Posterity glows
Prosperity fades
In the summer
~ Sell lemonade
It happened..To happen, its perhaps how best to explain.? Dietrich wrote about some ' tators.' In the footles vein, i hope its
Plain.? I then made a comment.' On another slang name known.' Causing her to recalibrate..Too taters..
Ler it be shown.' So
Now it seems there is a standerd..On how to mis-pronounce.? Will we influence the Mirriam-Webster.? Might they weigh the terms, just like the pound or ounce ? So it
Seems we've achieved the improbable.' Where, a slang word is reccognized.' Will we end up in Paris to receive a sorbonne
Prize.? The possibility's seem endless.'
When you try this out for size.' Even
though post-eriors must
take up the sacks
if
We stay low, and this stock sells.' Though
Thats not
My point, its just interesting, to be part of lifes flow )
Come on... smile for me.
Show me that big old silly grin.
Cross your eyes & say cheese ~
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
We find deep inside ourselves
The traits of ancestors therein dwells
Grandpa’s eyes, our Mom’s hair
Our stature from … who knows where?
What we claim as thought process
We may be forced to re-address
Twas Grandpa Lee that caused, you see,
Our newer minds to think like he.
Our gait, as we walk around
Has origins in history bound
Great-aunt Edna, strolled about
With identical strides – long and stout.
And talents that we think so fine
Are not all yours, not all mine
For somewhere in our ancestry
There lay originality.
Our composition, it is made
Of melded steel that made our blade
For all our ancestral kin
Provided steel to place therein
We flaunt individuality
But in truth, it’s not just we
‘Tis ages of posterity
That comprise our totality
Perchance blank sheets had choice,
they’d refuse the stain of ink.
Yet ink delights in spoiling emptiness,
like palm-oil staining white cloth.
That defiance—
to create and keep records,
to write poems for posterity—
perhaps, or perhaps not,
like smoke beneath a cover,
escaping what time cannot cage.
Sometimes poems sing into thin air,
with no eardrum to soothe.
Other times they endure the test of time,
speaking as soliloquy to the unborn,
through wisdom and well-chosen words—
like echoes billowing through valleys.
Few then recall the ink
that shaped such classics,
long dried and discarded,
like footprints blurred by rain.
It is the paper that blows the kisses,
absorbs the tears,
and wears the credits given.
So paper may delight,
while ink grows dispirited.
For obscurity never veils real visions—
a passing cloud misguides the senses
from knowing who holds true honour.
So paper may rejoice,
and ink fall into silence.
Yet vision does not drown in shadows—
like sunlight veiled by dust,
truth will still gleam through,
to honour ink that turns blankness to beauty.
POSTERITY©
Long ago and far away
We never thought we’d reach today
Living long we never dreamed
Could ever be as we had deemed
But here we stand hand-in-hand
It’s nothing like we might have planned
Back then we’d not conceived
Things of today could be believed.
Tomorrow brings more wonderment
Things of which we have no hint
Sadly we won’t be allowed
To have our minds become endowed
With things we’ll never live to see
They are for posterity.
That’s one regret we can’t recall
But posterity will see them all
When their age increases to
The ages of both me and you.
Your romance brings sheer delight,
Secret smiles shine so bright,
Hope you have happiest day,
Happy brains don't adult today,
P.J.'s on, cartoons to view,
Chips and lollies for me and you,
Sending blissful prayers to thee,
Love's blessings-our posterity,
You bring your joyful love to me,
Happy hearts last for eternity.
We find deep inside ourselves
The traits of ancestors therein dwells
Grandpa’s eyes, our Mom’s hair
Our stature from … who knows where?
What we claim as thought process
We may be forced to re-address
Twas Grandpa Lee that caused, you see,
Our newer minds to think like he.
Our gait, as we walk around
Has origins in history bound
Great-aunt Edna, strolled about
With identical strides – long and stout.
And talents that we think so fine
Are not all yours, not all mine
For somewhere in our ancestry
There lay originality.
Our composition, it is made
Of melded steel that made our blade
For all our ancestral kin
Provided steel to place therein
We flaunt individuality
But in truth, it’s not just we
‘Tis ages of posterity
That comprise our totality
~ Posterity May Not Understand ~
Why I traipse five miles a day
to whittle time away
Idling in a safe daydream
gazing at a listless stream
Posterity
Adam, the man, was up early and stood on the terrace
his body was pale as the unborn sun
sitting on the low wall on the terrace, he evacuated
down to the roof of a neighbour.
Since he didn’t have paper, he wrote on the wall
“I shat here!”
Later, the woman who makes the breakfast and
clean the house came; an elderly maid, who had
seen it all.
While Adam was breakfasting came to the terrace
hosed down the offending words.
Adam’s pathetic attempts to be remembered for
posterity was in vain.
PRESERVED FOR POSTERITY
awesome sensations
compliant
rapid
prodigious
astonishing
a visceral
drifting into irrelevance
a cluster
of strange nostalgia
into memorys lane
a fragility
of existence
fusing emotion
a meditation
on mortal
summoning subtlety
with a distracting
aura
such allusions
of grandiosity
manipilated
recalled
by
experience
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Legacy
Inheritors we are of depravity,
yet blame do we the ignorance of
those whom graves stolidly invoke,
or pity do we the oblivion of
the unborn, who, in our dirty shoes
shall sordidly rule the seven seas?
BITE SIZE POEM no24 Poetry Contest
Date: 27th October 2021
THE POSTERITY OF RUDOLPH
‘Twas the night before Christmas and the reindeers played tricks.
The twinkling eyes of the posterity of Rudolph in a riotous mix.
There was the mooning of Santa Claus, his britches on the North Pole.
The elvish-boots tied together and stuffed with chalky bits of coal.
Children’s toys were strewn about the snow, having been blown
by giant straws and how those cookie crumbles must have flown.
Those uproarious Rudolph’s progenies doubled over with ice cold tears.
Meanwhile Santa’s in a snit, not at all jolly nor filled with holiday cheer.
Red noses, beeping and blaring, poking out, jumping, scaring
on this Winter-white night when the sled should be ready and raring
to leap to each home, slide down chimneys or their substitute holes
and put smiles on cherubic faces but for naughty reindeer out of control!
11/26/2018
The Night Before Poetry Contest/Joseph May
Posterity, tell me now
who are you in this world?
everyone is talking about you
everyone is waiting for you
it seems you are the miracle
the savior eagerly waited for
Do not hide away from us
there is security for you
no time is time for you
come in haste to save all
that day you bring your face
the world shall celebrate
Bright in the sky is the menacing moon,
Forced and relentless the winter night stride.
Rushing, the enemy’s bound to be soon
Close to the traveler’s hide.
Wearied and breathless, he throws off his gear
Besieged by the cold. He loads up his gun
While mumbling a prayer, but fate’s drawing near:
Hope for escape there is none.
No quarter or pity! His dear one is far,
His life nearly over, his eyes stern and bleak.
Death, foe and posterity merciless are,
Yet none shall remember him weak!
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
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