With fustigation to amelioration
We are led by The Law to The Gospel
And in turn The Gospel demands we keep The Law
No epistle of straw, there’s room in the hostel
(Because God’s style to the world is hostile)
We are led by the Spirit
To learn to endear it
Endear what? Is a sinful recitation
Learning to serve others in convocation
(God calls us and overhauls us
Whether one by one and together)
How do we inherit eternal life?
By loving our neighbor as serving kin
Who is our neighbor?
The one without (as in not having and not within)
The fustigation of Jesus Christ
Begs our amelioration of a fustigated life
And if a cruciform life is led
There must be blood, sweat and tears shed in stead
(Or instead of the evil in tow as is led here below)
Life is hard, there’s no doubt about it
Jesus’ words touted and shouted from the Cross
But serendipitously (and graciously)
When we lose, we don’t count it as loss
Are you willing to look like a hypocrite to the world without?
Are you willing to look at the hypocrite within?
(As He lived and then hung betwixt two of us)
Jesus took on this struggle without committing a sin
Located in the perfect place
Filed in transparent drawer
Unruly impediments erased
Facets interact free of flaw
Seamless system clockwork
Methods remain meticulous
Design drawn up by a doctor
Considered, inconspicuous
Routine guides a room's tidy
Itemising verbatim shelves
Briefcase organised abiding
Data struck upon first delve
Packed in precise patterns
Utility is readily predicted
Shipshape sailing on satin
Scurvy sufferers evicted
Fold exposes name brand
Recognised categorically
Regular overhauls planned
Excess viewed as slovenly
Upkeep travels compact
In zipped compartments
Disarray tends to detract
Regimented requirements
8th of **** April
loneliness not extreme
known from what I’ve seen
light within darkness lies
imaginings to my surprise
behind exclusion’s walls of slate
fantasies await partake
travelogues in brevity
roads to wander endlessly
inside transparent walls
exclusion quells, overhauls
intimate benign entwine
no boundaries bind confine
loneliness companion friend
comradeship without end
a wondrous place for peek-a-boo
searching finding, finding me
battle not there is no fight
within the darkness blinding light
illuminates humane invites
flings and fantasy’s flights
god's pockets
are they smartly tailored in Saville row
individually measured by a dickens man
climbing up and down a ladder to reach the jacket
bows, tugs his greyed fore lock and always
scurries like a mouse on his route
never a uniform not my god
no spit and polish yes sir no sir
perhaps overhauls with a pencil
pen a level or two just to make us straight
a poets shirt with well worn cuffs
or professor-like in a tatty maroon cardi
with a moth hole here and there
god wouldn't begrudge a moth a bite to eat
pockets are full of reminders, quite forgotten
ticket stubs, dust, bits of chalk and thee.
From the writer of 'A Winner'.
We got us a loser.
A loser..A loser..A loser..Loser..Loser..
My lottery ticket lost today.
My dog 'Duke' had up and died.
I burnt my food on a cooking stove.
Those beans were over fried.
A loser..A loser..A loser..Loser..Loser..
My horse came in last today.
I thought I'd lose my mind.
I tore the rear of my overhauls.
It sort of made me cry.
A loser..A loser..A loser..Loser..Loser..
My baseball team lost today.
I read it in the news.
That's when my girl friend left me.
That's why I drank the booze.
A loser..A loser..A loser..Loser..Loser..
I lost my job at the country club.
Hungover the next day.
I couldn't make it to work on time.
That's why I lost my pay..
A loser..A loser..A loser..Loser..Loser..
Loser-Poetry-By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2001.2014..
All rights reserved..
Arkansas
OK, I hail from R-Kansas
That’s what some call the state
We’re the model of the future
Stuck in 1958
My cousins are your cousins
Our DNAs the same
And sometimes when we marry
We don’t have to change our names
In spite of public thinking
I still have all my teeth
‘Cept for 2 or 3 the top ones
And 3 or 4 beneath
I lost some in a bar fight
The others lost to chaw
My mother was an angel
I don’t even know my Pa
I have shoes but I don’t wear them
‘Cept with Sunday overhauls
We sing praises to our good lord
In our sleepy southern drawls
As for fishin’ and for huntin’
Well that’s a gull-durn given
If you ain’t killin’ somethin’
Then you ain’t really livin’
Don’t knock me for my birth place
I’m just having fun
It’s just the place where I grew up
And now I’m glad I’m “From”
Mdailey 3/31/12
Written for someone on facebook as a joke. I have never lived in Arkansas
Here I hang permanently latched to this coat peg
while fumbling though my mind what I did wrong.
Oh please release me I constantly meow and beg
but to no avail no one heeds my lonely cat song,
so I may be hanging freely my lifelong.
As I now recall, I went on a mouse strike
I refused to eat the gray furry critter.
Packed my vittles and headed off on my bike
until I was retrieved by my little sitter,
so now I hang here like a piece of litter.
For punishment she dressed me in overhauls and shirt
and hung me on this hook for my timeout.
I loathe being clothed, I am glad it is not a skirt
it would be quite airy no doubt,
so I will hang here and quietly pout.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Aug. 3, 2011
Fourth Place Winner ~ "Hangin' in there" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Francine Roberts
Aug. 29, 2011
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