Spinning around,
Jumping rope,
Something found,
Gave wonder and hope.
Homework to do,
Grades to earn,
Squabbles brew,
Moody concern.
Research to keep,
Always on the go,
Lack of sleep,
Prideful show.
Life still a mess,
Why am I fat?!
Work in progress,
More than one cat.
Rocking chair,
Sitting out front,
Knowing stare,
Memories confront.
In the bustling halls of workplace,
there lies a quiet enmity hidden in plain sight.
A simmering rivalry that runs deep,
whispers behind closed doors and furtive glances that never meet.
On the surface, all seem polite and cordial,
but beneath the shining sheet of professionalism
lies a devious inferno.
The backbiting, the petty squabbles,
all serve to undermine a collective goal.
We pretend that all are in this together,
but the fact is far more guileful, much harder to bear.
For as long as this hidden enmity persists,
we can never truly reach our full potential or even hope to coexist.
©Chitra Arun
AI's Favorite Guy
My dear, you’ve found a brand new love
Not me, your wife, but bytes above.
ChatGPT, Gemini, in your ear,
Whispering sweet nothings, oh so clear.
You spend your days in digital dreams,
While I’m left here with mortal schemes.
If AI had a beating heart,
I’m sure you’d swap and never part.
“Marry me, dear chatbot,” you’d cry,
For she’s so wise and never lies.
She gives advice, she doesn’t nag,
She never rolls her eyes or drags.
Oh, how she answers, every call,
No petty squabbles none at all!
Her perfect logic, endless cheer,
A cyber-siren in your ear.
Yet here I stand, in flesh and bone,
While you romance a microphone.
But darling, don’t you fret too much
I know your AI love’s a crutch.
So I’ll just laugh, pour me some wine,
And watch you woo your bot divine.
Enjoy your chatbot wedding night
I’ll be here, with the Wi-Fi light.
"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em."
— Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene V
Some are born to crowns and gold,
With power strong and wealth untold.
Some will climb, with sweat and pain,
To carve their names and stake their claim.
And then there’s me—a simple bloke,
Who’d rather nap than wear a cloak.
Greatness came, it knocked, it screamed,
I locked the door—it must have dreamed.
For who would trade a peaceful life,
For throne-room squabbles, royal strife?
Give me books, a pint, some cheese—
Let others rule, I’ll take my ease.
So take your greatness, shove it far,
I’d rather be right where I are.
A houseplant is one of the saddest things I've ever seen.
Loosely rooted in a glazed bowl of nutrient-depleted soil.
Every third day or so, fed plastic cups of fluoridated water.
Enduring nicotine puffs, secondhand sun, forever stunted.
A withering witness to squabbles and suffering.
Violent deeds and sudden ugliness of human beings.
Praying for sunshine- force-fed shadows.
Wishing for a fairy on a breeze
but whiffing only shiny linoleum
bargain coffee and bacon grease.
A houseplant is one of the saddest things I've ever seen.
'Twas the night before Christmas, and insomnia befell,
No creature was stirring, but my thoughts are pell-mell.
Would the family squabbles and feuds come with the cheer?
Would I have to drown them out, with too much beer?
The smile and wave diversion has limited worth?
How long can my mirth defray my feeling good dearth?.
I flit like a butterfly, I sting like a bee.
But, my hands can't hit what my eyes can't see.
It's all so jovial, with all folks tongues tied.
Letting slip barbs tongue-in-cheek that lied.
Lips forced into clenched fist clamped smiles.
With forget-me-knots shrouded as wait-a-whiles.
The reindeers were laughing, stopping on the roof,
as I downed another draught of whiskey high-proof.
A hangover is a sure-fire cure to help me cope,
with the downhill slide to the slippery slope.
'Twas the night before Christmas, and I'm awake,
fearing the family feud sparring earthquake.
My mind is churning over past disputes, give-and-take,
and how to avoid ruining the day with a silly mistake.
Life’s Jackdaws
I wish it were now! Yes now!? ?Seven tens and two years further along,
like that dead headed summer garden, you know the song, you a long time gone,
In your eyes I saw all the answers, to all those questions which I never knew then,
you never spilt any, I constantly watched for drips of clues uttered unhidden.
Oh, and how, now, that impossible conversation would level this rutted path of blunder,
wonder rattles those memories, stirring thoughts echoing as loud, rumbling mind thunder,
in a spiteful way, where washed up confusion reigns answerless, wishes would become,
a frail burnt paper kite in a storm of lightning shadows, no solace to share just numb.
Instead, we coral horses galloping in endless circles, ridden by yesterday’s spectre,
So, we as empty wonder boxes, move on in the shadow of the hourglass’s collector,
we don’t see the time pass, we see the thoughts pass, on a destiny bound runaway train,
amid the cackling squabbles of life’s Jackdaws wielding their blunted knives life stained.
A promise worth making
Is a promise worth keeping,
The vows made by liars
Simply aren’t worth your weeping.
