Adoring thoughts focus on life freestyle …
scoring just one private fertile square mile.
Stockpile goods, fish and hunt wild game to store.
Worthwhile garden work brings fruits, greens and more.
Adjourn from life beneath false, greedy skies.
Upturn simple joys as soulfully wise.
Devise strong home and outbuilds by hand earned.
Rise daily filled with all freedom discerned.
He dwelt, he pondered, he thought for a while,
A smiling elder, older than his youth’s own smile.
Those pictures reminded him of his younger stockpile,
His dreams were bigger — hunger was his style.
But regret drained him, pain washed him thin,
Laundering his will, plundering within,
And now his unsung tone revealed just one note —
“If only I could reclaim the time I never bought.”
He closed away this very text, and looked upon it —
“Time I have,” he thought.
But once, even Time remarked —
“I am the destroyer of all dreams sought.
Nothing is lost, but nothing is what it seems,
He who wastes me becomes my theme.”
Must pester Uncle Fester our national jester
Mr dome chrome time to buy another home?
Property cartels fed cahoots loots free to roam
Like we’re being led by the laughing gnome
Coalition behind demolition of OG ancestor
Don’t let it fester about every oversea investor
Cannot cotton on to what’s wrong.. polyester
Kiwis remember embers of being a protestor
They were told awhile before the war make sure
To stockpile fossil fuels.. because more is more
They wouldn’t listen Oil companies shares glisten
Billionaire backed..society cracked or is it fracked
Fast tracked as guess who gets whacked the Poor!
Luxon adoring every glutton pushes that button
Haughty and naughty lies flies in roaring forties
Ignoring us imploring see the nexus of the exodus
As its lambs to the slaughter on the isles of mutton
Blisters on her shoulders shine, stars shooting
Tropical oil atop taut ceramic
Grit of bovine bone sand grinds, beach beauty
Groomed grey by sea flaky pastry panic
Cracked glaze icing ocean rolls relentless
Spills tsunami trauma over mollusc
Drags drama to harmless shell, defenceless
Untreated ulcer explodes, popped polyp
Gapes gradually, a cosy crimson cave
Cooks cops, six hundred degrees celcius
Brave baking sunbather, firing depraved
Sordid are buried by her, healthiest
Grains stockpile, Gestapo ogres, exiled
Gives laughter back to languid mermaid child
Second of October
Sent overboard
Seductress' oven
"A spoonful of fantasy is often the best medicine for reality." - CayCay
Life bounces my emotions around at its whimsy.
On many a day, a reverie is a savior to me.
Relief awaits inside the fondling of a good fantasy.
My imagination travels mind breezes easily
to unravel my dark in a visualization spree.
Sometimes I cannot force my face to even fake smile,
cannot elevate emotions above my bleak stockpile,
or take depression out of my character profile.
Escaping through my imagination's creative style
may lead to a dream worthy of keeping on speed dial.
Stockpile toilet paper if you dare
All kinds of tariff talk is in the air
World Health Organization is in the dust
Praying for the USA is now a must
When my knitting queen aunt
Feels that needlework pull,
She starts knitting some squares
Using leftover wool.
They’re rectangles, really,
With colorful stripes,
Their patterns and stitches
Of similar types.
Then when there are enough,
Using needle and thread,
She will sew them together
To cover a bed.
If no blanket’s requested
By someone she knows,
To a charity’s stockpile
That handiwork goes.
Though some unattached pieces
My aunt did produce
Found their way to my granddaughter
For a new use.
Now her dolls all have blankets,
Two interests in sync,
Crossing ages and miles
In such a sweet link.
There are clouds on the horizon
Winds are blowing in from the east
The washing's still out on the line
And the Sunday's best is all creased
The cows are waiting on their feed
For the prairie grass in long gone
We can see they're growing restless
And they'll need milking come the dawn
The eldest now talks of college
It's a doctor he wants to be
From the time he was ten years old
He would say "farming's not for me"
Mary passed away last August
The youngster was thrown from her horse
Her memory is precious
Though we live with the remorse
The winter is fast approaching
Now's the time to stockpile supplies
We'll begin gathering those things
On which the whole family relies
Eventually spring will come
As the cycle of life renews
Calves will be at their mother's side
As, too, spring lambs to the ewes
Even though I love this hard land
I know one day I will retire
I hope I get a chance to live
A long time before I expire
I'll open the gates, set herds free
And I'll let the land go its way
Since there's no one to follow on
This farm belongs to yesterday
"Nothing haunts us like the junk we didn't buy."
