In the tank are eighteen fish,
Or maybe there are twenty.
It’s hard to count them, but to me,
It seems that there are plenty.
The tank is not too spacious
But with pebbles and live plants,
The black and orange platys
Do their slo-mo floaty dance.
Yet I was shown a baby
Hiding underneath the leaves
And there might be another one,
Or so my son believes.
It’s cool to see how creatures
Have their instincts kicking in,
Doing what they can to stay away
From hungry next-of-kin.
Dream on Shakespeare, to be or not to be
That is the question, you are always asking me
Like a slo-mo record, that goes on and on
You bore me with your Guru quotes
Oh universal one!
Dream on Shakespeare, just like the Caliban
Are you an academic beast
Or just a real hue-man
Your high brow takes
On life’s mistakes are just because you can.
So dream on Shakespeare, you may have the same name
But nothing in your soliloquy, is as high as William’s game
And so I leave a little note, to say that I am gone
So dream on Shakespeare
Dream on.
The
voice of spring rain
It’s darkly etched, in the sky face,
rainshade in the main, I don't complain.
lyrical steps falling, frothing seductively, slo-flowing
rain that they are strained. The weather vane's
become inane, when every day it rains again. It's plain
to
see
for
you
and
me
it
has
to
be
the
end *
of play.
Bumpin' on Life's street's little surprises
leaves us too few---------------compromises
we filter our choices
through various voices my
Lightness of being harmonizing.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Or Hannukah, Quanza—It’s really your choice!
Live, love, laugh—be happy
I’ll be home for Christmastime to rejoice!
Deck the halls—Let’s be of good cheer
And all together we will wish
You a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
Santa Claus is coming to
Oslo, L.A. and London town
Now is the time to hang the holly
Glow! Shine! Laugh! Shout!
Silver bells joyfully chime “Let’s be jolly!”
We move too fast.
in the wrong clock of time.
Slow classic vocal music way,way down
it becomes angelic, a flowing harmony
not travelling anywhere.
In extreme slo-mo the leap of a tiger, is a ballet,
a study of eternal becoming.
Imagine an ordinary day
reduced to moving pictures so stretched
that every expression is a silent language of grace.
See your hands at work in slow time,
fashioning waterfalls, and towers
of endless instants,
every gesture a prayerful offering.
There is a wrongness in the pace of time
as we experience it,
a blurring of a reality
that commands us to keep running
for the delight of screaming devils.
Occasionally practice slow-being.
Let the time-demons know
that you know their ticks,
and for a little while
don’t run at their speed.
SOo
oo
oon
Bre
ak line whe
re i wan'tFo
llo
low slo wly
Have sum f
un finished
miss ing
L....os............................ ................................... ..
In the rabbit hole
i seam to
Bee Imp pressed
Impression never given
Respect strippened
Dragon head clouds fade to tails
as blue blissed moon
cuts the summer haze face
i took her paw
in mine as we
lumbered
having been
fattening for
what we knew
was too fast
coming upon
but must on
us as we
sleepily
agreed
that cave over
there has nice
decor with lots
of lichen of
different
colors
so not saying
that we stretched
a mile but we
stretched out in
style
each finding our
own
comfort
zone where
our
bones
became
one
with
the
frozen
slowly
breath
in g
not fro
Zen
slo
w ly
brie
thing
yum
that
french
cheese
paired
with
a two
thous
and
fif
teen
bore
doe
now
she's
aged and
laying so
near me
in a
bare
dream
her hair
had ex
tent
ions but
i rem
ember
the
spark
starting
this poem
when i
took
but
should've
asked for her
paw and she
placing hers
in mine but not
a mine but a
cave where
i need to
remember
when the bed
springs wake
us to always
say to her
i love you
Slo
Tiptoe
Mistletoe
Bravissimo
Rainbow audio
Sappho & Romeo
Indigo scenario
Sublimo Michelangelo
Magnifico oboe adagio
AP: 3rd place 2020
Submitted on November 1, 2019 for contest RHYMING NONET sponsored by CHARLES MESSINA - RANKED 1ST
Wet leaves glisten
on the bough.
