The L. T. was green,
And equally mean,
Full of swagger and bluster,
And all the authority he could muster.
Bold in command,
This brash little man,
Who strode all around
Like he owned the damn ground--
Barking orders and spittle,
Never regarding how little
Regard in which he was held.
It was the midnight shift,
And L. T. in a tiff,
Cause his coffee had run out.
The L. T. with a shout,
Demanded a fresh pot be made--
No matter if the deployment was delayed.
In stepped the Sergeant broad and tall,
Striding to the Lieutenant who suddenly seemed small.
“The troops have a duty to move this line.
Your coffee can wait--this ain’t the time.
“And never raise your voice to one of mine.”
The Sergeant stared a moment then turned on a dime,
And made himself a cup of joe taking his sweet ass time
Striding through the carnival crowd,
a man alone, not seen or heard,
watching folks, boisterous and loud,
I'm happy not saying a word.
Life is a carnival, they say.
In the bustling throng, on my own,
strangely, I'm more than just okay -
I feel comfortable, alone.
Love an embroidered striding like a rose aura ...
In the tide's peril, through dusky snare
I fall low, i submerged slow, and when they call me, i drift below
I am lost, I am alone
I am but a shadowed self of my own
Striding, fleeing and now I'm drowning
Deeper and deeper, i reached randevou's crown
I reach, but nothing holds me near
Echoes vane, no voices here
I found none to whom I'm dear
Walking on the path of sand,
Down and drown, but can't stand,
In the deep abyss i found a man
Swirling like bay, warmer than may
He stretched his arm, he found me astray
He found me lost and taught me to pray
I sailed above, hiking through love
Now canva's lightning, darkness is bluing
I see the sky, i found the migh
Now no dusk can keep me by
I found the migh
With his power, now I stand still
I stand by
“The biggest lie about getting older is that excitement and
growth end with youth”. MO
Defiant by design, brazen Youth glides,
Striding beneath the banner ‘come what may’;
Flirting with fickle winds, taming the tides,
They pinky promise that they’re here to stay.
Allured along by a wondering eye,
Young naive charm trumps wisdom’s tested truth;
Sworn on a twinkling diamond star up high,
Dreams dance in rainbow palette over Youth.
Growing up fast - the poignant part indeed,
And eager Youth can’t pause the ticking pace.
Upon that sweeping hand it swaps its lead
For the kind, noble arms of wisdom’s grace.
October gallops in as stolid as a gray mare,
a blunt wind snorts furiously through autumnal trees.
Foliage rattles, but does not fall, it clings still
to green stems.
Appalachian backwoods have tough roots,
shod as they are into an earth salted
with a dark gritty ore.
Bears are foraging and reaping,
their black silky pelts clamber over gusting winds
to reach the furthest fruits
before first snows overburden stoic pines.
Today the sky is unharnessed
and racing at full tilt
It whips my raw lips like a wet mane,
it rears up to stamp down upon its own
animated onslaught.
I adjust my rucksack and reshoulder a shotgun
grin, eyes watering
caught under the stampeding gale,
buffeted now by its muscular flanks.
I need to bridle this striding wind,
to halter its headlong charge,
or better yet just surrender -
turn my back on it,
let it ride me
as we leap down from the hilltops
whooping it up like cowboys.
The blackboard waited stark and bare
As yet, there was no teacher there
A striding vision, took the chalk
You know… I recognised that walk
Miss Malone’s Dulcet tones
Sent a shudder through my bones
Her flowing hair with blonde highlights
Her mini skirt and fishnet tights
The way she stood with feet spread wide
And the purpose in her stride
I gave my mate a little nudge
His loving gaze just wouldn’t budge
I said, “Forget your lurid thoughts,
We’re barely out of schoolboy shorts.”
He nodded at her crimson lips
The wiggle in her swaying hips
I said, “You’re fourteen, feeling flirty,
That there teacher’s nigh on thirty!”
He said, “I’ve heard her name is Maisie,
She makes me feel all oops-a-daisy”
I said, “She’s glam, that much is true,
But truly, she ain’t right for you.”
It seemed he thought me quite remiss
And so I had to tell him this,
“She seems quite able in her job
But last week, Miss Malone… was Bob!”
Can you hear consequence? Is it calling?
Will we ever turn to face the weather?
Hush little lamb; all your senseless bawling.
Blinded by our choices; a braided tether.
Striding in cadence with the bellwether.
We’ll soon have to answer; all together.
Into the azure
lofty inter loppers linger
romantics wear me out
day dreaming till they die
Blackbirds in flight
brings you back into life
the fetches of light appoint
the mountains yawn
learn the rhythm
in mists striding the horizon
Ron’s been striding to catch the galoot,
but his misstep was not so astute.
Though his record’s alright,
he fixates on his height,
so his lift in the polls gets the boot.
solitude
. . . quiet
black peppercorn
on a ribbon
of tagliatelle
I, on my path
sinuous striding
impelled by you
impaled by you
Hand on thy hand, no walking distance
Under the yellow sun wandering glance
Silence of pebbles with the striding sea
Snail pace towards the soaked shore tree
The thirst grips the tongue of our mute love
Shadow of the coconut tree greets the dove
The rhythm of the streaming water notes hum
Swinging green coconuts clip the poetic balm
Flying Swallow gazes at the black cloud for slaking
Albatross shows infinity in the harmonious ring
Coconut leaves frolic for the whistling breeze
Our love is so centripetal like the coconuts fizz
Let’s drink the coconuts with the soul of poetic verse
Drink all so alike that none do slacken none can farce
War weary wayward wanderer walking westerly
Sadly slowly striding shadowy suburban streets
Barely behaving bravely but blindly bound
Coldly click-clacking cumbersome calloused cleats
Tormented tattered tired thus temper tampered
Following faltering footsteps from frigid feet
Deeply determined denying darkened deadly deeds
Recalls rankled ridiculous rituals readily repeat
Loosely lackadaisically lumbering like lost lamb
Ghastly giant gradually greets grieving ghost
Posturing politely promising placid provincial palace
Hell's haven happily hinders Heaven's host
The silent soul
who sullenly
seeps within
the sentimental
seas of solitude.
Always lead astray
by every
passing day.
Just to remain
amongst the stars.
Striding through
time’s strangled streams
of faintly
faded dreams.
Embedded beneath
the once blue
eyed beams of an
embittered beauty.
Here I sit on this night so still,
not a rustle in the leaves
nor a stirring in the grass.
No whispers intrude; naught but mine.
Ill news after days spent ill,
unwelcome foreword to grief
inexorable more like than not.
No answers come; naught but malign.
A thirst I can never quell,
a gulp seeming to smash the silence
whilst whiskey spars with the fear.
No solace is on tap; naught but fake.
A call from inside breaks the spell,
an urging for sleep's cocoon
next to a lover's warmth.
No closure can I find; naught but striding on.
Related Poems