Long Cushioning Poems
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We gathered eggs each morning
from atop these ancient walls,
lined with copies of the Oban Times
to keep out winter squalls.
The thatch had long since fallen in,
a repository now for owls,
cushioning and keeping safe their brood
from anything that prowls
in the silence and the darkness
of a highland clachan night.
Past generations long forgot
had lived and toiled without respite,
their humble dreams complete,
within this smoky blackhouse,
their communal retreat.
A visit to the kirk for man and wife
each sabbath, neatly dressed,
would bring an easier after-life,
in that they would be blessed.
And so, two centuries later,
we came to Monamore Glen
and strangely found ourselves related
to those who way back then
had stoically awaited
whatever fate might come their way,
for all around, in every nook and cranny,
something new and, every day,
we felt them with us, ever present,
as though they'd never gone away.
Mr Later arrived for his interview,
for the position of Time Manager.
"Good morning. I'm Mr Later," he smiled.
"I'm here to improve your schedule."
"Though, judging by your diary...
I suspect we've met before."
His Business Card read:
Manager of Pending Affairs
CEO of Not Yet, But Maybe!
Director of Priority Re-ordering
Minister for Best Intentions
Chief Executive of Almost Enough
Commissioner of Convenient Excuses
Chairman of Noble Intentions
Custodian of Someday
His Specialties included:
Priority laundering.
Pending upending.
Bucket-list polishing.
Deadline cushioning.
Urgency Dilution.
Calendar decompression
Hope rescheduling
Momentum evaporation.
His Motto Section read:
"Do it when you've got more time."
"Tomorrow has reserved you a front-row seat."
"Don't spend tomorrow using up today.
"You'll appreciate it much more... later."
"The hills ain't going anywhere."
"There'll always be another sunset."
"We upend pendings, extending your endings."
"We'll keep your bucket list beneath your shopping list."
"Every conundrum sounds humdrum on a bongo drum."
"Later is always the perfect time... trust me."
Before the interview was halfway through,
Mr Later stood up.
"Sorry," he smiled.
"I'm running a little....later than expected."
"I'm late! I'm late!"
"I have another appointment."
"Can we finish this..."
"...later?"
Then, turning at the door,
The interviewer smiled:
"See you Later?"
Mr Later smiled:
"Everyone does!"
sometimes it harder to find something interesting to
write about
being popular leads us to want things certain ways
the level of professionalism steeps throughout
each piece of work
great i greater from it's appeal
the way it makes you feel
and it's charm upon delivery
it's rangey but I can try to appease
sid the singer about the song
they made it sound like
her former works
cushioning for her audience
the intros needs more attention
the first structure needs to have more
appeal
the subject matter questions her sincerity
asking the audeince is she for real
don't wanna say ooh when the chorus change
we should channel our effords here
the ooh's the ahh's need refreshing
come baby let's keep it real
said love to many times before
only to have the backgrounds say
bla-bla won't get this done
takes some time
let's be for real!
Conditioning myself to sing like this
won't have this done if
ya'll aint real.
practice see where I'm coming from
take some time let's be for real.
strangs real sweet a groovey bass
rattle your drawers off on the floor
damn that sounds right
in any place
twick the lyrics and keep it real.
Like what I feel
sing with me
make me right
do your thang
sang in accordance with me
written and composed by:
Forte-Ritard-Trill-Cresendo
Her material-finished-economical clothes,
from see through to micro-mini skirts,
all display bleached thighs.
Thighs, cushioning men to comfort,
smooth and spotless,
like refined cotton.
She is beauty itself.
Those who see say:
voluptuous bosom,
tattooed and displayed,
displayed naked for the naked eye.
A glance at them,
has made men instant babies.
Blood-red lips, always calling,
silently calling those not scared.
Hips form smooth curves,
perfect with the supple waist.
Boosters on all curves,
perfect the magnetic arcs,
Her secret of the game.
At sight,
she kills the second thought.
Her hypnotizing voice,
always setting the pendulum in motion,
yet enticing many to sleep underground.
Replaced hymen,
mocks the grooms chastity.
Like a suicide bomber she knows her calling.
Guiltless ever,
she comes calling and knocking.
Generous ever,
plays hard to get when smiling.
Oh beautiful scarecrow,
you scare them but keep coming.
Scare them, they’ll know,
they’ll know.
Beauty is only skin-deep.
Sneakers are shoes primarily designed
For sports from one event to another;
But which are now also widely used by
Many a person for everyday wear.
Sneakers are a footwear type, sort or kind
With a flexible sole made of rubber;
And an upper part made of synthetic
Objects or animal skin or leather.
The rubber soles of sneakers truly make
Very little noise while one is walking;
These comfortable shoes and fine footwear
Can also be used for joyful jogging.
Sneakers are versatile and perform well
In gym's each and every activity;
They surely offer basic cushioning,
Steadiness and firm durability.
