Almost sixty years ago, my father
under suspicion, as a cattle rustler
Me a bit surprised
but it could have been as the title of a hustler
One day whilst in the dairy, my father with my brother milking cows
two young cops arrived to ask a leading question
Were you in such and such a paddock on such and such a day
if so what was your purpose, was put as a suggestion
They had evidence to support, that my father he did visit
That his actions in that paddock may be viewed as illicit
One cop from his pocket pulled a docket , that had been found
it was a receipt which displayed my fathers name
It was enough for them to investigate,
that's why to my father's property they came
To their leading question
what was it he was doing
I had a crap was his immediate reply
One young innocent cop asked my father what's a crap
They would have instantly known if my father said he was ........ a word that rhymes with ruing
perhaps my father would have had regrets if he had known what would later be brewing
NO CHARGES LAID
Wistful,
wondering why.
Weeping.
She cried alone,
as she sat
on rugged rock,
ruing she ever loved.
Placed 2
Deafening
rapid fire blasts
Shatter
the transluscent margins of
Silence
with
Harrowed cries
gasped
Howls
echo from one side to the other
Of the heart’s vast arena
with a repeating chorus
of ruing
Pleas
Of the gone lost
Groaning for home
in frayed syllables
Grasping
at last
To a measure of hope
Possible
in a faith’s apologies
And abiding love’s
Pronounced touch
of forgiveness…
** “I am the prodigal son every time I search for
unconditional love where it cannot be found.”
Henri Nouwen: “ The Prodigal Son “
—————————
(c) sally eslinger 2/3/2025
If the subject is appealing,
I’ll, at first, begin to read,
Though the facts with which I’m dealing
Are way more than what I need.
All the knowledge that I’m gaining,
By the time I reach page 3,
Can’t prevent my interest waning
And I’m sure it’s not just me.
Aren’t the editors aware of
When a story is too long?
For as readers, we despair of
Lack of reining in what’s wrong.
What I mostly end up doing
Is abandoning, mid-stream,
Someone’s effort, rarely ruing
That it might be gaining steam.
Still, I’ll stick with my subscription;
Through its pages I will comb.
What might cause a true conniption
Is an enigmatic poem!
Devoid of old qualms and ruing sigh
Wing your arc for purer stratum high,
Past's mortal morsels I urge forsake
For dainty victuals sage angels take.
As mighty Retribution's brooms sweep
Away avarices that now huddled weep,
Your best plume beyond trite ethers ply
Into loftier climes where finer eagles fly.
Viral cloud your heaven-sent comrade is
If you’ll hit hardest with no goofing miss,
And task your swiftest flappers out of Old
Woods into pristine joys of the New World.
Eternal Kindness her illuminator holds
To undim cumuli's ill-bivouacked folds,
And Divine Treasury total expense pays
Till the last of your wise-wayfaring days.
Soar whilst sagest angels' soirée lasts,
As fierce Retribution's viral cloud casts
Nebulous guiles to outsmart hardy foes,
And Kindness her aiding flickers throws.
Why such disgust on our last date?
I earned your trust; you made me wait
by piles of rust outside your gate.
Lie in the dust of your own hate,
sigh if you must, ruing your fate.
Spy me nonplussed under such weight
cry in a gust, a stormy spate.
My cause is just - is it too late?
Love in its majesty and spendour
Visits hearts kind and unkind
Waxing her odour and ardour
To help the love-lost to find
Little spaces, loving faces
Enamoured enough
To rise from surfaces
Where disappointment tough and rough
Lampoons discomfiture
Inflicted in the name
Of a culture whose stricture
Makes the lost lame
With heartbreaks
Torrents of tears
Ruing mistakes
Made as fears
Sprang on the lost the illusion
Baked in their soft centre
In reaction to the disaffection and delusion
That feelings may never enter
Into contests
Where the ruthless inflict maximum pain
Under pretexts
A go at love in the main
Signifies a journey on the back of futility
Backed up by contrary advice
Veering towards the volatility
Love tags along in every slice
Love snaps on suitors
Mad
Enough to pose as imitators
Of sad
Hearts that cried
Once smitten
To the core when they tried
To tame love forgotten
Into the dustbin of history
Replete with burnt fingers
Whose mixed blessing story
Singe many Cupid singers.
saved soul
soiled from living
ruing
the mark that's missed
joy
’Twas raining cats and dogs,
Then a hard drizzle over the bogs.
