It's all about to come to fruition
to seath up and boil over in volume and commission
The intention of the off hand is to present the will of the common
driving down to the bottom with no cause to empty the plenty free you see.
I cast no spell to either side tho I hide behind honorable walls ready to peak around the side and utter my righteous mantra.
I might just have fun with the sincerity of others who are afraid of what they are told to be afraid of.
With love so right it's wrong to know when "no" means more to you than to them requiem this intent to stint the stench sent by the unrepentant to persistent intent.
I bask in the glory filled fortified facts that we stack high abroad to attack when everyone is watching.
Desencly watching with no way of knowing where you're going.
If they're told to hate do they know when to cease?
To release all bindings and so called findings of convenient facts
That stack on there mind so high they can't see over their own failure
To see that their freedom has been redefined for their confinement.
As I look to see the way she stands
when I leave
-I'm surprised as if a wave,
reminds me.
As long as the shadow of etertinity-
drawn from the drip of the cup
of our unspoken insecurity.
Is it purity or impurity?
As far apart
you feel away,
I never think myself the villain.
When when is the stark beneficiary of today.
When our feelings go out to 'plain
from a side-turn you're right of me,
on, what happens with loves burning,
churning a flames symphony
within a sacred play.
We always go off hand,
off road of the clear path.
I mean to say, that come hell or hound,
they are gonna stand on either way-
of our aftermath.
-
Debris of props in our execution of stay.
If a thought comes and if love has taken away,
its place is a man who loves a thing,
even the trace-
Of a day that can be just you.
Shining its beloved face.
"Bold" was all I could think about his plan
To just go fishing and not go to school
Brilliant was what it was - on or off hand -
All who saw it that day thought it was cool
Worms was what was lacking - and that was all
So I dug around until bait was had
Slimy things fishing worms, just a gross ball,
But it's a thing for bringing fish to hand
So slipping out a school room door that day-
Two boys, a can of worms, a fishing plan -
Until Mrs Smith then caught on to our play
And stuck a hand into our wormy can
Sounds that I did not know - but did Mrs Smith
Still may stay in that school room air forthwith
7-15-20
Contest: Lipogram Poem
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Welcome to where I stand or sit
Mostly the latter to be real
In my twilight, or golden years
Where the land of old man's the deal
My retirement is impending
But in the land of old man you'll see
The "Golden" years of retirement
Aren't all they're cracked up to be!
My giving up punching the clock
Was looking great to me off hand
But Arthur Rightus said, "Hold on,"
"You're now in the land of old man!"
So as I sit here on my throne
I realize I need some more bran
Though hard to chew, it helps me through
This place called, "The land of old man!"
sweat off hand when to understand the twist of such a man
in the garden you prayed to your father was it any wonder
shelter left for shelter and falling under
just to touch the hem on his garment
the pitter patter of soft sandal feet
there in intense pain with blood droplets
never the less let your will be down thine kingdom come
Jesus Christ died 2,000 years ago today
on the cross for all the world to see
what was his prayer what was his final plea
father forgive them they know not what they do
he said the prayer now the rest is up to you
you had known us from the very beginning
even onto this very day we close our eyes to pray
shadows block the vortex of the myraid eye
temples in hiding to do their bidding
you know the very hairs on each of our heads
gripping fragments of explanations
The Blue Bandaid
on the track to the river
the red shoe
green skirt
blood stained knickers
splatter on the trail
the hacked off hand
the offhand remark
brings you back
to where you were
the blue band aid
on the river track
was forensic evidence
of a gruesome
rape murdercase
of yet another
innocent child
No message to send
No corner of light around the bend
Nothing profound to say
Nothing to lift me or any soul this day
Never has this been
Never have I not seen
Bottom of the bottle seems to have the answers
If I dare may ask
Bottom of a bottle,My God,past is past
Then I hear something I can't describe with neither pen nor brush
A sudden calm,A simple ''hush''
''Why do you combine letters and words?''
Why do you write
I couldn't answer off hand nor now.......
It was over in Brooklyn,
No, not a Met’s game.
God forbid that.
“The world was, it was, in some off-hand manner, never meant to go right.”
In which the first man jumped.
It was all over really,
That 12 million people were out of work,
There were already poor people,
But at this point a man could not just “Whistle off, and march on.”
Because he was in the same situation,
So he jumped too.
It was day after day,
That 12,000 people lost their jobs,
Wall Street for some was a “Fairy land to visit, but truly it was a desert to live in.”
And so the men who lost their jobs didn’t want to go home to their wives,
They didn’t want to tell them what happened,
So they jumped as well.
It was nationwide,
That 20,000 companies went bankrupt,
The banks went bankrupt,
As they trembled in their offices waiting for the inevitable.
They got tired of it, so they did anything to “Vary the detestable monotony”
A few more jumped,
A few more died,
All because the found that
“The universe makes a rather indifferent parent at times.”
A Soldier's Story of A Tale
Had Raymond, and I not ever met
By some old and tethered Ancient Inn
We should have sat down and probably set
Besides an eccentric novelty of bumperkin
But inside the open ranges thus the infantry
Has faced many a demonic faces of a face
A soldier has blasted him as he shot at me
While my tears have fallen with utmost reality into his place.
