Off the land and into the pit, September rolls around.
Simple days have long since gone upon the family ground.
Stolen pride-dignity.
Gossip hounds' voices sound like trumpets to the games.
I'm in the pit, grease to my neck, not hearing the marching band.
But thoughts intrude, they are so vain, adding layers to the pain.
My dream is muddled in murky grey as the selfish look for more.
Holding on till morning light, body spent, truth ignored.
I'm but a serf upon my land, the devil has the upper hand.
So as September rolls on through, my thoughts no longer good.
Purple bands upon our hands, the grease hides all the pain.
Dreams alive for those who stare, not a clue of something wrong.
For in this pit and man-made hell, I'm struggling to hold on.
Stress like devil's electric pain, the blood beats through my veins.
Beats of heart like coffin nails erase the final stand.
In the box the farmer goes, absent from the land.
Rob a farmer of his love, you steal his soul.
There's nothing left, they're asking why, but refuse to understand.
Burn pits veterans,
you stood tall in bravery,
we honor you.
The U.S. government passed
the PACT Act a few years ago,
and President Biden signed it,
to give you the care you deserve.
My military brothers and sisters,
many pray for you,
Welcome Home. ~
Life is like a bowl of pits
From in the cherries someone spits
And though there are some juicy bits,
There aren’t quite enough.
For often things go very wrong
And even if you think you’re strong,
You find it’s hard to get along
When hit with painful stuff.
I’m feeling just a little sad
Because of incidents I’ve had.
I know that life’s not mostly bad
But man, it can be rough.
You dig
pit
after
pit
after
pit.
Then wonder why nobody comes around.
The few that tiptoe into your eggshell world
are only there to use you...
In greener years you were just another cutter
graduating to just another pit digger...
Blood or not, I won't dance in your self-inflicted pits.
I'll just sidestep the "hole" mess and say happy digging.
Mass destruction is happening on a global basis.
People are dying, killing, maiming, hurting.
Sheila is determined to finish her masterpiece.
Her love for her creation is on fire; she is in a frenzy.
The chords and notes she plays are chilling.
They are dangerous and provocative.
Striking terror in the hearts of those who still have a soul.
There is something ominous and frightening about her song.
Her fingers hit the keys with purpose and resolve.
She has left her body, and is watching it now, go on without a soul.
Some empaths have figured it out. Hair stands up on their necks.
The world is falling into pits of despair, yet her soulless body plays on.
I'm stuck in a hole and cannot shout
To ask for help to get me out
Out of this hole of deep despair
I feel no pressure while I'm stuck in there
I feel a peace when I am on my own
My thoughts belong to me alone
The walls surround me like a glove
The hole does not allow thoughts of hate or love
Trying not to think at all
In the darkness of this pitch-black wall
I think that in this hole I'll stay
Until all troubles fade away
Dinosaurs
D i s c o v e r e d
Evolution
Diplodocuses
U n e a r t h e d
Tar
10/29/2020
He did not teach me much,
he had rather take me out to lunch.
Be honest all your days, that was what he would say.
Everyday work hard, with all of your heart.
A winner never quits,
even if it is the pits.
A quitter never wins, they get it on the chin.
This great man did not teach me much,
yet in reality he taught me a bunch.
Dad what a great name, you should be in the hall of fame.
(Dad You Were The Best) Date: 9/17/2019
All Peaches Have Pits
By: Tom 8-12-2019
Haiku
Life is like a peach,
Sometimes its warm and fuzzy.
But some days, the pits.
There once was a lady named Terry
Who's favourite fruit was a cherry
Till one day she bit
Down hard on a pit
Screamed bloody murder, quite scary!
People often say now I understand
When they hear that I'm from Paree
Not Gay Paree silly, but redneck
In the heart of Tennessee
I am the newest style of hairdressers
Here to lay out all the facts
I no longer work on the tops of heads
But straight out of the pits
It all happened when I got bored
With the every day to day
Trimming of the head left me feeling dead
That's when it hit me..."Underarm Braid"
That right there was my life saver
That right there was my turn around
If it didn't make me world famous
At least it did on this side of town
Now people come from as far as Nashville
To have their underarms done
I even gave a left and right pit Mohawk
To the Governor's daughter and son
What? Did you think I only braided?
There's so much more that I can do
Just ask the Punk Rock Chick's that wait in line
To have their armpits colored blue
My older clientele have let there hair grow out
Since it is they learned
I'm now specializing in for both women and men
Their favorite sets and perms
So feel the freedom of the pits
That hippie chicks have long since known
Here at Michael's Salon Of Pits
We'll do something special with that growth
anxiety, care, corruption, creation, destiny, environment, rainforest,
CHERRY-PITS AND FOGGY AIR©
Miseries mount on high
If only I had that again
Too little too late too much
Life’s no bowl of cherries
And the rain fell hard today!
Skies sheathed in dust and smog
Pollutes the once green terrain below
The ‘fresh’ air demotes to shallower breaths
Intakes ‘tanked’ to partings of out rage
The taste of ‘bottled’ flavoured water rises
The ‘breaths’ of air when bottled will increase
And next it will be one costly ‘purification’ deed
For those left and known to mankind.
There once was a lady named Terry
Who's favourite fruit was a cherry
Till one day she bit
Down hard on a pit
Screamed bloody murder, this Terry!
© Jack Ellison 2015
The outer expression of hatred comes from the depth of my past,
Eating the love shown and shined on me and captured by the pitiful memories,
Each day is mourned, never healing but pressing out the brokenness,
In the pit of my hate, the encapsulated heart beats to the uneven beat.
No one can began to imagine the pain bestowed upon me,
How my life was rushed to a standstill before the time needed,
Childhood stolen by the silent truth of this world's reality,
Never to be received nor seen again.
Inside scrapings of darkness
how restless and doomed,
the bellow crashing in like
an agonized moon;
the tunnel hears blood whooshing
in pits full of rain,
hurling damn imaginings
of her fetus’ pain,
wails rip through the stained window
and grinds near right lung,
heart reeks for a babe frozen
knowing breath is gone;
if I could pluck her memories
from uterine wall,
to touch sun’s glint christening
new eyes on dawn’s call.
-----------
*Sadly,research estimates that approximately 1 in 4
pregnancies end in miscarriage; and most women
experience a grief period during such occurrences.
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