As it becomes dawn, the sun brings rays of gold,
We wander through moments, both timid and bold.
Mistakes, like leaves, fall softly from trees,
A whisper of lessons carried on the breeze.
No shame in stumbles, no guilt in the fall,
Each misstep a heartbeat, a lesson for all.
With every miscalculation, a story unfolds,
The beauty of growth, more precious than gold.
Perfection, a mirage, a fleeting sweet lie,
While fulfillment awaits in the truths we untie.
We wander through shadows, embrace the unknown,
In the messiness of life, our spirits have grown.
Let us dance freely, with joy as our guide,
In the arms of our failures, just keep your pride.
For the essence of living lies not in the score,
But in heartfelt connections that open each door.
To live is to stumble, to rise and to learn,
In the flicker of life, let the passion still burn.
With each twist and turn, we may falter and sway,
But it's the journey that matters— this is the way.
A blooper, a blunder, a bungle, a botch
A miscue, a misstep, misjudgment and more
A faux pas, a boo-boo, a bumble for sure
A miscalculation, a miscomputation, grade goes down a notch.
A wedding in Cana and Jesus was there.
A miscalculation, a bit of a scare.
They ran out of wine before it was through.
What were they to do? What were they to do?
“Do whatever He tells you.”
The mother of Jesus said, “They have no wine.”
It didn’t concern Him. It wasn’t His time.
But she didn’t argue. She already knew
What He was to do… What He was to do…
“Do whatever He tells you.”
At Jesus’ direction they filled every jar
With nothing but water. It seemed quite bizarre.
Then to the headwaiter they took some to review.
What was he to do? What was he to do?
“Do whatever He tells you.”
The headwaiter tasted, they heard him avow,
“It seems that the best wine was saved until now.”
In all the disciples the faith had just begun
By what the Lord had done. By what the Lord had done.
“Do whatever He tells you.”
Dont brake the silence
dont say a word
my miscalculation was big
my mistake was bold
I cant see in your eyes
what I was looking for
familiarity played a type of trick
I had never seen before.
Jessica
Bedsprings crochet bones together.
His back is sutured to gripes
stitched to gummy joints.
In the toilet, avoiding the mirror,
humming softly,
shunning conversation with himself -
the ceiling drips a sump of memories.
The park --- Frances revolves confused.
"I don't understand."
A phrase with self-winding words.
A slight miscalculation,
a turning away at the precise moment
she turned towards him;
an error of timing really.
Frances whirs on "I don't understand."
Later he understood she overdosed.
He imagines this lethal power
over her life to be his.
Time whittles cavities with calcifications.
Softly the spine of a storybook breaks -
where one stitch patches a sorrow
a spur prods and rips.
When he listens to the hollows
between the long vertebrae of his life,
he hears a theory crumbling away
under slowly grinding cogs.
Calculating the Next Full Moon
David J Walker
It seems there would be a certain
Expectation of the consistent phases
Of the moon
Is it not where we left it
the last time
We needed an explanation of
What went wrong
Is it an allegory of an algorithms
Miscalculation
Is it the result of putting
Too much trust
In moon dust
I was sure it knew my name
As it turned its face in
Indifference
The same as the last quarters
reflection
of an overcast
Midnight production
the greatest misfortune of {us}
is that you only seem to recall
a few black pages of our relations
nonchalantly tossing aside the gilded chapters
that made up the volumes of our past...
your miscalculation...you sought to suck satin
out of a denim man
always a shade less than your expectation
a texture that rouged your mental skin..
and of what cloth do you drape yourself in
nowadays
We should teach the chimpanzees to read
the names of certain things. Objects like tools
for instance
then label the tools: hammer, saw, axe,
screwdriver etcetera, then screws and nails.
Teach them just enough words to know
a pickaxe from a pencil…just a few practical words
for practical applications, not too many,
otherwise they might turn into poets,
and god-knows we don’t need anymore of that.
The chimps could build dog kennels for dogs,
shelves for their tools. Park benches for
other more elderly chimps.
They will, of course have no use for words
like romance, religion and politics.
If they wanted to fight among themselves
(as chimps often do),
they could simply go back to grunting,
screaming and throwing sticks at each other,
as we used to.
I might have made a miscalculation,
maybe tools for low-tech apes
eventually leads to holocausts and Hiroshima.
Perhaps after all,
we will just teach them how to write poetry
for those who prefer their muse
to scream and grunt a bit.
Then maybe we can start on the dogs and cats;
force them to play the piano for a living.
Bedsprings crochet bones together.
His back is sutured to gripes
stitched to gummy joints.
