Long Uninspiring Poems
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Can I have a moment of your time?
You see, I must confess and say exactly what's on my mind
Early on, my weary eyes couldn't see because the clouds of ANGER, CONFUSION and DESPAIR filled my space
Now, the sun of TRUTH has divinely shined upon my once wearied face
Unspeakable energy and clarity are what I now possess
My journey was once misguided, but now I'm on course for I see I've been
truly blessed
I thank you for being you
Your lies, deceit and clandestine activity
I thank you for all you've done and all you do
Your uninspiring words, enmity and sickening jealousy
I thank you for being so unkind
Your hateful eyes and condescending ways
I thank you for now I have peace of mind; you've been a friend and you did not know it. I've learned my lesson well and i'll keep it all of my days
THANK YOU
After an election that has left us divided…a nation torn apart…
one bishop hoped her words would resonate…would find a way into our hearts.
With the courage of her convictions she spoke…
words filled with hope and humility.
She made a plea for, respect, for honesty
for compassion, for kindness and empathy
She spoke of her hopes and wishes…simply…unpretentiously…
ideas that form the basis of all religions….
all faiths…all spirituality.
Her words were not new words…they’ve been spoken many times before…
You can find them in the words of Jesus, Buddha, Muhammad, the Tao
and many many more.
Unfortunately her words meant to unite and help to ease our nation’s fears
floated from her pulpit and landed on deaf ears.
Some people, even those who call themselves religious,
who have forgotten their religion states to love everyone the same
called her uninspiring, nasty and displayed to the world their wickedness
when they chose to call her names.
I believe every religion was created for concepts, like the Bishop’s, to extol.
and though they may walk down different pathways
I believe love and acceptance is every religion’s goal.
A love that’s meant to find its way into our minds and souls and hearts
A love that’s meant to unite us as a people…not to tear us all apart.
So I stand with the bishop…whose words transcend all religions
who set a perfect example of piety…
And I pray for the day when everyone…
will stand with the bishop and me.
Underneath the thick and icy snow is
buried the dormant wild grass that lost
its glitter: it's spring's emerald blanket
that covered the barren soil of meadows!
Even the blinding light of our main Star
doesn't shine too brightly over anything,
even afternoons are short and uninspiring;
this poet puts down his pen with mind ajar!
Christmas has been without any gleeful carols,
every street glistens with ice and somberness;
the only happy persons are the frantic skaters,
we watch them behind this window shut to joys!
The Holidays are marred by grins of melancholy,
fun is reserved for the very young, we had ours;
and while squirrels and birds don't frequent trees
to stir the essence of harmony, we observe all sadly!
Winter is a brutal omen who strips trees of their leaves
and meadows of fragrant flowers to anger romantic hearts
who dream of lovely afternoons that turn into pretty sunsets:
we were those lovers hugging and exchanging fervent kisses!
Underneath the thick and icy snow can easily be found
a blazing hope that can melt it quickly and awaken spring
from the lethargy of four long months without any song:
breathe on the frozen ground and your wish will unfold!
In the mind of a poet on days when his muse is uninspiring
In the smile of great-grandma as her wrinkled hands hold her great-grandbaby
In the thoughts of a philosopher when he ponders on the intricacies of life
In the eyes of a farmer when his soil yields good crops after days of toil
In the silent prayer of a devotee as he stands before his Lord with eyes closed
In the sweet cuddle of a pet when he sees his master after a long time
In the tears of a mom when she meets her son after several years
In the void, hitherto unfilled, in the hearts of distant soulmates
In every single bud of thought that blooms in a mute’s mind in his lifetime
Is there anything finer than mashed potatoes
That fluffy white mountain of joy
Scrumptious with gobs of bad-for-you butter
And sprinkles of parsley, oh boy!
Always dream bout this mouth watering delight
Sending me to the moon with glee
A slice of ham with a carrot and pea medley
And a blob of ketchup if you please
Don't give me none of that Beef Wellington stuff
That fine old English tradition
With boiled potatoes oh how uninspiring
Gonna pass it with your permission
Good old smashers as they're sometimes called
Can't think of another dish finer
Just a simple old guy with a simple old taste
A down to earth kind of a diner
So serve me them taters from dawn to sundown
Guarantees my friendship for life
Scrumptious with gobs of bad-for-you butter
Where's my napkin, my fork and my knife!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Wings cut, flesh torn, eyes burned and blind
Heart so weary borne upon a life, some say, unkind.
Time will come and go, knowledge gained or lost;
Rivers change their flow; summers die in frost
All that’s proud and full of fury in each person’s story
Sunk beneath the fathoms of depressions veil.
