often wisely observed and evaluated
two to tango is a shared responsibility
too often not shouldered
the real value and beauty of two in a tango
lies in devotion, perseverance, loyalty
it is an unfailing commitment
to move in harmony, a balanced unity
symmetry, maintaining an equilibrium
a consonance in an infrangible coherence
two to tango is a loving embrace
that mesmerizes the dance floor
provocative, stimulating, seductive, alluring
hinting at times, a salacious aura
and when i muse on these aspects
i believe two to tango in the latter
is more in line with the aspects of life
where the magic reflects in the eyes
of the Most High, with a lifted eyebrow
a peccadillo compared to refusing responsibility
are we not told the greatest of these, love
as Mr. Spock would say, dancing is logical
if two must tango
Oregon 10/1/26
I miss the haven of my youth long past
when melancholy melted in the mirth
of sharing time with siblings. What a blast
we used to have. No memories are worth
as much as those when life was still carefree.
If there were worries, they were shouldered by
two parents who looked after family
and did their best to make sure to supply
their kids with the necessities to thrive.
We were not rich, but we were clothed and fed,
and from our parents, we learned how to strive
to meet our goals in future lives we led.
No home is perfect, but I can be glad
as havens go, a great one I sure had!
There is nothing eternal.
Therefore, we cannot be bound.
Yet, look upon reality!
With bound iron chains
Shouldered upon our backs,
We begin an invisible war.
"We win, and sometimes we fall."
There is something eternal.
Therefore, we are bound.
"In the name of family,"
With fused iron chains
Locked tightly against my chest,
In your name and mine,
We plant our flag upon this earth!
I observe the naked light un-folding' waking a day so bright, near broad seas
Rolling! In power rippling curling,
then dissapating, a breeze
arises carressing senses exciting.. The hills above show head and shouldered looming, i see lichen green on
Wayside bouldered, Burgundy
roses around a cottage porch, such beauty all
Naked there is no garb needed; naught."as is the
Moonlight; when it arrives, shall be un-impeded, I see cowslips yellow, the irisis
Blue, the sky in its splendour, and un-matched hues, of all this the very same
Is true.' In their naked states that God created, does anything decribed need enhancing? I say if any so think? Well they
Need berrating, what am i recieving
of deeper truths? Is God giving me
insight naming world delete's who
clothe war in piety, and sell greed..? As
blest? who are of those, who would
destroy not deliver, and Gods Spirit test"
Killers of all that is so great
and good! The naked gift
of ithe nnocent child' how deep lies your
Depravity? You by now; thrice damned imbiciles.!!!
Just to keep up with a new style, while the Sand man sticks to a plan to hence understand the sentence one tense to be rinsed as the Grinch defends his tent in a pinch despite its foul rotten odor of a stench mouthed one voter who was NOT that dense in past present and future tense hence the bench warrant quarantine latrine screaming beanie baby trading card retarded jarred smarties party past time hardly hardy bartering shotgun runtime bubble covered in Nick at night slime time grime crockery stole bike spike Lymes disease treaty spiked seizer sky high geyser lightning bolt jolt soda colt cold shouldered boulder scolded holding smoldering diamond ring rugged bug-eyed smuggler tug of war tare of a care bare share holder folder to be both bad and bolder like gold oil and drugs with extra hugs and butt plugs underneath the rugs for the fuzz buzzing love jugs whatever that was or wasn’t but not my cousin nuzzling the guzzled puzzling Charlie Sheen screaming ice cream machine that feeds a team and the b team both green beans and brings the fiends back to their gene’s roots and boot scooting things... Let us see what else life brings. The Time is NOW! POW!!!
With his violin placed there
Note you, shouldered
Both soft and intense, as close
As palpable
That, there held stable
What is for my own features
As expressive.
Artist in travail! Trying
To pluck out a sweet tune in
Wood; unresponsive.
Let me say I’m not much of a cook,
Even my husband could tell you it’s true,
For thirty-four years he shouldered that task~
Then left!
Oh, I grill the cheese sandwich quite well,
Very crisp on each side filled with Colby and ham,
Even so I prefer leftovers from Mother’s abode~
Roast beef and mash reheats
Super nice!
