Long Mowing Poems
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Though (supposedly) only
the good die young, urn holding
cremated ashes a mere cup
full, every last man standing falls,
cuz nobody else
escapes un pup
yule lore blitzkrieg,
or aging gracefully,
the unavoidable eventual fate,
(mortal fateful demise),
sans the remaining unsung
anonymous peoples meet up
with the grim reaper,
who will ineluctably disrupt
the carryings on
with each and every individual
(non plus ultra all other
life forms as well)
gradually or with abrupt,
and unannounced debut
scythe lent lee appearing
to whisk away the
honest and/or corrupt
whether taking their
first meal of the day,
and/or last sup
per, perhaps sitting quietly,
when body electric
amp pare rent lee
receives ohm
my word fatal invite,
whereat permanent shocking
quiescence doth, sans
stealth maneuver erupt
tragically, indiscriminately,
and blithely
mowing down innocent civilians,
and/or training fate squarely
upon heads of soldiers
life during wartime,
where opposing armies regale
while marching men go hup...
to three fore (akin
to a story field day),
winning booby prize, viz
counting on qua,
asper winning lottery
and/or Stanley Cup
major blood bath rendered
significant counting coup
whereat each opposing fighting
force figuratively doth slew
the other, analogously dost defeat
making mince meat
re: as uniformed brigades in heat
of wanton killing
fields sliced minced,
chopped nada so vary neat,
via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat
death be not proud,
et cetera, nonetheless,
grimly forced to greet
a bonanza coup won,
only tubby beat
tin to pulp by adept
skull and excellent fleet
of foot (top
notch crafted) sweet
(albeit) temporary victory
tasting said treat
assailing, bruiting , and/or
weathering stance versus
alternating between defensive
and/or offensive
use of cross bones,
in a hail of bullets
instantaneously didst greet
fast and furious i.e. suffering
deadly raking har row
ring slaughter, an entire
phalanx gone, where
(metaphorical terrible swift sword)
no uniformed fighter
can never call retreat.
How Hungry for GOD Are You?
How hungry for GOD are you? Do you pray and read the
Word daily? Do you stay in an attitude of prayer throughout
the day? Do you stay in fellowship with other believers?
Do you support the work of the Kingdom?
Do you hunger and thirst to know more of HIM? Do you feel like
you just can’t go on any further till HE touches you afresh? Do you
cry out for the fire of GOD to come on you by HIS SPIRIT?
Do you look for HIM to send you to unsaved people so you
can tell them about JESUS and lead them in a prayer to HIM?
Do you pray for the youth of this country and ask the LORD to send
a tremendous revival to them? Can you hardly wait for another
service so you can worship HIM with other saints?
Do you sing and worship HIM around your home and as you are doing
your work, cleaning, washing, and cooking? Do you sing n the SPIRIT as
you are mowing the grass, changing the beds?
Do you and your husband go to the mall purposely looking for
people to tell about JESUS? Do you seek out young people to
pray for them if they will let you and when they do, are you
praying for HIS SPIRIT to saturate them and use them and
keep them?
Are you longing and crying out for JESUS to come for HIS church?
HE is you know! Do you look for opportunities to tell people about
JESUS whenever you check out in stores, restaurants? I tell the
clerks or checkers that JESUS loves them and that HE is coming
soon, sometimes the reaction is tears, some laugh, some love it,
some hate it but needless to say, they got the message.
Do you pray for our nation and leaders to be safe and to be
led by HIS SPIRIT? And also, are you still and tuning
your ear to hear HIS still small voice? When you came to HIM
did you jump into the river of revival with all of your clothes on?
Did you tell HIM, Whatever YOU hate, I will hate, whatever
YOU love, I will love! Did you determine you would give
HIM everything and will follow HIM wherever HE wants you
to go?
Did you determine to be like a good little pot of clay made
by the GREAT POTTER and asked HIM to cover that little
pot with HIS SPIRIT and fill it up so HE could pour it out
on who so ever whenever or wherever HE chooses!
