Lost on us, this wayward spur
In the wanderer.
As vague to the mundane plodder
Hill-haunting; and o'er.
In his or her own element
Absorbs, in the free
Life. Hot or cold, unchangeably
Accepting; friendly.
The reflex of ego is to go toe to toe with evil.
The more mental bloodshed, the better...
But ego is a sloppy plodder with ill-conceived plans.
Its artwork is far from perfected.
Too often the victory is short-lived.
And ego - easily detected.
Evil will always come back around.
The circle is its favorite shape.
Endless nothingness- its favorite sound.
It's better to let the big cat do your dirty work.
It's been tracking down evil since time was an infant.
The big cat is steady-stealthy-methodical-star silent.
Until the final pounce.
A quick bite to its fat neck will bring evil to the ground.
Since the big cat is undetectable and evil is oblivious.
It won't ever know what bit it.
It will be forever hamstrung and never circle back.
For the big cat, karma is a circle slasher...
Commission her to paint your next revenge.
I usually resort to cold sonnets
because of their easy convenience.
This fact was discovered by sly poets
on days the muses were in denience,
and all the good phrases refuse to come.
A sonnet is something that even the bard
could rely on to bring some slight song home,
to save a good thought when the rhyme is hard.
All you need is two easy lines in a quatrain
and the others will follow without bother.
Nail the idea, then worry about the refrain,
or simply reinforce one word or another.
A cheap sonnet, final resort of a plodder
foraging desperately for poetry fodder.
A funny thing, perception
Up the hill towards twenty-one
The dawdling clock seems never to run
Only its movement belies deception
After twenty-five, an odd exchange
No pace of a sluggish plodder
The downbeat of the tread is hotter
Daunting milestones within range
Now, the fleeting measure races
Seasons trade with reckless flurry
The ticking gallop leaves me blurry
To arrest this sprint, my mind chases
I Am Not an Eagle
Majestic, streamline,
bold symbol of power.
No way a fat, old guy
represents a country.
Soaring to great height,
the breeze his plaything.
I am a ground plodder,
gravity holds me close.
Eyes sharp and bright,
no movement unnoticed.
Eyes clouded with cataracts
my vision needs magnified.
Razor sharp beak and talons
rend and tear its own food.
Slaughter houses, knives forks,
I need help.
Simplicity, efficiency, magnificent
is the eagle. Complex, clumsy
dependent on others,
I am not an eagle.
My body is shaking,
Hearing my own voice breaking,
Through my lungs,
Breathing hard,
My eyes see blur,
To the truth thats there.
Should put my guards high,
Not to trust no one but God,
I feel like I am odd,
But I should have plodder,
In what I do not!
I should have figure out the dots,
Earlier as I thought,
But now my temper is hot.
OMG! What have I done?
Why did I trust?
Though I shall not,
Sat in a conner of my room,
Quiet and nothing to do.
The door opened wide,
She started to lie,
With pride,
Why are home late?
She said it with hate!
Things aren't the same,
When I came back home,
Now she is on flame,
She claims: my house and my rules,
I graduated late! There is no jobs,
But this isn't fair!
Stuck in a hole,
Feels like a prison,
What am I supposed to do?
Not act my age?
Or sit here and be depress?
And express my feelings,
To those who understand me not!
Ever since I was a little girl
I felt like she isn't my mother,
I felt like I am an orphan,
Nobody understands me,
She monitored me, every where I go
I felt betrayed,
I will never ever trust her,
I know my intuitions were right.
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