Long Splitting hairs Poems

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Sonnet of Godly Love Blessings In Vain

Death is dead

Once more

Where they stole the boots off the leftovers 
before they buried them after war

So as to keep the noise of trampling
dead feet down 

Waste not want not they don't need them
anymore where they are going or will
eventually end up stuck

Said the Crow to the raindrop

Splitting hairs on the reapers scythe

So stop and take one final last look at 

The Sun the Stars and our Moon

Falling from the ailing sky horizon afterglow 

As they fade ever gray into shadowed black 

And take the chance to tell that certain 
someone and utter the word love 

To they who taught you what it actually meant 
and true definition felt without fear of rejection
or being corrected 

Before feeling the menacing presence of
the reaper at your back

Crying underneath his chilling breath 

As back and back we further regress 

To whence from that we came

As finally with eyes wide open

All forms of light and life 

Are slowly taken stolen extinguished forever 

And dissipate like celestial graveyards

One after one

Until there are

None

At all left 

But

The 

One and only

Real true God remains

To sift through the embers

Of his greatest love lost failed creation 

We ourselves destroyed in vanities namesake

For no other reason apart from to show and prove

We could and can

So we did


Premium Member Beyond Words, A Rose By Any Other Name

("The Longest Journey", 2020, original encaustic)

Beyond Words, A Rose By Any Other Name…

Everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout it
because it, is all there is.
Like there is but one sun 
everyone sees and is extolling.
Even when they’re pointing at the moon
it’s still just Sun’s light 
reflecting on her face.

Yet still people fuss and fight
splitting hairs all through the night…

But meanwhile Life goes on,
and if you want to see 
the hand of God at work
look no further than the play of children,
or musicians, grooving with each other,
riding waves of wordless bliss,
swirling dancers in their wake.

Everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout it 
after all, what more is there to say?

(1/28/24)
Form: Narrative

Premium Member Agree To Disagree

Conflict is inevitable 
In any meaningful relationship.

It's okay to disagree.
It's okay to want different things.
No two people are exactly the same.
No matter how deeply in love 
And happy a couple is,
Both are bound to be out of sync 
In terms of needs and wants 
Every now and then.

Conflict is inevitable 
In any meaningful relationship.

Even couples with decades 
Of marital bliss have spats 
Once in a blue moon.
This is common knowledge.
It's impossible to be 
On the same wavelength all the time.
Even longtime lovers have different fears,
Values, tastes and preferences.

Conflict is inevitable 
In any meaningful relationship.

Opinions differ; rather than 
Splitting hairs ad-nauseum,
It's better to brainstorm a solution.
And it's okay to arrive at an impasse.
Avoid going down the rabbit hole 
Of blaming, belittling, guilt-tripping,
And threats. For the sake of peace,
Simply agree to disagree,
And everybody wins!



Date written: 12/10/2021
Form: Lyric

When Names Escape

Mary knew John before you
Who knew Jane before Sam
Obviously there was Sally, Melvin and Tim
The Tim who wore glasses 
Since the other Tim did not

The brother of Mary, who's name escapes me
Visited John's mother yesterday with Tim
Mom was not in so they left together
A day like no other day is a day without mom

Dad lived in Spain without mom
Sally and Melvin were not invited as well
Someone who spoke Spanish stayed behind
Juanita or Junia or something like that explained
Names are too long and forgettable in Spain

Sister never heard of Mary before John arrived
Jane didn't care for money only property
Ben came before her birth, before the time of Pan
According to legend, Ben should have never been born 
Lost pagans and anti-biblical names prevailed with him
Ben was assigned an alternate name, that would be Tim
Not the Tim with or without glasses but another
Tim 3 will do for now as a designated nomenclature

To avoid confusion, there was Mary, first executrix
John came second, than Sam, then Melvin, Tim 1
Tim 2, Tim 3, (a/k/a Ben) and so on down the loins of lineage
Mistakes abounded with each generation
Mary's brother remains a mystery to this day