Oh, yah~~! Then, you are definitely hungry for our
GOD!
GOD bless,
Written by: Marilyn S Jennings
May 6, 2019
November first two thousand nineteen...
abuzz with Autumnal thrum
Divine myriad biota amidst
heavenly Lily of the valley
(Convallaria majalis),
he didst imaginatively greet
Edenic heavenly terra
incognita immeasurably sweet
nature's ensemble proffering
Gaia's quintessential orchestration
resplendent sensational treat
natural splendour regaling,
this fellow wayfarer
happenstance gifted autochthonous peoples
espied proud specimens unobtrusive
planted armada, viz sleek bodies fleet,
of foot while me accidentally
risking, schlepping, traipsing... offbeat
winessed unschooled tribe,
yet verily synchronized,
primed, muscled... athlete
their soundless rhythmic swiftly tailored
flit to and fro upon poetic
unshod calloused feet
carefully, gingerly, lightly...
I shod dully tread nsync
toward drumlins upbeat
mouthing, kneading, imbibing... glorious
ebullient choral unadulterated feat
extemporaneously kickstarting crisp and neat
pow hour full rhythm across
analogous macroscopic excellent spreadsheet
inducing their sonorous symphonic
roundelay unfamiliar tweet,
whereby flora and fauna future meal to eat
oblivious regarding mine seat
dated existence, which quiescent aesthete,
yours truly basked,
froliced, luxuriated... complete
as once innocent hymnals kindled atrocity
this observer, spectator aghast white as sheet,
how civilization's machinations didst deplete
terrestrial firmament within one fell stroke
eradicated once pristine unbroken
promises chiseled to cheat
rightful owners expansive swath
over yonder til ocean and land did meet
Europeans scoured seas one after another
lumbering bulwarked fleet
exhausting resources while simultaneous
mowing down aborigines
grotesquely analogous harvesting wheat
indiscriminate deliberate genocide
decimating indigenous tribes beat
defenseless against microbial
weapons of mass destruction,
thus only within third blind eye
courtesy invisible paleface with tenderfeet
strictly envisioned Perkiomen Valley
once abundantly populated
with ample game during cold and/or heat
paradise unbroken stretched hinterland,
where place names mock to pay hollow tribute,
where native peoples no longer replete
vinyl city amidst amidst graveyard
lovely bones turned to dust
paved over by mainstreet.
I have a good-looking piano
I have a splendid kitchen…
overflowing with fruit
I have a wonderful future
to look forward to
I have a hearts for
harmonizing with my sister;
my voice sounds like a flute
I have a couple of guitars…
but no drums to pound on
I have tons of songs to write…
for you
I have a decent apartment –
a family-oriented environment
I have drawings all over the place…
hanging up on my walls
I have an awesome summer
to set my mind on
Ha-ha,
but unfortunately,
I have to stay busy with my mowing job…
But I won’t have time
to laze around and sob!
I need to stay true
to my schedule…
No time for summer school…
thank the Lord Almighty ~
No time to horse around…
Oh no!
No time to act naughty ~
I have a room
I share with my bro…
BUT he plays his rap music too loud,
Yah know?
I have a trillion poems to organize
I’m lacking motivation fuel
Every day,
I want to be satisfied with what I have
and I refuse to feel unhappy
Every day,
I always long for
more confidence to exterminate my negativity
Every single day,
I have to admit that
I can get stubborn at times
Almost every night,
I search for the answers…
In prayer,
I seek for my
Deliverance from Egypt
Help me stay focus and be equipped
Or I’ll be outstripped
Or…whipped
I have a virtuous, marvelous God
Who crafts miracles?
Who gives everyone blessings that deserve it?
Who delivers people out of Egypt?
Who listens and answers to our supplications?
Who is the Father of us all?
