#You_need_not!
Sometimes you need not to shout to be heard
let the work of your hands make all the right noises,
sometimes you need not to master a bible to be a peace maker but to just have a good heart
You need not to own a gun to be muderer
but just to be at a wrong place at a wrong time,
with wrong emotions,
sometimes you need not eyes to see but your conscious to direct you,
you need not wealth to make all the differences but just your time and a listening ear
You need not a 2nd person to make you happy but just to acknowledge the person you are,
you need not to be tapped in the back to know that you are the best
but just be appreciative of your capabilities
You need not
#Poetic_Ink
I am the whisper, subtle and unseen,
A shadow stretching, where goodness has been.
I build my castles on shifting sand,
Demanding tribute from every hand,
A silent monument to what I crave,
A selfish master, a gilded grave.
I stand apart, though surrounded close,
Consumed by self, in the seeds I sow.
We are the bronze-shod feet that do not tire,
The hollow boast that sets the plain on fire;
We crave the field where every loss is gain,
And drink the bitter vintage of the rain.
We are the thirst that no peace can appease,
The roaring mouths that strip the olive trees,
And watch the cities dwindle to a name,
All for the mirrored glory of our flame.
But notice the sunbeam, a delicate gleam,
Piercing the darkness, a hopeful, soft stream.
For even the deepest of shadows can cease,
When the light of awareness brings solace and peace.
The garden can flourish, the ego can cease its reign,
And the self finds connection, again and again.
Forgotten Heroes
“Forgotten Heroes.” Repeated Master Satan.
Yes. Soldiers. Warriors. Hmm. Forgotten lives.
“Forgotten lives.” Yes, these men are deleted.
“Deleted.” Yes. Nobody remembers them. Hmm.
Why do you say this? Because I saw their graves.
“What did you see?” A weedy cemetery. It was sad.
I found a grave. He was twenty-one. In the year 1943.
Passed away. “Passed far.” He was a fighter pilot.
And I saw a little memorial plaque on his tomb.
“Text?” Rosie Mary. His mom. She lived more.
Died after his son's death. Forty years difference.
Poor Mary. I felt very sorry for them. Oh, souls!
This is a very shocking story. Yes. It is that.
There is a Lidl. Ten minutes walk. I bought flowers.
“To them.” Yes. Oh, sad lives. Sad. Says, my heart.
“Says my heart too.” Oh, Master, a cemetery is history.
I found another dramatic fate. Oh, God, where is love?
More deeply. Yes. "Please keep it in mind. Later write."
Hmm.
“Good night.”
What drives
the human heart
to chase and grasp
at fleeting high
living lives of shallow praise?
It’s a shame
the lies they tell
to carve a path
cheating to fill the void
disobeying to master a craft.
But when the day is done
and their name is called
they leave empty-handed
weighed down by thoughts
with not even a car
to keep them company
on the long, lonely road away.
He Was A True Master, A True Master Of His Destiny
I am a sailor, a wanderer, a sailor born to be.
I have sailed mighty oceans, all the seven wide seas.
There is not a soil tiller, not that kind within all of me
I fought the ocean and the gigantic storms throwed at me
I never backed up a single inch, because I am born free
When the dirty pirates raided, I was the first one to fight
I tell you the truth, I killed a dozen that tragic night.
I am a sailor, a wanderer, a sailor born to be.
I have sailed mighty oceans, all the seven wide seas.
I am a raging fighter, bravery flowing in my veins
A restless tiger in this gallant heart, I am without shame
Whether it is pirate swords or hot muskets blazing away
I fight without reserve, as such is just my own courageous way
A penny for your thoughts, a single dollar for your last meal.
I am a sailor, a wanderer, a sailor born to be.
I have sailed mighty oceans, all the seven wide seas.
Robert J. Lindley, March 15th, 1979
Note.( A man without honor, is not a man at all.)
A quote from my father, I was 15 years old back when he said it.
Hindsight
Now there are tears in my eyes
And hindsight shows me a path
Who knows what I might have been
If I’d only trusted in me.
My mind conjures brief glimpses
It downloads my life like a stream
Of scratched black and white movie
Shows I could have had my dream.
The present makes me alive once more
Technology has shown me the way
And I realise what I always knew
I really was born, to sing and play.
As I master a newly written song
That, be fair, will never change a life
A passion burns within my soul, as the
Audience applauds, just one, my wife.