Good Old Grandpa
My grandpa,
is as round shouldered as a question mark
and he is led about all day
by his wobbly walking stick,
with teeth that aren’t real,
hidden behind a moustache that is
while his memories simmer warmly
inside his crinkled paper bag of a face.
My grandpa,
old and worn on the outside
but sparky and fresh on the in.
For he often,
shakes my hand with fifty pence pieces,
makes sweets pop out from behind his ears
then smokes all like a train
and laughs like one as well.
My grandpa,
Plays jokes on my mother
to freshen her face with a smile
then tells me stories which electrify my brain.
But best of all,
when my dad loses his temper,
Gandpa just tells him
to sit down and behave himself.
Good old grandpa!
Not of one, but the many
Not this hour, but all times
A head droops. And nor cutely.
As in sweet bloomed fashion.
For what of life, care-shouldered
As much for weighs one down
The world o'er is ever in
Despair's rainy season.
Autumn
….. is mortally wounded!
It sways, strays
across the silken sky
quivering over rusty hedges
shivering through shouldered trees,
splattering, smattering
everything in blood-red.
On it stumbles,
On it tumbles
shivering over the valleys
spearing through the trees
smearing the water blood-red
while the ground offers no sympathy
just a hardened, frigid face.
On it goes,
On it flows
gasping and grasping
at clouds of bandages,
hobbling towards the horizon,
haemorrhaging life
in crimson splashes.
While winter,
no ceremony
nor propriety,
just the sly smile
of an Arctic fox,
coldly awaits October’s
shredded, dreaded last breath!
Jittery frame could spill its viscera -
earth shouldered, light on the world,
a storm of stars and stripes.
2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 11 Contest //Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Contest Judged: 8/29/2025 12:41:00 PM
( 2nd Place )
Written: August 27, 2025
No trumpet greets the weary stride,
only gravel grinding underfoot,
the breath that rasps against the bone.
I have shouldered storm inside my chest,
their weight pressing like half-done prayers.
The world does not wait for heartbreaks
yet still I walk through its indifference.
The road is merciless with distance,
a ribbon extended beyond all sight
but its distance carves the truth of what I carry.
Every scar is a mile-marker wherein
every fall a lesson written in dust.
Hope is not the flag at the end-
it is the breath that urges: once more, once more.
I walk with shadows
and with the ghosts of those who stumble.
Yet I walk alight with the strength of survivors.
At last, I see it;
not a gate and not a crown
but a quiet clearing where the tired wind rests.
There, I set down my burden
not defeated
but strengthened!
The finish line was never drawn on the ground.
It has always remained inside the soul
waiting to be crossed.
Autumn
….. is mortally wounded!
It stumbles, tumbles
across the silken, rouged sky
quivering over rusted hedges
shivering through shouldered trees,
splattering, smattering
everything in blood-red.
On it goes, on it flows
gasping and grasping
at clouds of bandages,
hobbling, wobbling
suffering deep gashes;
haemorrhaging life
in crimson splashes.
While winter;
with the sly smile
of an Arctic fox,
coldheartedly waits for autumn’s
shredded, dreaded last breath!
Ian Souter 2025
Lovely, happy hair,
Rowed, and growing in beauty;
God’s sweet locks I bear:-
Hued as is the night,
Moonlight beauty reflecting
Ebony delight:-
Locks admired so much,
Gardened rowed short or shouldered,
Just got to be touched.
God makes no mistakes;
Creating natured beauty,
Whatever hue takes:-
Mirror check and see,
The blooming beauty of thee,
And gracefully be:-
Tug-of-War
Alpha Dog
Carnivore
Locked our horns
Power struggle
Crown of thorns
Neither bows nor bends nor folds
Instead digs their heels
Leans in and holds
Under weights of worlds shouldered
Beneath catching fires smoldered
They juxtapose
Until the end
And so it goes
Protect; defend
Both yearning to submit, surrender
Though, coward, that would them then render
So instead they hold strong their positions
Each declaring their conditions
Never has this strategy
Ended anyway but tragedy
So each side is shocked and shorn
Strewn about, tattered, torn
Daughters, Mothers and Wives scorn
From empty houses
Alone; forlorn
Forever after they will wait
By the fire
Or at the gate
Until the day they receive
News, that from this horror,
There's no reprieve
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