First, love hears the bell
before the hand has touched it
dawn before daybreak—
Reactions are quick and sure,
latency's irrelevant.
Later, there's a pause
a brief delay in response,
as both already
know what to say, why, and when
and then, how each one will react
Next maturity
permits an intermission,
hearth-warm brief silences
in the shared conversations,
a time to trust the givens.
Misunderstanding
blooms slowly in known voices—
old maps for new roads
the old answers come too soon,
not from who stands at the door.
So love must relearn
the true art of latency—
to pause—then reply
with enough consistency
to stave off complacency.
Those BazBull bro’s kills what they said they'd save
Chill pill drills ho’s cheap thrills all traditions waive
Rave it's their fave the oldest format what they crave
Pretend that cricket lite ..might a bright future pave
Defend rascals debacles in Oz really was a close shave
Righto was sh*te say goodnight barmy tsunami wave
Did cave in hosts through thick & thin everything gave
So goodbye to the superfly lie cheerio the final wave
All a slave to T20 noble sort of this global sport a knave
Can't stave off woes depraved way they did play.. behave
Smarmy army hell bent heaven sent Tests to their grave
To stave off pecuniary penury
and avoid pangs of hunger
then on his last legs
the cooper when younger
constructed oak casks lock stock and kegs
which he filled full to the gills
with fish fit for shooting
or monkeys for fun
and sold all for cash as non-polluting
The New Morality
Trump has spoken, we get up from our chairs and salute, actually not.
The fact is, we are tired of this endless war
That is economically viable for many, an industry of death
we do not see on the factory floor where weapons are made.
A morbid industry, many states need to stave off poverty and
unemployment. Weapons used are someone’s property.
We are backward, us humans we have yet to understand that
most work is not needed, give people money so they can go
climb rocks and go fishing in the stream, swim in the ocean, and
enjoy life, which is an interval between deaths. We have finally
reached the zenith of existence, yet we, for an outdated reason, insist
everyone should work till they drop. Relax, let the Middle East
find its own nirvana.
amid muck and mire of a storm swamp
~ shadows dance below chartreuse skies
mirrors labyrinth stifles our souls quest;
holding reflections of lovelorn dreams,
maxims and myths that fall may wreck hearts
...and hope blooms as a fuchsia rose under rain;
where valiant words weave in the wind
~ skirmishing to stave off light catharsis,
a guiding star illuminates raw pathways;
In the mirror, viewing my dilemma and Hades,
from a mysterious bane to sangria songs
~ In the wilderness of mirrors, wander lost;
tales were spoken through wisteria vines
~ my soul is Persephoned and torn by dusk
breathless amid an etching saffron storm;
a melancholy flavor of kyanite and embers,
whispering waves shrouded in nostalgia
...as time breaks down at my lachrymal leaf;
creating jagged, exquisite tracks
~these veins carry love's delicious poison
memory cascades over empyrean inferno;
mirrorless miracles always have a synonym —
~scented with forgiveness by Nirvana Sailors . . .
I love the cold as I lay beneath my
feather doodah, or chill-out
in my warm down-filled wind cheater.
I love to run through fields of ice and snow
with steam expelling from my mouth
with every each puff and breath.
I love to sip the steamy warm soup
with the cup warming my frigid lips.
For everyday I stave off
the cold embrace of death,
threatening to engulf me.
If I stop trying
and my energy fails,
my warmth will succumb
To the call of the cold,
forever wanting me to relent
and give up.
For to stay alive,
I must burn the food I eat and digest,
bask in the sunshine, sit by the fire,
to keep warm against the chill,
forever sucking heat from me.
The shrill chill encompasses me
with the cold embrace of death.
More gift cards
What is it with people and the money they dream of I’m not a money person, cash in hand is ok
Perhaps a small account is enough for everyday use to repair a puncture.
A family friend got me to invest in a gift card thing, but I soon realized it was a bad thing, I cut my losses, as they say, a bird in hand is better than birds in the bushes
The gift card company is persistent in a little investment more and I will be very rich, which is the last thing I want to be
I feel sorry for the wealthy who need a yacht to
feel good about themselves big insecure egos begging for us to love them
they tell me I risk losing 400 thousand dollars and
what, on earth am I doing with that, when my thinking is a possible income of 5000 thousand to help with my daily expenses
Take Elon Musk, he is a genius and impossibly rich, always on the move to stave off his inner demons when sits down for a moment he looks inward, he is deeply depressed, and can’t find pleasure for long in what he does
Bless him he has so much to give to the world at
The cost of his well-being
All I want is to read, have coffee, and toast in the morning, and to hell with untold riches
I laud precious memories when cold nights prevail.
Those that fan love's flames against Winter winds
for in those images my lonely heart beats again,
if only an interlude where grief holds no reign.
But mourns my heart when they are bittersweet.
Each one a dagger plunged too deep.
They cannot be banished or cast aside,
for with each attack my wounds bleed again.
