Preventing domestic contratemps
from morphing to explosions
requires tact, diplomacy, finesse
ability to decipher emotions ~
On armed cops my town relies
Back in the day stares into space
Many a moon
Never is a one-track mind
Forever one moment at a time
While it seems like a decade ago
Sometimes clocked out yesterday
Hours are away operating
Infinity is perhaps everlasting
Days on end makes a statement
Chronology hides the logbooks
Present being invariably in season
Later is a future occasion
Tomorrow right to the left
In a second too far
Indefinatly is instrumental convergence
End is fueled by absence
Possibly without a cause
Today is a good day
Sky winks at the sandy Florida beach
In cahoots with the colder waves
Sun slipping out of this hemisphere
Gleeful laughter of chasing children
It has been a glorious day,
I stare at the sky, is she a premonition?
She gives nothing away,
Allowing my imagination to surmise…
Will this be the best day ever?
In my lifetime?
Possibly.
I am the water flowing so free,
Your scorn and ridicule cannot restrict me.
I am the air you breathe to survive,
No wonder, without me, you find it hard to thrive.
I am the sky you want to reach,
Be careful of what you preach.
Shoot all your arrows, darts and spears galore,
For when I am gone, you will be bereaved, crestfallen, and hollow.
Absolutely depressing.
Truly ludicrous and ridiculously.
Can, at the very least.
Though tragic, right opposition.
Is similar to a harsh rejection.
I beseech my muse to return to my dendrite highway.
She laughs and skips away, off to a new poetic interstate.
Come back! I shriek, no longer hearing her red boot steps.
I stare at the pristine snowy white of a page. I can do this.
Ten minutes, thirty, fifty-two, an hour. Nothing.
What kind of magic is this? Were all the ideas Trixie’s, all along?
Did I have nothing to do with the poems she wrote?
I take a little nap, eat a snack of peanut butter on crackers.
Fix lunch. There is nothing interesting about lunch.
Two hours have passed. Maybe it is time to get a dog.
I feel annoyed, perplexed, provoked.
My pen has made swirls, circles, dots.
I have written the words “dance, prance, joy and boy” six times.
I circle them and put stars by them.
Cartoons begin to form. A new hobby? I hope so!
Pink rose of Sharon blossoms
Look like a field of hollyhocks surrounded by verdant green
Weird how long it took me to notice this
I am not as observant as I thought I was
Possibly not observant in any way at all.
Possibly Put Up With It
How could anyone ever put up with it,
And what we really do want to admit,
While thinking;
Heart sinking;
Leave Trump behind and we must quit.
Seems to be name of the game. Either
you quit or end up getting fired when
Trump does not like you or what you
are doing.
Jim Horn
I steal everyone’s ideas
It is not like I do not have my own,
But the others are so much more interesting
As they are new
I have always been
A changeling
I change my residences, my clothes, my jewelry,
My taste in books, my interests, so that I can
Live in a new world.
I live in a new world most of the time.
Because I get bored rather fast.
When I am on a kick, I am
On that kick fast and furiously
But when it is over, it
Is truly
Over.
Every day I think is this my
Last poem? Is this the last time I
Will write anything? The day will come,
And when it does, I will simply stop.
Fade into the sun, disappear.
But ah,
My poems will still be there.
This is why I write.
I don't, and probably won't
know the truth of her fate,
I don't know whether she left us,
but I do remember her well.
Tall, slim, quiet and shy,
I remember her deep orange hair,
and an awkward prettiness that grew.
But more than the sight of her,
and the lack of sound of her,
I remember a peculiarity.
She was there every day,
and then she was not there
almost every day.
Many I've seen since
and suddenly not seen since.
Each had their own story,
stories that I'll never know.
I don't, and probably won't
know the truth of their fate.
We chattered with amusement,
callous or unknowing,
when she appeared for a day at a time.
A day at a time,
two, maybe three times a year
for a year-and-half or two.
Later I heard a whisper,
dread disease, it said,
and it all made nasty sense.
Moments past midnight I awoke
to the horrible understanding
that perhaps she wanted only
to feel normal for a day.
11th August 2018
Possibly Pavilion or Could Be A Cottilion
It possible had been pretty pavilion,
Or it could be an incredible cottilion;
Maybe curved,
And swerved,
That was seen by handsome Sicilian.
Jim Horn
Did remember seeing a delightful mermaid,
Who had around in ocean swam and played;
Made a truce;
More produce;
An elegant mermaid egg she eventually laid.
Jim Horn
Looked like more abundant autumn leaves,
When tree will want to continually relieves,
Colors displayed,
As on ground laid;
Were made for those who in God believes.
Jim Horn
One time in a Kansas named No-Sleep
There lived a proud woman named Peep
She fought and she threw fit
Tongue seemed a marvelous whit
This no-sleep Grand-MaMa, Mrs. Tweet.
Possibly Have Done
What could I possibly have done
Forever has gone all of the fun
Smiles I saw in her each eye
Chances to be President passed by
Me all of this it surely did stun.
Jim Horn
How will it change when we know?
How will civilization be rearranged?
All that we known comes from one place and time,
one little speck in spacetime.
Great religions over eons have arisen telling all how things must certainly be.
But they are just specks on a speck, and knowledge potentially infinite, how much can they possibly know.
Have faith they say and follow our lead, but how much can they possibly know?
They say, we surely know because God has told us so.
What can you say? How can you answer that? If God really told them so.
The problem you see is not all religions agree, seems god’s message is different from one to the next somehow. How can that possibly be?
For the infinite knowledge to be had, and our brain power to process so small, there is no way to know much at all.
Some day and maybe soon our technology may come alive or some others come to say hi. Then everything changes, but no one can really say how.
Disarmed and Possibly Dangerous
just got out
thirsty
street callin'
no escape
darkness
mischievous characters
wind surfing
no piece plan money
cold
monsters devouring meek
growing on every corner
street, first underworld teachers
minimal mainstream skills
legal options slim
economic education family castration
jackass
elephant
no definitive answer
head or tail
four corner
traffic light
ten seconds till green
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