Long Ridding Poems
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Only Time Will Tell
Is it possible to heal all wounds through time
casting off our mortal coils?
Life goes on regardless of
past tyrannies which will surface
striking at any time,
inhibitors to happiness or just a normal life
Time is a stream flowing out into an ocean of eternity
Shall it not deliver us from bruises and trauma incurred?
Only time will tell
The tyranny of memory a serenity
torn down by the traumas,
surviving the tyranny of memory, just surviving!
A strategy is necessary to rid oneself of the terror inside,
to endure and challenge this relentless bully
seeking relief in alternative avenues when the traditional fails
Depending on how we experience time, Rodin's
The Thinker for instance, in a pensive repose
His body twisted and rife with tension
aligned with prism color,
brushed in a glowing bronze,
titanium silvers, canary golds
and indigo blues embedded
Appearing to be idling time away to some,
whilst others see what truly
matters—his philosophy
Time truly heals all wounds
as we shed our mortal coils
Will not all pain and despair be left behind?
Finally ridding us of ourselves
leaving our ghost force to fend for its
self from the law and order of everything
of all matter and non.
He looked so devastated, that look upon his face
So sorry he had waited, time he couldn't replace
But there was his son, now some thirty years old
Oh what had he done, as it all just seemed so cold
His son shook his hand and then introduced his wife
He didn't make any demands or ask about his life
As his kids played off to the side not aware of anything
This man had tried, in so the two toys he would bring
After so much small talk they called out to their boys
As over they began to walk in soon noticing the toys
In mentioning his name the oldest replied Grand pop?
Hugging him, as over he came, a hug he didn't want to stop
He wiped away a tear as the youngest soon came to his side
Holding him too so dear, but this time he broke down and cried
In seeing his fathers tears and knowing all the pain he too had felt
He just forgave all those years in accepting the hand he was dealt
Not too many would be able to do this, to just forgive and forget
But in so the point you'd miss, in waiting for payment of this debt
He did not let the anger win, in fact he kicked it out of the game
Ridding himself of this sin, it was God's blessings that soon came
Whoever exults himself will be humbled
but whoever humbles himself will be exalted
Matthew 23:12
I’ve heard it said that the top three virtues needed to live the Christian life are humility
Humility
Humility
I hope that made you smile
Everyone can use more humility
the foundation of all virtues
Our society tends to exalt excessive selfishness and personal power
as well as pleasure
wealth
fame
fortune
No one is immune from such attractions
Yet humility’s power detaches us from what fails to satisfy
While humility sheds light on our vanities
mistakes-things God might be calling us to reform
Or repent of during Lent
It also empowers us with the good
The true and the beautiful
Only by ridding the excesses
Our sins
Our vices
Can we be empowered to do the things that bring God’s love
Redemption to our fallen world
Daisies and buttercups
are the sweetest wild flowers
reminding me of childhood
sat amongst them for hours
making necklets and chains
so precious and unique
but sometimes they would shrivel
in the midday heat
such exquisite jewellery
I would make for my dolls
for my friends
for my family
and for me
Mum called them weeds
and encouraged my deeds
on those hot summer days
I sat ridding our lawn
of daisies and buttercups
the sweetest wild flowers
I would pick them for hours
until all were gone...
Written 21st May 2019
Contest Strand No 760
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
We have a tendency to focus on our flaws, despite it being what makes us human; what we despise is what one desires, and what we desire is what someone despises.
I felt this way for years; I still do- the perpetuous feeling that I’m horrendous.
When I look in my mirror, I don’t see my full lips, my long lashes, or my hourglass; I see my short legs, protruding stomach, and my eyebags.
Yet people with those flaws are beautiful- so why am I not?
The answer is that I am; I am beautiful, I am worthy, and I’m not horrendous- I simply haven’t been able to process my worth yet.
It seems that each passing year, I reflect on myself, making those negative remarks, rendering myself as unattractive.
Though, next year, I’ll look back on myself and realize how gorgeous I truly was; though it’s not that simple to prevent those negative feelings from pursuing.
Does beauty even exist, though?
It’s repeatedly changed over time, and it’s quite subjective, which has caused me to believe that true beauty doesn’t exist; it’s simply a perception.
I shouldn’t waste my time trying to ease the perceptions of others; I should follow my own, because short legs, protruding stomachs, and eyebags are beautiful; they’re only viewed in a negative way because society itself is ugly.
If I abide by every standard of others, I’ll only feel regret, for my happiness shall pulverize.
If I create myself to be someone who is healthy and who I love, my happiness shall thrive.
Though these insecurities will persist, even with the most attractive individuals- they’ll always haunt you, whether or not you believe in yourself.
So I dissected myself.
…
Carving every inch of me until my insides are out; but when I do so, my organs look the same as everyone else’s.
Bathing in perplexion until I realized; we’re all the same on the inside- and as I try to stuff my organs back inside of me, I remember what people say-
See, I’ve been told before, just like anyone else, that I’m ugly.
