Long Uses Poems
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Don't be angry, don't show that long face;
they change whenever they try to cheat,
I stop taking risks and reject this defeat:
distrust could be gone with one embrace!
I stop taking risks regardless of its awful outcome,
waiting is useless hope when it turns into delusion;
how much can be accomplished in the meantime
depend on the right set of mind, not on intrusion!
I'm planning ahead, a beautiful home and lots of children;
plan it with me, there's nothing more exciting than this:
oh, he single life has total freedom but very tiny joys....
who seeks happiness finds it and won't lose it again!
I stop taking risks, I move on to days without monotony;
the dreamer still dreams, the doer is always a step ahead
and loses little sleep, do what he does, never be led
by an idea that uses up time, patience, and energy!
Considering how short we live with all the miseries,
one foot must be in front of the other to really thrive.
sitting there and wait for another chance is wasting time:
and the longer we wait, the further we reach for dreams!
Oh hey!
Let's play a game;
A game of never have I ever.
Never have I ever had to eat a bowl of...
Oh yes!
But I have!
Never have I ever...
Again!, I have.
Never have I...
Not already done that,
Yes.
Never have...
Been there, done that.
Never have I...
Never not done it of course.
Never have I ever not tell one simple truth,
Because why?
Why not?
When lies are so much sweeter?
Never have I ever prefer to tell a lie,
But lies are never dull,
Though lies do not ever tell...
Lies are never sweet,
But still it's sweeter than truth,
And lies are never really lies,
Until a person prefers the truth.
But you see,
That's what I mean,
To your world that may be true,
But how can you judge?
For everyone else too?
Because you see I know,
When lies have gone too sweet,
They never expire like meat,
Until you turn the other cheek.
Truths might not be sweet,
Of course because they hurt,
They hurt in a drastic measure,
To tear the stitches of wounds.
But wait..
No buts but just a simple fact,
Of how true can truths really,
Break a person subliminally.
Of how "true" a lie can bring,
A happiness much more than sorrow.
A lie which brings comfort,
A lie more needed than oxford.
Lies capable of bringing good,
Like a Jew seeking out refuge,
A..
A lie of good intentions
And righteous to its core
As according to God's will
Is a lie worth dying for
But the lie that you speak of
Is a lie of uses so vague
A lie with no lines drawn
A lie of no right or wrong
For which is it now
A lie meant for "lies"
Or a lie to comfort sins?
A lie that stacks like tin
Please forgive me for my words
With thoughts never so far
I had thought, just maybe,
Why lies are always so kind
Lies are always kind
But kind in what I may question,
Kind to bring intention to sin,
Or kind to be godly, just, righteous.
Lies are always sweet,
Though they never go far.
Truths are bittersweet,
But lasts for our eternity.
Innoculate against the forces
of the dark spectrum and it's Siren tune.
It's sickly pale green and gold hues. Monochromatic scale of hallucinogenic hopelessness.
Uses your Pride's Holden Magnet in it's vacuum.
A fog in the distance closes in,
like a Harpy in Venusian Projection,
streaming obscenity,
zooming in mirror of it's dirty vanity.
Principalities stalk the bog of your ruin.
Embalming your soul into insanity, Heretic Cocoon.
The Dance of Death's pompous Melody.
Dreamweaving sutured organ,
piping your fog into Mummy Womb.
Nightwalkers overlook the ritual.
Demon Satellites orbiting your perdition.
They argue this violation is consensual.
Taking not in_- the adorn of light's prism.
But staunching irreverence, a shadowed-stench where the light bends, grotesquely mishapened.
The Lord of the Flies-traps closes as if nothing happened.
Rainbows end.
to conquer a quest,
is to honor a quest
a conqueror honor his quest
a conqueror is a dignity of honor
quest is quest of a conqueror dignity
quest is quest of a conqueror honor of dignity
to conquer is to conquer a conqueror quest of dignity
a conqueror is a conqueror quest
a conqueror is a conqueror of a conqueror
to conquer is to conquer honor of its quest
a present of honor is a present of quest
a present of quest is a present of conquering
a present is a present of honor
a present is a present of conquering honor
a present is a present of a conqueror conquering a conqueror
a present is a present of a vision conquering honor
a vision is a vision of quest
a vision is a vision of honor
a vision is a vision of a conqueror
a quest of vision is a quest of a conqueror
a quest of vision is vision’s quest of honor
author notes : my writing is called philosophical writing. i only uses middle ages words,words liked gracious,extravaganza,etc… this poem is about the quality of honor honoring a conqueror honor. i don’t add capitalization’s on my writing.
Thinning of the veil
of space where we sail,
loosens and tightens,
as thought load lightens.
The vast womb of space,
where dream forms we chase,
is an illusion,
causing confusion.
What’s the noumena
of phenomena,
one with That Oneness,
eternal witness?
Soft, silent humming,
of heart cords strumming,
uses soul’s free will,
to bliss throbs instil.
It’s a choiceless choice,
to echo our voice,
doing what we like,
feeling rapture spike.
Singularity
or duality
appears on the screen,
as our desires beam.