Is it God? – Yes
I have a long-term goal
That sticks to my brain like brain tissue
I have a family who taught me how to sing
Who taught me
The difference between what’s right
And what’s wrong
I have a million things to do…
Invigorating ideas shimmers anew
Ideas for the summertime…
Lists of things to do to keep myself busy
At least I have some friends and family
to spend time with 24/7 –
That’s what I call
True Heaven
I’m thirsty for assurance
I’m hungry for reverence
I’m hoping to be of your assistance
Not your adversary…not your encumbrance…
But, I’m sick of playing the fool –
I’m probing for His acceptance
I’m yearning for my independence,
not your vengeance…not your eloquence…
I want to be as constructive as a handy tool
He had been in a deep dream, searching for a lost puppy
When the clanging alarm startled him to reality
The clear images fading like a burning photograph
Then, a desperate sense of unrecoverable loss
Lying on a couch, the beacon clock, clicking his heartbeat
With no desire in facing the awaiting mundane day
His aching back, reminds him of a night of stooped typing
And his dry mouth, of the many vodka inspirations
Opening his eyes, the room is semi aglow with dawn
Turning, he meets the scrutinizing eyes of porcelain frogs
Sliding roughly to a difficult sitting arrangement
Reaching for a bottle of room temperature water
His tongue dampened, he leans back to remember the reason
Why did he need to be shaken from his unconscious state?
Work, yes, that essential means to maintain his existence
Would he be teaching high school mathematics, English, or science?
Rising to his feet and in route the coffee maker
Now noticing the radio playing in the milieu
Earthquake, fire, shootings, political scandal, and weather
The essentials for the complex human news equation
Leaning over a large bed, he kisses his sleeping wife
Patting the dog’s head, continuing to the master’s bath
Later, while adjusting his suspenders, his wife reminds
Lunch is in the refrigerator, don’t forget the trash
On the short commute, through a cold northwest drizzling rain
He evaluates his current role as middle aged
Spending each day killing time, while crawling toward the finish
In his castle of souvenirs and faded memories
Mowing an endless lawn and shoveling tons of compost
The whisper of worry in his ears, about debt and health
Watching his wife grow old and pets slowly age until death
He laughs, at what seems like, the pure senselessness of it all
During his day, he continues to ponder while teaching
Looking into the young faces of his eager students
They are filled with the exciting beginning of new lives
Far from comprehending the classic middle aged crisis
In the evening, within the walls of his cozy cave
The television news professing the Armageddon
His loving wife sleeping off dinner in her recliner
He freshens his drink and is silently thankful for her
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Carrying a sleeping baby.
Cleaning after a successful party.
Camping beyond mountains more mountains.
Playing trumpet on the streets of New York City.
Eating although the food supply is deeply compromised.
Flying with Democrats and Republicans, evangelicals and atheists.
Flying like a fruit fly that won’t quit mating.
Cool as a hummingbird in the stream’s wet spray.
Abstaining wholly, absent from worldly life.
Two dogs fighting but not biting hard.
Chanting as if the planet were mending.
Gourmet dining, devout prayer, loving Mary.
Evenings watching tv. Scotch and Star Trek.
Taking off Emily Dickinson’s clothes.
Meeting in the meeting house, arguing and praying.
Planning a legacy as if you knew enough to control events.
Pursuing happiness as a naturalist or humanist.
Spinning with the planet, performing the history that surrounds us.
Killing many Germans, saving many Jews.
Doing less until one thing’s done well.
Fainting from staring at candles through stained glass windows.
Morning, a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second warming your
bones.
Manipulating symbols, solving equations.
Disregarding tweets and facebook persuasions.
Sitting with a tiny Buddha near a rushing stream cutting a gorge.
Running, disciplining myself, making myself healthy.
Ingesting drugs, throwing die, drinking sludge.
Growing varicolored corn.
Participating in the cause because it’s impossible not to participate in
the effect.
Running over a chipmunk, groundhog or a skunk.
Lying face down in the emergency room facing doom.
