Beauty clearly dims, excess fears grow,
Yet your love glows constantly in me.
Its goodness my heart each day will know,
So your tender care becomes my plea.
Life means nothing, only prayer’s quest,
It’s your love that grants life true meaning.
Sadness ebbs swiftly, as hearts attest,
On your sweet love, my soul is leaning.
Read slowly to unwrap very well—
Then you’ll hear love’s true voice speaking loud.
Deep in the heart its pure feelings dwell;
Its diction can even make foes proud.
Just know lovers make new odd pledges,
None too heavy for their souls to keep.
Don’t ever be a doubting Thomas—
Sow love in my heart, and joy you’ll reap.
Stone by stone we shall erect halls of learning
Our seedlings with arms outstretched for knowledge yearning
But those seeds grew debt and are buried there yet
Helplessly watching all hopes and dreams burning
A lazy man sings
Of how much work his desk brings,
But too lazy is he
To do anything but sleep.
A lazy man gives
So many explanations, yet still
Nothing, nothing but sleep.
A lazy man's wish
Is to one day be rich
But not a day does he
Sow, so he can reap.
The sky
reflected in the harvested field
that laps up against the walls of
the Church of Saint-Paul de Mausole.
A surge of incriminating waves
upon which the Word is cast,
its roots in the church
that’s defined in outline
against the random aspect of the sky:
a nirvana,
or heaven –
not to be dictated to
by mere mortals.
A modest harvest
loosely stacked against the outer wall
representing the total sum of souls
still hoping for salvation,
but excluded
from the church’s close.
You shall reap what you sow.
There's a place that poets go
when they must their wild oats sow
They camp out in front of the TV set
Are the Three Stooges on the air yet
What is sown we reap.
if we plant accord
we certainly reap peace!
And we keep on falling into tomorrows,
A spinning particle with a soul,
In harmony with the spheres,
Sure as clockwork,
Till that final moment,
We meet dust,
We become wind,
And then we are for a while -
a phrase, a song, a scent.
Falling then, into yesterdays,
Each descending further -
Soundless, breathless, lifeless.
Why then should we be, as if
'forever' is the blood in our veins?
Have we not heard the phrase -
'life and death'?
Till the soil farmer, till!
As you live -
sow, water and reap.
For only then ...
the swan song can be of
a 'life full of years!' …
That dirge laments not...
For the epitaph sings of victories
I would like a little candy dish on my head please, the sow said.
We filed past, trying to ignore the sweet spectacle on her head.
She is always trying for extra attention hissed old goose Jed.
Maybe she needs a bit more TLC, observed Beau a chowder head.
I am tired of Old Sow getting all of the attention every time!
She is so grouchy and grumpy, not any friend of mine.
Maybe she needs a person to issue friendship and be kind.
Why don’t we invite her to the restaurant to dine?
Would she share that peppermint stick or chocolate mint? Asked Lee.
He is all about being fair, fighting with anyone who dares disagree.
The sow heard them speaking of her and puffed up with pride.
But she did not want to share her candy when they got inside.
Make the truth gentle,
don't be judgmental.
Let the breath flow with kindness;
build loyalty most monumental.
11/9/2022
Thanksgiving Day and the cats are out meowing the dogs.
Of course they are, dogs cannot meow, said the hogs.
But the turkey were silent, coming out of the oven now.
They were tasty and crunchy; it was a relief to the sow.
Butterfly queen flutters by to honor Mr. Sow the best she can.
He is amazed as she lands on his snout, feeling every bit the man.
She is dainty, petite, with filigree wings and a pretty smile.
Together they light up the barnyard for a country mile.
They are such friends! The cow tells the pig who shares this with a horse.
They are related I think, maybe cousins. This makes sense of course.
I love this relationship – they do not resemble each other in the least.
One will make a gorgeous corpse, the other will make a great feast.
The wheel of the year has turned again.
New growth is on its way.
WE sow seed and watch it grow ,what we say and do is the seed of life.
There is one Earth,one human race with variations .
Our bodies replenish the Earth , our sould travel on to where we desire .
This whole world is connected ,little fish feed bigger fish, krill ,so tiny, replenish giant
whales.
One chain of life which feeds off one another, the Darwinian theory isnt evolution but
survival and the ability to adapt.
All creatures great and small adapt to their surroundings.
Only the Human Race finds this difficult to understand we kill for pleasure ,for the thrill,
for excitement for some who have closed minds.
Wearrive here naked , we leavr here naked that is an irrefutable fact even for billionairs
and kings and rulers.
So the wheel turns again in its never ending circle of life, nothing changes except some
numbers the cycle of the world stays the same in an never ending story.
When all has fallen,
when hell is outside your door,
the whispers of monsters become wallowing screams-
and tar flows through your veins.
Water the dandelions growing between concrete tiles.
Even when you are too far gone, use your dying breath to help.
Rub the back of a child who fell from their bike,
Say thank you regardless of who will hear,
Be kind, for cruelty reaps sorrow.
A mind that destroys is the same that could heal.
Women know which men to marry
And Normal Woman won’t tarry;
To keep praising her Sir Barry
But it’s going to be Larry,
Barry to keep giving her Garri
To keep enjoying it Larry…
And she’d keep flirting with Harry,
Who her great burdens does carry;
Ceremonial thanks to Zorro
Who in her behalf would borrow,
Promising creditors morrow
But bed-time sleeping in sorrow…
Poor Zorro who does hard soils harrow
And watch over sows that farrow.
Let’s stay at Oinkington Inn the easily pleased relative said.
Her husband looked at brochure and said I’d rather be dead.
The pigs are lovely, she replied. There is nothing to dread.
He told her to go to her family reunion with her cousin Ned.
The sows and hogs were truly placated and fine.
We visited them near an old abandoned crystal mine.
You should come next time to the reunion, she said.
Best part is, a sow ran off with my mean cousin Ned.
Related Poems