Long Waste of time Poems
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Remember when that flash of insight
last self-ignited in your expectant thoughts
blasting away the fog of uncertainty, complexity and doubt.
A sudden aha Eureka answer, pure, simple, so succinct, beautiful.
To some this flash of aha is called duration, or a blink. insight, acumen, Eureka!
But, my friend, how, why, when, where, do these Aha moments arise?
Can we conger up more for ourselves, fill a treasure cheat with insights?
Or is this quest a waste of time, as no treasure map exits. But does it?
Can we ever know with what, and how, and when to cast the magic wand?
Does our search for meaning, inquiries lay the foundation?
Can we prepare the way ahead in some way or other?
Think back, my friend, did these gems
always spring up unexpectedly, and what occurred beforehand?
These aha Euekas cannot be scheduled or delayed,
cannot be snuck-up on, snared nor detected,
cannot be forced out nor guaranteed to appear.
Euekas are not rewards for hard work, perhaps the opposite is true.
How often does lazy and shallow wader get the creative rewards.
Chance is never fair in its rewards for hard work.
Often, an Aha taps us on the shoulder, we are least expecting it,
out of the blue, saying: "Look at Me. Look at Me".
When gobbled up with glee, it washes over and transforms us.
We are never be the same. It makes our day.
Does begging the question, ignoring the answers laid out
make it pop up from the soup into an inquiring mind?
Or does it appear when we raise questions to that have already been answered well?
Does it appear when we thin-slice the book to separate the leaves?
Often mistakes and errors have led to great breakthroughs
like penicillin, radioactivity, the color mauve and plastics.
What does this mean to you and your Aha Eureka pot of gold?
Should we be less careful, more observant for the unusual?
The Aha Eureka is a fleeting feeling, easily lost in the blink of an eye,
rampant, capricious, imperceptible, unbounded, elusive
like seeing something in the corner of the eye at dusk,
if you look straight at it, it's gone, look back again, it's there again.
For me it can be a matter of serendipity.
The more I see, the more I do, the more I explore, the more hits are triggered.
Many total restarts from scratch, often helps.
But, for me the one simple things
that works is lay me down to rest,
and to sleep on it!
I listened to a conversation I didn't mean to enter
but an evil sneer sent in my friend's direction
led me to speak before I realized it was a mistake.
In defense of my spiritual sister,
and the Truth of God's Word,
I very calmly asked a stranger
why he believed the Bible was wrong.
His response was a finger, shaken in my face
and unsavory words I'd not repeat.
I shook the dust from my feet and turned away.*
But before I was able to take two steps,
the stranger continued to rant,
"You know the Bible is out of date.
It doesn't matter what it says!"
I sighed, took a breath and said a silent prayer.
"Sir, if you will kindly allow me to say a word or two,
I'll continue our discussion in a peaceful manner."
He looked uncertain, so I began to speak of my beliefs,
but he stopped me in mid-sentence and said,
"That's nonsense! I don't want to hear any more."
I learned long ago that a soft answer turns away wrath,
but a harsh word stirs up anger,** so I said, "Have a good day."
He smirked as though he'd won a victory in a game of Chess,
looking at me as if I were a loser, a pawn, and he a king,
so besotted with himself, thinking he had won.
There was a grin on his face, laced with honied contempt.
I nodded to my friend, and she concurred with me,
leaving at this moment was what we had to do,
knowing in our hearts, it's what God expected of us.
I allowed the stranger to wear a hollow crown
in which there is no honor, no triumph or glory.
I didn't say, "Sir, your reasoning is flawed."
With one more Divine inspired thought I'd have said,
"Checkmate," but it would've been a waste of time
to throw my pearls before the feet of swine..."***
I recalled, "Whoever exalts himself will be humbled,
and whoever humbles himself will be exalted."****
With enlightenment right in front of him,
he refused to see that his reality is merely a fantasy,
so in darkness he remains... His shallowness betrayed
what his heart may have spiritually enfolded.
How unfortunate and tragic it is to me, that blind ones
are concerned about nothing more than winning a battle
but fail to comprehend the reason for the war.
October 12, 2021
The High Road Contest
Sponsor: Gina McIntosh
* Matthew 10:14 ** Proverbs 15:1
*** Matthew 7:6 ****Matthew 23:12
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
Form:
I once knew a teacher who occasionally used the word ‘fiddle'. If perhaps he deemed something untrue or irrelevant; or if annoyed by students or otherwise disagreeable, he would simply say, “fiddlesticks”.
