When will this din of boring sameness
Give way to refreshing turns ahead,
And eradicate these afflicting days
And make them charming instead?
When shall the lonely heart
Feel Nature her warmth impart,
And bring to a full soothing end
These chills that all yearning bend?
When shall this endless wait fade
And the awaited glory at last appear,
And disgrace to warm solace turn,
And realized hope abolish all fear?
Let mirthless turns and tides of fate
Bring what they will as I sit and wait.
talking tanka time
breaking far from tradition
and so it goes
all is well that ends well child
maybe we will meet again
We were once rivers,
braiding through each other’s lives,
carving valleys of shared wonder.
Now we float in bubbles,
soft-walled sanctuaries of sameness,
drifting past one another
with eyes turned inward.
The more we seal our edges,
the less we feel the ripple,
of another’s breath.
Nature
Is the totality
Featuring life and death
As peeks of sameness...
it is such as shame
when 'it's all the same to you'
for same is tame, lame
when I want to play the game
two-up in a frame aflame
Variety is the spice of life
At least that's what they say..
We celebrate different colours
Yet the world still chooses grey
There's room for different flavours
Whether green leaf, pulse or grain
Banana loaf or carrot cake?
Nutrition stays the same
The truth it seems is constant
With the source identified;
Humans - not so different
On this planet we reside
As this year rumbles onwards
I throw love into the mix;
Not to colourise the whole world
Just my local bit to fix
No longer are we separate sides
Of some bridge-less, gaping fissure..
Maybe same-ness is the spice of life
As we share more than we differ.
Mere readers and writers we are,
Tell me, who’s found a new letter?
Seers as if of same stars in sky,
As same water’s recycled nigh,
Vibes of the same waves on us vie.
To learn same things we’ve strived so far,
Mere readers and writers we are.
A few letters, world of words vast,
Same old flag we flutter half-mast,
In palm whole sea, in wink time past.
Eons it takes for a new star,
Students of the sameness we are.
Called in when to create oneness,
We’ve got drowned in sea of sameness,
Mere readers and repeaters I guess!
__________________________________
Reflections | 04.12.2022| Free verse
Armor
By Sy Roth
Not a knight
But suited in armor nonetheless.
Right now, I am night,
Shrouded in a darkness.
They see me
Or perhaps just look at me
Hidden in shade.
A shade adorned in blue and gold
Messenger of nothing.
But what they see
Or are willing to attribute.
An attribute given meaning
Bellwether of the herd.
Language unheard in the fog
Of the tolling bells.
Can’t cipher meaning in this attention
While at attention
Doing the duty of being
Dressed in the armor
Of the general moment.
Hemmed in on each side by pier post
And rope that holds no hope.
But in the East the sun everyday rises
Assurance in sameness there's no need to grope
Date: 04/21/2021
Contest: Liberum Divisa 5
Sponsor: Gregory R. Barden
From my poem: Colorful Umbrella
It cocks an eye at me.
I recall, as a boy, I stood
by a window looking at a sparrow
just like this one.
Every feather could be the same,
even the mien and stance
of the bird – the same.
I had never thought of myself
as a tree,
yet all my life
I’ve been branching away
from first roots.
Now I’m gnarled, not the same,
and still changing,
but not this sparrow,
not any sparrow.
We have much in common,
the same number of limbs
organs, D.N.A., frailties.
Yet there’s still a smidgen,
a pinch of disparity,
just enough difference
for a disagreement.
Enough to possibly instigate
an insoluble conflict,
or a religious feud
between one moron
and another.
Given time, we will surely
find other minor differences,
which will of course insure
that things will keep getting
worse.
A scrimmage
A scrummage
A squeamage
A dirvage
A political tryst
Dividing up sides
Slapping too easy
Assault rifles on
The reds
The blues
The greens
The yellows
A scrimmage
A scrummage
A squeamage
A dirvage
We laugh at our diversity
Knowing our sameness
Is what really matters
The media wins.
And we sit by
And let them.
our unique Sameness
be who you are
we are taught..
those who know
who they are
and are
who they are:
these are teachers
temporary teachers
who offer a word
or a brushstroke
or a glance
wiping clean our
cloudy perceptions..
allowing then our
perceiving to shine
with our very own
unique Sameness...
We are all going to wear khaki pants to the parade.
What’s khaki? I ask, knowing, but wanting to see his reaction.
He is new, and I love to toy with the new guy.
“You know,” he says, “Um, tan, plain, dull, plain, tan.”
“I don’t have any pants like that,” I tell him, “But I can do purple.”
I read his face, his cheeks pink up fast.
I am going to have fun with this one.
“Oh, I am sure you have something khaki,” he says confidently.
“No, she doesn’t!” all three of the others in the lunchroom shout nearly simultaneously.
His nose is pink now. He looks down, and I realize the minute it registers that
I am wearing my red, orange, black, gray and purple owl pants.
“Do you have PLAIN?” he asks hopefully.
They are all shaking their heads ‘no’.
I am so proud as I leave the lunchroom,
They know me here!
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