Rubric Poems

dislike of poetry

My dislike of Poetry

I dislike poetry; it is a contrived form of expression, yet whenever
I published one of my collections, which is under the rubric 
of poetry
when they are nothing but opinions and descriptions of thoughts, which
I try to share with readers who might like what I write
or think this is a waste of time. I dislike poetry because it keeps
life in shadows and tries not to tell but to show by writing 
so abstract
you have to guess the intentions. When you do, the poet is great.
mainly because he described life as scholastic and has little to do with real life, but you can, if seeking brief fame, put your head in
The gas oven and everything you wrote will be holy as the poetic grail, a pity because the poet/writer was seduced by her father and was unable to come to terms with this because she liked the rape but didn’t dare to admit it.

Memento on the Moon

Memento on the moon, our existence based on what we cannot see.
Subjective logic we measure by mere senses within our body
A penny lay I law on moon’s largest crater saying, ‘In God We Trust’
Nay a picture of God found on this coin, rather a man once worshipped
Proving our everlasting toil of higher power on earth versus universe
Never fully finding the rubric of justice but trusting a flawed process
Living breathing proof of our détente of existentialism wresting fate
Fighting chaos, embracing a land of laws to control the new
Both beautiful and horrid contradictions whimsically stuck in a dance
Desire to progress but strangled with fear we marched on
Seeking knowledge while carrying the boat anchor of tradition
We made it just far enough to learn how small we actually grew

Seijaku

Seijaku – 8-1-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seijaku

Serenity abides with tranquility
Abiding in beauty
And deep respirations of satisfaction
Ready
	Alert
Overlooking tangled mazes of overlapping obligations
 Labyrinths of lists -  
And atonal demands.
   
As the sun streaks past engorged calendars
In whirly-gigs of heavy-handed chaos
The shade of tranquility
 Stretches out 
  Looming across the face of serendipity
  With the breath of the rose
   The whisper of sapphire jewels
    Born from oceanic bowers.

In the shadows waits 
 The gift of each rubric solved
Pushing aside the tyranny of over committed -
In dawns, and Aurora’s ballet in neon slippers,
The spirit dialates,
  As moonlight drips from feathery boughs,
Healed from epidemics of minutes 
 Swallowed by a never resting pendulum.

The poet arises, even blooms, 
 Ignoring the cataracts of frail dreams
When hurried footsteps and clouded hearts
 Still race infected by chaotic delirium
Tripping over beauty’s outstretched boughs
To see – to notice -
 To embrace 
Lavender, gently waiting, with amazement.

Woke, a brand new bloke

World has gotten far too awake,
Fancy gender issues to rake.
Sex, a matter of choice,
One follows inner voice,
As suits self choice, one bakes one’s cake.
A non-binary brick
Has broken old rubric—
One male-female that goes to make,
And woke, a brand new bloke,
Out, old order to choke,
Suffers deep slumber and can’t wake.
_____________________________________  
Happenings |11.04.2024| Limerick, humour
Poet’s note: J K Rowling of Harry Potter faces a prospect of arrest in Scotland for having said: Many a transgender actually is man under the dress. But if Western World is so 'woke' as to suffer from chronic insomnia, India seems its Polar opposite, comparable to say Rip Van Winkle who slept for twenty years, or Kumbhakarna of Ramayana who used to sleep six months in a year. The last line of this ditty alludes to this fact.

Weaver

Weave away, Weaver, weave on
The many layers of our lives
Your nimble fingers weave upon –
Thread the rubric of our hours
Into days and weeks and years
With your persistent weaving power

Lace into the fabric melodies
That raise the songs we know
In warm uplifted harmonies
Which lift in graceful, soulful flight
On wings of breathless escapades
The finest feathers of delight

And weave the summer, weave the fall
In realms of wondrous light
To illustrate the world enthralled
– The breath of sunshine in the air
– The energy of earth and sky
– The flower burning with a flair!

Oh, Weaver! With your finest yarns
Weave a little stitch in time
That doesn’t do us any harm
But spins a story so sublime
We cannot bear the tale to end
And leave our folded wings behind –

And once it’s woven, woven tight
Sew the beating badge – now still –
Upon the gown in sutures white
That it may join the sparks of light
On chariots with golden wheels
Flashing by – one for each life

Rubik's Cube

Rubik’s cube:
six faces,
nine tiles per

Sort out so
colors, sides are
uniform

The rubric?
No clue here…
Cubic rube

----------

Another tricube, naturally. I was a candidate for the "Cube Smasher" back when they were sold... Could work them, but never quickly, and always seemed to mess up as I got close to a solution

A Paradigm Shift

Listen, John, if you want a paradigm shift
May I recommend that you incentivize,
Or better still, leverage your poetry skills—
Or, globalize them beyond the parameters
Of the current norms…okay, friend?

And when you have done a fact check
I think you will see the bottom line is never
As robust as you thought it was…certainly
Poetry is never going to be the “in” thing
Latest stats say you'll need better rubric!

FIRST PLACE WINNER
written August 2, 2021
entered "Buzzword Bingo" Poetry Contest
sponsored by John Anderson

Selectively Open

I’m not the most open person,
I’m rather quiet that’s for certain.
I don’t talk about myself too often,
I prefer listening over my talking.

I may be mute on the first encounter,
Once comfortable I get a bit louder.
The world and personal life separate,
The same two charges never connect.

I’m cautious about what I share,
I don’t express my every love and care.
I told you before I’m like a rubric cube,
When unraveling me don’t get confused.

