Long Easily Poems
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For Snickers, Aug. 2013 - May 3, 2022
My husband fell in love with him on sight -
the little puppy he brought home one day.
In welcoming him we took such delight -
the way he got excited just to play
or how he was so glad to see us when
we got home from our jobs; he’d wag his tail,
then run to get his rope on which to tug.
So glad indeed were we with him back then.
The years flew by. We got to know him well -
like how he would stand up to get a hug!
Yes, on his two hind legs he would rise up
to let us hug him. Oh, he was our star -
our Snickers named for being a sweet pup,
with markings colored like a Snicker’s bar.
He was not perfect. All pets have their flaws.
But he caught on to most things easily -
like how to act while we were traveling.
He loved his little treats. How sweet he was.
When grandchildren came over, breezily
he played; then things began unraveling.
Our dearest Snickers, with such love to give,
became afflicted, but we did not know
how little time our dog had yet to live.
How greatly did we grieve to see him go.
No more to get to see his cute brown eyes
or listen to him begging for his treat.
No more long walks and things we used to do
like watching him with Christmas toys he’d prize.
Without our doggy, life’s not quite complete.
Dear Snickers, always we’ll remember you.
May 9, 2022
For Form O- Ode- New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme F: Pet
I've moved my chair closer
I've walked by purposely
I've made a point to look for you
To see where you might be
And when I finally found you
Behold, inside of me
Were lots of little butterflies
Dancing joyously
I had to try to calm them down
Not done so easily
I had to make them promise
That if I set them free
They wouldn't get all crazy
They wouldn't let you see
How much effect you had on them
And to what degree
I understand those butterflies
And with them do agree
Around you I get overjoyed
My heart you hold the key
Imagine if it came to pass
Like Daisy and Billy?
Both of us together make
Great music, as in "we"
Without you I won't do it
Let this be my decree
I only want you Bluebird
You're my cup of tea
I wonder how Donald Trump thought
and felt
about his King Midas political narrative
at the time of his electoral college victory.
Well,
actually I don't need to wonder.
He mentioned, once or twice,
how thrilled he was with well-marketed turnout
at his self-celebratory inauguration.
Still,
I wonder how these thoughts and feelings might compare
with King Midas despair
thoughts and golden touch feelings
after impeachment of his intentional neglect
for multiculturally inclusive
healthy wealth of resilient GoldenRule communication
connected with and through
co-attached interdependent values
of a cooperatively vulnerable democracy
built on robust and resilient trust.
For any narcissist,
this is a curiously compassionate dispassionate question,
but for a nationalistically successful executive
of win/lose competitions
precluding sight and sound and smell
of win/win green healthy cooperative organic structures
and empowerment platforms
for healthier climate multicultures,
even the GoldenRule is trumped
by GoldenTouch of toxic wealth
prejudicially measured as robust
regardless of absent compassionate health
Made more resiliently resonant
through integrity of Left minded with Right hearted golden integrity,
equitable ratios
and interdependently blended elixirs
ego-RightWing ebbing
with eco-LeftWing flowing.
Seems to me I remember someone
saying something
about not storing up golden treasures
in trump towers
where moths
and bedbugs
and rust
can so easily spread
moldy moral bankruptcy,
spiritless
nature-less
soul-less
nihilistic
climate pathology denialistic.
There was a time when poems flowed so easily, so freely
when your beauty ignited my soul with passion
when I was young, and the world was ours
But now you're just a dream, only a faded memory
And I'm just an old man with memories of
Yesterday still fresh on his mind
We had love deep and pure, a spiritual love
That bound our lives as one
And vows exchanged have never been forgotten
But it gets so lonesome, so lonely sometimes
I have the writing to keep me sane
And a dream to keep me going
Our love will be an ember burning in
My soul and your memory will stay
with me forever
No larger than a grain of rice,
her face is forming; mouth, a slice.
Her heart, a tube, begins to beat;
at one month, things are imprecise.
An inch now from her head to feet.
Eyes, fingers, toes: not yet complete.
Her neural tube, well on its way.
At two months, things look pretty sweet.
Four inches long, an ounce to weigh;
miscarriage risk drops every day.
All parts are present, there to see;
at three months, fingers grasp and splay.
Her nails and hair seen easily;
eyelid, eyebrow, eyelash agree.
Four months now and six inches long,
the ultrasound clear: she’s a she.
Her muscles build; she’s getting strong.
You thought you felt her; you’re not wrong.
She’s covered with lanugo hair.
At late month five, she hears your song.
Her fingerprints? Whorls present there.
The eyelids part; eyes open, stare.
When she hiccups, you may observe.
Month six births: viable with care.
Refinements to sensory nerves,
reacts to light, from pain will swerve.
She rarely is reserved or still;
month seven, and this gal’s got verve!
At five pounds now, she kicks at will.
Lungs immature, but they can fill.
Eight months, all sharpens, gets refined;
You’re on alert, you know the drill.
It’s nine months now; she’s quite confined.
Delivered, breathes in, and unwinds.
Flesh of your flesh, though quite her own;
Distinctly her, you’re intertwined.
On threads of wispy air,
in breathy undertones of political wind,
I can hear the quiet catastrophe,
the quiet ruination of our commonwealth.
I can hear the sleepy madness, turned avalanche
between my ears.
I can hear the quiet catastrophe,
the whispered words of terrorists,
guttural phrases taunted as political incorrectness,
flaunted vacuous nihilism fomenting insurrectionism,
the quiet convulsion of our self-rule.
I can hear the sullen invocation, turned torrent
within my mental models.
On threads of wary air,
in stealthily vengeful murmurs of pretenders,
I can hear the casual, softly spoken demise of justice,
the grim sabotage of governance by principle,
and with it,
the slow dripping blood of all those who died,
all those long forgotten.
