Mulling Poems

To Ponder or Not to Ponder

To ponder or not to ponder - that is the question.
Is it a waste of my precious seconds, minutes, hours
To dwell on the questions that plague my mind?
I spend my waking and waning hours mulling and considering,
Crashing waves of question marks and possibilities
Dance around in my mind's eye, quelling the beast of sleep.
A skeptical girl's dream is a paranoid's nightmare.
The mind wanders the winding path, ways blockaded by the
immaturity of age's eye. Paths extend, 
arms outstretched, sclera comes into view. I enter the land
of darkness and trivial trifles, numbers rapidly rising.
To observe then look away - oh what a gift.
The fluttering, juvenile gaze upon life offers a plethora of privileges.
A jovial demeanor, an emaciated ego, a blithe smile - 
charities that are given to the majority.
The plights that plague me are mere afterthoughts
in the meandering mind of the thoughtless. Idealizing,
reading, puzzling reserve themselves for the
fragmented, slightly distorted. And now I must
ponder, what the slightly distorted
save themselves from.

In the Invisibility

whereas I, by chance, talking to myself, finding myself
alone, enclosed by four walls and a door, knock
to see, in the invisibility, with x-ray ability, not held,
if you dear reader, sitting by your nightlight, might
switch it on and find a word to speak silently
or out loud; your choice. the ones you borrow

from a native tongue, feeling
their incomprehensible weight,

stopping mid-sentence, to ponder if you are moved
in the slightest bit; I’m biting my lip in anticipation,
though I’ve no inkling that you're mulling over
my thoughts, my doubts, my innards, my all.

now, I, think of you, sitting by a scintilla of light,
moonlight marvels at the roundness of your lips
as you nearly sing your “o’s;” sonnets seem
sensual alongside the bed, though always grieving.
love is a dog, a walk in the woods, a lark.

leave me be. let me remember you as I long to.
don’t say goodbye, but leave my sighs on the table,
where you first met me, and I almost met you,
and you, dear reader, take back up with me,

though now there’s a familiarity between us,
lost in the shadows, amidst the stars
and you can nearly hear me breathing.

Impending Doom

The end is nigh.
As the sun goes down 
on my life aboard a Titanic-like ship,
infinitesimal time 
is being sucked into death's vacuum.
Amid all the frenzy 
and anguished screams,
a fiddler still carries on 
with devil-may-care nonchalance.
He has accepted his fate,
but I'm in a race against time.
How much is left?
How much time 
to regurgitate 
all the things I've long digested?
The suppressed words
deep within me
that has rotted in abeyance?
How much time is left 
to vomit all these unexpressed words 
upon family and friends?
Will I finish in time 
saying my final goodbyes 
and expressing 
how I truly feel to all and sundry?
Making apologies 
for all slights I've ever caused? 
Do I even bother visiting 
regrets of unfinished dreams
or mulling over life not fully lived?
After all, these are slowly drowning with me.
All hope is gone, 
but I do know one thing,
I shall make peace with the Lord,
praying that he has mercy 
on my soul.

Puddle

Sinking butterflies drip from the cocoon of consciousness
which no bee nor horse fly could understand for a blink,
and which even humans wish could retreat to the fallen:
Of a body, of a vein, of a spot across a field.

In what daisy does that petal float
where it found it's fateful bee that resists its wings.
Threats from the concrete river keep it mulling,
always waiting for the stem reincarnate.

Why caterpillar nor sunflower betroth it gift
is a bee's greatest myth.
While men worry of time not spent changing
black and yellow armies collapse with no wars raging.

Ripple through, wave goodbye, droplets leave for the sky.
A bee must drown,
a caterpillar will scatter,
only for the butterfly, with wings agape, to show its beauty in death that waits.

Sticks and stones will kill on sight
anything which proposes light.
Black and white stripes guide only us at night,
how funny that stripes are walked upon without a fight.

Merry Christmas Anew

MERRY CHRISTMAS ANEW

Kisses mulling by an open fire,
Or snowflakes falling on our nose,
Gifts of love ...is what we all desire,
On Christmases now and long ago

Everybody knows that ginger spice in apple pie,
A dash or two now don’t be slight,
Children excited pacing to and fro, 
Hope to have a slice tonight,

They know that Christmas, just hours away
There’ll be presents, treats, and goodies that whole day, 
And on that very night won’t close their eyes,
Til Mama softly sings them, Silent Night,

And so, for those who are a child at heart, 
A Holiday of old or Christmas anew,
Whatever the way, may it be always said, Merry Christmas, to you

Waterfall

Cascading torrents of angst
Once more, I wallow in depression
Sitting in the dark
Mulling over these things
Once more I stare my inadequacies in face
Nothing has changed, he is the same
Damn
To think, that I thought I had changed
Fool\
Drenched in melancholic tones
Why am I here
Constantly losing myself
What is the purpose of this
I could blame all of creation
For producing a flawed being
But I know that if I was perfect
I would still be a problem
Sorry
Its not you, its me.
Do I ruin everything I touch
Why does the world seem to crumble in my hands
Is this my curse
And there he goes again
Blaming omens and gods
The problem is me
Forgive me
Sorry, No
Leave me in torment

This Metaphor of Life

Alone, I amble through the garden dying
Mulling over the ending of another summer,
Realizing that all things have their season
Comes a sadness with the drooping stems
Petals lying on the ground like soft pebbles
Tenaciously hugging their fast-fading colors.

Do they remember being lovingly touched
Fondled upon the briary stem in passing,
Or is their life over, tossed aside in autumn
When their bloom has faded and cast off
Like we humans come to in our end times
Lying beneath the earth to rot unnoticed.