Crystal dewdrops drip
down, fall slo-mo,
each parachuting
on a tiny halo
to kiss the damp
grass below!
We were a group of Nerds, there was Kit Kat,
Mike and Ike, I'll never forget handsome Heath ;
and Slo Poke and I was Lemonhead cause I had,
blonde hair, and there was Whatchamacallit who always;
had Goobers.
One Pay Day we won 100 Grand gambling,
at a casino machine called, Milky Way and went on a Spree;
it was a Marathon and we were spending Mounds,
of Skittles until I said, Take 5 before we have;
like Zero.
So me and those Airheads each took our own paths,
for me it was a Rocky Road to happiness until Henry;
O Henry is my Starburst and dream,
he loves me Now and Later and not just because of the;
big money Skor.
_______________________________
October 5, 2018
Poetry/Verse/A Candy Wrapper Story
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1069-313-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
As I went with my friends MIKE and IKE
Like THREE MUSKETEERS we went for a hike
Down a ROCKY ROAD we watched for birds
Down 5TH AVENUE...we all looked like NERDS
To find a DOVE - it paid 100 GRAND
But we stopped to watch a MARATHON band
They looked like AIR-HEADS, they all had some zits
They call themselves the WATCHAMACALITS
My friend the SLO-POKE he's a little bit funky
He ate too many BOSTON BAKED BEANS...now he is CHUNKY
My other friend HEATH left Henry and me
In search for some SKITTLES...his sweet tooth SPREE
But all that he found, were KIT KAT and SNOW CAPS
And some sticky LIFESAVERS he threw down on our laps
My name that they call me..is MR. GOOD BAR
I'm an old JOLLY RANCHER with a GALAXY car
How Sweet It Is Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carol Connell
9/24/2018
O' HENRY'S my name and me and my dog CHUNKY, the SLO POKE dog, wanted to go on a shopping spree on 5th AVENUE since it was PAYDAY. It was a nice ride and the scenery was beautiful, especially the SNOW CAPS in the distance.
However, our trip was cut short when we broke the WHATCHAMACALLIT on the car when we hit a patch of ROCKY ROAD. BAR NONE, that was the worst road I have ever driven.
We were broke down on a remote country road and we could see ZERO help in any direction. I was worried that we were stranded but just then a JOLLY RANCHER with his two NERD sons, MIKE and IKE, pulled up and asked if they could help.
I explained our dilemma and I heard Mike and Ike SNICKER and say we were AIR HEADS with BUTTERFINGERS. They towed us to a garage and the repair estimate was 100 GRAND, after all we were driving a Lamborghini. The mechanic fixed the car and I promised I would pay NOW AND LATER.
That didn't go over so well and the sheriff has me serving HOT TAMALES and BOSTON BAKED BEANS in the county jail. The moral of this story is don't be a SMARTIE and tell a bunch of WHOPPERS.
How sweet it is poetry contest
Sponsored by: Carol Connell
seashake jake
headlights blinding
screeching yellow eyed owls
ran me over
I washed up with anchors cut in
whiskey drenched promises
holy swans humming hymns of sun-god gratitude on ole beach
mashing sweet tooth’s hungry bone dry night
madame itch invisible escorts me to her
scarlet’s pistol packed slo boat ride
shadow stained fingers fire blank heart bullets
across splattering bug--eye screens
funeral strip-tease captains blow the rapture foghorn
pools of energy
teetering like a nasty wind waltz
playing jackrabbit on the wayward buoys
passing grotto tombs
seashake jake toss that quiff.. get out to that sweet mean drift..again
gun shot alligators
scrambling fall dissolve slo-mo into mosaic pieces scraped together of the fishwife’s sawdust floor
sipping red neon earth quaked insecurity shakes when’ll the next run’s steed come forth
till I happily forge a carthaginian peace with the muses’ universal militia fragmented ragtag band playing on some dead main street candy striped phonograph
gun shot alligators eating my holy corduroy’s
after blending juices in backdoor cabooses track far and wide
I still got sex not sure I’d bet on it if a den of
erotica showed up in the night
acceptance my lord- else be carved up left for dead
at the hands of a hatchet wielding prideful dormouse licking champagne from silver laces of some battered systematic boot
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