Waking up Monday thinking Sweet Saturday! but soon remembering your
trick knee.
Turning the towering young thunder of my anger against my sons.
Regretting the callow dispassion with which I met my parents’ quietus.
Lawn mowing, leaf blowing, yapping dogs, napping old people.
No jets but a rooster mornings, cows and goats.
Al is painting an apartment. Sirma is cleaning the floors. Felix is taking
out the garbage.
Deciding tentatively I slightly prefer Heifetz’ to Oistrakh’s Sibelius.
No cedar waxwings, no chickadees, but beautiful moon!
If you’re alone as you get, why are you crying?
I had been in a deep dream, searching for a lost puppy
When the clanging alarm startled me to reality
The clear images fading like a burning photograph
Then, a desperate sense of unrecoverable loss
Lying on a couch, the beacon clock, clicking my heartbeat
With no desire in facing the awaiting mundane day
My aching back, reminds me of a night of stooped typing
And my dry mouth, of the many vodka inspirations
Opening my eyes, the room is semi aglow with dawn
Turning, I meet the scrutinizing eyes of porcelain frogs
Sliding roughly to a difficult sitting arrangement
Reaching for a bottle of room temperature water
My tongue dampened, I lean back to remember the reason
Why did I need to be shaken from my unconscious state?
Work, yes, that essential means to maintain my existence
Would I be teaching high school mathematics, English, or science?
Rising to my feet and in route the coffee maker
Now noticing the radio playing in the milieu
Earthquake, fire, shootings, political scandal, and weather
The essentials for the complex human news equation
Leaning over a large bed, I kiss my sleeping wife's brow
Patting the dog’s head, continuing to the master’s bath
Later, while adjusting my suspenders, my wife reminds
Lunch is in the refrigerator, don’t forget the trash
On the short commute, through a cold northwest drizzling rain
I evaluate my current role as middle aged
Spending each day killing time, while crawling toward the finish
In my castle of souvenirs and faded memories
Mowing an endless lawn and shoveling tons of compost
The whisper of worry in my ears, about debt and health
Watching my wife grow old and pets slowly age until death
I laugh, at what seems like, the pure senselessness of it all
During my day, I continue to ponder while teaching
Looking into the young faces of my eager students
They are filled with the exciting beginning of new lives
Far from comprehending the classic middle aged crisis
In the evening, within the walls of my cozy cave
The television news professing the Armageddon
My loving wife sleeping off dinner in her recliner
I freshen my drink and am silently thankful for her
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Memorial Day – 2023... origin of holiday
Strong and brave men and women
gave their level best
crème de la crème strongest and bravest
leaving grieving significant others
with emotional agony within treasured chest
o'er the redoubt the the enemy did crest
where lovely bones of forebears for everest
dead bodies strewn across killing fields
hostility among warring factions finessed
forsook their lives eternal peace they rest
honored and revered succumbed mortal
electric kool-aid acid test
though I question if sacrificed life
worth a spit of land to wrest.
Now pardon ma faux pas
from dis po' pa try'n 2b sleek
line six starting here necessitated minor tweak
a reasonable rhyme rhyme,
where sense and sensibility weak
Officially called Decoration Day
proclaimed on 5 May 1868 by General John Logan
first observed on 30 May 1868
Waterloo N.Y. officially declared the birthplace
by President Lyndon Johnson in May 1966.
though seven and nine tenths score years
since (minor emendation regarding time frame
since original date I crafted poem)
Appomattox, a psychological balm
helped stitch frayed nation to calm
served as silent psalm
since bombardment at Fort Sumter qualm.
National holiday most adept
at uniting Civil War fallen soldiers
when fiercely armed as brother in arms crept
against opposing forces, which took
by surprise “enemies” or found inept
ill prepared troops with surprise mortal
blow which ambushed attackers leapt
mowing down valiant soldiers, thus
becoming slain grooms who eternally slept
sorrowful lamentable hymns from
widowed brides tears wept.