Anonymous
"I should keep this," I always say
"I might need it some other day"
Where I put it, there it will stay
That's just my way That's just my way
Stockpile of junk is what it's called
Trinkets but nothing that has crawled
All over the house, they are sprawled
Hubby appalled Hubby appalled
At first, it was just a junk drawer
Until my 'things' fell to the floor
"I'll stop." I promised and I swore
I still want more I still want more
It's a collection of clutter
"Yes, but they're all mine." I sputter
Even that old broken shutter
And golf putter And golf putter
I've no room to walk in my house
Not space enough for a lil' mouse
Couldn't find my favorite blouse
Mislaid my spouse Mislaid my spouse
First to the moon
first to Mars
We use AI
to drive our cars
Carbon-free emissions
stockpile of munitions
Our nation's a superpower
the world, ours to devour
Before we strike
here's what we're like ~
Execrable, ruthless
wicked, truthless
What this contagious smudge?
Spreading in their walk of life
With that fondness on its look
And behaving in us too august
From its stockpile and reserves
As everyone keeps impatient
And nervy well at his seconds
A mutual support it's to bring
Metrics at the edge showing up
Definitive to blend irregularities.
A beautiful painting to figure on?
Fancy vignettes out the color wheel
The artistry steadfast to the dogs
Not suspicious by its wall bricks
By most minors well foreseeable
Shrinking the grid lines as young
Such a thirst needing no drink
Hungry! Enthusiastic to starve
Canvas tensed up for buildings
Their thoughts then getting stiff.
How the streams match a channel?
Probably an invention off the orbit
Once in a while without likely set up
Soft scales splitting her shoulders
Unto offsprings of a foreshadow
Which are likely to be fully grieved
Creating gradient on last designs
So as to weaken no nail stepped in
Grounded fruits rising to their trees
Plenty of happiness everyone needs.
bees stockpile pollen
then they return to their hives
while I eat breakfast:
sweet honey was spread on toast.
meager reward for their work
bees humming loudly
swarms in a delightful way,
my humble garden
as the sun comes up the sky
to drink nectar of flowers
the world of nature
supplies for all our entails
what we use include
sufficient assets to share
if we were fair and balanced
Written: November 29, 2022
A Brian Strand Choice Hiku Footle
Tanka Clerihew Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
turning to you
yielding in hesitation
watching you in private
wishing things were different
a big ole jug of water
a stockpile of those small, extra thick towels
the dryer is now broken like my spirit's hymen
turning to you
yielding in hesitation
watching you in private
wishing things were different
a certain sinful website in front of my eyes
a stockpile of those ultra absorbent washcloths
there is no more hot water left to be used
turning to you
yielding in hesitation
watching you in private
wishing things were different
respectful enough to not take it there
smart enough to know YOU and know better
i think i will stick with being your friend
therefore, i avoid paying unnecessary prices and prevent unwise abusable triggers
Your warm yellow radiant rays fan out
Following the wedded sun touching smile.
Through the dense tangle of vines and leaves sprout.
Your warm yellow radiant rays fan out
And bends down in sadness during night stout.
From your heart as dawn break your seeds stockpile.
Your warm yellow radiant rays fan out
Following the wedded sun touching smile.
8/25/2022
I looked back, all smiles,
At my perils trailing miles,
‘Too early, dear mate’,
They said, ‘you had better wait,
We have a stockpile of wiles.’
___________________________
Tanka |02.04.2022|
Poet’s note: Thank perils that life feels alive. They provide life with vim, vigour, and drive. Upon triumphing over a few perils, never mock at them. This Tanka has a rhyme scheme of a limerick.
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