David Cox 22/10/22
seeking warmth of blanket
and sun, Minnesota coated
with snow and ice. cockapoo
paws the window, stretches
near the door…raucous barks
at footfall on the front porch.
father of his master, a stranger
not yet accepted into the pack.
12/23/2021
The puppet master, a master indeed
Control becomes his greatest need
When first with charm, he lures you in
And then he gives it all a spin
Now in his power you feel trapped
Your energy ever steadily sapped
You know not what to do our say
You are confused in every way
The master keeps you on your toes
He tugs and pulls that’s how it goes
Poor you, you never did foresee
That this would ever come to be
A quandary you’re in for sure
A plight that begs for a speedy cure
You hate the dance you’re forced do
You can’t belief that this is you
But like a moth who loved the flame
You knew not how to play the game.
Wendy Nipas
Not a cruel master; a humble assistant;
To visit or not, cannot be done by his choice.
Always carries a portfolio under his arm,
A pre designed schedule saying when and where to attend.
He comes not, though invited; uninvited, stops not coming.
Sometimes comes like an unconventional rain.
He is the mark of beginning and ending of life.
But how unlucky he is!
Always listens to no other emotions except mourning.
Silently tolerates all curses showered.
His job is endless.
No single applause for him.
Perhaps, in Nature
The one and only who is
Blamed for his utmost promptness
Let's Mix It Up Poetry Contest
Verse poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date: 18-10-2021.
Placed : 3rd
man and beast travel along gentle moon lit path,
pink land of enchantment shown in mind eye fair,
neighboring warriors sleeping off their wrath
ethereal future battle in the air,
spirit animal gives master a knowing stare
Assuring a zig-zagging zebra a zinc zim-bam-boo
without cash, is so brash! As then you will have to give two.
Insuring a zoo master a zebra might rim-ram-roo
Practically tantamount to mashing a crashing bamboo.
As if you need any more trouble, my quim-quam-quaroo.
On your dash I shall lash a mashed mangled measly mad macaroo.
A sillier more gnashy poem I could try to get you.
But first let me throw in some trash, and a rash for us two.
Fire is the master of change
But also of being untamed
None of us its master; a mage
It burns so hot, don't get maimed
It changes with the air
Using fuel to burn bright
Whats in its path it does not care
Destructive little burning light
It can be snuffed out
But its path it took to run,
Especially on midnight drought
It burns bright as a morning sun
A little flame so swayed
By the breath of man and time
It may even fade
From the cold world from which it lie
The flame flickers
It changes its way
In a fight we are not the victors
And the flame burns another day
We cannot control fire
But we can change the flame
An element i do admire
Destructive, but not to blame
Write for writing sake
Rest of the arguments are nothing but fake
Keep continue writing anything on any topic
From earth to heaven, heaven to earth
Do not listen to any one
If they could write they would not talk
Writing could not have any rules
Like love and war in writing also everything thing is possible
On earth no rules are existed that could not be violated
No ways on earth that could not be implemented either
You just need to master a thing
And that thing is nothing but the art of telling.
Solitude, blissful, happiness we can't buy
Attitude lacadescal, as we attempt to master a skill
An emotion , A gift
A scientist's potion without an hypothesis
Mother nature never takes from the poor my friend
But i cant seem to close the door to hell
Maybe because i lack the intelligence
It's all manufactured as sharp as a bevel edge
Consumers cry out for something new to pull off the self
Business men tamper with the known outcome we call tragedies
I wonder why?
But still we sell the truth and buy the lie
As the Ashakic records reflect
Atlantis once had it right
A power from a crystal that once lit a whole city at night
And that ancient wisdom is said to be buried under the Spinx
The Father of Terror
A King that still Reigns
So to speak he still applies his trade
LOVE
The most powerful force in the universe and not just
for the normal reasons people think of.
Love will make a mother, five feet zero pick a three
thousand pound car off of her child,
Love will allow a man to defend to death an intrusion
on the well being of his wife and offspring,
And love will allow a man and woman to teach their
children how to live with care and respect,
remain meek and mild
Until the forces of evil come for their soul.
I do love the thought, the feelings and giving my entire
being to a few people that grab my heart,
I am happy to have a wife, children, grand and great
grands that have captured my soul.
In this story there is a love of a people being shafted
daily, being destroyed from without and within
by a race with no soul or heart
And with their desire to master a world for which they
really have not one bit of control
Would rather destroy a whole world to prove they are
NOT AT ALL RIGHT.
Reid J. Lewis
06/20/2015
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