society imposes its strict rules
and one of these rules is labeling. for conformity
we are so indoctrinated and regimented
that we rarely judge with our own feelings
we involuntarily put labels: on food, on books, on minds, on feelings
and if classifications had not been invented (Linnaeus and Darwin gave us a helping hand)
we would be swimming in an ocean of shapes and colors
differing from one culture to another
but what the world still ignores and/or hides
is the greatness and uniqueness of love in all its forms
love goes beyond patterns. it is uncontrollable and cannot be classified
love your neighbor! love yourself.
love love so that you can forgive anything, without bias
and above all... love children because they will carry the torch of love further
my dogs are obsessive compulsive
they compartmentalize their activities
If they get a chicken stick
they run to their gray mattresses to chew it
they have established their own routines
one always leaves the last bite of food for his brother
one will not come into the front door unless my husband stands there
no amount of coaxing, begging, crying or pleading can change his mind
opinionated? certainly
regimented? definitely
self-absorbed? Absolutely
my dogs are obsessive compulsive
Dark brown eyes enslaving my soul
Always on alert and patrol
His kind heart always on show
He’s not a boy that goes with the flow
He loves his life to be regimented
Nothing a guess but predicted
His belly rumbles at the same time
Knows what tricks to play to get his dime
He is sweet and caring to all he meets
A special boy who manipulates for treats
He knows how to give a cuddle
And how to dive in a muddy puddle
He shows warmth and kindness
Loyal and life’s brightness
And he is one of three
One of the three best dogs in the world, you don’t have to agree
Brainwash
My pawns are carved from the ivories
ripped from flesh are the tusks
I need to have agency,
my moves I look forward
to in any direction
through hearts I may pierce
a game of thrones
when I win the board it's clear
wrists bloodied from the combatants
my treasured knights toss
their plated platinum gauntlets
not for the queen of queens
nor a worthless king
but for forcible indoctrination to induce
to give up basic political,
social, and religious beliefs
and attitudes and to accept
contrasting regimented ideas
Power and Form
Power and form—the two intertwined elements of human existence. Our words, sometimes sweet, other times sour, leave a lasting imprint across the tapestry of humanity. We often say “yes” to please others, driven by our so-called rational minds. But is the life of a poet or poetess more fulfilling than that of a farmer? Are we expressions of nature or mere victims of regimented affiliations?
As unpredictable and impossible species, we roam the Earth daily. Power and form—there’s no secret society (or perhaps there is). Our secrets are laid bare under the watchful eyes of the world. Strangers peruse our family albums, much like they search for emoji hearts and likes to boost their self-esteem in the online revelry. We unwittingly sell our souls to a forceful enemy—jealousy, insecurity, and the curiosity of others.
I celebrate my strength through my mediocre poetry. Why? Because not everyone can compose their feelings onto the screen or paper. Today, I am retired; today, I am free. But some days, even freedom becomes monotonous. Mental fatigue sets in from being so… ??
The eleventh month, November, the month that takes a breath,
As it's waiting. Waiting for a fickle sun to decide.
Though sun's decision ever is to skim the sky with stealth,
As if a painter's hand the vibrant stars of night has 'plied.
The short days of muted light unwrap autumn's cold beauty,
While thick blankets on a bed ensure an even slumber.
This month of regimented hours calls us to our duty---
The great preparation for December's Holy number
They stand in regimented
order, lined up on the seawall,
all facing into the wind.
A slight turn of a body
catches a squall and sends
an errant gull off balance
forcing it to take flight.
Overhead, some hover,
others bank and sheer off
into the distance,
coming back to hang
in the air before
descending to the ground.
Seagulls are masters
of the wind, feathers tuned
to ride each gust and gently
float the chaos that boils
beneath their wings.
The air is home to them.
Then suddenly, such mastery
collapses into to a ball
of feathered fury, all grace gone,
fighting over the remains
of a big mac flung out
of a car window,
but leaving the pickle.
