Long Round about Poems
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Hour hands clock back sixty minutes of Autumn
Round about this same of month every year, what a bum
er, and inconvenient truth diverged from this chum
purposelessly manipulating a hold over
sans yesteryear doth drum
a sensation of jet lag (with earth in the balance)
as if flying within time machine at warp speed from
this station, where bumpy ride invariably finds me
feeling a bit ticked off and glum
and in no mood to rhyme, nor be leer re: cull
juiced barely tantamount to gather scattered wits
sin tide, and express mood as hoe hum
fortunate, this chronological seismic shift nada wide, ah assume
nonetheless, mein kempf cerebral hemispheric plate tectonics
comb pluck hated off jangling black keys helplessly boom
fancifully drifting and booring into quick ribald sand trap doom
ming an inducement for emergency convoy, when pitched from
sea to figurative shining sea – gram ma mother earth glum
where live yikyak wired vanguard trulia tried optimism to hum
nonetheless, swallowed down behavioral sink went – me mum
bling bloviation, once worth matchless peerage, now pitched numb
lee into morass of temporary confusion, where plumb
line delineating circadian rhythm offset, when athwart pilot rum
man strait ting and bickering with Lilliputians slum
bring within islets of langerhans defiantly thumb
ming nose, where body, mind & soul weeknd viz a bully did cower
hence mister clock, who got high-jacked 3600 seconds per hour
experienced head, thorax and abdomen diminishing in power
wrought indistinguishable Whitsuntide as sour
grapes imposing ill fitting sea legs, which folded like a faulty tower
crumbling skeletal carapace, resoundingly surrendered,
and back slid vis a vis space/time continuum did devour.
Black hole event horizon indeed kept lock step as das joint mill hoard
Sucker punched the band wagon of father time, whose riffs a silent chord
nsync with atomic fractional second bored
quirky shenanigans toying with chronometers
counter point of view shifted to oppose this minute accord.
He grabbed me up from where I lay, peaceful in the sun,
with my brothers and my sisters round about me.
I felt four digits seeming to be one of a whole,
which clasped around my form.
A fifth one, slightly broader, pressed onto me from my other side.
And then with a jolt, I found myself next lifted high into air,
the dry hot bed beneath me but a whisper of my past.
Accustomed, at the most, to being trodden upon,
I barely had the time to assimilate this rare experience
(I seemed to remember a sweeter touch long ago
from a smaller being who had picked me up,
examined me and then placed me back on the ground).
Suddenly, I was moving, this time unsupported, through the air.
I spied in a single spinning moment
a world I’d not envisioned from the spot on earth
I'd shared with pebble siblings.
In that place, we were surrounded
by greenery that blocked our view
and by giant old gray boulders, my ancestors perhaps.
Reposing heavily as if attached to land,
one such silent sentry supported him,
the creature who had flung me far from my home.
I found myself then bump, bump, bumping along,
making little rings across a shiny stretch of blue.
And when I lost momentum,
I disappeared beneath the final circle I’d created.
It felt much like the times I had been buried in cold whiteness,
but this instead was liquid cool!
I dropped down and down,
onto a different kind of ground, unusually soft and sticky,
the way earth used to feel for me after a sudden downpour.
Settled there, I noticed brown and silver shapes
that flitted past above me, much smaller
than many of the creatures of the land above me, but swifter.
Also there were tall green blades that swayed in place.
They resembled those that stood on solid ground.
Best of all, I saw around me others of my kind;
a multitude of us, small, beautiful and round,
with whom to share my soft new cozy bed!
Foresight sends our mind's eye scouting on ahead,
To glimpse tomorrow's paths, before they are tread.
Hindsight retraces footprints when the deed is done.
Explaining why we stumbled, strayed, lost or won.
Insight burrows underneath, the obvious surface view.
Unearthing hidden seams of things we know to be true.
Oversight looks across what's ao obvious and plain,
Yet, it overlooks what's staring back again and again.
Short-sighted eyes see clearly, only what is close at hand.
But, distant meanings blow away like shifting sand.
Far-sighted wisdom scans into the distant years,
Seeing future harvests, hopes, whims and fears.
Second sight glimpses what has yet to come in to view,
Clear-sighted eyes cut through disguises to what's true.
Then comes the blindside, ambushing from behind—
Revealing what was shadowed, overlooked, unmined.
Out of sight, we slowly drift from focused thought.
With meaning, intent and purpose coming to naught.
Eyesight merely shows us what is there to see—
But never where our cleat focus ought to be.
We have foresight for tomorrow, hindsight for the past,
Insight for deep truths, oversight for chances we cast.
Yet the here and now keeps slipping out of sight—
Perhaps, we need 'now-sight' to hold the present right.
Yet with the here and now, slipping out of sight—
We need our 'now-sight' to hold our presence right.
April 23 Faith in God Bible Meditations Based on 2Kings 6-8
Key Verse – 2Kings 6:17 And Elisha prayed, and said, LORD, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see. And the LORD opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha.
FAITH IN GOD WHO OPENS OUR EYES
God opens our eyes that we may see His divine treasure
By His riches for our faith’s wealth against earthly leisure
Since He is our gracious Blesser amidst earthly pressure
In our contentment according to what His promises assure.
God opens our eyes that we may depend on Him with His valor
By His strength for our faith’s vigor
Since He is our wise Counsellor
In our obedience despite challenging rigor.
God opens our eyes that we may behold His holiness
By His sanctification for our faith’s righteousness
Since He is our magnificent Saviour granting redemption fullness
In our regeneration toward our worship’s joyfulness.