Cease fire that day
terminating internecine flay
o’er mounds of earth whence
bones o boys donned blue or gray
a day of remembrance for those
who died in our nation's service lay
celebrated this last Monday every May
one must know tis not about division
boot about reconciliation
and sacrifice brave heroes did pay,
the price of their lives for granted
freedoms enjoyed as american lee-way.
Forsooth, now we cherish too, the Poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
#BadAzKillR
he squeezed gently
pinching the lever once again
and felt the intense power being let
loose travel up his arm …
whiffs of sulfur smoke acting like a
drug on his sinuses
eyes widening with a surge
of pure adrenaline -
loud concussions slapping his
ears like a drill sergeant and
drowning out the
distant shrieks that came
in unison …
countless times he’d done
this at home from his favorite recliner
fueled by Doritos and Red Bull
he’d racked up points like a madman -
hour-on-hour …
day-after-day …
year-upon-year …
blam-blam-blam!!
mowing the nasties down with unique
precision, ‘til it no longer required
conscious thought …
just reflexes and focus to
master his gamer technique
earning his online moniker proudly:
‘BadAzKillR’
one of the best at what he did
he’d won countless contests and matchups
and people seriously feared his avatar
but nobody knew his name -
not his REAL name
and he wanted the same
respect from others that he got online.
bullied at school and misunderstood
by his family - not once given
the same cred and reputation that
he had garnered in the
cyber world …
but THIS would change all that
he laughed out loud at the
irony - at how simple and easy it was
and unlike a video game,
it came with a dark, exhilarating
thrill that he’d never experienced before …
his intent had been just ONE -
a cop or politico or somebody important -
someone whose death would
insure his name was not
forgotten for a very long time
but the security guard outside had been so effortless - so quick
and he wanted that rush again -
that malevolent tingle that had followed
and given him such
a charge …
so …
he kept on walking and
laughing and pulling the trigger
they were just targets anyway -
just points in the game -
and he was going to rack up as
many as he could
after all, he was ‘BadAzKillr’
and it mattered not that these
targets were real …
that they couldn’t shoot back …
that they were …
just children.
(For all those affected by the Uvalde Scool tragedy)
On a headstone in the ground,
a life's summation can be found:
born and died and little more
marks the end with an underscore.
Before I die I'd like to say
all that happened along the way.
There's a story to be sure.
Let's begin life's overture.
My life began in celebration;
The War was over across our nation.
A baby boomer I became;
My generation was given that name.
Born on the East coast raised on the West.
Who's to to say, "Father didn't know best"?
Dad's family was left behind
but mother didn't seem to mind.
Childhood was rough and raw.
Money scarce but, from what I saw,
friends and neighbors were in the same boat.
Families worked hard to stay afloat.
We made do with what we had.
In handmade clothes we were clad.
Our imaginations entertained us
while nature's bounty helped sustain us.
Raking, mowing and bottle collecting
provided things we weren't expecting:
to see a movie or buy a mitt.
If you wanted something, you worked for it!
So, I more than survived childhood;
I learned to be all I could.
Two years of college was cause for delay
before I declared Independence Day.
I left my parents; moved far away
excited to do it all my way.
To try my wings without a net,
leaving the nest without regret.
Any job well done is its own reward.
I found many occupations to be explored:
mail carrier, bookkeeper, manager, clerk,
soldier, census taker, service rep, soda jerk.
Made many friends along life's path;
A few have met with life's aftermath.
Sometimes I wonder why I'm still here
but, of death, I have no fear.
Of loves, I've had a few
but the greatest love I ever knew,
is the love of a mother for her son;
With him, my family was begun.
I leave my grandchildren to carry on
the adventure of life when I am gone.
I hope they thrive when they are grown
in a world much different from my own.
The legacy I leave behind,
I wish to be my words and rhymes.
So, on my gravestone may it say:
"Through her poetry, she came this way".
August 31, 2015
For my family