In the instrumental world of music, a fiddle is a violin. Have you read that Emperor Nero fiddled while Rome burned? And I once heard about a musical called, “Fiddler On The Roof”. But this is not the kind of fiddle that presently occupies my brain.
In nautical usage, a fiddle is a frame or railing on a ship’s table to keep dishes from falling off in rough weather. But 'fiddle’ of the high seas is not what I’m thinking about.
There’s such broad usage of a most simple word. Very interesting. Why, this most interesting word also addresses, ‘waste of time’. It also refers to being in excellent health, like ‘fit as a fiddle’.
O forbid that I should fiddle like Nero and ‘let things burn’. May I always be productive, never given to ‘wasting time’. But let me be energetic, useful, caring, and ‘fit as a fiddle’.
The word ‘fiddle’ also expresses one acting in a subordinate position, such as, ‘play second fiddle’. Finally! This is the ‘fiddle’ that I am talking about. If you have always been on top and driven to be number one or else, then perhaps the two spot is not for you. If you said 'no' when offered a VP position, or if you would never show up for a 6th man award, then second fiddle is not a good fit for you. Nevertheless, at some point, we all must ask the Gatorade question, “Is it in you? ” It took me a while.
After many years, I discovered a pattern in my life, and have come to believe that the pattern revealed the purpose of my life. Understanding my purpose
brought great peace.
cj02122014 PS Post 01082018
They called it school
I called it hell
From the huge imposing prison like doors
To the doom like toll of the bell
Everyday the same
Running for the school bus
Full of uncivilized Wild kids
Being pushed and shoved
Countless kids in uniform
Fearing the teachers and the day they were born
Satchel bags and lucky bags
Late for lessons again
Going to the headmasters office
For the cane ooh how my bum was in pain
Teacher at the blackboard
Pupils getting bored thinking about girls
Motorbikes and cars
Playing football in the yard
Playing sports in skirts and shorts
The one too big that moma bought
School desks fountain pens and ink
Boy how some of my classmates did stink
Trying to blow up the science lab
Bubbly gum and sherbert dabs
Giggling girls and bashful boys
Girls jutting out everywhere
Pigtails and ribbon on their hair
Always getting into a fight
Going home with a torn blazer and black eye every night
Lots of kisses on my homework
Rolling about in the dirt
Pouring ink into the headmasters aquarium
Holes in your trouser bum
Crafty cigarette hidden behind a wall
Morning assembly in the hall
School dinners you couldn't pick
Forced down your throat and made you sick
Being punished and kept behind doing lines
I must have wrote 'I must be good' a million times
Frog spawn put into teachers bag
Gas taps left on in the lab
The school nurse giving you a jab
Riot breaks out in class Running a race on sports day and coming last
Pea shooter and catapult Pulling your tongue out and being rude to adults
First love and nervous thumbled kiss
Girls with new sticky out bits
Hair growing in places it didn't before
Limbs aching and so sore
Always in trouble up to no good playing truant in the wood
Letting the tiers down on the headmasters car
Girls wearing training bra's
Exams were such a sham but wrote the answers under the bandage on my
hand Teachers talking about things I didn't understand
What a waste of time I was going to be a pop star and soon a man
Those daydreams of youth that still remain aloof
Hiding in the bushes watching girls playing hockey and net ball on the field
I still recall how that used to feel
Long school summer holidays away from hell
School books thrown down the well
Then back to school again to days of terror
And pain up early facing hell.
Peter Dome,copyright.2014. July.
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
I'm stupid.
I've fallen for the same pitfalls
that I sighted in
the distance
and said that
I was too smart
I was too ambitious
my potential was too great
to fall for them
and yet
I've fallen.
I hurt everyone with whom I come in contact.
I use people up until
I'm bored
and then I discard them
and move on,
and then I cry
because
I'm alone.
I'm stupid
for writing this as a poem
because it's a really bad poem.
It's just proof
that I'm self-indulgent -
extrapolate that
and you've got the proof
that whatever I said in here
is true!
And on top of that
this is a first draft,
and I'm too lazy to re-read it
or re-format it
yet I expect you all to read it
and comment
or whatever?
So self-indulgent
as to press "enter"
every so often
and change this into some sort of semblance of verse. Maybe I only write this to prove to
myself, argue to myself, how awful I am, so that I can continue to act stupidly, in my own
interest, and use people up, less as an unfortunate event and more as "business as usual."