Visualize a vault that’s locked away,
I’m not giving my combination away.
I’m not concealed about all things,
I prefer not to verbalize everything.

The Many Talents of Boyce Brandon Harris Second Addition

Away from tireless desk job i.e.,which obliged 
swearing allegiance, fealty, loyalty within complex 
edifice, where obsolete quaint rubric, schematic, 
thematic mantra "We Bring Good Things to Life,"
met with gnawing, emerging, chomping 
objectionable quandary. The sedentary station 
exhausted, milked usurped mental energies 
linkedin hinged upon the figurative linchpin 

sans contractual mandates. Steady employment 
obliged conferring, forsaking, invoking credo, 
ethos, hierarchical jujitsu marrying obligatory 
penance requisite at General Electric, (which 
daily tasks borne with gravitas witness 
to crunching numbers vis a vis from gifted 
mathematical application, and scientific mind). 
Thus decades on end, my father remained 
steadfast on this straight and true decree, 

whereby dad (analogously applied his 
Semitic nose to the whet grindstone) 
applying inherent and learned math
ematical/ scientific principles respectively. 
He made excellent use of mechanical en
gineering degree (earned free of charge 
at Brooklyn City College viz Veterans benefit).

Nature, the Egotist

I pray that Nature is no Egotist 
That gets an A plus on a test 
And doesn't study the rest of the term...

Though I don't judge, 
(It's merely I), 
You've been too poor
To not catch my eye...

You're assigned to give life 
For this eternal term, 
And making all perfect's
The rubric you've got, 
But you've failed too many 
To judge judgmental me, 
Because you've born some 
That can't even judge! 

I thought you loved Art
And your every creation...

You forgot to make 
The others hot like me 
(Outside of the days 
That they run in the Sahara)! 

These very words, I can only imagine, 
Are the words thought over the world and water--- 
You're full of yourself 
To slack on them, 
Just because you're proud that you made me.

Public Back Stabber

Public Back Stabber

You gave me life and breath, Yes thank you,
You feed me and house me, Yes thank you,
You educated me and tutored me, Ye thank you,
You loved me as some hated me,Yes thank you,
You smiled at me as they scowled, Yes thank you,
You treated me as they shown me back,Yes thank you,
You gave me joy as they rob it, Yes thank you,
You aligned me when i disarranged my poles, Yes thank you,
You tossed me when i was thirsty, Yes thank you.

But...! 

Was that an authentication to stab me? No i don't think so!
Was that a sacrament to tarnish me? No thank you,
Was that sauciness to serve yourself with sauce of brag? No i don't think so!
Was it a rubric to talk ill of me? No thank you,
Was it an impudence to majestic-ate yourself to me? No i don't think so!
Was it an intrepidity to maul me down from those i love? No thank you,
Was it an ordinance for you to grill me to thrash? No thank you

A clone of stout  backstabber stamped itself from you,
Let your giventh left hand not seen by your receiventh right hand,
Stop backstabbing me!

Rubric Scale

Four days 
Its has been four days of turbulence,
That as contorted my mind
Trying to express the problem that hunts me,
We sin and sin,
But which one is amiss,
Lie,Steal,Kill,?
Please show me the mystical scale that weighs sin,
Giving us the power to judge,
We walk these corrupted streets,
Passing one another,
Oblivious that we are looking through a mirror
How different are we?
Sinner from birth but somehow we become separated,
Why does my sin goes unnoticed but his goes to  trial?
Now we decide when judgments comes,
Deluding Gods voice ,We strive for control,
Banishing who we please,
And Mercy on Those who stay,
Dethroning who is unworthy,
Betrayer our brother and sisters,
Why are we so Lost?
Please can my question be answered?
Are not all sins equal?
If not show me the rubric,
Why is the sin to lie normalcy,
But to Steal an anathema,
Four days I have been lost,
Trying to understand the weight of sin.

My Version of Hell

Well there’s this place that I see in my dreams,
A place full of darkness and ear piercing screams.
Screams you have never heard before,
Screams so terrifying you won’t want to hear them anymore.

They make you want to run; their fear amplifies your own,
But you can’t run because this place is now your new home.
The only glimpse you have of hell and the terror it imposes
Is just for a second, just before the door closes.

Believe me it’s not a big party, where everyone’s having a ball,
No, it’s like a rubric cube, metal boxes housing the great and the small.
In a foetal position you are stuffed in this thick steel square box,
With a door that squashes you in, that has a six-digit combination lock.

You may believe in the party and see the devil karaoking your favourite song,
But it’s stuffed in a small box with loud screams going on and on.
At first you pray and plead to God to forgive.
But in vain you pray amiss, because you would not believe

Then you will question God and ask why?
Ending in you cursing, hoping God will let you die.
I had a glimpse of this from the glass tube I slid through,
Into a darkness so thick you could almost chew.

Activity #39

I hate the way there's silence
When I ask if someone's there

I hate the way I'm empty
Left to just sit and stare

I hate the way I'm lonely
When I shouldn't have to be

I hate the way I'm hated
Thrown down on my knees

I hate the way things have gone
Completely taken off course

I hate the way things are going
My screams leaving me hoarse

I hate the way I'm sitting here
Writing down my pain

I hate the way no one cares
I have nothing left to gain

I hate the way I write your name
When I write something down

I hate the way my dreams aren't safe
I wake up with a frown

I hate the way people judge
Their rubric far from fair

But most of all, I hate the way
You think that I don't care

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