They work with literally everything
In bright colors, neutral tones, jeans, trousers;
The suit and any outfit look great with
A great pair of beautiful white sneakers.
I go to sleep in eden's garden
I'm surrounded by flowers and leaves
I fall asleep completely Naked, as i breathe in the fragrant flowers
I rest in the tranquil garden.
In my Nakedness
I go to sleep where nature sleeps
I sleep underneath this chilly, empty, pitch-black sky as the birds hum lullabies
Similar to a chrysalis, i am enclosed.
In the position of a foetus, cradled like a baby
Within this lovely, secure garden
My only source of illumination is the serene lunar surface
In this garden of eden, i have a peaceful Naked night's sleep.
Stunning Naked slumber
I spread my brand-new, vibrant wings
When i wake up to discover that i am reborn every day as a butterfly
My home is the garden of eden.
My refuge for all time
I feel the flowers and leaves cushioning me as i sleep Nude
While i am in my wonderful Naked haven, i eat in the garden of eden.
My sanctuary of Naked slumber.
I'm the Naked poet.
I never thought that one day I might be
so separate and distanced from the sea,
and grey-blue mornings offering a cloak
of cushioning velvet, where once I woke
so long ago, to watch the gannets dive
as silvered arrows from a tight-strung bow.
Those days were ever tinged with disbelief
that fate had held my hand, though all too brief,
and led me to this cherished place, where grace
and beauty did my other world replace.
It was, I know, with age now bittersweet,
the greatest gift that fortune could bestow.
In memory now I hear the ocean speak
of all its moods when, waking or asleep,
I see and hear that lifeforce long forgone.
As to its beating heart forever drawn,
I ponder on the change it wrought in me,
and things that are, and things that weren't to be.
Autumn sun’s shimmering light, glorifies the day’s finale, at the top of the road, a beacon of fall.
Through golden leaves, which are swiftly whisking off the proud oak’s strong-held branches,
Alive with gentle glitzy touches of orange, and an occasional glimpse of yellow turning to red,
The leaves land in the ditch, cushioning themselves as they land, happily joining their cousins,
Giggling and laughing silently, unaware they will be damp, and cold, curling brown and stiff soon.
The bottom leaves have already discovered the corpse of the raccoon but they keep their counsel,
Not wanting to distress the top layers, who are still optimistically leaping from the oak, in joy.
End of September, life turning into death, and back into life, one season birthing the next,
A dance understood and appreciated by the oak, who has seen this dance longer than most.
End of September, a beautiful time of pumpkin pies and Mason Jars full of apple butter.
Larders full to bursting, a fantastic harvest, optimism at its height, the magnificent autumn dance.
Written 9-24-2018 End of September Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
What's up miss popular? People know about your greed
Ya, got the text. The "Hey, dotard, don't talk to me freak,"
The average joe, and those silly electronics"
Please, Click Itch, labeling others as the smelly geek
So many countless hours cushioning in luxury
Preparing to feed your lust, her dinner platter
Feasting on periodic table and splitting bonding
Then misguided paparazzi ask what’s the matter?
Dr. Gluttony's remedy, a coke and Mentos
Pridefully smiling as other families shatter
Expecting everyone’s contributions to the plate
Because, you are the modern-day narcissistic (*sore)
The search engines have endless pages on the topic
Upon your illusion throne, craving and wanting more
Deep down in the shadows, harbors your anger and wrath
Enviously fishing for a fresh party's primate
Yep, Scarlett, Megan and Kelly all have perfect cups
But don’t worry, over time your bim-bims will deflate
Sorry, Brittany and Jen both have the perfect butt
Though your horoscope says, “glutes are going to inflate”
Ma'am Trash Troll, you have not the cash flow of Uncle Sam
What A disgusting branded pathetic child you are
Your future will be a shabby truck driver's pit stop
Slothfully dreaming of becoming a super star
*Word changed
Updated 5/14/219
-Urban Dictionary-
1.Click Itch - An everlasting feeling of need to start clicking, usually on social sites such as Facebook, Instagram, Google, Pinterest, etc.
2.Dotard - An aging individual who has long lost the ability to make rational sense.
3.Cushioning - A dating technique where along with your main piece you also have several 'cushions', other people you'll chat and flirt with to cushion the potential blow of your main break-up and not leave you alone.
Form:
Mist Of Blue
Liberal twain souls existence viewed permanently interlocked, in a blissful capacious abyss, whilst a perceived suspension of their statuesque posture gravitates their animation,
As it stretches anybody mental perception or imagination, an angular poise of various exemplary dimensions poses atop the shrouded mists as it accumulates at their feet from the void,
A couple whose enfolded eyes and affectionate extended arms ends inwards, a passionate touch, amidst the raised cushioning cloudy firmaments on one opposing faction,
And of an extravagant home base of our wondrous Earth, and captivating Moon as the other faction, amidst a mystique doorway channels an aura, and conceals them in vaporous worship.
2020 January 05