I cannot escape the sorrowful tears
that trickle when those memories come unbidden.
There's no antidote to stave off the infection
of the melancholy sadness my mind recalls.
But there are melodious moments,
joyfully sweet dulcet thoughts
when gentler memories flow.
They brush across my heart like paint on canvas,
as treasured works of art being recalled.
When a smile, sans apparent reason, reaches my eyes
making them shine as if emerging from an eclipse,
a cherished memory is being recollected.
These are the priceless souvenirs I relive.
Given armor to stave off the burning, I would pull the sun down from the skies
Falling away from heavens light is showing me you are numb to this blistering pain; without feeling it, you and I will never synchronize.
A point now frozen in time is what I have conceptualized
You show without remorse, there will always be, armageddon in your eyes
Floating throughout the infinite; I seek asylum with you, how shall I surrender my disguise?
Inevitable as these heavens fall, am I allowed within your light?
Or in the ensuing hell, will I find you as my minds paradise?
Holding the mask of my sequester, you illuminate the graveyard behind my eyes
Even if death shattered a thousand suns; love can not be burned or buried if it was just a hole where emptiness lies.
What price must we pay,
To simply be?
The toll for existence,
Incurs a fee.
Each breath we take,
Each step we make,
Extracts a cost,
A price we must pay.
We pay for food, water,
For all resources consumed,
For heat, power, light,
For each a debt is accrued.
We were born completely free,
But, when we opened ours eyes.
It was the toll of debt,
We saw in the skies.
Why does it have to be?
In the material world,
Its entropy's fee, we must fight
To stave off decay.
For as heterotrophs
We must consume the structure
Of plants and animals
To maintain our structure.
Oh, to be a plant
To live cost-free,
As an autotroph
Bathing free, in the sunlight.
The cost living
Is the price we all pay,
The toll to exist,
Our destiny.
it doesnt matter whether you sit there
counting grains of sand
or stave off the cold thief named sleep
for as long as you can
the things we start and the things we end
the people we meet dancing in the streets
we take them home and on our sheets
our closest friends we got to see
even though its been an eternity
and new ones made along the way
i hope to see them again someday
so goodbye for now its been a dream
its time for me to wake it seems
but hopefully soon again ill sleep
and hopefully once again we’ll meet
The slump
My doctor, like many medics, knows little concerning
diabetes, but she does her share of guessing and gives advice according to her assumption
Cheer up, she says, you look sad.
Depression is a part of the illness, walking on a treadmill of illusion to stave off a coma that hangs onto the sick like an ill-fitting cape, a heroic actor will not be seen dead wearing
Beans! She says triumphantly is good for diabetes with
meat and veg, pauses, and suggests walking is good
Diabetic ice cream, she says, must be good on a hot day
it is full of artificial sugar, I say. No, I'm not about to help her
I know what she likes, should I invite her to a classy restaurant, it must be posh as she goes to her hairdresser twice weekly
Do you still smoke? No, but it makes no difference Tobacco, has nothing to do with diabetes
She grabs her pad and writes out some tablets to be taken
twice a week
and come back in six months.
Looks out of the window and asks herself if you are still alive!
She knows I'm a mind reader.
"Memory can be our greatest friend or greatest foe."
~ quote by poet
Laud precious memories when cold nights prevail
those that fan loves' flames as Winter winds wail
for upon those images a lonely heart will set sail
if only in an interlude where grief may not assail
Mourns the heart when memories are bittersweet
Each one a plunging dagger blade of wintry sleet
A mighty foe one cannot banish or cast in defeat
for with each revived attack, pain is wont to repeat
No human can escape the sorrow and abysmal fall
of teardrops when unbidden memories befall us all
There's no antidote to stave off that sudden squall
of sad recollections melancholy minds often recall
But there are melodious moments of dulcet thoughts
in which flows trickling memoires where joy imparts
the rushing through veins until canvassed in hearts
as treasured paintings; unforgettable works de' arts
When a smile, sans apparent reason, plays across lips
and eyes shine as though emerging from an eclipse
there will have been a memory, perhaps in short clips
a prize to relish as the fine wine a connoisseur sips
Running, running, running faster
Trying to stave off disaster
To keep from losing in this race
It's time that I picked up the pace
Breathing, breathing, breathing harder
Hope I don't end up a martyr
My lungs are burning, legs are weak
The finish line is all I seek
Cramping, cramping, cramping woes
I'm losing feeling in my toes
I know it's not a mortal sin
But Hell, I came in last again
A lie is a lie and a fact is a fact
But between them are traps that are waiting
For the people against whom the odds have been stacked
Who have nothing to live for but hating.
So they flock to the sites where they see someone strong
And join in to inflate their own standing
For the human desire to want to belong
Sometimes bows to a tyrant’s commanding.
Thus the law takes a blow and must battle a threat
To its reason for even existing
And the hope’s that there still are enough of us yet
To stave off our demise by resisting.
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