Timing is the key to whether
Many things pan out.
We wait too long, we’ve missed the boat;
We know what that’s about.
Procrastination may cause
Opportunities to fade
And then regret kicks in
For the decisions we’ve not made.
The timing of a venture
May determine its success.
Too soon or late may wreck it,
Thereby adding lots of stress.
Comedians are criticized
If they can’t nail their timing,
Like rhythmless musicians
(Or a poet bad at rhyming).
Today I am
querulous
my foot taps a rhythmless tattoo
my fingers roam unfulfilled
this bolus of undetermined want
slides down my throat,
invertebrate,
lodging in my stomach
dull,
as a faint scratching on a prison wall,
carving out the days
heavy,
as a stone unquarried and uncut,
the sculptor indecisive, reluctant to take up his chisel
some indeterminate
unfixed need
slithers, struggles for expression
through restive eyes
Image of Puzzle Match Missing provided by Pixabay.
Poetless II
Poetic Form: Couplet
Blank pages strewed, across the desk of pains,
in a tongue-tied state, censured writer wanes.
The silent voice echoes hollow inked wells,
of dying words crept from a mind that quells.
Overwrought grips, scrawl at piles of long since,
mayhaps some gleam ... sort of sign to convince.
The broken clock held, tells that time does not,
while a mute welcomes, what songbirds still got,
Rambled insights ... a house filled in guises,
shadowed bound words, the heart vaporizes.
In rhythmless moments, just proved the resolve,
pen floors speechless, writer's blankness evolve.
2021 May 18
The bright lights come on the curtain is set
A clattering of wooden heads survey
Puppeteering all those nodding dolls
Tied to heads and woken up by strings
A song a dance to a rhythmless beat
The puppets now on their wobbly feet
My favourite marionette comes down
To do his act and slay, the mighty king
rescues his queen from a bunch of bandits
With swords they draw a fight in play
Enchanted now all eyes glued the story
unfolds, our fingers chewed.
Alas! puppeteering is going extinct
Too hard to survive in this modern world
‘A puppet now dangling from a string.’
27.2.2021
Vanishing.
Blank pages strewed high on my desk in pain,
For now, I heard the squelch of death again,
It had echoed from my emptied inkwells,
As dying words crept from a mind that quells,
Pilfered hands scrawl at piles for hopeful hints,
A gleam, as much as a sign to convince,
A broked stopped clock reminds that time does not,
And a muted bird still has what its got,
Rambled eyes of a place in disguises,
Shadows grow as my heart vaporizes,
My rhythmless moves just proved my resolve,
I heard the squelch of death again, evolve.
2019 September 14
She tried
She tried so hard
Not to make a mistake
She covered all her flaws
Pacing through life on tipped toes
Trying so hard not to make a mistake
But that in itself was the mistake
She was meant to live
She was meant to love
She was meant to jump
She was meant to play
She was meant to be free
She was meant to make mistakes
And laugh at the silliest jokes
She was meant to dance in the rain
Let her hair down
And sing a rhythmless song
But she kept it all bottled up
And put on a show for everyone
Feigning a perfect existence
Feigning a perfect life
Living a perfect lie
Caught in the perfect web
A web of lies
By Sylvia Chika
sylviachika@gmail.com
http://sylviachika.blogspot.com/
http://sylviachika.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/sylviachikablog
Instagram: @sylviachikawrites
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Twitter:@sylviaoz
© 2018 Sylvia Chika
The water whispers to those who listen.
The stones speak to those who are near.
The Forests shout to all who pass.
Countless women and men,
Countless ephemeral voices
whispering in unison. shh. Listen.
Listen to the voices of nature.
Each a unique sound, screaming.
Screaming in joy of simply existing.
A scream of joy with an afterthought of sadness.
No one can hear!
Nobody is listening!
There is a rhythmless pattern to nature.
Over and over never the same.
A river will flow the same direction,
but ever on a shifting path.
Always changing, always the same.
Every moment different, every moment unchanging.
There is simply beauty in nature,
whether it is beautiful because it is simple or simply beautiful.
Do not forget to listen.
Concourse with no passenger limits
Un-restricted access to all corridors
Freely navigating space and time
Winding aimlessly along each meter
Easy, un-restrained, rhythmless strides
No pattern to my steps
Pausing for no apparent reason
Deliberately browsing through each strand
Informally addressing every subject I meet
Disconnected from the discourse around me
splintered moons are always moving over my night skies
and shooting stars always are greeted with a surprise
sunsets, in autumn, always fall with the leaves that let go
and someday you will eventually know
that everything happens for an unknown reason
shadows stretch as each night dims to a darker gray
and stars wink in a direction that's a thousand years away
as clouds move through and cry frozen tears of snow
and someday you will eventually know
that love also has a calendar of changing seasons
each day the night betrays the sun at a different time
and the stars twinkle their lights to a rhythmless chime
but in the darkest days of winter there's no sun left to glow
and someday you will eventually know
that all cycles seem to have an act of treason