Located in the perfect place
Filed in transparent drawer
Unruly impediments erased
Facets interact free of flaw
Seamless system clockwork
Methods remain meticulous
Design drawn up by a doctor
Considered, inconspicuous
Routine guides a room's tidy
Itemising verbatim shelves
Briefcase organised abiding
Data struck upon first delve
Packed in precise patterns
Utility is readily predicted
Shipshape sailing on satin
Scurvy sufferers evicted
Fold exposes name brand
Recognised categorically
Regular overhauls planned
Excess viewed as slovenly
Upkeep travels compact
In zipped compartments
Disarray tends to detract
Regimented requirements
8th of **** April
In retrospect you can never
make sense as to why it happens.
A minute late sets a sequence loose
towards some catastrophic event,
or if you miss a step taken to complete
a simple task, you'll begin
to fall apart. So much
seems to pivot on the perfect
execution of such trite things.
Nothing is exempt.
And then there is the countless
tributaries drawn to represent
each critical point along
the course of a single life,
or worse, the universe with its
almost infinite intersects of chance
webbed across time and space
back to its beginning. All appear
to be intricately linked, wired
into the locked rulebook
of a sinister, cosmic game.
Such thoughts overwhelm
and paralyze the brain.
Each movement made,
each calibrated ritual
bring into question just what's
at stake, what harm will be
unleashed if you get it wrong.
This is replayed again
and again as if to multiply the sum.
In the prison
of your regimented days,
you keep counting minutiae
and the spinning chamber
of an imaginary gun.
You just want a reset to zero.
Gentle rolling hills, valley plots,
nothing regimented,
graves not in ordered row but placed
among natural features.
It’s beautiful here, especially in the Fall.
The Maples are tall and burning bright.
There are new graves among the old.
I thank them all for being here before me.
Not that I could afford
to be planted here. Even the Maples
are too rich for my death.
No, I will be ashes in the Ohio river,
more befitting my redneck soul.
I imagine the fishes will be pleased,
the abandoned truck tires
accommodating my swirling dust.
If the shore weeds and cattails catch me,
then I will linger until their own death
releases my essence once more.
Eventually I will be transformed
after generations of sprouting dreams -
maybe into a Maple seed.
A seed to be planted in these same
pleasant Autumnal acres.
Playful pony promenade
Quietly quizzing querulous quail
Respite regulated regimented rabbits
Studiously steering sterling striped starlings
Tricking trinkets, trunks and tributaries
Undervalued, underdeveloped, and underdone
Guns in Sweden
Sweden has problems with too many guns
shoots hole in the night.
Many refugees came to Sweden, who thought
when the refugees discovered a Nordic paradise
they would become Swedes overnight.
The inhabitance of this Eden has a discriminatory heart.
The glance of an eye tells the truth.
There was a clash of culture.
People of the same philosophy likes to live close to each other,
for them, Sweden has a cold heart.
No work no education, guns are easy to buy.
I don´t know the solution
Perhaps the Nordic people, are too regimented
and it will take time to change this attitude.
On an empty page, my quill
Does not sit to quench
Its thirst to lessen this quandary
To let, nay make, quintessential
Inroads, biding thy quiver
Of lexiconical bolts; queuing
And firing forthwith rousingly formed quips
Onto this pulpy papery quilt
Begat by thy mind & soul; quoth
I, the Poeter, set to quicken
One’s pace upon the barren quagmires
Of this regimented delineation of the exalted quatrain
Without the rigmarole to produce
Each line with, a notion of being abstruse
Nor, being meant to infer being obtuse
Or, to take a step back and be a communicatory recluse
A piece de resistance for the ruminating
Ilk, step forward with grandeur; minds & souls; scintillating.
On this most auspicious of days, permit me then,
in lieu of the present results of the U S election,
to say that I can not control my excitement,
nor can I contain my enthusiasm,
about one puppet being replaced by another to lead the U S nation,
into further oppressive, regimented, degradation and regression.
Congratulations Mr President,..
.. oh, and if you are as bright as the last one,
just so you know, the above congratulation,
is a perfect example of truthful passive aggressive sarcasm.
Stillness as potentiality poised in silence
Or action kinetic in desireless nonchalance
In meditation do we dwell in emptiness
Or celebrate bliss throb rapture in fullness
Do we calibrate experience by memory imagery
Or are we unfettered and spontaneous in our entrée
Is our practice a discipline regulated & regimented
Or are we flowing in childlike trusting surrender joy elated
07-October-2020
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