Long Thready Poems
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Some might say,
it's just another day
but the days so quickly pass
age marking time far too fast;
spring was a season of mixed messages
days of rain and dampened dew
full of old memories,
walking the garden with you,
then came the buds, the blossoms, and the bloom
life rushed on,
no regrets to exhume,
the gentler days of flowering and you;
in looking back
the early days moved slowly and steady
with struggles through laughter, tears, and joy thready
but you were there ever at the ready;
lost to the days of April into May
and I am still here tears as I pray,
my eyes on the stars
wondering what happened
and where you are.
I heard the squelch of death again,
it happened in yoga when I was Zen;
coming quickly and I was not ready,
then, I was quite dizzy and unsteady.
I felt myself fading and everything was dark,
floating in an abyss once more like a lark;
and I was laying in a place like a park,
and my brain hurt with a migraine.
I heard talking every now and then,
and I wanted so much to complain;
to tell the floating people I was heady,
and that my heart beat felt quite thready.
But my words were a slurred question mark,
'till after ten hours I felt some kind of spark;
and realized that to Heaven I did not embark-
the doctor said from yoga, please refrain!
______________________________
September 16, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/I Heard Death Calling
Copyright Protected, ID 19- 1181-408-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
NA in the contest, Welcome To My Random World, Judged 9/20/2019
Submitted to the contest, NA- A Rerun 3
sponsor, John Hamilton
Sixth Place
Tried to give all my money over yonder.
Something in me had started to stir.
Not the feathers in my brain.
Not the lost stuff in the drain.
Yes, I’m as generous as a sprinkler with water to last.
Felt paper dollars crumpled in my past.
Being a part of generosity.
Means that some part of me is feeling thready.
But when I died, it was as if it was only my evil twin.
So I continued to survive without and within.
Do I regret giving all that cash to the dawn?
Until my last grimace was gone?
Being generous means to live just fine.
Even without the goldmine.
Yes, part of me died, but it was paper thin.
Just like the bills thumping within.
Might never be rich once more.
From the surgery, my head is still sore.
I think the person that died that night.
Was the greed that felt a fright.
I died ten years later to the day.
Without a penny to stay.
Got cremated.
And every penny I gave has abated.
The money spread on and throughout.
Went through the shredder eventually, I have no doubt.
My uncle took me fishing.
He’d smoke his favorite briar
Stuffing the cherry blend in with stubby
Welsh fingers more suitable for digging coal,
Than compacting mulched tobacco leaves.
A line taut between his index finger and his thumb,
He took a thready pulse of a line strung along the pole.
He told me stories of his growing up:
Painting my grandfather’s car ruined by feathers
Blown in from a cock who’d recently been plucked.
He would hand the pole to me to relight his pipe, he said.
And fumble among the hundred pocket vest
Pockets for his Zippo lighter
I liked surreptitiously to smell
And play endlessly with clicking of its top.
A trout would tug my line, bolt arching up
Above the water’s edge and topple back to tug again.
I’d play it back and forth until I played it up on shore.
And put it in a basket made of hardened wicker weave.
Some men fish for fishing's sake and others to make fishermen. (2/7/02)
Part of the masses, another blue-bottle blip
ocean-sweeping ~ sailing blue-massive
oscillo-roaming-wind
spinning a dizzy-spherical war ~
The appetite to be sated where a new current
ushers constant unpredictability on its menu:
gleaming silver thrashes on its thready hang
Each usual sting, brings on a singular cringe
so predictable are its shivers of alas-morass
entrenched within a genetic-evolutionary psyche…
Luffing, she swells on the blue-flowing-feel
another turn, she is riding with the armada
Dining, diving, leaving divining to the wind,
yet wielding its surprising, wispy, sublimity ~
(11/30/20 For 'it is what it is or is it' contest)
Heart...
I feel you beating thready and weak..
I feel you murmuring me to stop..
I feel you throbbing softly aghast..
Heart...
Why did we trust and give in so fast?
We should have guessed things doesn't last..
We should have been careful for things casts..
Heart...
Will you get some more little rest..
So long, I do not like you again be on test..
I do not like you more on mess...
Heart...
Follow me, I'm above you..
I know which one is better for you..
I learned from past and present blues..
Indeed, I'm knowledgeable enough for the cues..
Heart..
I speak kindly to you..
Kindly mind me once..
This the mind pleading and speaking...
By: olive_eloi
sept. 16, 2013
4:48pm