Never did I realize I shot him dead because
For he was an injured fallen soldier thus he was a foe
No one will ever know, he was my enemy of course he was
I truly have to say that's clear enough even though.
The soldier does walk; he thought he'd enlist perhaps
His armed artillery took off-hand like a blast said I
He walks out on his work thus selling his many traps
Needless to say, he had given no reason - why.
Now all through many various and curious wars there are
The untimely deaths of the fallen' soldiers were shot down
Are filtering out and are not met where many a bar there far
For these soldiers have met or helped with a heartfelt half-crown.
Written: Nov. 10, 2014
Theresa Marie W-C
Bullets.
Funny thing with bullets trillions of them are fired every year
hitting nothing only pushing air aside for a brief moment.
Bullets are not birds that fly and have useful destination, say,
catching insects. A bullet’s only purpose is hitting flesh and
it is not very good at it, but if there are enough of them filling
the air someone is bound to be hit. I saw a forest totally
denuded by artillery shells and gun fire, trees looked as hells
kitchen, yet when silence as it always will in a war, rabbits came
out of their burrows feeding on grass. War is meaningless to
animals, but noise disturb them and foxes seek shelter in ruins
eating whatever they find, that might be a human eye or a torn
off hand. If a soldier only fired his gun when he was sure to hit
someone, I do not think munitions makers would be happy,
and tell a soldier to shoot and use his rifle more.
When we were kids we used to climb trees,
Get grubby hands; scrape the skin off our knees.
We jumped in deep puddles and made big mud pies,
But what you said next made me shudder inside.
You sat in the sun; I sat in the shade,
With mum’s homemade ice cream and pink lemonade.
We shared all our secrets, our comics and toys;
Had the same pin ups and kissed the same boys.
As we sat with our wine and thought of the past,
Of the fun that we’d had; a shadow was cast.
You said I was black and the dirt didn’t show,
I was speechless with shock, but you didn’t know.
As you sit in the sun, turning darker than me
I try to figure out the way that you see.
How do I tell you, will you understand?
An off hand remark, burns inside like a brand.
Enter the Arena
Buckle down
Ready?
Set?
KILL!
A gong sounds
We're off
The Hunger Games have begun!
Blades of swords crashing
Arrows whizzing
Run,run,run
Away from the cornacopia
Blood splatters,staining the earth
Bodies splayed on the ground
Some survive
Other die right off hand
Only ONE left to be the victor
Welcome to the Hunger Games...
MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR!!!!
An old man sits on a churchyard bench
with his memories of times long ago.
When he was the Vicar of the church
and the people he’d come to know.
He recalls when he married a couple
on an almost perfect summer’s day.
And how with joy in their young faces
they knelt there before him to pray.
He remembers when he christened twins
who cried the whole ceremony through.
Their mother tried to keep them quiet
but there was nothing she could do.
The church would be full at Christmas
with people standing near the door.
He wondered why they all came
but then didn’t come any more.
And he still remembers the burial
of a young man who died in a car.
Taking his dangerous love of speed
so tragically, a little bit too far.
Near where he sits’ there’s a young boy
kneeling by his Grandmother’s grave.
It’s nearly dark , under a cold wintry sky,
and he’s not really feeling very brave.
The young boy stands with the old man
saying “Grandpa it’s time for us to go ”.
They walk off hand in hand together
on a path now sprinkled with snow.
Enter the arena
Buckle down
Ready?
Set?
Kill!
A gong sounds
We're off
The Hunger Games have begun!
Blades of swords and knives crash
Arrows whizzing.
Run. run, run
Away from the cornacopia!
Blood splatters, staining the earth
Bodies splayed on the ground
Some survive
Others die right off hand
Only one left to be the VICTOR!
Welcome to The Hunger Games!!!!
This is based on a very good book called The Hunger Games (well good in my
opinion). This future distopian science-fiction novel is about future North America.
The Capitol is a very dictator-like establishment and starve their citizens then throw
them into the hunger games, a fight to the death on live television.
In our lives filled with lofty goals,
We may reach for much beyond our means,
And as interest is piqued and grows,
We sell wisps of notions as our pipe dreams,
Yet while news breaches concerned factions,
Of those who would off-hand discount our plan,
You may well consider these actions,
To be the final throes of a desperate man,
Watch me rush headlong at windmills,
Listen to my brave and salient battle cries,
For with nothing I easily afford the shills,
This puffery of pipe dreams which may sink or rise,
Take account of what may be lost,
Incredible credible reputations,
So to me the onus is tossed,
And I afford pipe dream facilitations,
But as prospect becomes tangible,
And peppered pipe dreams begin to spin,
Overt liability then manageable,
The need for my Quixotic services thin,
The writing’s on the wall distinct and clear,
Yet I long for the impossible it seems,
Where I keep the company of the grand seer,
And remain the nexus of fantastic pipe dreams.
- Before I get too much bad press here I want you to know
the term ‘Puffery’ means to build something up with flowery language.
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