Losing one's lunch
is not so hot
but dropping your dinner
when a fish dish wish was the plot
could be your worst nightmare
as not a morsel will pass your lips
as meals go it's now toast
and you've had your chips
She didn’t reach his standard
Too brash, too immature
He wouldn’t dare to risk it
But still, he wasn’t sure
Although there was attraction
But it was very much controlled
Until he gained the stature
That made him sure and bold
So, that’s when he decided
To reveal and to express
The feelings he had always felt
But dared not to confess
Because there was so much at stake
He was careful about his standing
His status played a major part
And he could be quite demanding
So, when he did the great reveal
He also had a plan
He would make sure she understood
He was that special man
And even though she hadn’t changed
He sure had changed a lot
The man he now had come to be
Would now execute his plot
He’d hold her to his standard
With rules and with decrees
And force her to respect his place
While ignoring all her pleas.
Wendy Nipas
Chasing money to put gold in a pot,
Ground beneath your feet continues to rot,
Plotting the destruction of a species,
With pieces of paper spreading disease,
I'm pleased I can spend my energy,
Sending love through my transactions,
Knowing the impact within the action,
Gaining traction in satisfaction,
I can track truth within my reaction,
It's a distraction from the earth,
Spending lives collecting worth,
Since birth we've been trained,
Financial gain is the name of the game,
And the same source feeding you,
Being carved,
Starved within your view,
Through every hour devouring time,
The crime goes unnoticed,
Climbing into bed for the day ahead,
With a head full of thought,
Taught to reach for gold,
We sold our power to the dollar,
As Earth hollers for help,
Scholars tell of a prophecy,
Sit silently repeatedly to see,
Selling their Ideas for money,
Can somebody tell me why,
Our poor planet has to die,
Because you're trying to buy a plot,
That's rotting beneath the feet,
Of a species who needs it to eat.
As an Isrealite leaving Egypt we might see?a Venezulaen president.. Pushed out
By even Trump' could well be.? Loaded
Down with reperations.. concessions
Well wishes comisseration and confessions.? The bullet that failed for
Trump to be hailed.' Now a ballet springs.'
From that very same balloted win.' The wilderness
Beckons.' Perhaps a red-sea expression.'
The lighting alters..Mood music plays maybe Trump might not last though to wave Maduro away.? One thing I do hold
In my mind.' (All Glory to God) i beleive you
Will find' its one demand..He commands of
Men, we must all kneel and observe the
raw power He sends; surreal.' He basks in glory.' The
Father of all..And should Maduro forget such? he to will fall.' We are all unworthy we
All need His strength, may the Nations consider their iniquity and re-pent.)
Heaven and earth each plot their will
Upon the stars and grassy wold
Their hands of fate are never still
Writing life stories to be told
My parents said I could not keep the black, stray cat.
They explained our canary would not survive that.
Parents out, a sitter, and my four-year-old mind
let the cat in while hoping birds were numb designed.
I am ashamed to have plotted murder when four,
sad an innocent bird died cause I liked cats more.
The whole family loved that sweet cat, “Little Bit”,
plus, I swear, I never planned another death hit.
At twenty-two, I confessed to my family.
Shocked, they did say my child-self deserved a grammy.
So what’s the plot if 6 turns 9
On this old rainy day
What’s looming up behind the line
What you don’t have to say
Its way too obvious for words
And silence fills the air
Only disturbed by chatting birds
There’s always life out there.
The serpent hissed,
on the first day of school,
looking around to find a group to poison
a group to fool.
It's slitted eyes wandered around
searching and searching.
at last the serpent found,
the fools laughing and smiling.
The serpent went,
its black heart beating with eagerness
the smell of innocence. it was addicting.
The fools invited the serpent with open arms
unknowing of the doom that awaited.
Thus, the damage begun,
gossip spread like wildfire
'did you hear? the fools did... how ridiculous!'
The serpent drank it all in. like ambrosia
The fools had been fooled.
The serpent went home, delighted by the turns of event.
It was night,when the fools came
painted red with revenge
for the first time ever, the serpent felt...scared
the serpent backed away, all while hissing
The fools smiles turned haunting
The serpent went missing
and the fools waited,
for another serpent to come hissing
Ordinary days, just like before,
No one knows the feeling of being ignored.
It's always that one who makes the heart beat fast,
In every way, giving the heart a blast.
That someone is too far from reality,
The impossible hits differently.
Too good to be true to notice,
Even in the smallest way, there's no space.
It’s always you that gives a butterfly.
It’s you that brings a fast-forward to imply.
Gives the benefit of the doubt to try,
Risking something just to be with you and cry.
You’re my “what ifs” sometimes,
And also, you’re my “at least” every time.
It’s better to give a little shot,
Than to give the negative and make a plot.
Hallmark?
sappy stories of rich or
upper middle-class people
starting businesses or
trying to save existing ones
handsome men and
beautiful women
newly divorced
or never married
modern versions of
daytime soap operas
you may not watch for a month
and not miss anything
good thing my wife has
a television in the guest room
downstairs I can watch
ANCIENT ALIENS!!!!!
(7 word poem).
Netspeak--social or not?
Hermits suspect plot!
my love life is like a plot in a grand novel,
where dawn stands tall,
yet dusk must kneel
and grovel.
each chapter of it dims as twilight nears,
unleashing darkness that feeds on
the carcass of
waning years.
yet expectation remains high...
waiting for another page
to turn and turn
until old age.
meanwhile, the plot keeps thickening...
bringing to life
more of the fears
in a world full of strife.
yet love keeps its shine in the distance,
like a mirage that gleams in space,
offering false satiation,
only to fade into non-existence.
but the story will never end...
until the Author of all things
chooses to write an epilogue
of how much of his love we all depend.
It occurs that safety measures
Are more dangerous than dangers
Who’ll protect us from security
Lives beyond the clouds obscurity
God takes ultimate control
He’s the One who knows it all
Tells that safety measures bit
We should treasure in complete
Otherwise a little devil
Mean old master of the rebel
Will set trouble in our minds
Thus to evil we’ll abide
With God’s blessing we’ll become
Little devil’s human scum
If we see an extra plot
In the safety that we’ve got
My garden plots my demise
Haunts me like a living soul
The care I give is appreciated, yet expected
Each time I weed takes a toll
When it's time to prune
All hell breaks loose
The clods grow stones to throw and wound
The ears of corn hear all that I say
They stalk me, following every which way
The sly potatoes sprout eyes to spy
And the others sharpen their spears to slay.
As I sweat with tools through the rows and rows
I hear the whispered names they call
I know the slang they use , ( crying, "hoe!")
Meaning a loose woman and I'm appalled !
We know not wherefrom arises our heart’s muse
and to be truthful, there’s no planning involved,
as we pen our words, offering no excuse,
though writing with the hope that all be evolved,
including us as well, a thought that does amuse,
since God is incharge, no problems need be solved,
so back to the start, in sync with beats of heart,
thus doing nothing, we craft a work of art.
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