Natalia was in charge of the Gothic Nutcracker Ballet
It was held in the darkest, dankest, nastiest alley way
The mice came out to trot around without their soldier suits
Feral cats pranced around the production, tummies full of toots
The Gothic Nutcracker, how marvelous, a few old ladies said
We love it too, remarked the vampires and others, all undead
This ballet is not attended by just anyone, invitation only you see
You are not invited unless you drink some spider eyeball tea.
The observers quietly express disapproval, stating, “There is no appreciation! What a disappointment! What a squander!” They observe a lamentable representation of a man, specifically an island man. The pastor solemnly affirmed, “Amen.” Furthermore, my daughter sorrowfully remarked, “Oh no, there goes my father; dear Lord, not again.”
I perceived the presence of despair in the haunted expression of the individual. The fractures in the aging brick wall emit a mournful melody. He stands near the altar; another individual lost to folly. This is the same man who, merely six months prior, declared, “I do.”
This occasion resembles either a wedding or a funeral—a bleak evening. The middle-aged groom, a rather foolish figure, shows a decline in love as affection is obscured by deception.
Improperly furnished with words alike the proper onstage guffawed and remarked, slighted and sent ribbons for acts that blanket at dusk with the manuscript rack, heaving against the pages like a concubine the throes of these pages batches of wine, like those that are deleterious these are cursed the same but they struck from their pages, the unequal dim range.
Is AI the latest fad for us to follow like sheep?
Run with the herd.
Dont get left behind.
Follow a leader and they will do the thinking for you.
Allow your brain to dissovle:
You will soon be obselete anyway.
Or disc brakes and electric gears on the humble bicycle?
How have we come this far without them.
Strava has many,
' Battery failed,journey cut short.
sob stories.
Or Hyrox!
Someone recently remarked
' Its now uncool to be seen on the humble bicycle
Even one with disc brakes and electric gears.
Hyrox is the latest craze
What will replace it?
He dwelt, he pondered, he thought for a while,
A smiling elder, older than his youth’s own smile.
Those pictures reminded him of his younger stockpile,
His dreams were bigger — hunger was his style.
But regret drained him, pain washed him thin,
Laundering his will, plundering within,
And now his unsung tone revealed just one note —
“If only I could reclaim the time I never bought.”
He closed away this very text, and looked upon it —
“Time I have,” he thought.
But once, even Time remarked —
“I am the destroyer of all dreams sought.
Nothing is lost, but nothing is what it seems,
He who wastes me becomes my theme.”
even as a young man
with jug ears and pimples
i knew she was a
beautiful poison
she remarked
she loved poetry
i gave it a shot
when
i had done
with my own poetry
recital
i sensed a door
in her mind
slamming shut
i guess
she was hurriedly searching
for
an anti-venom
No two ideas seem alike
Always paradoxical as North and South pole
Though they are of one individual,
You find a world of difference between them.
Time brings changes in our perceptions.
Some struggle with cognitive dissonance
Of ‘to be or not to be’ for deciding something
Some deliberately play the role of devil’s advocate
Some dogmatic ...
With their anomalous sense of invincibility
They pave a road to downfall and exile
The extreme arrogance and superiority
Culminate in their ruin and many human beings.
They ignore the reason and validity as they never cross check.
Getting two different opinions is not a mistake
Actually, we can use them as testing tools.
No doubt, self-esteem is to be honoured
But let us not allow our hearts burn and humiliate
Let’s avoid foolish opinions as Russell remarked.
Remember, human life is very little in this vast cosmos
Differences demand high price.
Why?
Ego... burns everything unless it is burnt.
I am called Annie A Lander.
Perhaps my mother believed
This name would be fitting for me,
But my father disagreed; he felt
I should bear the name of a goddess,
Such as Sarasvati, who embodies many souls.
I share my thoughts and ideas like wildflowers,
Dispersing my seeds with the breeze from the west,
Due to the Goddess Annie,
While the rivers gather my tears, so near to the ocean.
My father recognized the longing
And the pain and fear reflected in my eyes.
He remarked to my mother,
"What significance does a name hold, Esther May?"
