Artists are inborn and probably
Reincarnated from a past life
And their artistry talent gifted naturally
That's why their artistic talent
Are indescribable, unexplainable
And never cease to amaze many
Just like any child prodigy
Musicians too which is slotted
In the art category, they're awfully
Geniusly talented and gifted to the core.
It takes a little down-time
to mend a yesterday,
soon enough
clocks and computers catch up
to where I left my temper on simmer.
That period of healing
is often slotted into
the main-frame of being
and goes mostly unnoticed.
It gets to work humming quietly
while I review, then dismiss
the mud and ruts of that short
journey into now.
Whatever went wrong feels right
and means so little today.
In fact, all my irritating troubles
are our of my mind
and running free
like breezy brained squirrels
seeking again,
all those toothy nuts
they so hurriedly missed
yesterday.
Behold how pleasure seeps through to the strangest places;
as if it's effects could make a river climb a steep incline.
A pink, feathered ball with a pipe cleaner neck and an old rubber nose, stands in stasis.
Or should I says hops, where exactly do we draw the line?
It's blinding pink is no sign of flamboyance nor an ostentatious display.
Flamingos are what they eat and what they eat doesn't give a damn about their mental state in the coming months.
Smirks creep, snickers descend, what colour of lonely shall it choose today?
Grey would be great but the grim reaper is not someone one confronts.
One leg to hold on and the other dedicated to keeping up appearances.
A stand-up has no chance against a desolate land with an estranged flamingo slotted in centre stage.
Spotlight focused, eyes agaze, feed upon this barren creature and forget common decencies.
If only it could choose it's colour...red, red with rage.
Bulky ute voyeur selects sleek sporty stalion
Driving by, supersedes her oversized sedan
Wide wheel arches have Porche comparison
Voracious engine's enthuse easily enchants
Large car cast dispelled by lacklustre Calais
Original conjur 370Z parked beside boring
Low leg swing exclusive slide in, magic valet
Over revved start stabs adrenalin assuring
Our dear Dara, choice contacted in December
Available last minute to test drive his beast
Black gloss road boss, enlarged 'lungs' terror
Capable crazy bitumen baby, tester pleased
Ultimate Man concurs, the amenable outcome
Keys in her hand a few days after, aura froze
Couldn't imagine huge generosity from anyone
Racing car reap, increase on what she sows
Merry go round roads, another showoff slotted
Silver pole stabilised glides in Surfers cycle
Crosslane carousel onlookers, briefly besotted
By hot hoof nimble Nissan race horse style
28th March
Too Great of a Man
Ever wonder what happens to suggestions
Dropped in your employers’ slotted box?
They are extracted and read with questions
Seldom answered is somewhat orthodox,
Proposals by the great, “unwashed” masses
Of underlings seeking more remuneration,
Gutsy enough to speak, these lower classes,
Indeed, to want a scheduled, paid vacation!
Imagine a thirty-minute lunch break, I laugh,
Extending the law-provided ten-minute take
Or double pay for overtime? Surely, they jest
For all the silly complaints they love to make.
More work, I say!--simply what you do best
With my feet on my desk, I’m taking a rest!
Written August 9, 2022
Slotted abruptly into a concept
Bold intimation begs he correspond
Gypsy psyche brown moth becomes windswept
Attempt to bracket him or wander on
Waiting with pattern disrupted, fear tinged
On crops offering fluffy promises
Closing chapter rips lustre from bronze wings
Field generosity astonishes
Cotton airborne released from spindly twigs
Soul exfoliated floats borderless
White flight blank wanting absorbs all of his
Virgin shirks burden of choice, subordinate
Soft vessel travels to land's bitter edge
In salt soak Pacific, brief life extends
9th May 2021
Written for Contest: Summer Love Sonnet
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Slotted rocks allotted in a stacked wall of stone
Greeted me gray as smoke, carved statue honed
Halted my walk among sun snuck tall trunk home
Flatly reminded my psyche I'd arrived here alone
For beyond its forbode, forest sprouts unknown
Told to me only in rubbed limbs creaked moans
To quenching's quest, searched soul seeds sown
Willing to merge with alternate ways, I will atone
With whatever whirled leaf torn trauma is thrown
Where woods go, be guided by my bravery shown
Hammered heart tells me climbing sparks danger
Safety belt suffocated, thus love stayed a stranger
Signals from scintillated stems, summons known
Spurs me toward side greener, a renegade ranger
2nd October 2020
'Wall In The Woods'
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
glossy green hearts hang
slotted on blotched grey branches
flappers try to fly
17th August 2020
Haiku Nature Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
Yes, all told love is always fair, by our very own nature, we are not, but we still can be the very consideration put into this above action?