People take advantage of others' sensitivity in order to ease their insecurities; but they’re morons who don’t know what they’re talking about.
They try ridding of their “flaws” by projecting it on others, though those rigid thoughts will always remain inside.
But truth be told, we all have the same interior- and..
You’ll truly be happy if you stop caring about the perceptions of others.
We've been through
Roughening waves,
But we sat and never threw
Ourselves out of furious rave.
One day my heart
Will be glad that
We haven't yet fallen apart
And are not as sad as before.
Our time was like a boat...
No matter where we went,
Our time was well spent,
Even while we continuously float.
One day you'll be as happy
As you were in that rural place.
We'll together repair our broken vase.
You and I were inseparable friends...
So I wished it didn't end.
Our bond has been fragile
For quite some while.
I've been thinking of ridding it...
Though I know
I'll resolve it all somehow.
So I hope you will accept the flora
I shall give to you one day...
'Course as a grim teller of tall tales,
(albeit poetic) reasonable rhyming
quasi roundelay I readily admitted to feign
cuz, stringing words together with
pride and prejudice plus
sense and sensibility, jocularity,
and conformity I dissed deign
(spoiler alert) iamb, trochaic,
dactylic, and anapestic metrical reign
jest your ordinary garden variety
dollar short day late dime a dozen
penniless citizen banker Abel and Cain,
yet mine mean mien blithely, daringly,
fatuously, ludicrously, nauseatingly,
pretentiously playfully urbane
many (if not all readers)
will coon sitter
yours truly harmlessly insane,
whose feeble attempts
to wax and wane
oft times falls flat (splat goes Matt)
as if dropped out plane,
without a parachute
instantly recuperating while lain
supine (winded, but...
none the worse) asthma brain
suffers concussion, confusion, contusion
actually, immediately, and unexpectedly
knocked fluent German speaking ability
within germane guy verständlich?
If ye really comprehend
trademark non Turkish gobbledygook
then explain (using
language of least familiarity),
but best to commence
with eye catching hook
impossible mission
apt lit pupils (mine)
to evade even momentarily
riveting, spellbinding,
and transfixing look
courtesy ingenious way
with word ye snook
cored me and took
wind out my sails.
Nor could I breakaway courtesy automobile,
cuz 2009 Hyundai Sonata
would not start... yea for real,
thus finding me ready to yoke
neck (think gibbet) each heel
dangling as body goes limp
blessedly, finally, happily
ridding me of any/all hangups,
one less goo goo gaga born this way
poker face cards for him to deal.
UNGABLUZUM describes this schlemiel!
The moonlit night echoed with the tireless thrill
Of the camouflaged cicadas chirping the time away.
A small tear fell downwards wetting her soft down
In sheer happiness. He kissed her tenderly,
Brushing her luscious lips with tender endearment.
Here and there fireflies danced to the cicadas tune.
The leaves of the large oak tree rustled in unison
As the moon and sublime stars shone on their love
Whilst her wedding ring sent flashes in signals
That it was time to retire to their room in the inn.
Back in their room, they ignore the half-full bottle
Of bubbling champagne, ridding their sweaty clothes
Betook them to bed, plunging their room into darkness.
The mystical moon shone on them as they hugged
Till she snuggled up into him tired and sleepy.
Both had just one dream, tomorrow will soon come.
He was
sick of her.
He was
bored
and
restless.
The tramps
at work
stimulated
his thirst
for new
conquests.
He thought
to himself:
This diabetic
is taking up
so much of
my time.
I'm sick of
her whining.
And the needles
she's poking.
God must
be joking.
So he
thought deeply.
About
ridding himself
of someone
so sweetly.
I must
formulate a plan.
It's my
time to shine.
My needs
must be met.
I don't
have time
for this
sickness.
But I
must operate
ever
so sneakily.
Those
vials
in the frig.
Keep
this sicko
alive.
I must
get free.
I have
better prospects.
And better
games to play.
Then an Aha
moment came.
What if I
replace
her insulin
with
salt water
instead.
She'll go into
a coma
with no
one the wiser
And I can play
The greiving
boyfried
at work
and get
sympathy
sex
from the
vulerable
and down
trodden
then when
I catch one
I can
play this
sick game
all over
again
It's a win
win for me
all over
again
What a
plan
I'll impliment
it tomorrow
and I'll
be free
to be
ME
Psychopathic
AND
Unholy
(This is fiction)
On a recent visit to Warwick Castle,
We saw the death mask of Oliver Cromwell:
The man famous for asking an artist to paint
His portrait and show him warts and all.
I studied the stern features of the wax mask,
And noted the prominent warts.
He banned festivities, games and entertainments;
Had the joyless people preferred their lives
The way they once were with their king?
Or did they continue to rejoice the regicide?
As I studied Cromwell's likeness I wondered
Had the man who cast the mask thanked heaven
For ridding them of another dictator?
Jack Horne for Nette's Mask Time contest