Long Sitting on the fence Poems
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Sometimes, out of nowhere, a realisation
comes to mind that says:
The time has come when I feel I have
to draw the line,
No more excuses, no more shrugs, and
no more telling yourself those same old
lies.
It's time to admit and be honest when
things aren’t fine,
Start rethinking about “Me” and
experiencing that “Me time feeling”
more often, even if it means cutting
a few ties.
It’s a time to put oneself first, a time
to stop sitting on the fence to choose
between being happy or being sad.
People come, people go, and things
change, some good, some bad,
Try not to lose Hope or be mad.
Beating oneself up or refusing to move
forward prevents one from finding a
way out of wherever or from whatever,
But with a smile and a leap of faith,
continue the search for the place
called “Serenity”, even if it takes a
month, a year or forever.
At times, Reality is harsh, but pay
heed to the murmurings of the inner
voice,
When It says, take heed, remove the
veil from the eyes, and take a chance,
There’s no right or wrong time to take
back control, It’s a scary choice,
Life is short, so wake up and come
out of the trance.
I woke up from the trance as the veil
fell to the ground,
I felt petrified of being alone and starting
again, and then I challenged myself,
I took a long, deep breath and decided
to turn things around.
On my new journey , I met two friends,
Peace and Harmony,
That was when I realised I was no
longer bound,
Finally, I sat down with Peace in my
heart, my favourite cup of tea and
watched the Sunset in a Pub’s garden
called The Lazy Hound.
by Zyrool
If lawyers get de-barred and clergymen de-frocked
Does it naturally follow and make sense
That electricians are de-lighted and cowboys de-ranged?
Need some answers, no sitting on the fence!
Can a motorist be de-fined, a balloon's mood de-flated
This silliness surely must stop
Do dead mailmen de-liver, are old ships de-ported
Better stop before I call a burly cop
Do musicians get de-noted, dry cleaners de-pressed?
Now hold on, I'm getting quite upset
Can models be de-posed, do tree surgeons de-bark?
Haven't heard any answers as yet
Do skirts get de-pleted, has your hair been de-parted?
This must be some kind of a plot
Artists quit by de-sign, symphonies de-compose?
I think about de's things a lot!
© Jack Ellison 2013
PSYCH UP
Hours of wasted yesterdays
Haphazardly hops in my head
In a ugly pretty fashion
As though it were some minutes past
All my fore-time murderers
In my inner eyes appear
Like it does on chippy screen
Loneliness pulls the trigger
Of the lurking memories
Tick-tacky natural eraser becomes helpless
Dawn frowns and twilight mourns
The demise of their elder brother
Long sitting on the fence
Drenched my solo silk in conical aqua
Inside too warm, outside too cold
I had to call the skull into play
The chest couldn’t get along easily
Because of its familiarity with the deceptive lens
The trio combo seems impossible
Until the latter plays second fiddle
Then the weighty body sets off
Slowly it paced
Amidst myriad of lieing lizards
All waiting to swallow my innocent ant
Wisely did it fly with its peers
And put my progress hunters in turbulent sea
They aimlessly ran helter skelter
Then I chuckled, smiled and laughed.
YEMI AFO
If lawyers get de-barred and clergymen de-frocked
Does it naturally follow and make sense
That electricians are de-lighted and cowboys de-ranged?
Need some answers, no sitting on the fence!
Can a motorist be de-fined, or a balloon be de-flated
This silliness surely must stop
Do dead mailmen de-liver, are old ships de-ported
Better stop before I call a burly cop
Do musicians get de-noted, dry cleaners de-pressed?
Now hold on, I'm getting quite upset
Can models be de-posed, do tree surgeons de-bark?
Haven't heard any answers as yet
Do skirts get de-pleted, has your hair been de-parted?
This must be some kind of a plot
Artists quit by de-sign, symphonies de-compose?
I think about de-strings a lot!
THE SECRET
Shh! The walls have ears; let them not hear you
Let no other ear hear this! Threatening warnings of my father
Compelled alliance with my father; concealing the truth from my mother
Sight of my mother’s ignorant face; pierces my heart for ever knowing what I can’t say
All for peaceful co-existence; infidelity of a careless father.
Silent whispers, hush sounds; the atmosphere seemed tense
The truth clung to my mouth like school kids shown the cane; I gave the lie
Incapacitated by destitution; circled in a transfixed indecision with quavering lips
Just sitting on the fence; eyes that saw the truth but went blind on it.
The remembrance; the ugly promise of sealed lips
Kleptomaniac tongue; always pouring lies with reasons
Eyes that said one thing but meant another; can’t betray itself
If this mouth ever opens to say the truth; ugly liquids will flow from the human lake.
You are guilty! Accusing anthem of his conscience
A reminder of how a truth from his tied tongue could have saved a life
Just only two ugly options to choose; the truth or the lie
Chose the favourable lest the unfavourable will make him the enemy
All for friendship sake; a secret only to the ears of the grave.