With tears welling in her eyes,
She embraced my fragile body tightly.
What significance a name carries is strength and power.
It lay
halfway down the hall,
once the spare bedroom styled
where out of state family once sprawled,
for a while.
Grown now,
two states away
with families of their own
all too busy for a visit these days
back home.
My niece once remarked
that the room is pervaded
by remnants of Christmas collectibles parked
in dusted positions faded
for my heart's memorialized condition sparked.
Herein displayed
the many gifts they gave
so many Santa and Angel figurines
Baby Jesus on parade
in happier masquerades once seen.
As the season approaches
with every possibility of time recalled
the past encroaches
in the hopes and dreams, we still applaud
the sanctuary of the Christmas Room.
I had not seen her since she was a baby
her mother wanted to name her Naomi
in Japanese this meant straight, direct and beautiful
her father was holding out for Himari, after her mother
Himari means sunflower
Himari had been a marvelous little girl
a curious risk taker who loved life
she had an enthusiastic need to learn new things
at twenty-eight she showed continuing intelligence
we met, and she was polite, pleasant, and brilliant
I told her stories about her parents, and she was grateful.
She rarely met people who knew them before they knew her.
I remarked on her glorious eyes and her marvelous listening skills.
She was the best lunch partner I had ever known.
I knew I would never forget her and I never have.
a pink unicorn wandered past our house the other day
she had a fabulous tail and mane; I remarked on them
my husband looked out but saw nothing
I knew he wouldn’t
he does not believe in unicorns
my neighbor Princess Ann called me a few minutes later
What a gorgeous color she was! Princess Ann said.
She writes children’s books
seeing a unicorn is a daily event in her world too
Epigenetics?
I don't understand, but I wonder how come
I dream and remember things that happened
before I was born
perhaps caused when I am in my pram lay
absorbed without knowing what
the adults were talking about
my great-grandfather was a famed baker
who specialized in cakes and puddings
he had his own business, which his son my
grandfather squandered
I was drawn to the catering business
I no longer dream of my sister or my brother
they died young and have disappeared into
mythology
My mother I remember with fondness and
sadness, a hard-working woman with fierce
political opinions.
In later years, she succumbed to drinking and
took little interest in things around her
Of my father, I remember nothing
like looking into a blank wall, as my mother
once remarked I looked like my father
and she bore a secret smile.
One ominous thing is alcohol has played
and cast dark shadows through several
generations
I have myself suffered from this soul-eating
illness, I overcome by living far away and
in my writing
The addiction tendency is genetic
"Neglect is the biggest disease."
“flowers and friends both bring color to my world.” ~~ The Poet ~~
There was spring in the air. He saw Summer in her smile.
He watched her pass by, sometimes she would linger a while.
Gazing at the flowers in his garden, her pretty face so fair.
He saw Summer in her smile. There was spring in the air.
One day as she passed, he was attending his flowers outside.
She remarked, “your garden is wonderful it must give you pride”
Looking into her beautiful eyes, so glad he was talking to her at last.
He was attending his flowers outside, one day when she passed.
“That’s true my garden is the pride of the street, I just have a knack”
He told of some special blooms growing in a glass house out back.
“I’d love to see them, maybe you could show me next time we meet”
I just have a knack, that’s true my garden is the pride of the street.
Seeing what grows in his glass house, she was delighted and in awe.
She was in raptures and couldn’t believe just what she saw.
He had taken some Summer rain and created a rainbow rose.
In his glass house, she was delighted and in awe, seeing what grows.
The picture stared down at the old man
Good times, friends for life
The decomposing body was in its second year now
The dust and webs had cloaked him like a blanket
Giving him comfort that life denied him
Time ago, they would have classed him as a hero, time ago
The black van took him away
Eventually releasing the body for burning
The prayers were brief
His final epitaph came when the council cleared the house
The picture was the last to go in the skip
Glancing at it, the worker remarked to his colleague
Old soldier.
There were once some giraffes asked to tea
They politely accepted with glee.
The butler remarked, ”Aren’t YOU tall!”
For you, our chairs are too small.
So they drank tea from outside — quite hap’ly
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