Long Somewhat Poems
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Today on my way home i chose to
permeate my daily grind
By buying myself a chicken to cook
once i got home
The reason being i am trying to be more positive
It can't rain all the time
As i wanted to break the wishbone
and wish for better thing's to come
Then instantly after dinner i went into my back garden
And started picking lemmons from
my lemmon tree
To make lemonade
Only to realize i didn't have any
sugar in order to make it
Which in the end made the moment somewhat bitter sweet
But hey to accentuate the positive
Lemmons we're supposed to be bitter
not sweet and full of sugar
And not only is it full of flavour and
retained it's vitamin C content
But this stuff could be sold as a
diet tonic as it goes through you
like a dose of scurvy
Or to be left in your office or
house fridge for those people
who take your stuff without asking
And best of all the 1st bottle is absolutely free
So when life gives you lemmons
Don't waste them
Use them
In moments of twilight civility
an exchange of gifts -
darkness for light..
RISING
from beyond the softening silhouette edge
you brighten like a blushing damsel
hazy haloed
unabashed in the pleasure of ripening
daydreamer
...a vivid blur of lemon drop...
veiled by a wispy fanfare of mares’ tails
windswept forth in pinkened pageantry
heralding the maturing marmalade horizon -
arousing a drowsing periwinkle sky
your prosperous glow casts a molten net of gold
slanting low across the ebb and flow
igniting the imagination
- agleam with peachy dreams -
of just-waking waters
while catching fire-tipped riffles;
rubies gathered ride the tide to the coastline
glamorizing the washed still-sleepy seaward sand
saturated in the rose-colored nectar
of your generous nature ~
Susan Ashley
October 13, 2018
*Mare’s tail: a long narrow cirrus cloud whose flowing appearance somewhat resembles a horse’s tail, often indicating high winds in the upper troposphere.*
Episode 1
Enter Fire Ball
Can I help being curvaceous and bold,
Or so I’ve been told,
Can I help it, if I get a visual massage,
Daily compliments, in fact a barrage!
I was born a beauty, and to only preen
Always to be seen as pristine!
In fact I’m an absolute sensuous tease,
Who flirts and sways as does a breeze,
Can I help looking like a Hollywood star,
Does all the above sound somewhat bizarre,
Do I come from Planet Venus afar,
Of course yes,
I’m looking for my man from Mars,
They say he’s behind bars,
But I am a new superhero
Who journeyed to Planet Earth from the age zero,
My beauty computed to blind and bedazzle,
Humans who try to stop me, fry to a frazzle,
My name in comic books, if you know your stuff,
Is Fire Ball, outrageously dangerous and tough,
It was Planet Venus’s dream,
Though somewhat extreme,
That I turn every prison guards’ head,
It was written, and is widely known and said,
That I would come, to free my man from his hell,
On Planet Earth’s cell,
I have been mentored for this, since I was sweet sixteen,
I’m magnificently exquisite, but bad and mean,
My orders to free my hero and take him back to Mars,
As he sits behind iron bars,
His strength, has been seeped and taken away
By humans, who will rue that fateful day!
Back in the day, Dad went through a crazy magic trick phase.
Specializing predominantly in sleight-of-hand card tricks.
He'd stop us kids and our friends right in our tracks.
Just to show us an ace disappearing into his hand.
Or a dozen ways a deck of cards could be stacked.
He got somewhat proficient, then never really progressed.
His shortcoming was that he had these rough little turtle hands.
More geared toward painting, pounding nails, and keeping loves fed.
They sported clusters of callouses and lacked any hint of finesse.
He'd attempt to control those pesky jokers and slippery jacks.
But you'd see them through the gaps in those twitchy terrapin hands.
To go with the flow and not spoil the great magician's show.
We'd pretend that we hadn't seen the many fumbles and gaffes.
All the queens' men peeking out from those rough turtle hands.
He's an old magician now and hasn't put on a show for years.
His loyal following passing on or disappearing into life's deck.
Or hitting the road to put on magic shows of their own.
Specializing in juggling mortgage and those devilish taxes.
I miss the slight smile on that young magician's face.
When, on the rare occasion, the deuces, jokers, and aces
would be operating in complete and total cooperation.
Most of all, I miss that he'd felt the need to pretend
that he hadn't noticed that we'd been pretending.
"I am the master of my fate",
I just hope that I'm not too late.
The way I've lived like "Dorian Gray",
You wouldn't know me from the fray.
The position that I've taken,
is one I should have forsaken.
That for centuries past it was known,
even the King could be overthrown.
Although today it's just as well,
not having wizards casting a spell.
we do have the ability,
to live a life that's truly free.
Though we are of our own fate masters,
we mainly avoid disasters.
Success is somewhat suggestive,
you don't have to be a detective.
Some say it's the money you make,
others say it's the love that you take.