Of all the signatures of people, witnesses and sources 
The will would be challenged not by names but faces
Ben was too complicated for lawyers
Too confusing to absorb
Tim 3 would have to sign for family members
John and Mary but not Sam or dad or mom
(Out of town forever) Amended
They are found on pages five through ten
Which will remain unmentioned here 
Since they came before  the time of Pan as well

Remember to name the baby something different
Something other than Tim or Ben when dividing land
Splitting hairs on who is there and what is fare
When time comes around again to settle
When names escape you
When dividing real estate
Remember who you are
Thank God you are not them

Premium Member Caught Within Eclipsed Facts

Passionless lies turns to unmoved bigots thoughts 
with emotionless half arsed hearts consumed by hate 
splitting hairs we all know fact from fiction 

Try to claim killing the unborn is care giving 
then this retro bias claims a man has no right to speak
equality speaks from the soul without division 

Where each son has a mother who protects who
when lines are drawn in the sand this is not about gender 
This is not about women having the right to kill 
                                                
Or even twisted sinners of men who live on cloud coo coo 
Time waits on no man or woman to love and cherish each living heartbeat
we are brothers and sisters of the one God 

His words have impact in those whom truly believe


Melancholia

Like a tree with a broken limb
This broken branch begins to bend,
Like the splitting hairs caught in a comb
I sensed the void on my own
I look and seek deep in my soul
In hopes to find something to console
Dull and deep is its shaded abyss
For there is nothing in its mist
But dust and spirits, of the disappearing
For I am the one that has become weary.
The void I walk is very deep
Who knew these hills could be so steep.
However, I am who is broken
Yet, everyone wants a token.
Thinking they have givin me something
When in turn they have provided nothing.
I feel the pain of my psychosis,
For my mind has become atrocious.
The nullness and the empty space,
I knew would win the race
But there is nothing more
For I have become
Null &Void
Form: Rhyme

Squares

We all retain, at heart, a love of squares –
the ones who wear pyjamas, say their prayers:
staid Ministers of Minuscule Affairs,
so sound at spouting homilies, splitting hairs,
the Fred Astaires who wound up Red Adairs –
you think the planet yours?  It’s wholly theirs!
Those unabashed enthusiasts for flares
who spew soliloquies on stocks and shares,
and somehow swell and prosper, unawares!
Compliance officers, commissionaires –
not Taras Bulbas, more like Tony Blairs,
the sort who cook with Kerrygold, just for dares,
and read about invisible repairs.
Another thing about them – … oh, who cares?
Form: Sonnet

Cliche Heaven

Cliche Heaven

Be it as it may I'll try my hand at some clichés
    and address the elephant in the room soon when pigs fly.
It’s a win- win situation, put your game face on, work the crowd
   as we wrap our heads around comparing apples to orange.
We are all data driven, with an ace in the hole, stick a sock in it
   while stepping  up to the plate and  peeling back the onion
 and easily hit it out of the ballpark with a world of hurt.

Be my team player, run with this, my agent of change  
  but don’t throw me under the bus as you think outside the box.
We can touch base later seeing where the rubber meets the road
  and put boots on the ground, a perfect storm, deal with it.
Here’s my two cents,  if it works  I'll go off the beaten path
    driving route 66 on the road not taken when it’s up for grabs,
     and taking a walk in the sun, learning the new math.

That said,  don’t  put me out to pasture,  wait for it,  
  there’s no sign of my slowing down,  its going viral.
These are the signs of the times, take the bull by its horns,
   It’s a brave new tomorrow and all bets are off.
Don’t  force my hand to be up close and personal
  I’m a rebel without a cause and  to die for.
   Don’t get bent out of shape raising the bar in the winds of change
    There’s something for everyone, just another babe in the woods.

Stay tuned, like, duh, as a matter of fact, at the end of the day,  
  it’s a last ditch effort as you live and learn the luck of the draw.  
Pay it forward, that’s the ticket, give and take, get a wake up call,
 same song and dance, say what you will, you’re as sharp as a tack.
It’s all smoke and mirrors, just splitting hairs to reinvent the wheel 
 and walk the red carpet for a quick buck to pay as you go
 Heaven help us, 
I believe there's an app for that.
© DM Babbit  Create an image from this poem.

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