My dear, I have only just woken up
and opened the refrigerator
to take out
some joys, some sorrows, and a few blessings.
I wrote a song
and fed it birthday-cake.
The fennel flowers have remained just the same,
only the chair kept beside the window
does not want to sit there anymore.
And on it, last night’s moon
has folded away its white shirt.
I picked it up,
shook it gently,
and a few old afternoons
came tumbling down.
Then I went out to the balcony
and saw
an ant, very slowly,
changing the co-ordinate of my home.
I said nothing to it.
These days, those who have to leave,
on their way out,
should not be called back.
The fennel flowers have remained just the same.
He loved midnight coffee, midnight music
Played harmonica jams like there was nothing to it
Every note he played, his heart and soul ran through it
By: J.N.R Dutton
We all think we can do things which we can’t.
‘There’s nothing to it’ – how we’ll rue those words!
Those other jobs look simple – which they aren’t.
Thus, landing helicopters, roping herds,
injecting diabetics, seem a snip:
but teaching is the softest. “What jackass
could fail at chalk and talk?” Please! Get a grip!
Just try it, bro. Go stand before a class.
We’re at the hotel’s cheese and scrambled eggs.
I’m soon to show Mercedes London’s sights.
What drains my ego to its bitter dregs
(interpreting is easy, right?) is when
I ask the staff ‘Is Big Ben open nights?’
in English, and assure her, ‘que bien!’
An ancient substance,
circling from the sky to the ground,
in its earthly home,
it flows profound.
With a body of jade blue,
twined with occasional rivets of light
it carries the thread of history from before
to now and beyond
traversing milennia worth of night and day.
It holds a captivating and mysterious past
on this tiny blue planet of ours,
in this universe so vast;
time is nothing to it in contrast.
It will remain here.
Far longer than you or I,
indeed far past humans as a whole.
It will stay in its cycle from darkness to light,
a lasting memory, a testament to the Earth.
There’s Nothing To It
I found a piece of nothing in my back yard yesterday.
I’d planned to mow the lawn so tried to move the piece away.
I thought to get behind it, backing off and sneaking round.
But it sensed my every movement and steadfastly held its ground.
Nothing made me angry. Nothing made me swear.
Nothing made me quite so mad as seeing nothing there.
Finally I called my wife. “I need your help.” I said.
There’s nothing on the lawn and Darl, it’s doing in my head.”
She said “I’m seeing nothing. You’ll have to show me where.”
Despairingly I turned and shouted “Look there’s ‘Nothing’ there.”
“Exactly!” spoke my wife “And so it seems we both agree.
and now if you don’t hurry you’ll get nothing for your tea.”
I put away the mower and locked the toolshed door.
“Aah well!” I thought, “At my age nothing matters any more.”
I went inside, switched on the box, still feeling all at sea.
My wife called out “Good luck darl, you’ll find nothing on TV.
Warren Cox
Lethargic and listless
lacking all zest,
I lie on the rocks
under the blazing sun.
The calm sea kisses
the rocky shore,
but no sea breeze
breathes on me.
The salt on my back
basks and bakes
and turns an ugly red.
Nothing to it but jump
back into the cool sea,
tempting the jellyfish
to sting my feet.
But on the beach
the newly crowned queen,
the one who scorns me,
parades herself
scantily dressed,
all eyes riveted on her.
I wonder who's worse:
herself or the jellyfish!
You would need giant shears
To cut a rug,
And why should anyone need to do it?
In their 20s and 30s, they jitterbugged
If you had the energy to pursue it
The jitterbug was a lively dance
That was all the rage,
They danced frantically
Both entirely engaged
In dancing as if there was nothing to it.
All seemed to dance on one spot,
Not using up much space,
They jitterbugged and jitterbugged
At a manic pace
The poor rug suffered that was on the floor
Continuous dancing is the reason that rug wore
It acquired dents and slashes
As if cut by scissors or a knife
Caused by all those young lads and lasses
That cut the carpet, causing the rug strife.
To cut a rug means to dance,
Not just the Jitterbug.
I like to dance the waltz,
Cos, I get a cuddle and a hug.
After waiting for the day to clear
I pause and there below the ground
nagging at my feet , a beast ,
so cleverly looks up at me.
