Your energy level’s
Related to age,
Though not everybody
Is on the same page.
Most babies and toddlers
Need hours of sleep
And after some playtime,
Fall down in a heap.
Yet others run circles
Around those routines
And when sent for a nap
Make the loudest of scenes.
Often as you grow up,
Those proclivities stay
And the sleep you require
Will keep holding sway.
However, when reaching
Those senior-type years,
Your energy lessens
Or plain disappears.
So, just like a baby,
Your pep seems to sap
And, although you may fight it,
You’re needing a nap.
The circle of life
Brings us back to the start
Where the young and the old
Aren’t too far apart.
SYNCRETIC TENDENCIES
positive
extremes
penetrate
the
mind
with
subtle
interpretatIons
&
infuse
analytical
speculative
subjectivity
tolerating
yet
eptiomising
proclivities
in
flights
of
fancy
as
inner
tensions
relax
in
isolated
outlines
Will you please be so kind as to explain why,
gentlemen of your ilk or, much as you,
on first meeting, soon after greeting,
or within a conversation or two,
to those like me, or such as I,
feel the need, to bring up to speed,
and are compelled to dwell on and extol,
their personal proclivities, propensities,
predilections, predispositions,
inclinations and tendencies?
Come what may, we are who we are, it is what it is,
whereby, we have no say and, by all means,
it's preordained, hereditary, chance or happenstance,
and, as does diarrhoea, runs in the genes.
For, as to the preferences of others,
I must admit, be aware, I don't care one little bit,
and for their penchants, not a lot, in fact, nary a single jot,
altho', I wish they wouldn't swish, as they look silly doing it.
But, in the end, they may tend to extend,
or rise to the occasion,
and participate in the bringing of
brotherly love to those of their persuasion.
Hate me slate me or berate me
call me names it's all the same I don't care
to my mind it's no more than
hogwash simply put just hot air
the proclivities of others
I don't judge
and their predilections
I won't begrudge
I live and let live
as I too do have mine
but tresspass on my territory
there's where I draw the line
tho' non-violent
step on my toes
and believe you will receive
a black eye or bloody nose
Tho' they may display legs to best advantage,
observing the constraints, begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
Seems to me I had a bee in my bonnet
about women's proclivities and passion
when compelled to write this pseudo-sonnet
about their footwear fashion.
Some are bonkers barmy as bedbugs, daft, dippy, daffy,
(with) bats in the belfry too,
it's far beyond my reckoning, as I can't fathom,
why they choose to wear the pairs of shoes they do.
And as for a clue, I haven't any, why they own so very many.
With their platforms, pumps, stilettos, wedges, they're tottering on
the edges of insanity, an exercise in futility,
an accident about to happen, one stumble, a tumble then... a calamity.
Seeing them hobble, while their dogs are barking,
these are the words they'd speak, if their feet could talk,
'Cinderella had the right idea, losing her glass slipper,
as oh the pains you put us through when you are wont to walk.
It's no more than torture, a total imposition,
somewhat akin to boots of the Spanish Inquisition.'
He reaps what he sows
He despises everyone equally though
his supporters are fools, his own words
he said I can shoot one
and they will still love me
I am laughing hysterically as its true
His proclivities or resume as follows
Narcissist
Hater
Bully
Thief
Dictator
Anti democracy
Psycho
Abuser of women
Abuser of all
Racist
Convicted felon
Now every nut has a bandage on their ear
blind mice who are proud of being deaf too
Fools drinking the Kool-Aid
He reaps what he sows
1939 all over again
Treasury of candles
imagined reawakening the exemplars who campaigns
their coalescing.
Prayer resurrecting
unkept promises that fault mistiness veils of affections
deeply confessed.
Sweetly progressed
a sinless tinkering of ifs and or buts, realizing an
overdue quietus.
Deja vu changes us,
with sweeping preparations from make-ups to do-overs and cuts to
that's a wrap.
Formats gap
of not to be awry and to prefer an alternate perspective as the
dreamer awakes.
Ducks and drakes
in the ability for the agile to skim and glide the distance o'er the calm and become a
better person.
Go-getter version
had manifested itself as what should have been astir than wallowing in a
festering hole.
Measuring goal
as proclivities satisfy a wandering wonder discerning remote hopes dwelt in the sun's
resplendent beacon.
Transcendent reason
a Q & A session obliging the past and the present on a road less traveled amidst
outright amnesty.
Torchlight family,
emblem of enlightenment and hope for generations--encores,
Messiah of Handel's.
Just take a good look at me;
My frame is attractive!
It does the unsated
appetite of the chauvinist
fuel.
My curves and your fantasies
are mutually inclusive!
Without them, dreams
are truncated.
But I am an orgasmic
symbol.
The self opinionated chauvinist
designs me in his sub-conscious
to serve and be utterly subservient.
I am incarcerated as a chef,
and timeless baby sitter.
A baby machine for a
patriarchal dynasty.
My education is a threat to chauvinist ego.
My ignorance hones his misogynist confidence,
whilst my erudite head
retards his self esteem and worth.
The illiterate orgasmic symbol is his
ideal and virtuous woman.
The smarter and more professional
is the age-old Jezebel.
My chastity and virginity
are twin virtues of a
mutilated genitalia.
My restrained sex urges are
designed for his unrestrained
proclivities and gratification.