Seems a subject worthy of consideration
As I amble, alone, through this metaphor
Of life and its inevitable passing with time
To make way for other flowering youth,
Who will experience a casual adoration
Then fall away to be trampled underfoot.

Written September 9, 2022

The Quiescent Water Way

Still shallow waters,
Fish unseen, hugging the brackish bed,
Salt grass and saltwort give ample shade
And shelter from hungry predators 
That fly around the insurmountable 
Pinnacles of the surrounding hills.

The lad sits quietly on a small wooden pier,
Mulling on thoughts that elevate his soul.
No vale of darkness shall invade his being,
At least not while he rests before the stretch of water.
For there alone he feels at peace.
Indeed the quiescent waters refresh him.
Even the flapping of some solitary sea duck
Will not ruffle his meditative mind.

Suddenly he hears voices and a boat arrives
To end his peaceful stay on the water way.

A Pipe Dream

Back on Baker Street -
pulling on a calabash pipe.
Paganini and Bach stream through
a cracked third-story window.

The Merseybeat’s…
the disaffected Pink Floyd years,
Mary Jane brain, mulling over 
puffing magic dragons;
reading Sherlock Holmes
secretly.

Today, downloading
a picture of myself back then,
no pipe just a youthful smirk
as I strut down that busy road.

Sometimes I wish I still smoked.

Dictum Dichotomy

Amulet graced by gems
clad for stratum prow

tawny glyphs
margin of witticism

& quagmire

extravagant dictum
trivialize shores trails

summer ousted
& waves of wrangles

sundered the ocean 
& swapped my spirit

in crimson burst
swirl to scatter

In demolishing ruins 
& twilight crumble 
slump of man

glittering Phoenix fire trail
scribble a cyan-xantos rhyme. 
 
bore a shallow rostrum

defective soothsayer 
haunts dreams? 

hilltops & both 
oceans & skies

cyclone of  emotions
&
lethargic sadness
soul storm mulling.

5TH Place Contest winner

Written: July 19, 2022

A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand

How Sad

7/3/22



Still mulling
Soon to be culling
Something always pulling
The same can be said for lulling
As well as constant gulling
With little if any way of nulling 
From neglect sharpened objects began dulling

In a cage, behind a fence or unleashed
Still a bunch of sheep
One creep sunk teeth
Now the victim's family must weep
Rarely getting much sleep
It's been years not just some week
Does little good to just cheat
The answers run deep
But they do not come cheap
What was once bleak
Turned into treasure instead of a junk heap
Truth be told, it takes a lot of upkeep

Wow man
It's really gotten out of hand
Nearly everything is now a scam
Done through a screen and with a mousepad
How sad
Many in power still corrupted walking around like a proud man
For a long time, I was down bad

Took a tougher stance
Then I discovered that
It's a continual puppet dance
All these s get rich off other's backs
Slip up you'll go under fast
Not getting another chance
As they attempt to cover tracks
In comes a younger cat
Occasionally got to where need be by way of hovercraft

Beyond Brains

BEYOND BRAINS

Oh! my poor soul! Worn out of what I am?
A loop of having evil after wicked!
My mood riding the rollercoaster,
Fearless and being gearless.

Who wants to take up the responsibility?
Science or spiritual, sigh is never.
Pushed to a cliff of crocodiles.
Abashed with what have done in.

On the mossed rock I sit, legs crossed,
Waiting for an answer from above
Who wants to unleash the evil,
and bring in the spring of joy?

 I sensed a cold hand on my shoulder 
Brought warmth to my hilarious heat. 
“It’s just the Monthly One!” shook me up,
Realized the ridicule, shutting my eyes,
Feeling daft of mulling over.

I'Ve Been Thinking

I’ve been thinking
Which some folks would deem a stretch,
For my ideas are sometimes far out
And they can make some friends kvetsch.

I’ve been thinking
Giving my grey matter some exercise
Mulling over some worthy ideas
Trying on a few deep issues for size.

I’ve been thinking
About life in general and the hereafter
In an out-of-the-box fashion, I’d say,
Provoking sadness, and some laughter!

I’ve been thinking
‘Twill do no harm, I’m sure you’ll agree,
When I share with you more of my thinking
In the various forms of lyrical poetry. 

Written April 7, 2022

Teetering On the Brink

I stand on the brink of tomorrow’s joys
Listening to the whispering of a gentle mist
Kissing the breezes as they come my way,
Mulling over how I spent this awesome day,

Wondering how much was clamoring noise
Echoing through a preoccupied mind I missed,
And trying to recall why I came here to stay
Mulling over how I spent this awesome day.

I peer over the edge at tomorrow’s ploys
In my mind reviewing this remarkable list
Of plans laid over, huge lumps of pliable clay, 
Mulling over how I spent this awesome day,

Teetering on the brink, clutching my poise,
Between today and tomorrow an unseen twist
In my attitude, so casual, come-what-may
Mulling over how I spent this awesome day.

Written January 13, 2022

Wandering, Not Lost

When I go to the meadow
I am wandering, I’m not lost,
Like my breath on the pane
To honor winter’s ol’ Jack Frost.
When I write to you a poem
Or, sing you a special song,
I am happily expressing
With love, I want you along.
I think of you constantly
You mean more than any cost,
So, when you see me mulling
I am wandering, I’m not lost!

submitted to "Deserves a Second Chance" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sotto Poet

written December 9, 2021
especially for "Pick-A-Title, Vol 27" poetry contest
sponsored by Edward Ibeh

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