhyming with how he feels
At the love that you thrust back!
Let your children tamper with your moods,
With your time, with your schedule,
Let them be the centre of your universe
For,
They are naught but the fruits
That your fate has prepared for you!
And then,
When old age settles in,
Along with painful knees, bidding you
To slower your pace,
Smile at the memories
That dance across your mind,
Regardless of what remained, or what
Was lost, regardless of who stands still
By your side or who left you walking alone
For,
The life that has been given
To you is a token of love
And it becomes your duty
To live it according to the rules
That have been laid down for us all!
Getting up after the fall,
Standing again and accepting the call.
Giving it the proverbial "college try"
Burning the midnight oil and remembering his "why"…
Standing in the batter's box again after strike three
Readying himself for another at-bat, standing as confident as can be…
Picking himself up off the canvas after the big left hook
Shaking the cobwebs and learning from the hit he just took
Getting back into the saddle after the bump and fall
Now, sitting upright in the stirrup and riding tall___
A trying man can never lose.
Sometimes, and quite possibly many times, he may hear the blues.
A trying man in public is a crying man in private.
He works and tries; he contemplates and cries quietly.
A trying man is willing to give it another go.
He still stands and smiles after receiving his thousandth 'NO.'
But lose, he just cannot.
Because he always aims for his best shot
In the end, a trying man can do nothing but win.
In the beginning and throughout, he never looked outside because he always looked within.
Earth Day April 22nd 2024
I lament bidding Gaia's creatures adieu,
an inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax
(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting ice caps or igloo,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget
Old McDonald's with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu
or poor ole Winnie The Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue
doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
men ate about the old woman
who lived in a shoe
mien hating solution
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
hemmed in courtesy
*****sapiens population explosion
whereat their den only
allows, enables, and provides
cubby hole view
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...
essentially everyone
comprising the human zoo.
The blueprint marked the plan of her life.
Just like an architect she was, she constructed it perfectly
Drawing it to the very detail she wanted it to be.
Ink dripping, paper raffling, on to work she was.
As others slept, she kept burning the midnight oil in the attic where the sound was below ten decibels.
The blueprint contained segments and blocks. Each segment was partitioned by a pathway, demystifying a phase of life she had.
Armed with a compass she placed it on top perhaps a clear signal the direction she wanted her life to take.
Shapes were drawn, lines crossed and figures inserted between columns and rows.
To her advantage, she wasn’t in the 70s for she would have to wait for the canvas to dry up.
A peculiar picture struck my mind upon seeing her work, "a bridge “was it a message or a phrase “we’ll cross the bridge when we get there?
I wonder what it could be
The glowing merry marble
Curve of my masculine hands and legs
That draws them to me like bees to honey.
I stand here for their eyes to drink up
Like a mirror hanging on the wall
Yet all that they will see is me
Have they no pleasure in their own reflection.
I am the birth of Michelangelo's chisel and hammer
Hours upon hours he spent
Burning the midnight oil for me to stand
As I glow in alabaster-white
There here I stand in sculpted glory
Frozen in time for all man to see
The miracle of the chisel and hammer
Stand here forever in The City of Lilies
(Inspired by Michelangelo's David)
Burning the midnight oil while writing
this poem one line at a time
looking for reason searching for meaning
making words scan and having them rhyme
consider the hands of a clock
as around the dial they rotate
some arrive early
(tick-tock tick-tock)
others come in late
one is fast the other slow
round and round and round they go
observe this strange conundrum
it's a paradox in every paradigm
tho' traveling at two different speeds
they keep the self-same time
whereas a broken watch
(strange to say),
in its oxymoronic way
tho' its tempo is a no-go
is correct twice each day
and
as it's of the essence whenever I see fit
I simply turn back time
3... 2... 1... emit
They found the smoking dagger
Happiness is a loving family in another city
True friends stab you in the front
He’s a wolf in cheap clothing
He received a decease and desist order
I shot the wind out of his saddle
He’s not the one with his ass in a noose
I’m watching everything you do with a fine-tuned comb
It’s as easy as falling off a piece of pie
Robbing Peter to pay the piper
It’s time to grab the bull by the tail and look him in the eye
You can’t change the spots on an old dog
Step up to the plate and lay your cards on the table
He’s a little green behind the ears
We have to get all our ducks on the same page
The fan is gonna hit the roof
Wake up and smell the coffee on the wall
People are dying like hotcakes
It's as easy as falling off a piece of cake
A stitch in time gathers no moss
He was burning the midnight oil at both ends
It sticks out like a sore throat
It's not exactly rocket surgery
I wouldn’t be caught dead with a ten-foot pole
The sweater was all moth-eared
A loose tongue spoils the broth
You're not the brightest bulb in the knife drawer
I shot the wind out of his saddle
I have a lot of black sheep in my closet
And my all time favourite...
She’s suffering from a detached rectum
Fire
Dramatic much? One would think you were
the flame of Passion.
Shall I re-introduce you so that you can make
your entrance again?!
In your flashy clothes, that you
wisk down your runway, whoosh.
Are you gonna tell it once more, how the fuel feeds.
Your ego, burnt offerings consuming everything.
Burning the midnight oil,
by tripping the light-fantastic.
Shining. Me! I am the quest you seek and also the Bard
that shines light on the tail, the tale and your tailor.
Don't throw a hissy if you burn in the pit, out of prides-
travails.
Although the lines have blurred.
(Leos. Don't stare too long or hard.)
(You may get blinded by a dance of the seven veils)
( I love Leos. My Momma was a Leo, my main pride)
Copyright © Jude Herrick | Year Posted 2019