a man of few words~ can’t be an Irishman
my man of few words
tells me he'll always love me . . .
few words are true words
At nineteen she’s beautiful—
chic and slim
Legs as smooth as a king’s javelin
She’s gentle in her speech, like the flow of a stream
With a face, the glamour of a cloudless skyline
She wears the sexiest of silk garments
And the finest of beads in the world of ornaments
We gape at her from the backyard fence
And wish we could ever afford her bride price.
But Tonya is not your ordinary character
She lives in the farthest of distant worlds
With a book on her lap she travels Miles
Dating and flirting with invisible ghosts
Sometimes she smiles as she reads, we wonder!
Who talks to books? We ask in surprise
She raises her eyebrow, distracted and irritated
She shakes her head and shuts her book.
Her father is an old man of few words
A chief ever scorning the white man’s books
He drinks his wine and plays his harp
He sings his songs of the battles he fought
Her mother is the youngest of the chief’s wives
A remarkable diviner with an air of romance
She speaks highly of Tonya and the chief is provoked
‘That pair of pumpkin heads fool of books!’
@Asiimwe Simon
Pain eats at me with a hunger that cannot be satisfied
Darkness not even the blind would know
Still I put on my mask for others to ease there pain
Have a seat welcome to the show
I battle the cravings
Still some how wanting that sweet taste of chaos and unrest
The feeling of watching bullets fly by
While you stand still without a bullet proof vest
I try with all my might to keep my demons locked away
Remaining calm and somewhat collected
My demons bring destruction while others just play
I'm a man of few words
I keep to myself
My past is put away
On an unreachable shelf
Most have no clue
Only stories that they've heard
Mainly things that have been made up
Or changed by adding a word.
Down deep though I feel some thing
Like the fuse never went out
A desire to show others who I was
The life I was about
Keep pushing
Remind me of how it felt
I might be the Ace and eight of spades
In the final hand your dealt
As for now I'll stay quiet
Seeing with my ears and watching with my eyes
For I might be the reaper
When the time comes for you to say goodbye
He’s a man of few words when he wants to be
And his silence can rival the Sphinx,
But be spins a good yarn during therapy
With his analyst pouring the drinks.
His obsession with fishing’s a mania,
Always dying to dangle the bait.
His aversion to marriage, a phobia,
His fiancée will just have to wait.
It’s all cowboy psychiatry, mirrors and smoke
In some Freudian home on the range.
Though this good ol’ boy’s often laid out on the couch,
I don’t think he’s likely to change.
He’s obsessive compulsive habitually
In matters to which he is drawn,
And he’s down at the topless bar ritually,
Unless there’s a football game on.
He’s conflicted about schizophrenia,
Thinks anxiety’s nothing to dread.
He exhibits selective amnesia,
And he’s passive aggressive in bed.
It’s all cowboy psychiatry, cognitive bull,
And those inkblots are all kind of strange.
He’ll always deny its denial, no doubt.
I don’t think he’s likely to change.
Regardless his problems,
He’d rather be thera-pissed off, than thera-pissed on.
Blue heaven lying beneath the shapeless moon night,
Clad in grey, in boots pitch black, he stood there.
A man of few words was "he";
Aloof, widowed and bleak.
Mundane and labelled weak;
Habitual to be unseen.
Inhaling the bitter cig, addicted! he wearily grieves,
Deplorably, at his slain dreams.
Debris of fragmented blades , entombed in his veins,
the demons framing his shame , how vain!
Self-hate failed to abstain.
Bridled by his woes, he mercilessly pleads, to those that he owes,
Disdained by his colleagues, tattling, 'He reaped what he sowed!'.
Destined to be abhorred, believing,
Drained, tattered and throbbing with pain...
Until he came upon a painted lake,
Of withered souls akin, languishing, to be sane...
12-8-19
Eight Word Challenge
Emile Pinet
Words
By: Tom
8-11-2019
Haiku
A man of few words
May never convey his point;
Though thoughts weigh heavy.
He was already a man of few words
but her death left him completely silent
and bereft
as if she took to heaven with her
whatever few words he had left.