Wow, there's a lot of clichés in this poem! Oh well. I'm not going to fix them. Hey, aren't you
bored by this yet? Aren't you upset that you read this far? It's like I've sent out some sort of
sentry to do my dirty work of being an obnoxious, stupid individual when I'm not around to
do it myself. And see how I re-formatted this to not be in verse but to be prose after I
acknowledged how arbitrary the parsing the wording into verse was? Did I fool you, however
briefly, into thinking that maybe it was an interesting choice? Well, it's not! It's really an
uninteresting choice. See, I did put a little bit of effort into the spacing it into verses back
when I was doing it. Am I trying to bore you away from reading this? Why am I so self-
deprecating? Can I truly be so self-centered if subconsciously I'm trying to get you to not
pay attention to me? Is it self-conscious if I've acknowledged it? Wow, this has really fallen
apart. Oh well. Anyway, I'm stupid, blah blah blah, I'm the worst, but really, I do feel this
way, and am constantly lamenting (ooh, poetic-sounding word!) this fact. Otherwise, or
maybe notwithstanding that, this has been a waste of time for all of us!
I Could Have Been
By Franklin Price
Ediited 6/22/2017
(originally written 6/22/2014)
I could have been a lot of things I'm really glad I'm not;
A liar and a cheater, a druggie or a sot
A selfish inconsiderate, treating others quite unfair
Looking down, from my exalted perch, my nose up in the air
My pockets full of money, earned through any means at all,
With unappreciative peons, at my daily beck and call.
Friends, because I give them almost everything they need,
While I use them, in most any way, to satisfy my greed.
None of these are who I am. I could name so many more.
Yet that would be a waste of time and make my fingers sore.
Let me provide some insight, into who I think is me,
And how I've traveled through this life and how things ought to be,
To top the list, above all else, to love your fellow man.
Many make it difficult, they don't seem understand.
It's not do it unto others. before they do it unto you;
It's to try to put yourself into the other person's shoe.
Think long and hard before you speak, be careful what you say,
For words come back to bite you, in an unexpected way.
Make friends because you like them, not for what they do for you,
Hope that in befriending you, that is their real reason too.
Don't think you're any better than ones who have a little less,
For oh so many reasons, their lives could be in such a mess,
Be grateful that you're fortunate, put a smile upon your face,
For misfortune could easily visit you and put you in their place.
Do not envy others who have a little more than you.
If you work a little harder, then you can have it too.
It's not about the things you have, but how you look at life.
It's far too short to dwell on things that only cause you only strife.
If you give to other people, expecting nothing in return,
It's better than receiving, that's a lesson I have learned.
If it just so happens that some of them reciprocate,
That it's not because they think they owed, but that they appreciate.
Consider all your actions and how they would make you feel.
If it's less than positive. it's not too late to change the deal.
It's only you, who has to know, the one you need to be
And when looking in the mirror you still like the one you see.
“Progress Being”
The opportunity struck that I grew to find,
I took a risk and felt no urge to change my mind.
In the “now” to live my life without regrets
The game of life’s chance called roulette.
I don't think that I would be where I am today
If I didn’t live out yesterday!
What you see, is what you get
I’m the human in “progress being,” see who you met.
Aware of owning what I lead.
Aware of the strength that is rising through my feet.
Of choices I've made,
Of the ‘yin’ that I've saved.
Of the things that I've done,
My belief in myself, in another-you, and the One.
Forgiving of the words of my friends,
I know who they are to make mistakes, and make amends.
Follow my instincts, follow my inner star
It is the unedited version and real true radar.
On my sleeve I have worn to show my heart untamed
I am whole in the “real life” of moments and unashamed.
Double “A” free in actions. “Berkley,” free in mind, body, and spirit.
What comes next the guitar or good night dreams to visit?
The down beat is the inner drum,
Like the dark that feels the enigmatic rhythm.
Does not understand impact.
Does not like to get exact.
Understands the subtle feel.
Like authentic wine, whispered “sealed.”
As I wrote before, the timing in life is always NOW.
Perhaps that would be a philosophy as you know all to well in Tao.
Carpe diem another platitude or cliché’
It’s a waste of time to be high-browed as they say…... My focus is to be light and live
with a LEAP of Faith.
To share the positive things that we learned from our past
Takes time of building a rapport with another hopefully steadfast.
Getting to know someone to laugh with is a find.
Because what is learned and applied will not fall into the traps laid on NEW created paths
from behind.
Adding up my life, will total all my dreams.
I am counting all my blessings
And gifts like you that I receive
No matter what the expectation or what the other perceives.
I own my day and my thoughts,
Gentle not to challenge them to be fought. ?
Took this time to understand the perfect-imperfect
And the crinkled-pleat…
That I am what I am, who I am no defeat.
No sleep walking, hair untamed
“Progress being” is what is named.
Form: