When I leaned over the aquarium, the water shifted~
a small blue fish rising as if to greet the surface.
Its fins flickered like tiny pennants,
sending ripples through the glass world
where everything moved
with the calm certainty of stars.
For a moment it hovered beneath the surface,
a bright thought I hadn’t yet had~
then vanished into the quiet drift
of its own deep sky.
Daddy, there are new moorings, come see!
There are shiny pontoon chains and cables,
braided ropes and colorful pennants.
The anchors and piles and buoys all new!
He arose groggily and without ambition
but allowed the boy to lead him to the quay
wherein he saw indeed, new moorings!
His heart quickened.
Badly needed, as the old were worn,
tattered, and so dangerous that ships
stayed their distance from this port
and steered further up the coast.
Work had dried with the rotted ropes,
his hope was lost to the receding waves.
Until today, when new moorings
renewed a deep faith that saves.
They scavenge the detritus of the soul
Devouring the pieces less than whole
For evil has a way of taking hold
Before it declares itself as friend or foe
As these hollow creatures feed within
They fill the emptiness with lasting sin
Spew a stream of lies completely false
Convince that it’s the truth, that’s how they win
And those who hold the line and will not yield
Are sent into the battle without shield
Left broken and alone to doubt their cause
The aftermath of battle left unhealed
So do the scavengers now mock the strong
And menace as a mindless, roving throng
The very pennants that once spared their souls
Convinced that every right deserves a wrong
John G. Lawless
©8/1/2022
Roses look redder
Sunflowers sunnier
Chrysanthemums brighter
Queen Anne's lace whiter
Leaves waving like pennants
Puffy clouds sail along
Grass green and refreshed
Birds sing their song
The breeze lifts my spirits
One click saves and submits it
Rest of a dry wound on the skin, it stretches if it gets wet later, it wrinkles if no one dries it afterwards: stains that we carry with us. Yesterday I saw torn yellow pennants hanging in the hall of the building. Looking carefully, he would realize they were telling the human story beyond its likely sad ending. I also saw the ugly veins of old green carpets, maybe they were the stage for clashes between forces of good and evil: stains we don't even know about.
Among what we carry, scars, and what we only notice, spectators, grandiose events remain and we never participate in them, so we know nothing of sacrifices, unfit for spectacular adventures, absent from surprising achievements, we are the unprepared audience of a world too ready to our weary craving for nothing.
Leaves, green with sap of lush Spring trees
Flutter as branch bound butterflies,
Whistling tunes in Summer breeze
Backing cicada mating songs.
Well-seasoned leaves blistered with rust
Fly as pennants on Autumn limbs.
Much retired from recycling CO2
They rocked and rolled on Winter ground,
Rout-steppers marching in review,
Mulching forward with much to do.
If pray
A burning bush
Twas to appear
I fear
Crocodile tears
May not be enough
To quell
It's flammable design
In time for next pennants
And confessions
It was a very humid day.
However,the leaves are waving at the sun.
Like pennants at a football game.
The branches of the trees doing a belly dance
at close of this day.
The kitchen smells like a diner with
fresh meatloaf.
My cat, licks her jaws happily after her
dinner.
Almost time to put down my quill.
To bathe, to dream, above all, to love.
And most importantly, to be grateful
June 14, 2020
8pm PST
Poem # 1241
Real love takes up residence deeply in the heart.
Two lucky ones,
are focused in, not out,
at the start.
From the inside can't see the outside,
so it makes no difference.
Especially to men, who can get away,
with a double chin, beer bellies, and paunches,
and lots of wrinkles.
With not a second thought,
they order hot fudge sundaes with all the sprinkles,
But what of young women,
bombarded with how they should look.
Think they have to look like a picture in a magazine or book.
In the olden days, cottons balls were the padding of choice.
Made young girls feel more attractive and could have a voice.
But what if young girls grow older, and still think that way?
Think they need to look perfect or the men will stray.
Real love doesn't care about cotton balls.
If a relationship is based on padding, it will surely fall.
Then hearts injured,
will no longer accept tenants.
Low self esteem then, won't win any pennants.
Women of any age,
find a man that loves you for your intelligence, and
the depth in your eyes.
Not the things that falsely enhance your look.
Then a future together, you can make book.
Pennants' edges curling up, peeling away from fading walls--
Lions listless, languid, lost ~ Tigers timid, tame, tepid--
Floorboards waxed like glass, nothing strewn, no disarray, no chunks
of petrified food accusing.
The Choreographer of clutter
The Enabler of entropy
The Maestro of mountainous messes
The Fife and Drumbeat of detritus
has moved on
WINDBREAK TREES
Unchecked prairie wind cold
Engulfs our archipelago
Of barns and farms,
Small snuggled refuges
Swathed in birch, oak and ash,
Warm yellows oranges.
Still thick, hiding the rafters,
Wrapping our immersed walls,
Rooftop pennants - silent wafters.
Hugging close at quoin and sill,
A muffler around each recess
Stemming all the greying chill,
Slows the wind in its fold,
Protects against the virago,
Shields like a mother’s arms.
Swells of nitrous climbing walls, cirrus pennants slowly flag..
Cerise in the lining, richly glowing halls are leading
Onto stairs with eternally deep & steep stooping falls
magenta hued cotton surround me in fields on every side
I'm Floridian dreaming, under bearded trees with the river nearby.
While your walking around the world
In your own world
Looking up to the clouds
Let them hypnotize you
Watching time move into different shapes and forms
Watching them
You become them
Your energy transfers into the clouds and vise versa
Slowly floating into space
Space is space
Is that really simple of a name for such a mind bending world?
It's another level for a world
People like to think they know it all
Their not going to know what hit them
I wonder how its all going to end?
Hundreds, thousands, millions of pennants and animals running in fear
Right at that moment nothing has any meaning anymore
But the realness trying to fight it's way from the terror
The questions always 'why'
Why can't the answer just be
'because it just is'
Technically its not lying
Humans have to be curious about every damn thing
Didn't curiosity kill the cat?
(What does that even mean? Why a cat? Can't it kill anything?)
Humans are still like children
Always on the go
Won't ever be satisfied with one answer
IS it actually written in stone that humans are the superior race?
Ego trip; out of whack
Will it ever stop?
Church Had A Cross
Church had a cross with some spires:
Walls are covered with red, radiant fires
While in middle are three doors
You enter to walk on church’s floors.
Banners and pennants are in blue sky;
Out front is car and people passing by;
A priest’s study can be found in the back
Who you will always see dressed in black.
Archival quality is style along with design
With sharp contrast and always so fine;
Picture might have been made in the fall
And would look excellent on your wall.
[email protected]
Homage to Johnny Bench
The greatest catcher ever was
With one hand 'hind his back
Was Johnny Bench. Yep, that's the buzz.
And never did he slack.
He broke ole Yogi's home run hits.
"The Little Colonel"'s claim:
Three hundred eighty-nine and gets
The Baseball Hall of Fame.
His Cincinnati Reds they won
Four pennants in the League
And twice the Series! OK.'s son
Had baseball under siege
He had big hands and he could hold
In one hand seven balls
But more than this, he speaks, I'm told
At charities and malls;
Awards for college athletes;
He writes and sings on pitch.
While teamwork makes a job complete,
A dream made Johnny Bench.
©deborah burch
3.24.2013
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