Arguments fall flat,
there’s no this or that,
once ego is shorn,
we’re here, now reborn.
So breath by breath thus,
without making fuss,
abide in silence,
of bliss beats vibrance.
09-June-2022
When a man has a pound,
he grovels on the ground.
If he gets two,
he searches for gals to woo.
when he has three,
he goes on a spending spree.
when he has four pounds,
he gets naughty by leaps and bounds.
When he gets to five
thinks he's got more than a life
when he gets six
he looks for ladies to fix.
On getting to seven,
he thinks he's in heaven.
Finding himself at eight,
he uses ladies as his bait.
Now, holla! he's got nine pounds,
he's sniffing around for more, like hounds.
Yikes, he gets to ten;
he's like a lion, fat in its den.
Now, add an extra one
and he's looking for extra fun.
Make it twelve, and then
he thinks he's got nothing to learn!
~~~Turritopsis Nutricular~~~
The immortal jelly fish, I wish we could be
Living like him/her under the sea.
After reaching his or her sexual maturity
It can turn back to a polyp, I wish it was me
It uses a process called transdifferentiation
It absorbs its own body, a good job it’s not a nation
I imagine it all on a global scale
You wiped them all out for them to grow back from a tail.
It seems as though the immortal jellyfish
Is not so immortal though when you read this.
Cos as it reverts it gets diseased, eaten or dies,
By this thing called plankton, and I think that comes with fries.
society seems to have lost certain aspects of courtesy
today it's the norm to speak in the language of profanity
n's, b's and h's are the words that people use today
they don't comprehend the negativity in the words that they say
to be polite and mannerly is now a thing of the past
the rap culture mentality has taken over everyday language at last
i understand the need for those artists to express their thoughts
but i can't comprehend why they can't do it
in the proper language that they've been taught
what's in a word?
it's the language that man uses to communicate
it's not what you say but how you say it,
the way that people do relate
if you talk in words that are regarded as being low class
many will perceive
that you have never gotten
the education that others have received
they look at you with contempt
and then become condescending
they look at you as being inferior,
for that is the message you are sending
so be careful of the words that you choose
and the manner in which you speak
for what's in a word and how you use it
determines the level of respect that you seek
Poetry IS the Mother of ALL art.
The completion and the part.
A private punchline-divine.
Be it the fruit or be it the vine.
It is The IS, sometimes the Music,
sometimes the Muse for us.
The usery that uses us.
The gizt of hearts in infatuation,
of the telling apart.
Insanity or bust.
Between lesson and instruction.
To be or it's destruction.
The painting and the canvas,
bared for emotions-teeth to take a bite of that
sweet ****- au pair with a peculiar incisor inflection.
Like a werewolf transforming with a tear, gleaming
to go on a tear.
Of whatever amazes or confounds us.
It uplifts and surrounds us.
There is poetry in a hungry infant,
and the warmth of a Mother- the need pregnant,
expectant.
Symbiotic-
Symmetry-
Symbolic-
Systemry- in offshoot,
Automatic
Ethereal firmament
To drink of
the bulwarks of love that
cultivates the brainworks as it wallows in
possibilities mud,
taking thought into-the bliss-of-the asunder,
of connecting string
Gloriously plundered.
Poetry is,
A glimpse of
"The Way."
Sparking like a pinwheel,
on freedom day,
growing, blooming
the flowers seed of
Intensity, integrity, glowing into
Life's density in sporadic release of splay.
The I Am. Pied piping His signature conducting groove
into our channels.
As the orchestra plays.
The call that we all dance to.
Molding the Earth like pottery of clay.
God's use of snapshots of what love should be.
Has a chance to put from the reach of it's ease'.
The Universe His studio, and dispensary.
WE the ones fogging the lenses scope of things
(needing proofs before the picture is even through/
or while the ink is still new.)
Because it IS both abstract and it IS REAL.
There IS Contagiousness in poetry's mental feel.
Its thundering peel, uncovering, rolling. Roaring in zeal.
In a symphony of opened seals.
Showing like a signet ring.
Shofar in the spring of knowing.
God hath provoked man with many challenges about this globe.
One of them requires the patience of a long-suffering Job!
Ensconced with fishing pole in hand on a grassy bank,
Waiting interminably for those wily fishes to yank!
Whether one uses expensive tackle or a simple bamboo pole,
Or cruises the roiling seas aboard a fancy yacht to troll,
All dedicated anglers have their mind set on one goal,
To reel in the "big one" from their favorite fishing hole!
I've had some agonizing adventures that I'll tell you about,
Trying to snag those very elusive and wily trout.
I'm averse to using a bamboo pole and bobber, my patience is nil,
Needing to keep busy with rod and reel, besides it takes more skill!
Oh, to be able to recoup the many fancy lures I have lost,
Increasing my grouch level, never mind the expensive cost!
Or when the hook snagged my shirt or became tangled in the trees,
Or breaking lines near shore, retrieving fish on my hands and knees!
Consider the time I had a nice catch of trout on my stringer,
And I found a hungry snake eating them for his dinner!
Golf, hunting, tennis, by many are much more preferred,
But from the frustrations of fishing I shall never be deterred!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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