I can make the world dissappear
in this moment all that I am is lost ,dissolving into the sunset
I smile as dusk comes to run her cool fingers through my hair
This warm breeze a gentle reprieve
From the harsh cold of winter
A day in the sun lounging thawing my body against the heated rocks
This is the comfort of your embrace
A sweet lie in the middle of a bitter truth
I can touch the sun as it blooms
Pushing through the frozen earth
My heart opens
A thousand yellow petals before you
Like a ghost ship idly mooring
Cleaning your own mess is totally boring
Sorting other people’s stuff is fun however
Why don’t we switch houses in cold weather?
I’ll sort yours and, you sort mine.
We might both have a really fun sorting time.
How difficult could this trade of services be?
I just have to find someone as messy as me.
When life underpaid Max
~ he started taking kickbacks
Trump has been breaking laws
create and cause crime with his claws
prefers premiers and skinny shahs
rile up people with his paws
likes pulling at loose straws
at his hamburger always knaws
likes women who wear big bras
have heard his oohs and aahs
Trump gives me the blahs
have heard his youthful ye's with horrible hahs
prefers hearing much applause
poor and dimwit crowds Trump draws
putrid picture he draws
sings do ray mes while forgetting his faas
skip so la ti do and away we go
cut great face which was greeted with gauze
found his big mouth in front of jaws
like big bird Trump constantly caws
seen slidding in nude in slick spas
plural of his ta is tas
would see His lost doll while in shower stall in urban sprawl
wish Trump would be so kind, get his small hands off of my behind
To see Trump tight bra she was bringing; Out big breasts did start springing
You have to send me some comments, criticism
and complaining about this collection of lines
that have been in my Horn Horrible Haiku.
which you may ensue out from a blunt blue.
I’m the Lord-of
Kind-of Sort-of
Can’t make up my mind
No yes nor no
Just maybe baby
Give me some more time
I’m not ready
To go steady
Can’t we stick to dating
Don’t you worry
There’s no hurry
Nothing wrong with waiting
As the Lord-of
Kind-of Sort-of
I will not court a bride
Til’ came the Queen
Of In-Between
Who also can’t decide
We’re both unclear
Which way to steer
And should we say, ‘I do’
Then thought, perhaps
We’ll let time lapse
Until we have a clue
As the Lord-of
Kind-of Sort-of
I don’t get much done
But with the Queen
Of In-Between
We sure have lots of fun
Through the edging of the night
he was there
steadfast and strong
teetering at the tip of her thought
a yearning to be
allowed
to become undone
through the hallowed
the wanting
the waning
until the rise of a new lit sun
for night was her day
and he held her young
through it all
ancient echoes still sung
If you want clarity of thought,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you want to increase your chances of becoming rich,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you want a tidy house,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you want to move up the ladder at work,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you have a problem that needs solving,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you are having a relationship that is in crisis,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you have money problems,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you are a farmer,
Chances are you will not need me to tell you,
How important it is to sort the wheat from the chaff.
I try to keep my brain alert
By writing poetry.
I am still trying to think,
But my mind is deserting me.
My mind is in a muddle,
As is my pitiful brain
It is a constant struggle
Am I going insane?
Or have I already gone
And I don't know it yet.
Will my mind recover?
Or is this as good as it gets?
I am becoming invisible,
Like a plain blank wall
I blend in with the surrounding
And cannot be seen at all.
I have become a spectator.
Not an innovator of life
I must keep my mouth shut,
Because my words may cause strife.
Plain and simple words
It is my language of choice.
Individual thoughts
That gives me a voice.
To share opinions,
And different points of view.
Every day teaches each other,
And learning too.
I try to keep my brain alert,
By writing poetry
I am still trying to think
But my mind is deserting me.
Maybe I have a writing cramp,
I am sure I do not know
Whatever you like to call it
I wish it would hurry up and Go!
The best sort of wonder
Stares blankly, not just at
Rain, and its pooled splat;
As informs mesmeric
On how each act projects
Its ripple effects.
weighing the total sum of existence
is not a skill which is given to us
lying well beyond realm of human minds
even those of prophets and wunderkinds
requiring eternal omnipotence
along with very dogged fixedness
on the tracking of every single change
within unending universe of strange
perhaps why all the gods are too busy
to notice devotees in a tizzy
over all who will not follow their rules
deride and treat them as self-righteous fools
certainly some will call this blasphemy
which should result in incapacity
removal of the right to live and breathe
to do any ungodly thing I please
while others may react slightly more gentle
needing to indoctrinate this fellow
fill me to the brim with scriptures and verse
before my condition becomes much worse
coming right back to the totality
that driving need to measure all which be
inevitably to count, sift and sort
that which their true religion should abort
keeping it all very crisp, neat and clean
creating an accounting-of-souls dream
I for one have no evil scheme or wish
within the sacrilegious pond to fish
fully content to not bother the gods
measuring of totality and odds
Those who wish to live long aimlessly
try to take advantage of life shamelessly
Suffice it to say
Today is a fine sort of day
Unless you are out
In the field pitching hay!
THIRD PLACE WINNER
written July 20, 2021
submitted to "Bite Size No. 14" poetry contest
sponsored by Line Gauthier
sort of did stammer
on Trump Train we did clammer
him in head with hammer
my hair had been wet
one more vaccine I must get
then the quota will be met
give me some more skin
then saw Trump taking a spin
while in den did sin
had bust after boom
zippitied and then would zoom
to another room
Trump do remember
White House no longer member
heard him go timber
Trump was complete loss
big grouch and an albatros
said he had been big boss
all over and done
Brady was there when they won
stuck with another stun
at Trump took a shot
to aim at had big spot
had been hot to trot
intelligence lacking
while he would take a wacking
sure such a shellacking
Trump had a huge butt
big mouth up should shut
awkwardly would strut
is such a screeches
Trump a terrible teacher
need an impeacher
Pray tell, who tore the neighbors’ flowers out?
What sort of child fell madly on their bed?
Surely one unruly and ill-bred!
What had it been that made this child pout
and then go out and ever dare to flout
the rule of being mannerly – to shred
those pretty blooms? Found out, she homeward sped.
She stood accused. The neighbors had no doubt.
And did this little girl’s heart fill with guilt
for her misconduct? She could not deny
what she had done. Why had such wrath been spilt
on flowers? Soon all knew what went awry!
Her father’s disregard had made her wilt,
so flowers felt her rage. I know. ‘Twas I.
Aug. 1, 2020
for the 'STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (16),any form,any theme' Poetry Contest
(a story related to me by my mother because I was so young I do not remember this!)
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