A filigree of veinlets, briefly jeweled with dew,
In mirrored pools, peeps saffron's rusty hue,
Maple’s serrated script, twirling in autumn's view,
Summer's green surrendered, in fall's golden cue,
Lifting spirits once gently, deeply subdued.
I sold a bunch of gold for a price of nothing
Just because I am a human being
Did not think anger was anything
Till it took much of everything
I now know the grass on the other side is not always green
Making you frown could be the worse I have seen
Have no idea what would recompense such sin
The purest blood has to wash me so clean
That I would be forgiven
To at least catch a glimpse of your grin.
We're grown-ups being
A caregiver and fixer
Of our own mistakes.
Betrayal cuts deepest when it wears a smile,
a friend turned foe, a shadow turned to blade.
You plotted with my enemies, unseen,
waiting for the moment to strike your blow,
believing trust once shattered could destroy.
But know that karma stands, a silent judge,
the friend who writes the ledger of our deeds.
Each wound you left became a spark in me,
a fire no treachery could ever douse.
I rise, defiant, forged from pain and steel,
a flame that lights the path, relentless, fierce.
To my last breath, I will live and defy,
unyielding in resolve, my enemies,
know this: I will never, ever yield.
Each strike you planned has only sparked my blaze,
a light so fierce it sears the world itself.
I rise beyond defeat, unbroken, whole
my life not mine alone, but theirs I guard.
I breathe, I fight, I live, unyielding flame,
the proof that I will not be overcome.
A warrior bound by love and rage alike,
burning through shadows, claiming the dawn.
I am the flame that refuses to burn out,
a force unmatched, relentless in its rise.
I fight not just for me, but for my own
to be the father, man, and guide they need,
the unyielding pillar in storm and calm.
This battle is no marriage of convenience;
it is a contract written in sweat and blood,
a pact between duty and raw, searing will.
Every dawn I face, each burden I bear,
a testament that I will not surrender.
I saw a stupid movie just four years ago.
Will Ferrell starred in it, and he’s a funny guy..
The plot was so insipid I barely liked the show.
In Iceland it takes place, where Lars and Sigrit vie
with Eurovision singers in a contest with their song.
The movie played on Netflix during Covid times.
I listened and endured their vulgar “Ja Ja Ding Dong.”
As I remember it, the dumb song kind of rhymes.
That film was this American's first and only taste
of a competition Europe likes a lot.
I’m sure this famous contest isn’t a huge waste
of time like that lame film that had me thinking “What??”
I bet that Eurovision is a wonderful event.
I even heard on Youtube this year’s winner Nemo
sing “The Code,” a catchy tune. My time was better spent
with “The Code” than the “Fire Saga.” Nemo is supremo.
This is the saga of Veronica Vole
Who committed the perfect crime.
She murdered three lovers,
But not all at once,
She did 'em in one at a time.
The first was a lemur,
A two-timing schemer,
Who seduced all thirteen of her nieces.
Every female enticed him,
So she sliced him and diced him,
Then stir-fried and ate all the pieces.
The second, a lobster,
Was also a mobster
Who threatened her once with a putter.
So she got him alone,
Then boiled him well done,
And had him for lunch with drawn butter.
The third was a vulture,
Devoid of all culture,
Whose name, she remembers, was Vince.
He was planning to eat her
After he bet her,
So she tased him in self-defense.
In a big pot she tucked him,
Then scalded and plucked him
And served him "en casserole"
To her fourth beau, a critter,
Who'll make a good fritter,
She thinks as she spoons out his food.
'cause though she doesn't tend
To have good taste in men,
She does tend to like men who taste good.
Ms. Vole is not a siren or a femme fatale,
The kind of dame who'd tell a guy to take a hike.
At heart she is simply a sweet-natured gal
Who never met a man she didn't like.
I'm tired of life with Smelly Sid -
that sock just stinks of sweaty feet,
no matter what they wash him in
(in winter's bad, but summer heat...)
I rolled out from the washing pile
and got away from Sid, but then
some boxers joined me - just my luck -
and now I'm stuck with Skid-mark Sven.
Tír na nÓg - A Tragic Epic Saga
ye hear, of a leprechaun and a unicorn who met in a field’s corner
a he and she, she killed by a tree, when it fell he couldn’t warn her
I’ve got a million words floating around my head
Used to construct rhyming sentences.
Cohesive thought is the author’s thread
For sewing poems of past remembrances.
Some make sense; some are absurd;
One or two might actually be good.
But mostly, they are just the word
Of a man often misunderstood.
I once sought fame or notoriety
After hanging titles on my creations;
After sharing hundreds with polite society,
I never experienced any such sensations.
I am destined to die leaving a legacy somehow
Of poems that have never been read;
They can’t haunt me then as they haunt me now
After I am peacefully dead.
Within the chambers of time untold,
A saga emerges, mysteries unfold.
Abandoned shoes, their tale profound,
A murdered man's voice, an eerie sound.
No rhyme to bind, just vivid portray,
Of a restless spirit seeking the day,
A detective chosen, against my will,
To unlock secrets, my heart stands still.
Through history's pages, I wander deep,
Exploring shadows, the past's secrets keep,
His silent echoes, his presence near,
Guide my steps, dispelling fear.
A puzzle piece by piece, I lay,
Each detail etched, like dawn's first ray,
Though the perpetrator's fate be sealed,
Justice sought, wounds may be healed.
In the dance of realms, a bond we share,
His phantom touch, a constant air,
Through winding corridors of memory's space,
I trace his steps, his pain to face.
Have not you seen the twilight saga,
Kon legal fight say farar howa bhaga?
Book—Big Chicas Don’t Cry by Annette Chavez Macias— YA/Fiction/Family Saga
abuelita’s lessons gone~four cousins unite after years of tumult
.Mondays, oh Mondays, how I despise thee,
You always arrive so quickly, can't you let me be?
I drag myself out of bed, feeling so blue,
Knowing I have a long week ahead, what can I do?
But Fridays, oh Fridays, how I adore thee,
With the weekend in sight, I feel so free!
The workday flies by, I'm filled with glee,
Daydreaming of a longer nap and a breakfast feast for me!
So Mondays, I bid adieu with a sigh,
But don't take it personally, it's not you, it's I.
I'll see you next week, with a new attitude,
And maybe then, we'll start off on a better interlude.
For even though I hate the start of the week,
I'll try to find some happiness, my thoughts to tweak.
And who knows, maybe one day I'll find,
That Mondays aren't so bad, with a different state of mind.
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