Is God just playing make believe?
Making me believe in an eternity.
I’ll play along
And keep on looking upward
Through my prayers, playful songs and my telescope.
Being a Godchild, He looks on too ...
Through my eyes I realize
We meld into divine inspiration ...
My kaleidoscope into the Stars
Is really just His microscope into Ours.
Is Outerspace just just make believe?
A place where time exists for you and me.
Unraveling with godlike power
Every hour into fantastic fantasies.
Only from a Godchild’s dreams
Does all existence seem to stream
Only with a Big Bang
Does my voice uncontrollably scream ...
“I do believe in make believe! I do believe in miracles too!
I do believe in me, and I do I do believe in you and You!”
Is God really just playing make believe with us?
Spinning the Universe from afar like ajar
Conceived in the belly blackhole of a car
With stars and galaxies being His bars
Surrounding this perfect playpen ...
All that we are, I'm sorry to say with a smile
We're all just simply a starry mobile ...
A dangling toy strung low in His bed
Spun just out-of-range
Above all our heads.
Mary’s behavior is bizarre to most
not to me, her favorite earthly host
bread on your nose is what aliens do
as is painting dark elm tree limbs light blue
her planet is seen at two a.m.
She likes to watch it from my son’s playpen
her actions might seem odd to little old you
but she does what all good aliens want to do
Amongst the crowd, there were little jesters recently elected to their posts!
Recording and uploading posts to their social audience was a key to their political demise!
How ignorant and stupid must people be to place their job into the box of the ghost!
Careers often change with new skills and knowledge; they are not meant to be a career demise!
The young ducklings believed their mother duck would be there for them and hold their hand!
Little ducks in the tub are made of rubber, so you have no defense against an ink pen!
The only ones to hold those dirty hands are the ones involved with a criminal band!
Maybe now you will rethink your actions before the criminal courts put you into a playpen!
Running around with your buffalo hat made you an easy target!
Well, the law has placed your head on the wall as a message for everyone!
Your face is the voice of the conspiracy target!
You believed that the world was against the loser; you are the loser for everyone!
Being a fool is not a paying job; even comedians have style
Your actions are made of pure, unadulterated bile.
We ride the sea of blue,
as the wind blew.
Mounds of white grew,
it is soap not glue.
Have you meet the three men?
Bill is a writer with a pen,
John is with businessmen,
Tom likes to watch TV in his playpen.
Three men in a tub,
plus one child in for a scrub.
They belong to a club,
the bath time dub-dub.
Imagination conjures words
that merge and converge in my mind,
like a murmuration of birds.
Jumbled words are slowly aligned,
forming a poem line by line,
in which ending rhymes get refined.
My muse claims the poems are mine;
but that is not entirely true,
She supplies the polish and shine.
I was mute; till She found my voice,
and imbued my poetic pen
with rhythm and rhyme; I had no choice.
I'm but a child in a playpen,
whose imagination's free
to explore wonder: now and then.
Words come naturally to me;
expounding on the truths I see.
Tidy boxes, appealing to the eye in a calendar,
office space, sterile wall, driven in circles mad by desire
for stimulation, a place beyond walls
does such a place exist? and if so what fear lies there...
unwinding years of pre-k programming
system lined with debonair intrigues
if you do this you can have that and then some...so what?
leisure becomes the devils playpen
you are a baby outside these walls
so it seems, they lead and you follow
kick back? relax? hustle culture tells you NO.
stern blocky letters to the face
anonymously tracing lines down the sidewalk...
well what when the sidewalk ends?
maybe you will realize what is really pretend.
OFF TO SCHOOL
So you're off to boarding school,
It'll be the making of you, my lad,
Muses the bespectacled gentleman,
Sat behind his morning paper,
The commuter train steaming
Its trundling way
Past opened curtains
Of genteel suburbia.
Familiarly hypnotic rhythm
From the clickety-clacking track
Continues, scarcely heeded
By the carriage's motley clientele,
Disturbed from comatose reveries,
Enduring the drilled strains
Of unwelcome conversation.
Hostile eyes look up in
Bristling annoyance
At a shy, enclosed boy,
Who keeps locked-in silence
On his first uncertain foray
Into the strange world beyond
The comfortable boundaries
Of his homely playpen.