I was the one with umbrella in-house;
But a girl needed to reach her house -
Beauty this deep must not souse!
This girl I offered to helping,
But heard me some fellas yelping:
Your best chance, your best try!
Yet soaking to keep her dry,
Put my umbrella over hairs plaited wry.
If only she'll look me with a smile,
It’ll make wooing a thing worthwhile;
But all the uneasy way through,
On her face she wore a forbidding cool
As though I smelled of a kiddy’s stool.
I took her number, nonetheless,
Promising to bring an umbrella no less
Every time the heavens poured.
But on reaching my place of board,
And seeing it a figure short was bored.
Argh! howled I in a voice so mean,
Ruing the guile she wreaked upon m’being.
So next time the rains were to fall,
Swore I the darkest oath of all,
My umbrella she’ll never have this doll!
MaryAnn Sage
Approximately one and a half score minus seven years ago
this then naïve and innocent early twenty something,
now a middle aged, diamond in the rough, jaded
two plus decades slavish married male did not realize
his fare maiden perfect form, she a capricorn
(who also shared same January 13th birthday as myself,
though a half dozen years Mycenae senior
hovered in mine immediate proximity,
a mere hello kitty whisker away,
which accompanying cat’s eye soft nose a pet smart appetite
saw me weight tool screwed up
to revere mother of pearl opal mate ideal beau
now ex post facto finds yours truly ruing foregone soul mate to crow
in vain, though I cannot help pining and lamenting where art thou – dow
ting she (MaryAnn Sage, a young whirled, wide webbed childless divorcee,
a couple of years shy of thirty)
ponders whereabouts of this contemplative, furtive
* * * * * * * * * *
a false man, a true man
a crooked man's strife
a litany of sins, as long as his life
a young man, an old man
a man for all times
a scale that will measure much more than his crimes
a thin man, a fat man
a man as he's made
a price not to bargain, but simply be paid
a cold man, a warm man
a gentle man's fate
a changing for better, before it's too late
a strong man, a weak man
a just man at last
a chance now to live life, not ruing the past
a live man, a dead man
a peaceful man rests
a time to reflect on his worsts and his bests
a rare man, a common man
ubiquitous man
a time to come home now, to where he began
Saved soul
Soiled from living
Sin rues
Ruing
Of the mark missed
Joy
Joyful
Burdens lifted
New lease
Written: December 01, 2014
Tearing through flesh
Shattering bones
No organs spared
Beautiful child playing with her friends
A fearful confused young rebel
The baker trudging to work at dawn
An elder reflecting and ruing the past
The bullet has no conscience
No memory
Only an inevitable path
Why?
Michael Newman MD
Doctors without Borders
William Shatner Dies
By Elton Camp
Earth scientists eagerly scan the sky
Signs of intelligent life hoping to spy
Whatever its nature they don’t care
Just anything to know they’re there
If the aliens the same thing are doing
Could mean that some will be ruing
Television signals at light speed
Could be all that the aliens need
To know intelligent life’s been found
That maybe they should look around
At “I Love Lucy,” they did sneer
Later came signals that brought fear
“Star Trek” showed a people growing
Who about space travel are knowing
“This race has become to us a threat.
So it’s an intervention they’ll get.”
“Captain Kirk’s their leader it’s clear.
With him dead, there’s less to fear.”
Zorkians came to Earth at warp speed
They found old Kirk to do the deed
“Stop. William Shatner’s my name.”
Is what their victim loudly did proclaim
But then the awful news the actor heard
For “fiction,” Zorkians have no word
The phasers the aliens took off of stun
Then for poor Shatner, it was no fun!
An actor confused with the part he plays
It’s dead on the ground that he now lays
I'll be as kind as I can be, practicing sincerity.
I'll do my best at what I'm best at doing,
but what I can't do well, I won't be ruing!
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