God opens our eyes that we may serve Him through His appointed course
By His direction for our faith’s work force
Since He is our great Instructor of knowledge source
In our tasks along the roles that for us He does endorse.
God opens our eyes that we may submit to His leadership
By His authority for our faith’s stewardship
Since He is our great King reaching down, offering His fellowship
In our partnership as we enjoy our discipleship.
God opens our eyes that we may acknowledge His ready aid
By His hands for our faith’s increase toward progress-upgrade
Since He is our available Helper midst doubt’s raid
In our decision to prioritize Him which our commitment made.
God opens our eyes that we may seek His favor always
By His Word for our faith’s steadfastness with His approval rays
Since He is our merciful Lord all through the days
In our supplication as our soul along fervency prays.
April 23, 2025
If some scents stir romance, reminiscence,
If jasmines evoke forgotten good times,
Lavenders if spread peace, tranquil fragrance,
Enigma, scents of mild lemons and limes,
Some scents treat stress, enliven, create lull,
If some work hard to make you feel alert,
If mints sharpen memories long since dull,
Does mine make you any naughty and pert?
Yea, summer be when hot we muse of rain,
In cold, mind goes to warm conjugal bed,
It’s hard toil to recall bitter-sweet strain
Of that rare omnipotent trail ye spread.
Yet, times are when in a dilemma caught,
My sense of smell endures long spells of drought.
__________________________________________
Sonnets |12.05.2023| scents, romance
Poet’s note: A couple in a conjugal bed discusses scents of nature— the varied types and what they do. And suddenly the wife, curious a creature as they all are, asks about her naturally emanating scent. If truthful answers are not likely to be acceptable, one has to adopt a round-about way, and this sonnet does the same.
SPEAK LITTLE, HEAR MUCH
Speak little and hear much,
For words can get you in trouble.
Too many words confuses things,
And then your problems can double.
Some people talk to show friendliness,
And some to be entertaining,
And some to show how much they know,
But talk can tend to be straining;
For too much talk can get on your nerves,
For everyone needs peace and quiet,
And a steady drone like bees in a hive,
Isn't good as a steady diet;
But everyone likes a quiet man,
Who shows courtesy and listens well,
One who is pleased to hear what they say,
But that which he hears, he won't tell;
For a wise man knows when to speak and when not,
And doesn't run off at the mouth,
He knows the less said is the best as they say,
For words are oft turned 'round about;
So keep to yourself the things that you know,
Or your praises will not be sung,
You'll gain more friends and be more at peace,
By simply holding your tongue.
Judy Ball
"EVEN A FOOL WHEN HE HOLDETH HIS PEACE IS COUNTED WISE,
AND HE THAT SHUTTETH HIS LIPS IS ESTEEMED A MAN OF UNDERSTANDING."
Proverbs 17:28
Bulgarian Kukeri honors ancestral ways at annual feasts
Descendants don wooden masks and faces of bird or beasts
Filled with metaphoric meaning, meant to inspire fertility
Also purposely pointing out a young man’s oncoming virility.
There are many reasons for Kukeri which diverts the evil eye.
Location and region enter into the discrepancies of the where and why.
As the dancers invite good in while they chase negativity out.
Fantastical masks and elaborate costumes dancing round about.
Bells ringing the truth of the Kukeri customs in Bulgaria style.
Come stand by me, you can see them for a country mile.
Invoking fertility of animals, people, as well as a popular crop.
This is an ancient Bulgarian custom that surely will never stop.
It would be a wondrous thing
If I chanced to see
Unicorns of ocean deep
Swimming nearby me.
Each one with a spiraled tusk
Jutting from its jaw,
Swimming round about me; oh,
I would be in awe!
Clicking, squealing, whistling,
Swimming in their pod.
If I tried to join their group,
Would that seem too odd?
I could try to click at them
With my little tongue.
If I whistled, would they think
Songs were being sung?
Swimming with some narwhals though -
It will never be.
For I’d freeze so deep beneath
That cold Arctic Sea!
Written 10/9/15 in the 7/5 Trochee form for the Narwhal Contest of Skat
Young Red was searching Wolf Forest, but got lost
She felt someone staring at her with blue eyes of frost.
It was a weird bird whose feathers were amazingly pink.
There are two of us, said his brother, a wren name of Wink.
He is Fink, I am Wink, and we guard this forest from human beings.
a rooster-like creature made Red wonder what she was seeing.
this cannot be Wolf Forest, she said, completely turned around.
The birds began to titter and trill, one promptly fell upside down.
We are guardians of Fowl Forest, you are completely mad, Wink said.
Fink gave his brother a swift feathery high five, then yelled out for Ned.
Ned was the weird goofy bird with the striped socks, she found out.
They chased her away, across a field, leaving her at a round-about.
Though my faith in God is firmly entrenched
still rainy days serve to get me down,
"What's for Supper?" like continual downpour
bears down on four-o'clock like I've been drenched.
God, my thirst for this rain to quit, be quenched!
Home from school at three, three kids start asking
"What's for Supper?" while in poetry I'm basking.
#Gallimaufry had brought to light - heavenly hash
when searching online I'd used the hashtag.
Hallelujah! tonight's supper I'm unmasking.
Loosing the fridge door I look around
Leftover roast beef looms round about
which brings smiles as my delight shuts it.
My prayer answered, a meal that cuts it.
Thank God, Sunday's feast becomes my whatsit.
In my galley I forage for food I can fry,
pantry reveals four spuds not sprouting eyes,
two lone onions and garlic in plain eyesight.
The extras I am needing sit on standby.
Praise God who does my hope supply.
August 4, 2022