Long Not even Poems
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My Chicago Bike
By Curtis Johnson
There was once a Christmas past, that never seemed to last;
Just like everything else, that slowly came, and quickly passed
I prayed and prayed, that I would be granted, wheels that ran fast.
I desired a bicycle, for fun and play, not to improve my daily task
But a bike for my great desire, never came to pass, not even for Christmas
I grew up and moved on away from home, forgetting the wheels I wanted to own.
A licensed driver now, living in a much bigger town, of loud and massive sounds.
But still I bought a bike with money of my own;
Not for fun and play, but to go to work, and to get around
Cj10292015PH
There was a great famine in Bethlehemjudah that was so grand
Traveling to Moab with Mahlon and Chilion their two older boys
The arduous journey they have undertaken won't produce many joys
As Elimelich and Naomi left their own home in search of a better land
For soon there after Elimelich would fall very ill as death was fast
And though the boys married Orpah and Ruth that too did not stand
To lose your two sons after already having lost your loving husband
Poor old Naomi was finding it hard as though she could no longer last
She told her two daughter in laws to just go and to let her also die
To go and be happy for to stay there was no good reason to admit
They both insisted and cried that they just would not even hear of it
But I guess after several more times Orpah did kind of just say goodbye
But Ruth had a different character as she stated her case so strong
Even Naomi in now seeing her seriousness and love had to concede
Oh but that faithfulness of Ruth in Chapter 2 and where it would lead
As all that loyalty that was within flowed from her mouth like a song
Under the mystical veil of a moonless night,
I am but a leaf carried by the unseen currents of time,
A feather in the wind, anchored to nothing, bound by no direction.
Each day calls to me with its silent voice,
Each night whispers ancient promises,
And my thoughts flow like an untamed river,
A cascade of dreams, fantasies, and forgotten memories.
I possess no center, only an unquenched desire to explore,
To delve into every crevice, every hidden corner of existence.
I could step through the door this very moment,
Leaving behind all that is known,
For nothing binds me here,
Not even the pulse of my own heart.
In the palm of my hand, the lines of heart and mind intertwine,
A single path, an undetermined destination.
I find solace in the languor of a Sunday afternoon,
Sipping beer, losing myself in reverie,
There is no compulsion to embody maturity,
For all adults merely play their parts,
In an elaborate charade, a delicate farce.
As you feel, so do I,
My thoughts are but the mirror of my emotions,
I see you today, and expect no change tomorrow,
I will not fear your descent into despair,
For I do not see death as an ending,
Merely a passing shadow, a fleeting presence.
Women place themselves at the dawn of stories,
Then spread like whispers through the fabric of the world,
Enigmatic and profound.
"The great cosmetic strangeness of the deeply normal person."
Those were the people, and I, a wanderer without a homeland,
Tethered to nothing but a thin thread,
A segment of life without form or structure.
The photographer, dark-skinned, and I, the writer, pale,
Parted ways at this point,
He shunned the vision, but I sought it,
For it lay before my eyes, undeniable,
And death, neither grand nor trivial,
Just a presence, or an absence, a nuance overlooked.
God, the progenitor of fervent religious impulse,
Poetio, the hunter of bears, not trains,
For the train will crush him beneath its relentless wheels,
And I always believed there was another way,
A necessity to find that elusive path,
And we bear witness to this necessity.
The sole distinction between men and women,
Is a labyrinth of trials and failures,
An eternal dance of existence,
In which we lose and find ourselves,
Under the mystical veil of a moonless night.
Many days we're caught with glorious demeanor
Other ones we just don't remember
The people and places are always the same
We go through life like it's a game
Then we're told, "This could be the end!"
To be strong we can only just pretend
Now stuck in this big gap
Not at all sure where the end is at
Any day could be our very last
So we're Happy for the days we do get past
People visit but just sit and stare
Talking away like we're not even there
Not even thinking that we hear it all
With each word death seems to call
But please don't be sad once we're gone
With your memories we'll still carry on
So keep us in your thoughts each day
Then with you we will always stay
Because a part of us you will be
Even when our body you no longer see
The end is not much different then the start
If our Love's is still in your heart
Yes you can hang your head and cry
But please my friend don't ever say , " Good Bye !"
Just keep us very much alive
Because through you we will survive!
An Uncle Charlie Original
© 2010 unclecharlie
Form:
this hollow heart is still beating,
after you ripped out the Love and set it on fire
i'm not sure where to begin
put out the flames or let the embers turn ash
this world keeps moving
as I stay immobilized
there is no safe place anymore
no home where I belong
i feel my blood turn to ice
coursing through this frozen shell
becoming something else
cold, empty, alone
you took the love i gave you,
turned it ugly and mean
you laughed at my tears
and blamed it on me
no one deserves this life,
not even you
but this is what you've left me with
no answers, no reasons, no excuses
just nothing
so you win and i lose
but i wasn't really playing at this game
to win
and I haven't lost what was never mine
I do at least get to witness
your self-destruction
from afar
November 20, 2018
They got off topic brainstorming for a song. They had know thing, not even a sound. The lead singing began talking and the trumpeter and French horn player began mocking her.They recorded the Muse and studied it to see if anything was there.They promised to be committed to what they had begun and got into discussing the relationship using words that some eager gossiper would want to hear.Brainstorming for a song involves generating ideas for lyrics, melody, and overall concept: they often feared speaking these things as some might take it a being sincere.Beleiving in what you do is key to the success of a project. Relationships external to the project can be sensitive to whats going on. Romance and musiic. Have divided amany people.