We humans sought to reawaken, but did fail.
I will write a word or two about a pear that clings
Frosty morning air anew, as summer wanes.
When autumn sings I shall turn the other cheek,
Jot some mental notes and such then turn to sneak a peek,
Were it not for noise, I would not glance back
Nor halt to hear the frantic fray; to enter then this play.
Character cast, twice remove; something by each side to prove.
Lyrically lay with lantern lit, composing each and all of it
In metaphoric style; lost of wit, but never wile;
I fracture to repeat, upturned sockets sweet.
Sumptuous undertaking of loved and all beloved;
Splendor in the Eye for taking all whom I may meet.
Hoping to move and by them all be moved.
No trouble here, noble poets burning.
Turn back to the fires you're tending.
And all that you’re unlearning.
Pass up the gauntlet to those returning
No more yearning; no more ending.
Satisfied to write the wilting flowers praise;
Documenting endlessly, natures endless days.
Casual observer thus inclined
To take up simple pen - of simple mind;
Talk of flowers and butterflies flying
Then maybe the flutter of wings
Will drown the sound of dying
Each voice sings..
I said My son
you have your house
and sometimes food,
You have your phone
and sometimes fuel,
You have your girl
and sometimes friends
are also fools
But an uninspiring vacation
won't work for you
without a sacred green vocation,
a prime goddess avocation
a divine nature revolution
spirit evolution
peaceful resolution
soulful restoration.
What Earth needs now
to hear from you
Is tell Her how
to hear your true.
If you can do that
then She'll share with you
Why you can come home
in life's eco-school
where hearts speak out loud
for laws not so cruel.
Teach us how
to cooperate,
Not compete
to masturbate
old ideas
not so great of late,
White House dreams
flame our heads. Berate
what we need
from where we wait
to plant our seeds
to harvest great
what each one sees
on our knees
saluting trees
with freedom's breeze
to cooperate
and resonate,
not misoperate
too irresponsibly disassociate.
Seeking now what you would find
if your dad's ass weren't far behind
where you would like for us to be
where I listen while you pee
out whatever comes to be
because we plant as our vocation, see
what we harvest as Earth's most fabulous avocation,
Hot Mama green and glorious vacation
Goin' out to green associate
what LeftBrain learned to dissociate
from RightBrain ultra-violate.
Money Honey
By: Miracle Man
10/12/2018
Ad agencies inform customers in a brazen way,
Each day that the sun rises they’re making hay.
Attention getting commercials are so designed,
To take my cash by planting thoughts in my mind;
They think a sexy lady will encourage impulse buying,
But she, like most products, I find uninspiring.
Some spots are outrageous and many are quite funny,
Most turn out to be me squandering our money.
They always tout things that seem to be of great use,
And with lifetime guarantees they attempt to induce.
Sometimes they succeed convincing me of my need,
While their account rise’s I watch my credit card bleed.
Yearend I’m bombarded by causes needing assistance
And when I don’t respond, another letter of insistence;
I always feel depressed on those times when I’ve refused,
This joyous time of year I shouldn’t feel so abused.
A debauchery seed into an arid soil was the start of you.
Although your roots spread deep and wide in this uninspiring
patch of earth.
The growth of your trunk is stunted by a loveless life.
The sap of you is diseased with obsession and narcissism.
Your thorny branches are gnarled and grow many thorny gnarled branches
that bear small hard bitter fruit that falls to the ground and feeds the worms.
In your dotage years, the earth and the sun and the way things went
rotted you completely.
The memory of you is afflicting, yet heartening.
copyright 2017 Looking At The Light From The Bottom Of The Lake
Your fingers around my soul.
So, I was convicted innocently
Worn out, pallid and tired, brooding
in a mire of self-pity, blighted by uninspiring events
of the shallow life of an innocent convict.
Disenchanted, but I knew the culprit.
“I own your signature.” I whispered.
I languished in a narrow prison cell,
contemplating the day, I would leave
that hollow incumbency of a dreary life.
Time out. The grounds were empty. I was kept alone,
walking around in my languid manner, indifferent,
a psychotic self-imposed dementia.
Time in, the grounds deserted,
back to the cell, they call my home,
staring vacantly into the desolate void,
waiting like a cat that hunts its prey,
crouching still as death to deliver death.
One day they'll open the outer shell
of my cocoon and send me out,
into a changed world. Then, perhaps
I'll come alive and begin my quest.
I’ll deliver his famous gift to him.
“I’m a vampire rose.” Deadly.
I’ll deliver the gift to the one
who betrayed me and have my revenge.
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