Yes, because if this were not for our Creators Continuing Grace is there anything that we truly need, or cand still fathom that we want?
Albeit just as this is, but relative peace with our Creator?
If ever, our crying shame is succeeded, by Him, then whenever shouldn't we put our sward down wherever?
Every shadow has been slotted in, that walks towards this day; the day that we are all left standing; undivided, within this effort towards generous freedom, and general harmony together finally!
Because all of our regret yes; this all comes to a new and joyous beginning for all life, in the end.
So, hey, with all of our gift of gratitude for our Creator, and for this life; let's all; get started now, don't you still believe friend?
A spotted hyena escaped from the zoo.
Along with a spotted skunk, so that made two.
A spotted moray sounded the loud alarm.
A spotted bass swam off with some charm.
Spotted fever ticks transmitted some fever,
Spotted swine asked if I was a believer
I showed him my spotted face and one spotted hand.
They made me an honorary member of the
Spotted dotted trotted slotted allotted band.
Hyena, skunk, moray, bass, swine and ticks.
We are singing tonight down by the River Stix.
penchants for doing things the right way
unhinge the knighted sky shot full with holes
twinkle twinkle little star, you burn so very
bright, where have you all gone? home you say,
dancing the edges of madness’ thin veils
containment slotted through the IS’s of
consecutive sequenced selfs, unawakened
self-righteous indignation, plagiarize the
potential for adulterated emotions
conspicuous lapse of good judgment
right the scales of too much this or that,
the arms of balance form both positive
and always behind the seen, negative imagery
this land whirls the positive insisting it’s
our only reality of expression, negative quivers
with pretence experienced as a landscape
of oblivion ensued from forgetfulness...always is
a this and a that, a hat and a cat, a louse and a mouse.
Always is...
night
sighs deep
shuffles listless feet
yawns and stretches
scratches an invisible itch
fumbles with some change
drops another shiny quarter
in tonight’s slotted half-moon
nods with sleepy approval
and drifts back
to sleep
Just a brittle bar of marble
slotted into a chapel wall
translucent white on salmon pink
with a phrase to explain. That's all.
The line in silent eloquence defines
where Rome's flood water flowed, so long ago.
I've never been any good at jigsaw puzzles,
Patience, really isn't my thing,
But in life, I found my missing piece,
He truly makes my heart sing.
My borders, may have been intact,
Other pieces, just didn't fit,
But when he came along,
He completed every bit.
Every little piece,
Slotted into place,
Now my jigsaw puzzle,
Doesn't have an empty space.
My picture is finished,
I'll never take it apart,
Because if I lose that piece,
It would break my heart.
Could you have ever thought that one day
You would come and stay with me without dad?
Not once did you let such a thought trespass your lifelong service.
Overwhelmed and blessed am I that you are with me, Mother!
Sad that our slotted time is coming close to an end. Your words like a conjurer's trick
Ushered into every drop of my heart. Mom, I'll always treasure and
Remember these days when you felt it was like a return to your parental home. It is
Eternal bliss that you wish your last breath to be in my arms! I want nothing more!
June 30, 2016
For Nayda Ivette Negron
Cynosure ( a person or thing that is the centre of attention or admiration )
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