Short Blast From The Past Poems

The Flintstones, blast from the past,
That was a pregnancy to last,
For Pebbles we waited so long,
She did sing her own song,
Now this is a fact so scary,
Pebbles has now turned sixty,
I can't believe how old we've got,
Once the Flintstones really rocked!...

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roe roe roe your boat we got a leak ~ right to choose looks really bleak 

very unfairly terribly scary ~ wades back the hanger technique 


New World Order Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori 
Monoku how many syllables 17x2

Unsurprisingly an N/A of denial  #what’s new#
03/05/22...

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in those suave forties
a musical safety net
till an explosion

Rock ‘n’ Roll group with number one hit
Lead singer with soul till his pants split
Each beat in lyrical farts
Blew away the music charts
Before embarrassment made them quit.

Later on TV, no music requiem just blowin’ out the wind.

 © Harry J Horsman 2022...

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Time is a cycle of events,
like history in constant repetition. 
What happened then will happen again, 
like how the world revolves in its axis. 

The blast from centuries past 
will surely have its future recurrence, 
and after series of rebirths 
they come in mind like a hazy occurrence. 

February 24, 2023 

Deja Vu Poetry Contest 
Sponsored By: Unseeking Seeker...

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blast from the past
leaves us appalled & aghast
crude wake up call
delusion blown in the squall

savage dream images
ferality that conscience ravages
remnants of our past
resurfacing for an unholy repast

negativity seeking release
being a bubble of ego imaginary 
we allow it to quietly burst
for love alone quenches our thirst 

in prayerful surrender 

19-September-2020...

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What's the point? 
Of a daily perpetual cycle of repetition 
If it only brings forth a case of the blues
History is old news
Unlike Jerusalem 
That is as relevant today
As all its yesterday's
Our journey less paved
For which we have played
A so called blast from the past
Put into perspective serve only to remind me
What's the Point?
Nothing has got any better 
Just harder to handle...

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A long night without sleep,
Dreams lay waste to silence,
Scenes empty, moments lonely,
Thoughts wishful, action passive.

Shackles of redundancy,
A cycle, round and round,
A blast from the past eternal,
Plaguing every sleep.

Nights are not for work,
But the 'mares of fears,
Haunted by the stagnation,
Of old past, strong and near.

Hidden talents, pouring hopes,
Promises of good times,
Even when they come,
Good times don’t last....

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