I say it's the heart that you stake,
for there is only hollow in the fake!
date:2/4/2020
Strong-willed with the fearless, forgiving, and fervent heart from the sympathy-sought start
Turbulent, yet terrific as the storm of epic efflorescence that is vigilant in roving reassurance
Robust and rough like radiant rocks on the ocean bed and beyond the shimmering, soulful sea
Essentially elevating like cave-engulfed gems, glimmering with eager, endearing effulgence
Negotiable somewhat with never-ending nobility and stability of a recognizable, favorably dream-weaved, riveting reality
Glorious with an exuberant, gigantic grip – I find it extremely exquisite and extraordinarily fit…gratefully lit up, gladly enthusiastic and fairly fantastic, loaded up with lofty-legitimate loyalty
Tough-skinned like a colossal crocodile, craftily cruising in the liquid-levitating lagoon during turmoil's thunderous tornado, along with brazen blows of bulky brilliance, marvelously restored like a frog's risky ribbit that acts like a zealous, wondrous, leader-like, echo-precious illumination
Hefty with rain-drop-rippling hopes and strength-purified joys while being an asset of helpfulness in horrendous handfuls of halcyon humility, enhancing rejuvenation from laborious restlessness; strength, in general, is a shallow-swimming or abyss-dwelling shark, devouring away his crimson victim of feeble bravery and timid durability that strengthens the predator of passionate prosperity
~written by KAP and me~
I'm rather hard to figure out
Not many really get what I'm about
I'd rather sit quietly than shout
I keep it real I'm not prone to pout
You might think me passive
Still I will act
when others are subdued by doubt
Somewhat serious
Yet prone to smile
Not ecstatic I have my own style
If you need comfort I'll stay with you a while
Don't expect much talking
I'm a listener on the emoticom dial
As a poet
I know the power of the word
In the end I like to hear and be heard
Like you I too have been burned
Within adversity there were things I learned
I am a dancer
Stepping out on pages
Quiet paper oragami cages
Traveling on thoughts
Floating through all my stages
Fast forward rewinding
Pausing at my distance
Like the Borg victims there is no resistance
I breathe my thoughts with a certain persistence
If you look at me
I might reflect you
Searching for answers
Seeing beyond dark corridors
To places bright blue
Perhaps you as well
Like me
are an enigma too!
Written April 8th.
Howdy Modi was just a myth,
Rowdy Modi, to show my teeth,
No more than a fig leaf
My tariff’s no tariff,
And rowdy, to have a row with,
Why? He came in my way
Of Nobel, and must pay,
You know not how deep I’m beneath!
___________________________
Happenings | 40.08.2025 | USA, humour
Note: It is no state secret that Trump loves being flattered and buttered up. Occasionally he’s good at buttering up as well. He did that to Modi with ‘howdy Modi’ when he wanted Indian votes in his first go at presidency. Pakistan did it, as also Israel’s Bibi before it. India refused when he wanted credit (and undeservedly so) for Indo-Pak ceasefire. All are susceptible to praise, genuine or false, but Trump seems ravenous for false praise-- somewhat of the type Goldsmith hinted:
Full well they laugh’d with counterfeited glee
At his jokes for many a joke had he.
Amidst shattered hues, they stay alive,
Broken crayons, yet they thrive.
Purple persists in its royal grace,
Pink too, in its delicate embrace.
Shorter, yes, and somewhat marred,
Yet each color, its essence unscarred.
A tapestry woven, albeit frail,
In their imperfection, they unveil.
Awkward they feel, in a trembling hand,
Difficult to sharpen, to understand.
Yet in their struggle, a lesson learned,
To cherish each moment, each color earned.
Through the scribbles and the lines,
A masterpiece, against all confines.
A star awarded, a testament true,
In every stroke, their resilience anew.
An A+ gleams, a testament bright,
In the world of hues, they shine with might.
For in their fractures, a beauty found,
Broken crayons, still coloring profound.
"The breath of winter holds a hushed enchantment, a captivating stillness." Anna Islington
One frigid February day
after a night’s snowfall
had left my world white and pristine,
I took my new sled
and slowly trudged over
our huge back yard
to a spot which led to
the top of a hill.
Down this hill we children
loved to go sledding.
In white’s silence, I felt utterly at peace
and unhurried.
A few kids had arrived
at the top of the hill
and had already left before I got there.
I could see the tracks of their boots
and was glad to see that their sleds
had made somewhat of a pathway
for me
to go sledding
down.
A few lyrics from “Winter Wonderland”
drifted to my mind,
for the snow around me glistened
beneath winter’s wan sun,
but I was alone in the wonderland.
And no sleigh bells were ringing.
Suddenly I spied a bright cardinal bird
perched on the powdery branch
of an evergreen tree.
Its small red-crested head seemed to nod at me.
I was blessed by that special moment
as I stood transfixed watching it.
I looked down the sledding path
to the thickness of the woods below.
In summer it is a chaos of untended tangled weeds
and clusters of many trees.
On this day – frosted by nature -
the woods appeared the opposite of chaos.
Concealed by snow,
the woods was a picture of beauty
in the cold, breathless air.
Cold, yes, it was so cold.
My mitten-fingers would soon grow numb.
I got hurriedly onto my sled.
Then gliding smootly downward,
I went deeper
and deeper
into winter enchantment.