Don't make yourself smaller
Determine: walk taller
Be a friendship adorer
A - phone your mates - caller
Don't squirrel away
All your treasures each day
Your wonderful existence
You light-up with your essence
There is love all around you
You don't see it but we do
Your spine, it should straighten
We can't bottle or patent
All this fabulous You-ness
Let's be honest it's priceless
So big shout to you, beauty
You're a loveable cutie
Not just in your reflection
It's our inside detection
That we honour and clap for
From you, couldn't ask more
Be bold and courageous
In your kindness outrageous
You are generous-gifted
As our spirits are lifted
While we breathe in your presence
With your joy effervescence
So, wherever you started
You've ended big-hearted
And your height not in inches
So impressiveness clinches
In each lovely encounter
Say "we like you" 'cos we're bound t'
SS
29th September 2023
The weight of old age increases with time,
dragging spirits down a depressive hole.
And taking pills, prescribed to ease your pain,
the last years are anything but sublime.
You question if believing in a soul,
is vain.
You squirrel away cash you'll never spend
just in case hard times should show up again.
But you pray you'll never need that bankroll,
choosing to believe God’s will, in the end,
will reign.
(Curtal Sonnet)
6/27/2021
Cardinals feeding at the trays, enjoying winter meal
abruptly chased off by the Jays, the ones that always steal
Suprising all the Doves still here, grabbing little snacks
Squirrels "butt-in" to get their fill, leaving snowy tracks
Hawks are high up in the trees, Geese are on the ground
Sparrows and the Chickadees barely make a sound
Then the Raccoon comes along, chases Squirrel away
Deer not fazed by him at all, they are there to stay
They snort and stomp until he leaves, happy he has gone
the family knows it's safe to eat, joined now by their Fawn
Then a noise deep in the woods, chased them all away
though wary, they'll return again, to feed another day.....
Pete M. Yuhas
The Bridge
Trees clothed in blazing yellows and flaming reds reach towards the sky in gentle supplication, preparing for their naked winter. Fat orange pumpkins are last gasp of fallow fields. Warm, pleasant days give way to frosty nights. Apples give of themselves to make the sweet nectar that warms us. Bushy tailed rodents squirrel away nuts and bears grow fat in anticipation of the long cold season ahead. Time slows and matures as winter approaches. Fall is that short bridge between frenetic summer and still winter.
I am in the Fall
Crossing that short bridge
Winter grows closer.
remember it's not the "actual" data
it's only the metadata, but we
never met a data we didn't love
there's treasure in detritus debris
with intense Holmesian determination
we'll be able to infer and deduce
some linked reference, some correlation
between pointed data bits obtuse
government or company or corporation
don't matter the size of digital scrap
data microscope will reveal motivation
wanted are all of the small bits of crap
listing phone logs, search queries and such
myriad IP addresses and email recipients
to squirrel away with the lightest of touch
GPS Lat-Long located and databased insidious
to imply we spy on domestics is irrational
since we're "multi-national" by determiner
we're only looking at the "foreign nationals"
'course from "over there" you're the foreigner
you see there's nowhere to run away
no thought too trivial or secret to reveal
what networked digital crumbs can convey
is what gives metadata its big data appeal
© Goode Guy 2013-08-22
I dream not of a lovers touch,
but of a wandering star.
That which hangs within the night,
asking that I reach far.
I dream not of fairy tales,
that never make any sense.
But of a better reality,
on my side of the fence.
I dream not of unheard of wealth,
to hide and squirrel away.
I just dream that come the night,
I'll wake up the next day.
For the contest: Whatever, Next
Placement: 2nd
Sweet dog of mine
are you waiting for me?
I miss your face,
your snoring twitching dreams.
The joy of a wagging tail
beating to its own joy at seeing me,
but I'm not seeing you
except in photographs
that sometimes become too blurred
with tears I shed for my Mister.
Everyone says
I should get another dog
but you dwell in my dreams
running to bark at the Birds and sometimes,
it seems I hear you whine
but its only the wind
blowing across a creaky roof.
The Birds and I, we do okay
and Squirrel still comes
to steal their sunflowers.
Its a fight every day
without Mister to chase Squirrel away.
I wonder, do they miss him too?
This is a story to be told
About a man of old
He said that he would
Never rise
In the ground would he reside
Never would he face God
His remains would rot and make sod
So he a plan devised
This plan totally made by man
On his grave he would have placed
Ten inches cement fully ingraved
Never would he come out of that ground
He would have a ton of dirt all around
No way would his body come out
No way would he rise and shout
Just rot and rot and decay
Then one day a squirrel would play
Right on his grave he did stay
Chewing a nut to get to meat
He just wanted a treat to eat
Something frightened the squirrel away
Then it rained right away on that day
Leaving the acorn exposed to sprout
Then the angels all did shout
That acorn sent down a shoot
That shoot began to take root
From that a mighty oak
Large enough for hundreds of post
Sent its tendrils of roots around
Coming up from the ground
Forcing open that slab of cement
His body rose with a lament
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