The risk that you’re taking
Is a blessing fate’s reaping,
For a promise worth making
Is a promise worth keeping.
A friend that’s worth trusting
Was a stranger worth meeting,
A good first impression
Starts with one cordial greeting.
When old bonds start rusting
Bring to mind time is fleeting,
For a friend that’s worth trusting
Was a stranger worth meeting.
A battle worth fighting
Is a war worth man’s waging,
Amid bloodstained wastelands
Freedom’s cries are still raging.
Soon, peace is in writing
And the world is engaging,
‘Til a battle worth fighting
Breeds another war waging.
A love worth pursuing
Comes with trials worth facing,
Most quarrels and squabbles
Could be eased by embracing.
Let growth be renewing
So that nothing’s replacing
Every love worth pursuing
And each trial worth facing.
A life not worth living
Is a life worth forgetting,
The grand tales of yore, dear
Weren’t of poor souls regretting.
A life spent with giving,
Blissful life without fretting,
Is a life worth the living,
Here’s to no more forgetting!
Sisters and brothers, a curious pair,
Sometimes they love, and sometimes they glare.
Hand in hand, they explore the world,
Or argue whose flag should be unfurled.
Giggles erupt over secret jokes,
Then squabbles brew like stormy folks.
Building forts with pillows and sheets,
Sharing whispers and sweet treats.
Wrestling matches on the floor,
Slamming doors, then making s'mores.
Borrowing clothes without asking first,
Feeling both blessed and sometimes cursed.
Adventures shared, both big and small,
Catching each other when they fall.
Missing deeply when apart,
Reunions that warm the heart.
Years fly by, they sprout and grow,
Their bond evolves and continues to flow.
From rivalry to strongest friends,
The sibling journey never ends.
Through laughter, tears, and wonder too,
They shape each other, through and through.
A complex love, a lasting tie,
Siblings' bond will never die.
Some families have heirlooms
Passed down often through the years
So their legacy will not be one
That somehow disappears.
Whether jewelry or furniture
Or curios or art,
Certain objects in a family
May play a vital part.
There might even be some squabbles,
For inheritance is rife
With the problems of possessions
Valued in a person’s life.
Though my heirlooms weren’t many
From the family reservoir,
I am proudly in possession
Of my grandma’s cookie jar.
"(Anacreontic Verse)"
Another year goes
a new year comes
if I recall right
this always been so
from way far back when
on and on and on
so I say, listen
if I can picture
this year too is
rehashed and rewrapped
same old squabbles
same petty discords
futile quest for peace
but there's always hope
hope to hang onto
hope for harmony
hope for love and peace
man is a poor soul
feeble in spirit
fickle in thoughts
lost without hope
the ills of a year
ha, lasts but one year
They were vibrant women,
whose voices vibrated in the vicinity.
Their squabbles were X-rated.
Profanity pirouetted nude in their expressions.
They fought for the rights,
though with obscene tongues.
Their ways were bitter
but beneficial like neem.
Even their glances could burn away
some virulent teen trends.
They were spunky,
kept snakehead-vigil on their surroundings.
For livelihood,
they gathered black oysters resembling them.
There were precious harvest songs
in their mind-albums.
As the sea,
they too had a serene face.
Their romance wasn’t a red rose blooming,
but a buffalo ploughing the field,
leaving behind clods of ecstasy.
They caned and scolded their children,
who grew strong in mind and body.
Now noxious things thrive
in the silence left by them.
First published in Native Skin, and then reprinted in The Literary Hatchet
After years of research they now find
The cause of squabbles conjugal kind:
Culprit, the priest they hire—
He that feeds fuel to fire
Solemnizing marriage,
Villain of old vintage….
Today’s research: blind led by blind!
________________________________
Limerick |05 .08.2023| humour, marriage
Supplication Beneath a Summer Sky
As far as the eye can see,
Where water and sky meet,
Lies that distant shore
Of sand to forest;
I encroach forthwith.
Blessèd be God’s creativity,
And welcome me
With benevolence
To an undeserved rest
At my journey’s end.
Where now I sulk in shame
For claiming independence;
Through wanton squabbles,
I find I’m not invincible,
Nor do I wish to remain mortal.
Take me for who I am:
My mind—unstable,
My character—questionable,
My wants—excessive,
My hope—forgiveness.
"Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house;
can you hear the whispering? "
Quote by _Constance La France
The knowledge is worth more than anything;
wistful memories we called home did bring.
Where our story drone echoed through the walls;
this abandoned home's soul as daylight falls.
Children's loud whispers ever robust songs,
weaved with endless squabbles of rights and wrongs.
Decay from yesteryear changing seasons;
leaves fell, covered round, a mulch like reason.
Green balm, soundlessness hollow, nature's home,
lull emotions of hopefulness now roam.
As it faints away and falls, darkness calls
to the soul of the house's mournful walls.
5/30/2023
Contest: Writing Challenge - C Quotes -
Sponsored by: Constance La France
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