I step back amid the blooms
And chewed my lip
The beast turned the other way
for I was just nothing to it
Life is but a game
With winners and losers,
Winners get what they want
And losers suffer the consequences
The concepts of good and bad
Mean nothing to it,
It's win or lose,
No participation or morality awards
What is the point
Of being good at all
If it doesn't help in the long run,
But puts you.in more danger
Of losing the game called life?
I guess it's human nature
And human error
Because why else would we
Choose to put ourselves in danger
To help others
I guess the ingrained feelings of
Empathy and sympathy in humans
Could be considered the
Greater follies of humankind
But then again, why not
Spice up the game and
Let all have a try?
In the end, it’s still only a game
So just have fun while playing
And play the way you like best
Written on March 23, 2021
can't say that
it was never asked
I don't know the answer
don't bother yourself to ask
all I know is I love you
each day a refreshing new start
we're coupled up together
Baby you know you have my heart
love ya
love ya
I know you know
I love you
something you and I came up
with together
we knew it from the start
we knew it first
in the beginning
my lover
my lady
my friend
From The Auther……..
(snap our fingers to the music
let your soul find the beat
get down right into it
let the music guide your feet
Aint nothing to it but to do it
we can dance all night long
swag, and swag
together
act lie you back aint
got no bone!)
So you thinik you can reach the bottomless
ending where all just becomes heavenly choirs
Well, there is not a single ending i have seen
only contant beginings
There is no stopping this ride
I was gone before it began
Nothing to it just dance
Enjoy the messy massacre of all being and
seek to remember everything
And above all engrave forever the moment you
and i danced in the psychedelic rain sober yet
high on one another
Yes, tattoo that on the pages of the book of my
life
Im trying to piece the puzzle of my mind together but theres missing pieces and all the remaining ones are covered in black stained memories close to shattering like glass always living in the shadows unable to live in the light I am a puppet controlled by life being hung over a pit waiting to be dropped with thin unstable threads being humiliated by pain, prolonged distortion. The audience laugh as i fall down fall down breakdown breakdown
Mannequin puppet is me. I died and now my corpse is a puppet of amusement, a tool a mere discardable item with nothing to it. Empty caress again, nothing nothing nothing nothing.
How much more suffering do i have to go through for someone to help me.
Today feels like it never happened.
I'll be there when your dying, smiliiiing.
The left hands we carry,
that imitates so well what
we call ‘the right’
keep telling us
there is nothing to it,
because they can do it,
and eventually they will
correct whatever it was
that caused the problem
of not being able to cool down
with just an inch of water
lapping against our toes,
which persuasive hands
have told us was fixable
because reality isn’t fixed,
leading us to believe
that eventually water
might start flowing upwards
in the brilliant, magical lie
told to gravity,
who insists upon its planetary truth,
which leading left hands ignore,
while the passive ones
obediently disregard truth
as an issue because fact is
offensive in both its smell
and its gait, causing those that
insisted we needed a king,
insisted we needed
a list of what is wrong,
insisted that we choose
which bullet is more painful
than the other, to wear the
self-appointed title of
‘Judge,’ even though it was
never our decision to make,
because we are still
arguing with the ineffable
about which way
is up.
Upon a ridge I saw the riders coming hard
They were mostly out of towners
But i knew they would go far
They only rested for a moment
High up on that ledge
Beheld a setting majesty
As only could compare
The ranch lit up the shadows long
The riders all so tall
A scorching ball of fizzling light
Descending on the plain
Ma got on and showed them all
There’s really nothing to it
The lieutenant in his glory
It was not this way at all
Their lovely brat so proudly sat
Upon that prancing steed
You think she’d been there all along
A natural indeed
The food was fine and the people great
The company superb
As ever at the greatest place
Historic Reesor Ranch
www.reesorranch.com
You can take a dislike of my rhymes or even read them a hundred times. There is no mood in which I fit, I write what I write there's nothing to it.
I don't think of the words I choose, I put more thought into picking my new shoes.
For me writing is a release no need to call the poet police.
I don't care what anyone thinks, who's to say their poems don't stink!
All I want to do it write I don't care if my grammars alright So please bare this in mind or move along, leave my poems behind.
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