I must be restrained,
for him to be unrestrained,
because, share him I must
with two or three others of
my kind.
But take another good look at me,
and see a versatile womb-man!
Translate each prejudice of yours'
and see my remarkable antonyms.
Our nation - at a crossroads now
With intersecting planes
Of concepts much at odds somehow -
Exacerbating strains.
The Democrats perplexities:
A "Heart without a Head"
Explains irrationalities -
(Dysfunction - simply said).
Republican proclivities:
A "Head without a Heart"
Explains their personalities -
(Flatlines on MDs charts).
Both play the same devout "blame game"
With terse polemics wrought
As zealots on both sides proclaim
Their hyperbolic thoughts.
They come and go yet most remain,
Though times change in due course,
And seem to think it's their domain -
Their livelihood resource.
And, money flows and money goes
Awash in large amounts
But how, from where, no accounts show;
Just smoke and mirrors doubts.
With most seats safely in the till
Few voters needs to heed,
Instead exert, exhort their will
On things inflating greed.
Then, how do we comport with this
Vast wasteland so immense?
We wax and wane and turn and twist -
It's our experience.
As information is sourced, we knowledge add.
Entertainment is accessed by each ipad.
The cost of research is by the net reduced,
whilst addiction to **** is by it induced.
Banking transactions are by it made easy,
so does the convenience of a shopping spree.
We conveniently send mails by speed of light,
and connect to old buddies beyond our sight.
Its flash of lightening promotes the breaking news,
so does its ill wind the fake ones for our views.
It mocks distance with commercial activities,
and lures perverts to their sexual proclivities.
It does our world flatten with mobile services,
its not by distance hindered for con men's vices,
neither will it the distant swindled protect.
It does the deeds of distant bullies perfect.
Transnational love has by it been produced,
when love birds electronically are introduced.
Global link that binds us all like a cobweb;
Old and young alike, each enslaved by the web.
Red Dog an Aussie of Gypsie proclivities
Pawed rides through the Outback without civilities
When he wished to depart
He let rip a grand fart
Then jumped from the car with much facility
by Robert Gorelick
Red dog the regular hitchhiker
Once leapt up behind a bike rider
The driver rode fast
Until he got gassed
And Red dog flew off in a hyper
by Belle Bellevue
He had a sneaky tongue,
it bent around his molars
like a serpentine noodle.
His Adams apple
was an ever-shifting abacus
that calculated words
as if they were untethered beads.
Mathematics were his
clinical persuasion,
a laudable science
he hammered
into a sterile
impregnable language
for bespectacled cyborgs,
for he (the Bradly),
daily taught snotty tykes
who ponged of sticky,
childish proclivities.
Some teach, some
kill the ozone of eager minds.
We kids and Mr. Bradly
were never meant
for each other,
but he did instruct us
in the oily arts of
disinterest,
indifference,
and inattention.
Half-dressed trees
dance in an April wind-shuffle.
New buds learn how to shake
raindrops off.
Winter’s skeletal joints
are a lightly applied moss green,
a mild mannered climate
now simmering bark and branch.
To jump right into the heat of summer
would be a greenhorn maneuver,
March’s wayward proclivities
may have yet more to say.
Spring steps slowly into a newly-lit ring
testing for sink-holes in a blue tinted sky.
Many are recovering, convalescing,
mending the torn tissue,
patching up ice-bitten dreams.
Today a nursing breeze foretells of fat fields,
of less demanding times,
of harvests and an fruiting glut.
Time to break the frosted walking stick,
to rise up in the rosy cheek and sinew -
tell the lazy cat on the warming step
to go catch the coming sun
and bring it home.
"I" lends respectability
To extant personality
And offers much to those it serves -
Perhaps more than it should deserve.
Important as this "I" might be
It lacks depth in humility
And sometimes fails humanity
By being its own efigy.
Beyond the realm we know as "I"
Is that which we identify
As beneficial harmony
That honors truth and equity.
It is a place of selfless grace
With neither gender, class nor race;
No self-proclaimed philosophy
Nor strident religiosity.
It prompts no economic scheme
Of gain derived through plan or dream
And holds the harness of the Id
As Ego, superego did.
It gives no thoughtless verity
To "sunshine days" integrity.
Unawed by status or by wealth -
This is the realm of "Beyond Self."
This realm is blessed with keen insight
Enhanced by self-reflection's light
And tests responsibility
In terms of our civility.
Here, selflessness is our just cause
Relying on a moral clause
That accepts human frailities,
Conditions and proclivities.
Behold the busy bumblebee
Gathering pollen and nectar, his treasure.
He transports it home
To be stored in a comb
For his queen to dine on at her leisure.
How doth the humble bumblebee
Manage all that he does without stumbling?
He toils night and day,
Earning minimum pay,
Her commands he'll obey without grumbling.
Wherefore's he called a "bumble bee"?
Throughout all that rough and rowdy tumbling
Industriousness is no quirk,
There's no task he will shirk,
So, don't smirk, he is anything but "bumbling".
In a thriving hive of buzzin' bees
Will reside several dozen cousin bees,
All of whom are humble bees,
And very busy bumblebees,
Knee-deep in bees' activities
And apian proclivities
That show their main necessity
If just to bee or not to bee.
Sub Categories
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