One day
Our descendants
Will marvel
(If a sense of wonderment endures)
At our ability
To string
Two thoughts together
No nets, no nothing!
They might puzzle over
The requirements of good grammar
And proper semiotics
Writing long hand
And keeping inked words
Collected on a single piece
Of actual paper.
“How did the old folks,”
They might ask
“…Thunk from one sentence
To the next
Without falling?”
Jumbled up
Prepositions and particles
Inofwith
Forafterto
Will seem downright scary.
One day
Our descendants
Will be horrified
At our ability
To string
Two thoughts together
While hanging from a tree
Upside down
While cats and dogs
Circled below
Getting along quite nicely.
With three more weeks of holiday vacation,
Lisa and I’ve started studying 5 hours a day.
You can read a novel for atmosphere
but you have to puzzle over and wring-out academic books
- with their essays and worksheets after every chapter.
I feel a simultaneous focus and boredom
- but the pull of school is staggering
- like resisting it could break me apart.
you can’t wait - all around the country, thousands of Yalies are already back hard at it
I never cease to puzzle over
life's mystery, how on a drizzly morning
I found my long wished for love
crossing the street in opposite direction,
eternal love was conceived in the moment
and she passed by unnoticing my gaze
that could have lasted a century.
There was never a more tender and sweet face
lost quickly in the crowd. Her beauty so
enchanting, eloquent, and divine.
And every morning I cross the same intersection
hoping, praying, for another glimpse
at my true love, months after months,
distracted by nothing, the thought of her
entrenched in my deep sleep, and oh
how sweet it is, the dream of dreams.
The sweet smell of her perfume
still lingers in my mind.
Evil is hopelessness, so I shut it up by
this murmur of love raised by her footsteps.
Alas, years have passed and rain or shine I keep
crossing the street for the sake of a second look
at the girl who once walked past me unnoticing
the hurricane she caused in my soul.
To this austere duty, piously faithful
She will show up one day and ask me
“So what is it you want?” And I will not have an answer.
When I see images of moorland or fells,
I say to myself,
‘yes that particular moor is mine,
that mountain is my mountain.’
Then when I see people walking on
a moor path that I used to walk on
or climbing familiar mountains
that I once climbed
I often wonder what I left there,
that still makes them mine.
When Ohio knocks on my door
and rattles my windows;
I say to myself
‘that is my door and my window,’
yet I puzzle over
what I will leave here
when my boots have walked
every inch of this little patch
of suburbia, and if those shoe prints
on wet paving’s will ever be
recognized as me or mine?
Didn't know that love could make
life so incredibly difficult and painful
Nothing moving in the positive direction
There is no winning, only loss and new wounds
Make fuss and braid lies with spider thread
Maybe words need to be broken
so they no longer have any power
Words do not disappear by themselves
They can become blurry due to age or being forgotten
It's all about finding the right balance
When the tears dry out and thought carousel loses spinning
The loss of love that was never satisfied is a fact
No one wants to build the same puzzle over and over again
Destructive pondering, crying and hunting for peace
Worn shoes through many trails in several years
Meat and blood are a guide in life choices
In the wake of loss, gives us permanent scars
There's nothing left to say
15/11/2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I love him but he does not love me
Although he once seduced me with his art
His complex face I still do wish to see
I love him yet but he does not love me.
I puzzle over this anomaly
And wish the grief of lies to leave my heart
I love him but he does not love me
From his seduction ,I in pain do smart.
I detest him yet for I was then unknown
He hung on me the clothes of his desire
And when I called him once on his i phone
He labelled me a whore and quite unknown
His fantasy was not one I could own
Tried,judged ,condemned to perish in his fire
I detest him , hate him for I was newly known
And knowing me, he sent me to my pyre
Poet Destroyer, a marvelous, amazing awesome, fascinating woman,
with many interests that she shares with us each day in blogs and poems,
she enlightens us with information and photos that makes us ponder,
makes us pause, think, question, speculate, deliberate, puzzle over!
How did she get so darn smart and clever is what I wonder most of all,
oh, how she loves to sponsor a contest and just let our minds soar and flow,
and to win in her contest is just a great spirit boost and so inspiring,
as for, her writing, well she can write anything and make it just amazing!
Poet Destroyer, a wonderful, phenomenal, astonishing extraordinary person!
" I dig deep into my soul each day because of her"
_____________________
May 24, 2013
Poetry/Free Verse/In Honor and Appreciation
Copyright Protected, ID 05-480-545-24
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Appreciation (In Honor of PD)
sponsor, Abdulhafeez Aywolo , Judged 06/07/2013
First Place
I wonder of what the Whippoorwill sings
as he sits in the tree and trills.
Amid the shaded, shadowed limbs
its call, the fragrant air, it fills.
I stand in awe of the mountain range
that cleaves the land in two.
A rugged beauty that comes alive
in sun and shadowed hues.
I contemplate the lone Wolf's song
as he calls out to harmonize.
From deep within the wooded hills
which cause ancient fears to rise.
I marvel at the vast oceans
a ne'er to be tamed frontier.
How, far below our feet of clay
a whole new world awaits there.
I puzzle over mans idea
that we are superior.
When in fact, we should bow
to the majesty of nature.
How come 50 cents bags of chips
taste so much better,
than their big-bag cousins?
Or 7 oz. nostalgia coke soda bottles
have such a taste, oh, so devine?
I puzzle over such things,
I guess I'm just the wondering kind...
So it follows I should be happy,
To have this shrunken mind.
It’s unbearable, being me.
Very hard and difficult
Trying to put on the face for faces
To please people of different
Races and places and tastes
I know to laugh when the
Punch line is given, to thank when
I’ve been given, even for the smallest of things.
I know to cry when
Others are grieving, to puzzle over
Others confusion, yet never tell them
That they, in fact, were in the wrong.
I want to know when I can
Laugh and cry for me.
Is it so much to ask for?
Is it too late to turn back now?
Is it rude to take off my face,
And show them the soul underneath?
Will the world crumble under me
For doing such an unforgivable thing
I find it harder every day,
To take off the face,
Even when I am alone.
Shall I die with such a fake face?
I do not want to.
No! I refuse to meet my Maker
At his heavenly gates, as a stranger
With someone else’s face
I fear he will turn me down
For he will not know it is me.
My Heavenly Father will not know me.
I shall remove this face while I still can,
For I have only two beings to please,
My Creator and me.
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