What doth he do? In the hall of learning
He, teaches us alphabets
Using which we simulate stupendous sonnets
he teaches us, with contrasting countenance
from mere additions to anatomy of hens
This is he does in the hall of learning
Where our fiery passion is brightly burning
Who is he? In the hall of learning
He is the Buddha disseminating wise
Wanting his pupils to rejuvenate and rise
His wisdom and knowledge dancing in blaze
showering us with his unperturbed grace
This is him in the hall of learning
Where the glory of mankind is gloriously gleaming.
Why is he in the hall of learning
Because he is the architect tinkering the next
He enchants and procures the greatest
He works not for pay but passion
He is the trigger for his disciple's ascension
For this is he in the hall of learning
a beacon of sagacity forever, beaming
local cab driver big deal
lacking personal appeal
drives into a lake
procures a fish cake
then bumps an electric eel.
Keep me as the apple of your eye;
hide me in the shadow of your wings
Psalm 17:8 NIV
The Fall
Blow leaves, just a few,
to feed my eye.
One clings to its branch -
“Hang on, Baby…” or “Let go…”
Another clings to a web, evanescent.
One more procures a landing
on my windshield, “I spy…”
Mysteriously the fall stops there,
as if I am in its eye -
I am the apple.
11/2/2022
I'm indulging myself by re-posting this poem from 2017
because it cracks me up and I thought we might laugh together
Oh, no, he best not patronize me on Valentines.
If I must dramatize appreciation, I shall agonize.
Each year, he thinks chocolates will rationalize
spending his time guarding the sofa so it won’t rise,
while my cooking and housework threaten to paralyze
all I am behind my victimized and exhausted eyes.
Unless he bears one, one way ticket for me to paradise
or procures a gift he ingests that will tranquilize,
he can stuff candy hearts in his behind so gelintized.
The last time I fell for that darned, deceiving cupid
I committed to him and living my life forever stupid.
Yes, my dear friend,
It is true, that both the wise and the unwise are after pleasure
However,
There is a huge difference in the way they secure it:
While the foolish is, exclusively, running after pleasure
The sage procures it by simply aiming to avoid pain!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
13 May 2021
I acquire grievous compost in my mind’s glass eye,
piles and piles of waste debris lingers-
my subconscious feeds my intellect
and I am left breathing pure black ash
sinister by true nature yet pure as the whitest gold,
I seek the landfill only the poor seek;
for the needy realize the worth of
nourishment, not material wealth
my mind cracks open ineffably with vivid memories,
and this junkyard dwells where things
do not inhabit the universe - well needed
healthy thoughts ascend when the pure
crystalline hourglass stands perfectly still-
(as still as an imperial monumental column)
fear of the acumen residue in my dark mind procures,
feet planted firmly, standing upright-
ephemeral thoughts in my mind’s glass
eye flow through my bone marrow-
I embrace the remnants of solitude that
restlessly reside in my favorite junkyard;
(where I shall salvage what joy I have
left, and yearn to dispose of pain's refuse)
22 lines (sorry I just could not delete anymore lines)
October 31, 2019
Craig Cornish
My Favorite Junkyard Poetry Contest
Death is the great equalizer,
it comes for poor and rich alike.
We are allotted a finite
period of time to exist.
Regardless of social standing,
death is the great equalizer.
There is no escaping that fact,
no matter what your status is.
At life's end, without exception,
no one procures an extension.
Death is the great equalizer,
all flesh and bone revert to dust.
Whether king or slave, we all die
when it's time for our life to end.
Despite wealth, power, or prestige,
death is the great equalizer.
The magic gem of curly hair,
Procures itself in sodden downpour.
Frizz retracts and curls define,
Revitalised by heaven's moisture.
No brolly required.
No wind-swept locks.
A long-awaited makeover,
Of the most natural kind.
28/04/2019
Oh, no, he best not patronize me on Valentines.
If I must dramatize appreciation, I shall agonize.
Each year, he thinks chocolates will rationalize
spending his time guarding the sofa so it won’t rise,
while my cooking and housework threaten to paralyze
all I am behind my victimized and exhausted eyes.
Unless he bears one, one way ticket for me to paradise
or procures a gift he ingests that will tranquilize,
he can stuff candy hearts in his behind so gelatinized.