Lordvip & Zinnie
August 2014.
“twice born, we live on”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
we are lost, as long as ...
we wish to keep the cake
and eat it too
left foot in one boat
right in the other
sitting on the fence ...
we are lost, as long as ...
we thus vacillate
our attention oscillates
between the ego
grasping and seizing
and our spirit
prayerfully connecting ...
we are lost, as long as ...
we are deaf
to voice of conscience
preferring to rely
on fragmented thought
impelled by ego
amidst fleeting illusions
in the external
with regrets of past
fear of future
rooted in attachments
causation of stagnation
in feral desires ...
we are free when ...
we recognise the truth
that we are not mind body
but spirit unbound
here for a sojourn
for a breath of fresh air
to experience earth life
as a separate entity
although interconnected
with all of existence
vibrationally by love
being Gods energy
omnipresent ...
we are free when ...
we accept the limitations
of mind body
knowing we have so chosen
to experience duality
that love yearning for love
to feel complete
magnetically aligns
head and heart
igniting the Sushumna
with bliss electricity
a climax of ecstasy
in renewal continual
in permanence
within ...
we are free when ...
as the object here manifest
by us the subject pure spirit
one with God consciousness
when we as object quieten
resting ego borne thought
entering void of silence
initially in meditation
which by prioritisation
becomes our orientation
thereby hollowing out form
getting to emptiness
a spacial voidness
of no-thingness
wherein suffused with love
in its beauteous hues
self and Self align
as mind body vaporises ...
“who are you looking for, oh hermit
there is no one here!”
15-December-2020
Being in the mix of being Mixed
It's confusing, yet warm and cozy—like being lost is almost easier than being brown.
The choosing of which path to take—sometimes, I find it simpler to remain lost, avoiding the question of who might find me.
Sitting on the fence, being mixed is the truth I carry. The quiet indulgence in the in-between. Nobody knows for sure who from where.
I watch the journey pass—each exit, each departure, some people get off, others sometimes onto.
A glimpse of all—the beauty in both, yet never feeling whole with either.
So I linger where I know best, along for the ride,
never reaching any destination, just drifting in the unknown.
I used to search to be the best at both, master of each side,
but now I simply understand—
for me, being mixed is the in-between,
neither here nor there,
but forever caught in the space between.
I’ll drop verses on a sensitive subject.
Reflecting on an issue we can inspect.
That painful topic is domestic violence.
Showing not just in victim body dents.
Many times there’s no sign of the beating.
Like when stopping a partner from eating.
Or controlling their actions through fear.
Who mask the torture and wipe the tear.
By threatening a spouse to dominate.
Confusing the reality of love and hate.
By using children as pawns in the game.
Victim is a scapegoat, always to blame.
Blows can be swung and not returned.
Bruises are hidden but safety is burned.
Tricks to conceal the daily hell are played.
So an organization years ago was made.
For helping those hurt with info and tools.
Since this topic is rarely taught in schools.
Providing aid and resources to survive.
Restoring abused dignity so they thrive.
So take some time to call the support line.
Or click the links after this rhyme of mine.
Take advantage of this great free system.
To begin healing from harm done by them.
The National Resource Center of Domestic Violence.
Has a website thats helps victims sitting on the fence.
So if these verses make you ready to engage.
Come check out the NRCDV.org page.
All the karmic forces came in and settled themselves down upon the fence
As the two parties arrived; with their arms full, of their grounds of defence
The learned judge cleaned his glasses and yawns; he’s seen all this before
As; the jury twiddling their thumbs, adjusting ties, already know the score
Fingers pointing: he said, she said, as each lawyer fighting the other’s case
Lord pages on pages of accusations think of the trees think of all the waste
The karmic forces: sitting on the fence heads turning like a game of tennis
Listening to the pains in the butts, each arguing their case, both a menace
It is mucky, the battle increased, the innocent was about to take the blame
The negative force smirked, but: in the end it was about to take the shame
Thus the judge ruled there were no winners so showed them both the door
Both parties departed the court room, and from there never met any more
Lessons learnt as long as evil exist others will always be there to be burned
As Karmic forces said their cheers, and wished the best to those concerned
If life is a cabaret old chum
it's certainly
a comedy
(seen in the long-shot)
and then some
or possibly
a tragedy
(viewed in close-up)
definitely
not a whole bunch of cherries in a bowl
altho' the thought is very droll
there to be tasted never wasted
as movement is a sure sign of life
sitting on the fence makes no sense
hit the streets running
floating locomoting keep on motivating
think on your feet crafty and cunning
a moving target is hard to hit
tho' it will seem
it may be but a dream
and you can take it or not give a whit
in time you'll find what comes after
meanwhile life is what you make it