Forging an understanding beyond just dating
Meaningful and collaborated affords to speak
of each other as a unit
the cornerstone of intimacy
deep and intimated meaningful conversations
lighthearted banter
sharing memories and creating memories
not at the expense of others or to make a spectacle
of others
exploring dreams, fears and aspirations
a strengthening a bond between lovers by
fostering understanding
------------------------------------------------------------------
Tyhey were dancing around
and got all sweet and stuff
I told them people don't like slow love songs
but they won't listen.
People want popular sounds and lighthearted subject
happy stuff
not that ole fool folly yucky sweet Gobe junk.
He got mad cause he said he was insulted as a musicain.
I said so what, that's the truth.
Jealousy it's a ugly green monster.
We are all victims of it we are all jealous of something or somebody.
It's a feeling nobody can help it is just there.
It comes in all forms.
It's that girl with the better clothes and shiny hair.
It's that girl with the prettier face and the hotter body.
It's that girl you know who can easily take your boyfriends away.
It's the nicer things she owns the better car the bigger house.
You think She's everything you're not.
You doubt yourself you feel bad you think you will never measure up to her because she's perfect.
But in reality nobody is perfect not even her.
You're unique everyone has insecurities we would not be human if we didn't.
Jealousy is something that eventually consumes us.
And it will if we let it.
Form:
Bagatelle
You see the old olive tree at the entrance of the village
take it for granted until you see the tree is dying
still, it has about it a non-communicative dignity
an acceptance of life`s unplanned cosmic shortness.
Dying slowly, a botanist is trying new soil around
to get more mileage, but in the plant is
too old, cow dung or artificial fertilizer can stop the tree
bark goes wrinkled, 300 years is enough
To be dead is to be unborn
there is no second coming
Not even for a 300-year-old tree.
The morning wakes us up with a dance of sunlight
thought of buying a pair of shoes, bagatelles are
the sum of our existence.
BIG BOUT HERE
How do you figure/ life is temporary ...?
Are you too busy living to die...?
Do you continue to do the opposite of what feels right.?
Do you know what you were sent here to do? -
Death is inevitable.
It's the one thing that you know is true,
You are big bout here, but
Rich people die every day.
So, do poor people, the difference
being they had little to spare,
Yet most would still share.!
Shared, their little, but you have not,
Shared not even a little, of your whole big lot.
You will arrive back with nothing -
As you came here with nothing.
Were your obligations neglected
When much was expected.?
Did you deliberately act selfishly?
When much was required.?
Could you have spared a dime?
We’re not you blessed with worldly desires.?
Have you cause harm -
Or abusing a child - Do you delight in war -?
Did you bully people or countries
less fortunate than yourself?
Did you kill for no reason –
Or cause another to stumble-?
Did you continue to do what felt?
Wrong; Just to feel good?
Practice hedonism at all cost?
Then you have got a big surprise coming
When this life comes to a halt.
Most guilty blame others and name them as a fault.
No sacrifice did you make to change;
You were found and rescued once.
THOUGH seemed to enjoy being lost.
No benefits of sacrifice shall you receive;
A fair exchange ain't, no robbery;
As God cannot be swayed or bribed-
"brother, can you spare a dime? You heard his plea
Yet you declined, paid him no mind.
Yet God gave you time to get it right...
Silver and gold... Were your benefits
On earth.
But when your empty heart is weighed
"what are you really worth?"
No substance and a great big hole...destined
To be stuck, with an empty soul...!
Remember on earth when you were
"big bout here" –
The times you had no ears to hear
Or cared to even spare a dime.
Had no pity, nor a need to be kind...
Now pleading with God to hear your mind...
Johnny W. Barrow
1890-1914
I was appalled!
Appalled and flabbergasted indeed!
Indeed, when I heard in 1912,
Heard that which I did not comprehend
Heard that which was absolutely impossible
Heard that which was absolutely improbable!
I wept, wept as Christ wept,
That night in April, long ago,
In the dark gray garden under the olives there,
Under the silent screaming stars there,
That night in April
When the invincible, the seemingly unsinkable happened.
I too was like him.
The whole world was my oyster!
The universe was at my calm command!
Nothing could destroy me!
Nothing could defeat me!
Nothing could slow me down!
Then, as with that impossible sinking,
That impossible undoing,
I too descended to the dark depths
Here in Mt. Olive Cemetery.
Not even the ice bags bestowed upon my chest
Not even the desperate prayers
Said in faithful earnest on my behalf
Could reduce the flaming fiery fever
That incinerated my heart, mind and soul.