The last time I fell for that darned, deceiving cupid
I committed to him and living my life forever stupid.
... CayCay Jennings
January 28, 2017
The Spider Queen, The Sycamore
And The Tiger Moth
It is with glee
I gaze upon
A sycamore tree,
A cobweb spun,
And there between
The budding leaves
The spider queen
Busily weaves;
Silken ties
Of steely thread
To catch mere flies
In swarms overhead,
Sticky lures
Like rising sap,
By night she procures
Her silky trap.
Then to her cloth
Of deathly lust
A tiger moth
With wings of dust
Flutters near,
Her kiss unseen,
No love nor fear
For the spider queen.
Wrap him neatly,
Wrap him tight,
Wrap completely
O love of the night,
No man nor beast
Shall pass this way
And she shall feast
For many a day.
I stand, too keen
And gaze in awe
At the spider queen
And the sycamore,
In love, succumb
To her lustful wrath,
And I become
The tiger moth.
©RJVHorton2016
Since ages ago the kite exists
To entertain the small and the elder ones
Built in several forms and multi-coloured
It shares happiness to the kite flier
A good pastime for children and adults
Kite flying procures immense pleasure
Behold! how joyful is that lad
With the string in his hands
Fighting against the winds it soars high in the sky
Piercing the clouds it travels at high speed.
Fly, fly my beautiful kite
It is a real feast for the eyes
Carry me far away from this madding crowd
Where I can find a new home
Filled with peace of mind and serenity
A world devoid of worries and stress
But it has restricted freedom
Just like a kite with broken strings
Sometimes our life is unstable
Not knowing which direction to take
Flying in the north, south , east and west
Driven away and controlled by the winds
Will it be able to survive?
Will it meet the sky again after the fall?
A swelling in his nostrils bulged.
His crooning bellows off distant cliff.
The bull elk’s mane expands in rhythm
Mates are sought through distant forest.
Challengers may seek a struggle,
but, must withstand his bending thrust.
The raucous song of crashing antlers,
will defeat all rivals with sharpened tines.
The heard is now his ruminate kingdom.
Females submit to his aroused gestures,
like hooves sinking into the soft meadow.
The rut procures new lives in spring.
When wildflowers are grazed on hillsides,
until the summer grasses sustain,
and falls dried stalks consumed,
winter’s trees provide twigs for browse.
Fear does not drive the regal elk.
He will stamp the dust against bear and wolf.
Their marauding paws and slashing fangs,
cannot defeat his burnished rack.
I am what you call a bearer of the "caul"
I was born with a veil that covered my face
It's supposed to be a sign of many things
For me this caul has given me the future
It is not something I can control
These things I see or feel
Sometimes they just overwhelm
I'm brought down to my knees
It's when they're strong and frighten me
I don't know where to turn
I know I'll sound quite insane if I share
The feelings of gloom that pain me so
But every now and then, I get a hint
From one close and dear,that shares the caul
Of something coming near
We do not have to say or explain the feelings
In our heads
We know by now it's from the caul
That wields and shares its doom
I never know exactly when or where
The tragedy will occur
Only feel the emotions that each event procures
It becomes a albatross I carry round my neck
This gift I was born with,Foresees fear and death
I wish I wasn't the one to carry this cross
It's knowledge is not of hope just misery and loss.
A true leader will lead the way into battle and he is defined by his actions and choices which will impact his followers. A leader procures a sense of security within his followers and secures fellowship amongst the rank. A weak leader looses his way and they destroy security and infest his troops with dissension and miss trust. Lead or not lead is what will define a true leader in life from a fraud of a leader. Lead with honor and contempt for those who would undermine the authority of a true leader of men.
I look in the mirror
And what do I see?
I see an exact
Copy of me.
I look in the bed
That lies above mine
There comes a voice
That procures my whine.
I look at the table
And to my right
I see my reflection
But I have no fright.
Each reflection had hair
Golden as wheat
We all love ice-cream
As our favorite treat.
Sapphire eyes
Four shining back at me
Tall lanky limbs
As graceful as could be
I am one of three
All copies of me
I’m a triplet you see
And I always will be.
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