Mixing Poems - Poems about Mixing

Mixing metaphors in the morning Coffee craving stills the brain Active principle lying passive Roar of silence calls in vain For no one leads when no one follows Nothing lasting will remain In the moment where all is timeless Self and other just the same (9/8/23)...

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Mixing in the Moonlight Dear darling, gaze ye at the blood red moon. Ancient light that calls with its bright red tones. Fret not, on the breeze there will be no tune. For the loss is great, witness how she moans. How can we lowly sinners, give her hope? Her pain daunting, my love, that is so true. The poor boy...

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My grandfather seemed wise with years walking his rural spiritual path in a relentlessly white Christian dualistic church dividing sinful nature from sacred spirit. He counseled: Do not mix religion and politics. I wonder how he would feel about this mix of sacred and profane if he were to meet my out lesbian activist senior UU minister. Clearly we have mixed up our religious community within our local political culture When we called this gendered clergy person we...

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A blender Can be used for mixing or crushing Of many things Including the visible and the invisible Happiness can survive alone But happiness sometimes does blend With sadness While you're touring you see Startling poverty While you're enjoying food With a lot of people yearning for it At this moment Feelings in your heart Seem to be mixed by a blender Sadness always...

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When you look forward with a sense of dread; And yet there is no gun aimed at your head. You try to find the joy, but there is none. The concrete pour looms large; let's get her done. At least there is a thought that does console: Peach cobbler, homemade ice cream, in a bowl....

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*** THIS WEEK *** (“If my doctor told me I had six minutes left to live, I wouldn’t brood. I’d type a little faster.” Isaac Asimov) The sliced portions of this week Collapsed, an almost eloquent fall Into a slow-motion slide Of morsels Then, still unnoticed, on into The soft blue crystals of This week’s ending — being Merely a measure...

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Past future continuously and forever ...

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It's easy to think of the mixing of spirits as being something sexual... because, in a way, it always is. Mixing engenders the kinds of connections that go deeper inside than the usual interactions. It's easy to think that you know what's happening when you're oblivious to the sword of the truth. When you don't understand all the nuances and subtleties it's easy to think you know what's...

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Thanks to all those brave souls, the trail blazers that has gone before us. They who fell in love, back when white society wasn't so excepting or was intolerant of mix marriage. Love is made of tough stuff, couples had it ruff. So, for a while, some lovers even kept a low profile. This has been going on for a long while. But they took a leap...

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How can a father forget their son’s names? Josh/Bobby or Bobby/Josh who can remember Laughter that came to my ears when they would laugh at me Am I the only one who mixed up their children’s names? Today is much easier then yesterday I forgot how to yell at them WHO, left theirs toys on the floor Bobby/Josh? WHO, ran through...

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Sex is to have fun, not to mix the gene pool Let's be honest, the gene pool will mix itself with the right tool But oh what fun Till we're done I vote to change the system, I'll be waiting in the vestibule...

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Slow- fire gleams upon a nearby field as I gather herbs from twig-like strips adding creamy broth to stir the brew under a moonlight of summer’s heat … The mellow breeze warms my thoughts where hands pour lemon mint, in a campfire kindling essence of words for poetry soup: then to ...

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If we could peel back the blanket of earth To expose the bones buried there Mix them all up in a great big pile To say they'd all look the same would be fair The rich man, the poor, the blind and the weak Each gender, religion and race The short, the tall, the large and the small And include every shape...

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I have a set of mixing bowls handed down from my Grandmother. There are four bowls in the set that nest within each other. The bowls she gave into my care, have a long history to tell. I will try to share some of it with you I hope I tell it well. The smallest...

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I'm an artist of life within a timeless adventure. Every thought and emotion is dabbed onto my palette for my mind to mix infinite colors of bold dreams to transparent memories. My life is a canvas that only I can paint the masterpiece....

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