The fading ink on parchments spelled out ideals
never attained or practiced in a nation’s history of enslavement
and genocide.
Yet can the people’s ambit even begin without the
enshrinement of these principles for all?
I can hear the quiet catastrophe,
the reckless, feckless conmen concocting hallucinogens.
Conspiracy contagions so easily playing upon, confirming
the jaundiced eyes, so easily validating the invectives of the addicted.
On threads of wispy air,
in breathy undertones of political wind,
I can hear the quiet catastrophe.
Are you listening?
The other day we noticed two reindeer leaping around our back yard
As back and forth through the woods they crossed…
they looked upset and a little confused…I got the feeling they were lost.
“Excuse me, Miss Reindeers.” I yelled. “I don’t mean to startle you.
but I was wondering if you’re lost and if so is there anything I can do?”
Hearing my words caused them to freeze…
then one of the reindeer turned her head and stared up through the trees.
“That’s very kind of you.” she answered. “My name is Donner, this is Blitzen
We’ve been on vacation and we’ve seem to have lost our way….
“We’re looking for the North Pole…we need to help pull Santa’s sleigh.”
“Is this the North Pole?” She asked. “And why isn’t there any snow?”
“I’m afraid not, Donner.” I answered.
“This is North Carolina…you still have a long way to go.”
“Oh my.” She said. “Blitzen and I do get lost quite easily…
It’s why Santa puts us behind all the other reindeer on his sleigh…
He knows we are directionally challenged…
so he lets Dasher, Dancer and Rudolph lead the way.
“Why aren’t the two of you flying back? I asked.
She smiled “That magic is saved for Christmas Eve.
on the one night across the world where everyone believes.”
“Wait here.” I said running into the house and coming out with a map
“You are hear.” I pointed. “Up her is the North Pole…in between is a pretty big gap.”
“Santa!” I pleaded closing my eyes….”If you can hear me I want you to know I believe.”
‘I’ll give Donner and Blitzen this map but they’ll need your help to get home by Christmas Eve."
“Come on Santa…just this once you can change the rules…what do you say?”
With that Donner and Blitzen with map in hooves…smiled and flew away.
“Don’t forget to follow the map!” I shouted feeling blessed to have made a connection
with the only two off Santa’s reindeer born with a poor sense of direction.
Once they were gone I quickly wrote a note to Santa
and mailed it first class to his North Pole address…
‘Dear Santa’ I wrote, 'how about this Christmas you give Donner and Blitzen
their very own GPS!’
Hectic are the days cluttered are the thoughts
we have not got the time in life to pay for what we got
and if you don't have nothing your judged by those who caught
that must have and can't have help sickness that we were all taught
Does anyone ever stop to think (wait) of course not no time and if you do have time
you have no creditability ( trap ) because you have nothing or everything the latter will always
like things the way they are because being elite means those you promised you help are now threats
to your wealth. these are the lies you sale yourself to fill yourself with righteous entitlement
(Weaponized greed)
Do you know how the banks work and how credit is given you think they started themself not really
They have the Fed and other lenders who all grew to what they are by applying for loans under them
company logo you made payments their value grew and why you pay interest first so they can cover
the payments under their name if you miss the payment, they will take your belongings and sale them to profit obscenely when they could easily help but that idea is lost in layered management
and bottom lines.
Now that corporations are people and money is free speech, they did away with the only law that
allowed senators to be impeached meaning bribery is legal and what's so sad is they busted
up unions the only voice we had. now its all about money and the margin line it don't matter
they can save life's ask Studebaker he was before his time
there are transportation companies air and ground who could prevent death but the
research found that per quarterly earning not in the long run since we make so much so few die
per total then it's cheaper to pay off the families if the families can afford the lawyers
to help them point out their family didn't have to die.
So that's where we are in this part of the tangled web that needs to be straightened
and with better thread I need you to remember this one important part all though
we didn't willingly create it it is our fault because we could change it all we could make it right
but we dont because nice things they tell us we need in our lives.
All this is a masquerade.
Everyone’s hiding behind their masks…
Words are easily written, but they can pretend
letting others believe in rainbows
…when in reality,
tempests are the norm, hounding their souls
All this is a masquerade
An air of indifference
is all he exudes
when inside his emotions are molten
Never quite knowing how to reveal himself
his mask full of thorns, broken
All this is a masquerade
And there she glows
with a light about her
When inside she is black as tar
Her mask crumbles, she hastens to touch it up
but the darkness within starts to seep through the cracks
All this is a masquerade
People never do show their true selves
Hiding behind masks, masking words to hide
Words are easily spoken,
emotions can be under pretense
The cynic can be a hypocrite
and the hypocrite is a cynic
All this is a masquerade.
07212011342p400
for Nette's It's Mask Time contest
'lasting for a very short time':
You went to a college,
graduated in flying colours.
Was drunk with the vapour
of distinction
In the higher level's age.
Knowledge was your cage.
Even you obtained certificates.
But death pursued your breath:
Bethroted to Ephemeral.
Groomed by the best clown,
elating glottis,scolding eyes.
Gone to river of rivers
to fetch.
Caught sharks,whales and leviathan.
But health got you tied:
Bethroted of ephemeral.
1)Education is ephemeral(though proving he's a sage.)
Profession and his wife are ephemeral(though boasting around wealth).
Sickness is ephemeral(though often scaring away health.)
All strive to stay,
But they would not stay.
Drown in the dread
of unseen phenonmenons.
Ephemerality is not all those things up there:
It's you:
Even you that doesn't know who you're,
You that gets intimidated easily,
For you'll last but for a very short time.
"Life will not give you what's right,if you're mute."
EPHEMERALITY!
17:1:12:14:17
Written in the Honour of my dear friend: Robert M Smith