Long No regrets Poems
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Ride Your Bike
Ride your bike all over town
We don't care. We don't frown.
Hurt you. Yeah!
Kids rule. No way!
Set those toilets on fire today.
Climb the fence.
Break the rules.
Steal the crown
From the fools.
Don't have ta
If she don't wanna.
Our way. Yeah!
Chaos is our anthem loud
We're the misses
Make mamma proud
Swing from trees
Break the sky.
No regrets.
Til the day we die.
Point and stare
Gen Z! Old lady
Kids outspoken ha ha ha
Scream - push em down.
Laugh and scream
Seize the day.
Push her down
Don't obey
Kids rule. Yeah!
This is our way.
Ride your bike all over town
We don't care. We don't frown.
Hurt you. Yeah!
Kids rule. No way!
Set those toilets on fire today.
If pressure makes diamonds
why do you feel the need to press,me
Stress me when the most high blessed me
I’m poetry for real, yeah my roots run deep.
First, second and third eye open
so they know I don’t sleep.
Keep my head on a swivel in case somebody tries
To creep.
If pressure makes diamonds then life on the plains of
Mother Africa makes kings out of young lions.
From joy to pain writing is therapeutic through my
creativity my mental is well maintained, in tact never
drained. For the craft I show much respect, inspiration
no regrets, word play is the flex. Typing writing every text.
If pressure makes diamonds what would you call every
trauma , scar, stronghold, disease? When the pressure
Inflicted on diamond-like minds, bodies, souls succumb
To everything that causes these open wounds to bleed.
But my bleed is not your bleed. For, I bleed from my creative
Original one and only soul through my pen ink yes indeed.
So, if pressure makes diamonds and you feel the need to press me
Just know you're the fuel that causes my poetic river to flow.
From every tear, every fear, trial tribulation cross that I’ve bared.
There are not enough bottles to bottles up our tears plus
the myriad of lifetime experiences us poets endured that
we wear but we made it we are here!!
Observe the beauty of a blooming jacaranda.
With its purple flowers it will bring me joy.
I can smile remembering those spring days,
Good old days I’ll never forget,
Memories that both our hearts hold dear.
Love entered our lives in a flash.
We were standing under a jacaranda tree,
So abundant with purple flowers.
As we stood beneath the tree, our first meeting,
A gust of wind passed us by
And a shower of flowers fell on us.
An omen? Who knows?
She picked a large purple specimen
And adorned her face as she
Put the flower on her ear.
I was filled with pride.
How loving we always looked at each other.
Love filled our hearts to the brim
As we imbibed the fragrance
Bunches of bees attracted by the flowers.
She always liked to feel my cheeks,
Soft like the purple flower.
While I just loved to feel her dark hair.
Soon we learned to appreciate
The love we felt for each other.
You wondered why we gave
Our hearts to each other so willingly?
I always believed in chivalry,
Make your love feel fine.
Occasionally we stand
Under the jacaranda tree.
We still hold hands and kiss,
For still our love is strong
And I have no regrets.
Our hearts are still entwined.
As bunches of flowers in the breeze,
Shower down on us.
11 March 2021
Placed 1
Flower Or Flowers In Imagism Form - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
I been running away, trying to escape
No matter what dimension I picked
The truth would hunt its prey
I love all with all I got but sport no halo
Because I was meant to see them all
Before I even let that beast out of me
I have come to death like breeze In fall
First time by energy and ice
I was young so no regrets to vision.
The second time by water of true death
My buddy life support for 8 weeks
One night sick and body's on sides of bed
White n dark argued of possession but
Neither took collection
The last was more a loss of chains
That retarded the one soul
By bounds of mans perception
Of gods creations and essential words
Verses old. Remastered television
I'm tired of learning retrofact
I am relevant to the realm of only eternity
One word sets of a thousand stories
Held by all past, present, and not new to me
I see relationship in every single accident
Of truest evil innamely.
Before all will be known, shown from innermost
Core of all individual
Learn evil does not live unless you harbour deception
And light does not grow if life is not residual
We walk amongst hell, for no demons holds heaven
b
Form:
What can you save when you go the grave?
The answer, my friend’s, not a thing,
Yet the way we behave (and so few of us cave)
Is to add to mementos and cling.