Quiet man of few words
Dreamer and free spirit
Curious and passionate
Tinkering and inventive
Creative and hardworking
Nothing came easy
Worked for everything he ever got
Lived life wholeheartedly
And mostly on his own terms
Dedicated father
Devoted husband
A full life but hardly long enough
To enjoy some last easy years
He loved to say
He were leading the good life
He earned everything he got
He planned a peaceful life
At one with the outdoors
Working the land
Reaping the fruits of labor
Aching muscles and content heart
Well earned smile
As each sun set
At the end of it all
Finally rewarded with
The peace he always wanted
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~A SIMPLE MAN~ 2020
AP: 3rd place 2020
What do you do? Fine - I'll mention other things,
In Jo"burg, the expats were bored - went to
a roundabout and drove around, disgraceful,
don't you play any sport? Not even couch-rugby?
I used to race go-karts, play tennis, chase
the girls, even in winter, oddly in autumn;
I'm a chess player, bunch of nerds, no wonder
sometimes I'm a man of few words, expletives.
And now - I travel, write homily on Koh Samui beach,
with vacant-eyed Nesbo just out of reach,
writing is a lonely job, like waiting to die,
you'll find out - no matter how far you may fly.
Nesbo had just committed another repetitive crime,
while I was still battling with endless rhyme.
A man of few words,
The pithy writer wrote
In a classic style,
Leaving so much more
For you to indulge
Your inner child;
Here's the brief story,
Journey Journal script,
My brief story
Re-jig end to start:
"Once upon a time,
Not so long ago...
Forge a brand new start,
Begin at The End;
Reverse engineer,
Embrace pain and wit."
Leon Enriquez
15 December 2017
Singapore
I crave moments with him,
Wonderful memories I long to replay.
A gaze from his beautiful hazel eyes
Pierces my subconscious,
Our lives entwined in an intricate way.
He is a man of few words,
Yet our conversations dive deep,
Into realms even I can't fully understand.
My heart recognizes
Each unspoken gesture,
Every silent word—
Like the melody of a beloved song:
So familiar,
So comforting,
So perfectly content.
Third day on her honeymoon
Sharon asks Butch what it's like
for a man before he gets married.
A bricklayer by trade,
and a man of few words,
Butch doesn’t know what to say
but he knows Sharon has always
liked to go bowling; in fact,
that’s how this odd couple met.
So he tries an analogy although
he doesn’t know it’s an analogy.
From age 12 on, Butch tells her, he
always felt like he had a bowling ball
in his pants; that was a problem.
He couldn’t find pants to fit.
When he became a man he joined
bowling leagues, three or four, and
went bowling as often as he could.
Then Butch tells Sharon he met her
and knew he had to quit bowling
having found a lane of his own.
Donal Mahoney
Hi, my name is Jerry
My close friend Lou passed away this week
He was a very avid and knowledgeable baseball guy
People were amazed when they talked baseball with Lou
He knew all about the players their stats, their strengths and weakness
He taught the fundamentals of the game when coaching all ages of kids
He had the a special talent that he could spot a kid with a special trait for baseball
Lou always had positive encouragement for his players
And you could see him give them a pat on the back for their performance
Lou saw one of his dreams come true that was a summer college league
He was a scout for Detroit Tigers and loved every minute of it
I scouting he would scope out the cream of the crop
He loved his family in his special was and was a man of few words
He helped his children to be the best
Big guy, you are now in your field of dreams
I have a request that you hit one over the moon for old Q-Ball
I will miss you and remember all the good times we had
You're a man of few words, that's what I know.
How about a conversation? Come on let's go.
Is there any chance to be friend?
I hope smile is not the end.
Whenever we've cross our eyes do meet.
You're the only one who gives me a cold feet!
Surely you know how to communicate?
Before it's time for me to abdicate.
The last move I'm going to put to action.
Is to secretly plan an abduction.
To start an interrogation.
Because you to me is a big question.
I'm tired of waiting for a sign
All throughout it is just a big sigh
All I want is a moment of interaction,
Just to fulfill my desperation.
I'm in love because of your smile.
It is also the reason why I'm about to cry.
What I'm offering is priceless,
Now, I'm loveless because of you voiceless.
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