Woke up grinning like a silly old fool
Is there something I can take for that
Maybe a new pill that's just hit the market
A cure-all to save humanity and our cat
Household pets are worth saving too
In fact they are first to be given a pass
An average life span will eventually be 150
What will I do sitting on my ass
Well let's see I could write a classic
Like a famous Overture in C Major or such
Or invent a new mode of transportation
New York to LA in a nano-touch
How about a new food to tickle our fancy
Yummy yummy tween me and you
A new drink to make us more intelligent
Finally no more known as a goof
Still woke grinning like a silly old fool
So what could be the reason then
Must be something like a big bunch of gas
Or more likely it's earth's playpen
Tonight, I became my youngest son,
my oldest son now gone
My youth reframed, new joy proclaimed,
a lost returning song
Tonight, I became that little boy,
whose playpen sets me free
All toys reclaimed, no further blame
—to enter joyfully
(The New Room: January, 2022)
Five little fingers keep me “occupied” as I crawl on Persian rugs,
four little fingers toy with model trains my eldest brother scorned,
three little fingers learn to tip and tap on gadgets oddly-named.
Two little fingers wrap around felt pens that scribble “telltale signs.”
One little finger now a playpen pal in my
“let’s pretend” home!
She sits silently in contemplation,
immersed in quietude and solitude.
And yet, she's here to voice her frustration
with the church, portraying women as lewd.
God made woman subservient to man,
or so says church dogma espoused by men.
But she cannot believe it was God's plan
that she be a toy in a man's playpen.
She won't worship a misogynous God,
although her eternal soul exults Him.
And yet, she can't dismiss Him; that's what's odd,
she believes that her life's but a prelim.
The bible condemns Eve for Adam's sin,
the demeaning of women lies therein.
(Sonnet)
12/22/2020
Teacher please don't ridicule me
Your words are poisionus and cruel
All I want to do is come to school
Learn how to be confident
And one day be educated enough to rule
Teacher dont underestimate me
I will not always be a clown or a fool
Not everyone was born to be a brain box at school
Teacher please be kind, give me some time
With a little consideration and motivation
I will learn to elevate and climb
Teacher I understand
It's hard for you to watch over
Thirty young women and men
Especially when we think life is like a playpen
Teacher time will pass
I will not always be in your class
But cruel words tend to have an impact and last
Time slipped like a shadow in the dying moonlight
Locked in yesterday’s dreams
I wished to sense the warmth inside her cradling embrace
Once again
Thoughts of you penetrated my anxiety
But like a squirming fish in my hand
You slithered away
Turning time into bits of elusive sand
Sand that continues to pour out of my hourglass
Becoming part of yesterday's eternal fun sandbox
That lovers dwell and play in as their youth wanes
And later, vainly try to hold on to their vanishing years
But Time? What is Time?
If not God’s joke to make us hurry to get on with it
Mine is no joke but to keep the sand from pouring out
And hasten my urgency to dwell in your playpen
Oh, the stress-free, carefree world of children
O' take me back to the lil kids' playpen
When we tried on mom's cosmetics and lipsticks
and built playhouses with plastic blocks and bricks
And had fun with cooking set picnics
Anything could be a toy
and our racket could annoy
We turned everything into play things
We played pretend queens and kings
We then played 'mom and dad'
Oh the squealing fun we had!
Teasing, chasing hens and kittens
climbing the grumpy neighbour's fence.
There was paper airplanes
and frisking in the rains
Paper boats too were made
and hide'n'seek was played
And when that wasn't enough
we played blind man's bluff.
We nimbly climbed the trees
hair flailing in the breeze
But our child's play naturally mimicked the grownups
Lil plastic ones instead of real porcelain cups.
Life was all play and games
in our growing mental frames.
Sand castles and kites
childish fights and frights!
And kind parents just let them frisk and play
for all work and no play makes one a dull boy
Hey ! Who turned the friggin' lights out.
swimming in the warm bliss of a moment
to a safety of purpose a beating heart
explained by many , understood by none
through a wall of water , wailing and life
to plastic, rubber , hands , sound and lights
Now , What is this ? It's my flippin' life!
sitting on the floor with a playpen
overhead , weighted with books
playing cowboys and indians in the groves
With B-B guns and split dried peas
Look , there's the byes! Just like they-
she had beautiful blue eyes , I met her when
she still hated boys and we grew together
in lives and school when I left for college
she was leaving for basic training
W..hooo! Where did that come from?
from college party with one too many beers
I was the only one going home, didn't get there
I flew from the car cause I did not like belts
in the ditch , tasted blood , drifted away
Do I get to stay here?..............(whisper)...... Do I Really!
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