In the toilet, avoiding the mirror,
humming softly,
shunning conversation with himself -
the ceiling drips a sump of memories.
The park --- Frances revolves confused.
"I don't understand."
A phrase with self-winding words.
A slight miscalculation,
a turning away at the precise moment
she turned towards him;
an error of timing really.
Frances whirs on "I don't understand."
Later he understood she overdosed.
He imagines this lethal power
over her life to be his.
Time whittles cavities with calcifications.
Softly the spine of a storybook breaks -
where one stitch patches a sorrow
a spur prods and rips.
When he listens to the hollows
between the long vertebrae of his life,
he hears a theory crumbling away
under slowly grinding cogs.
Forgive when it’s a mistake.
It’s just an error, oversight or omission!
Or may be a fallacy, a gaffe, a faux pas or simple solecism.
Or even a howler or a clanger.
Ultimately it's just a miscalculation, misunderstanding,
Misinterpretation, misapprehension or just a misconception!
Realisation is the only cure!
And remember, it’s not your chore!
Play the blame game only if you want to distort your scores!
For, only those who analyse can actually realise!
And, then it becomes lesson of one’s life.
Understand, a mistake is a mistake, it’s not a crime!
Yes, you have a duty to understand, stay clam and to be wise.
Effortless beautiful camaraderie will surely rise.
Just forgive when it’s a mistake.
Life is so beautiful, why unnecessarily complicate?
The Forest floor sodden, after thaw.
Widow makers out/in horizontal draw.
Stalactites, waiting
for the mis-trodden,
like web and spider maw.
For miscalculation, error in judgment.
Spinning disc through the tree-blind.
But you've been sent.
To get help, medicine, equipment.
Of a dire kind, in dire need.
They are counting on you.
Become the wind through the trees,
like elemental spirit,
laugh at the faceslaps of daggered L' eaves.
More speed.
Miscalculations and moments of self-assertion
These mistakes, I wish I learned the first time
Abating in my conceit with obvious wounds to show
A battered and bitter human but less off a being
Inward and beyond, a lack of will rest in the void
No righteous fury to arise and truly feel alive
Inward and beyond, I am not whole- Trace back the symptomatic scares
They tell the tale of a troubled trance
Docile to my own demise
But now, with audacious hands over my eyes I let the darkness inspire
A sight for all sore eyes exposed to artificial light
Forced immolation, polish the blemishes that tarnish me until I dissipate in my search for divination
I watch the days pass by through transparent walls
It eats away at me to stand so still, we must dispel the benevolent ideas of boredom
You are the journey; failing to experience yourself
Sedated by the government; our attention distracted
A second hand reality priced, contorted, recycled
Tubular wires, umbilical dreams seem real
Under electric dynamite when they explode
The horizon rises with five planets in sight
A place where days never end
There are so many small suns
Settings are impossible to comprehend
Orange ones follow red giants around
They all glow with such persistence
No one there to count the orbits
Of stranger objects coming into view
In space there is no place for error
One slight miscalculation will end
What was a fascinating invention
Of a mind stretched on a cord
To the limits of imagination
Of tubular wires dancing electric
Dreams so real you can touch them
As they explode with internal combustion
Torn emotions ripped apart by light
Umbilical cords on the cosmic ocean
So real you can reach the solid side
To feel how indifferent the universe really is
When landing softly on a foreign surface
The pulse vibrates with volcanic terrains
As oxygen runs out and the mask fogs up
Just as infinity takes its turn to come alive
What went wrong with the plan
That I should be here?
A rare miscalculation, a muddle and confusion
That I was meant to be.
Did your attention drift to give me the
Blessed curse of life and choice?
A dog perhaps, dragonfly, or book,
A shrub or stream I should be.
Do you know by now the mistake you made
That I should have a soul?
Quick sands cave in depths of primal darkness
In marshy mud reeds slither waiting to aggress
Hope of escape from the whirlpool disappears
Risk paves the life’s pathway for fate to ingress.
If in miscalculation the insecure footsteps falter
The sands and the reeds won’t wait much longer
Animated they’d extend virile hands to capture
If walking on the troubled life the travelers tire.
The survival struggle would begin in fatal earnest
In a journey where life wobbles in constant unrest
The residual energy would strive and persevere
To exist till the time comes to take the final rest.
Destiny isn’t an excuse for one’s walk in the dark
Lighting the pathway is the inner lamp’s work
In glitter of wisdom the destination is seen clear
On a journey of contentment life would embark.
Written : December 7, 2017
May 30, 2020
Contest : Brian's Choice 11
Sponsor : Brian Strand
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