The clothes out of style we’ve not worn in a while,
The souvenirs bought on a trip;
The bills that we’ve paid and the copies we’ve made
Of each document once in our grip…
The books we once read (not much use when we’re dead),
Aging kitchenware, no longer used;
Old cd’s and cassettes – there should be no regrets
If they’re tossed. (Even thrift-stores refused!)
Once-bright towels and sheets, piles of stubs and receipts,
All the playthings of children now grown
Should be given away, so what’s left on display
Are just sparking-joy things that you own.
All this sounds very nice but to heed this advice
You’re much better than I seem to be,
But just take it to heart and at least try to start
(Or procrastinate – that works for me!)
Lovers forever tethered to each other
fear, which one, Death, will visit first?
And as time passes, a sadness swells
within their hearts, just thinking about it.
Accepting the inevitability of Death;
triggers apprehension, a very human experience.
And such concerns can overwhelm hearts;
proving love is a two-edged sword.
Memories entertain like-minded minds,
sharing theaters of recognition.
And watching old family films of days gone by;
chuckles recall long-forgotten escapades
of a lifetime of dreams we shared equally.
Having lived full lives with no regrets
two half souls fused into one;
warmly wrapped in a blanket of love.
Thoughts tend to drift to yesteryears
to offset the tide of tears
that start to ebb and flow as the years unfold.
The question of who will die first
fuels fears of uncertainty within conjoined hearts.
When my time comes to pass, I'll close my eyes,
let out a breath, and, with a sigh, slip away!
Dying's not the scary part;
leaving my soulmate behind, is!
The gnarled hands of woodworkers know the pain
a grip that's crippled from years of constant work
to grasp or carry a momentous strain
this problem is a continuous irk
Nothing can be done but take it in stride
it's a pain from a lifetime that's chosen
there's no complaint, no regrets, only pride
though at times, all the fingers are frozen
They lock firmly in place, become stiff and rigid
as the hands of old craftsmen are calloused
they're earned from hardwoods tightly fitted
made perfect so the work can be purchased
hands of a furniture maker are hard
they're worn and bent, sometimes gnarled and scarred
The sky is the limit for me.
I am breaking free,
From all the boundaries.
Now I have a universe to explore.
After I closed the door.
Every day is a leap of faith.
Knowing, I will make mistakes.
One tiny step makes a huge impact.
Where I was, and heading.
Friends and family are my stepping stones.
Along my walk to freedom.
I have no regrets for who I am.
My life is in God’s hands.
Obstacles might come on the path.
I would not allow it to tear me apart.
I will walk in green pastures from now on.
A long walk for freedom.
Some consider a life well lived
What they have acquired and own
Wealthy, riches and objects to show
Living in a huge home
My belief on a life well lived
Has a very different view
Though it may sound simple
I believe it to be true …..
I feel at the end of your life
If you have time for reflection
What will really matter to you
Will be simply true love and affection
Have you loved and been loved
Been part of a happy family
Known the feeling of unconditional love
And given it unconditionally
Has your life been lived to its fullest
Making the best of the hand you were given
Will you leave this earth with few or no regrets
Having enjoyed the life you were living!
Is A Life Well Lived …..
I hate to admit it, and I wish that it never happened.
It's hard to believe that I allowed it to happen.
So many thoughts; so many dreams; so much inspiration.
But the truth be told, thousands of poems, songs, and
stories were never allowed to see the light of day.
I knew that the 'writer' was within me, but I failed
to feed, water, and nourish him for many years.
I have had to forgive myself for the part of me that
was held captive and not allowed to thrive in the arena
of journalism.
The 'writer' was so intrinsically within me and roared like
a high-powered engine that had no transmission. I can see myself
sitting with pen and paper back in 1969. I remember the emotions and the
pains of confusion, the war of transition that was being fought by a boy turning into a man. I still have the words that were written, words that leaped from my heart describing the life and heart of an ambitious teenager with no one to counsel him, to encourage him to pursue what was in his heart. But I have no regrets about it because I have reconciled with the times and seasons of my life and moved on.
NOW is what matters, and it is NOW that I am most grateful that The Lord
kept me alive to restart my engine. And I'm grateful for Poetry Soup which
has given me a platform upon which to stand and write. I cannot do anything
about what has never been written, but I am happy about the 2000 pieces of work posted on the website of Poetry Soup. Com since 2015.
100422PSCtest, The Poems I Never Wrote Poetry Contest. Craig Cornish