"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find"
A scarecrow debates with the rust of his mind,
He’s stitched from the thoughts that the dreamers outgrew,
Wearing boots full of echoes and logic askew,
While time ties its laces with fragments of chance,
And memory curtsies in yesterday’s dance.
A teacup of thunder, left out on the sill,
Hums songs to the rain with a whimsical will.
It waits for a hand that remembers its glaze—
The brushstroke of lovers, or half-written praise.
A spoonful of silence stirs sugarless tea,
Brewed strong in the absence of who we might be.
"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find"
Lies a map of all places we’ve yet to unbind,
Drawn in invisible ink from the mind’s other side,
Where calendars melt and assumptions subside.
Each hinge is a riddle, each post is a guess—
A portal disguised in familiar duress.
The gate never opens, the gate never shuts,
It just creaks with the weight of the ifs and the buts.
It’s watched generations hang keys they outgrew,
And whisper their whens into skies fading blue.
Still it stands like a question the past left unsigned—
"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find."
Categories:
sugarless, fantasy,
Form: Lyric
My bears' beard came in when I turned eighteen.
I dipped my audacity in manhood
and it spit me out like sugarless tea.
The trenches near sent me back to curfews.
A man must talk and bear his own garbage:
He runs, He dies, and breaks his spine for pay
that’s bare. He does not shed tears to carnage,
He wars gracefully- like Frank to the Sway.
I never was taught to war silently
like shirts that know the wrath of a pen leak;
to walk giant and to laugh defiantly
at the loud drums and dances of deadbeats.
But I swear by my face to the beehive
I am – by my way- a man come alive!
Categories:
sugarless, adventure, allah, appreciation, me,
Form: Sonnet
A SHANGRI-LA IN HELL.
I feel at peace with the roll at hand.
At a place of bliss, whenever I take a puff.
My mum call it beast.
My wife call it monster.
My sweet cigar.
At a tender age, lured by a friend.
A little puff good for you, he persuaded.
Another puff friend, he coaxed.
I was manipulated to it.
My sweet cigar.
A packet and a lighter, my best friends.
Accompanying me to every corner.
The paraphernalia that has taught me generosity.
I can't stand a friend suffering.
My sweet cigar.
My kids at home,can go without milk.
Their tea sugarless.
As I spare a coin for my comforter.
A sweet burden in me.
The bondage I brought myself into.
My sweet cigar.
My sweet wife keeps complaining.
I have promised to abstain.
To do away with smoking.
Times without number I have promised
But it's clear that I can't do without.
My sweet cigar.
?@Kipngeno Robin.
Tha Formidable Cheru.
#themonk
Categories:
sugarless, addiction,
Form: Free verse
SOMETHING NEW
Born with sweet tooth
Most lovely great truth.
My family tradition
Sweet tasty emotion.
Developed sugar problem.
What to do? Stress to blame.
Without sugar tea-coffee
Avoid chocolate-toffee.
Found a nice remedy
Sugarless coffee ready
On each sip take a bite
of sweets to taste right.
10/25/18
'Trying Something New' Contest by Nina Parameter.
Categories:
sugarless, food, fun,
Form: Rhyme
Susie ate her sugarless serving with a slow spoon
Soggy sobs serenaded
her seven-year-old sister’s
shocked, sensitive ears
Saccharine sadness sampled simply too soon
Categories:
sugarless, childhood, food, fun, humorous,
Form: Alliteration
His Discarded Love Letter To Her
His love letter to her,
quickly
discarded
didn't fill her envelope
or her heart
for his
dying flame
that never grew.
And a match to candle
brought little light.
For a caricature of us,
eleven months later,
drawn by his voice
brought
shades darken,
shapes drooping,
mouths pouting.
And the candle sits idle,
next to Austin,
her cat,
sweet cat,
no doubt catnapping
of where he has been.
It would have
been good to see
the curtain calling
less the Ferris wheel
spin, spin, spin
and
less
cotton candy dreams
caught in the mill
of spite.
And his sugarless face
yearning for her smile.
Knotted.
But there were two lone souls
birthed
on a muted axis
of mime and games
pantomiming
back stabs
on faux dark clouds
into each
into
mystery
into each, repeatedly.
Written words that choke life
her written words
demean
the once blue skies
known once upon a time,
now he swallows
sadly
by
default.
connie pachecho
6/16/17
Categories:
sugarless, absence, betrayal, lost love,
Form: Free verse
Only one of the haiku poems below is serious. The others are frivolous. Can you spot the serious poem?
zero, one, two, three,
four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,
ten, eleven, twelve
Do four out of five
dentists really prefer
sugarless Trident?
twelve, eleven, ten,
nine, eight, seven, six, five, four,
three, two, one, zero
Is a poem any
more than a validation
of our perceptions?
I gave the Peace sign
at a football game and was
handed two hot dogs!
The six questions that
reporters ask are "What?," "Why?,"
"Where?," "How?," "When?," and "Who?"
Categories:
sugarless, poems,
Form: Haiku
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea
To this chrysoberyl dawn rescue from chuted linen bedlam,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
She sits on her hands and shuffles her ugg boots,
And watches me toast, I'm butter, I'm smoked ham.
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea.
Pepper shakes, egg white eyes, her yawning toots,
Her champagne hair bubbles still of our liquory sham,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
The wonder to her sprite body and this morn in cahoots,
When I feels like I'm sunken, with lids like a sleepy clam.
Now for warm oatmeal and honey and sugarless tea.
Not flowers on feathers, hoodlums we are - munchy and moose,
Nothing much matters but her lippy kiss coat of strawberry jam
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
This first light and cigarette and her shuffling caboose
Closer, comfier, her smile on my shoulder, to the day be damn'
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
Categories:
sugarless, morning, romantic,
Form: Villanelle
Long, slim, chocolate, and divine
Most men, and even some women pine... feign over this birthday suit of mine
Smooth layers with no assistance from oil of olay
I sport my suit proudly as if everyday were my birthday
My scars add character and tell my story
My birthday suit expresses my battles and my glories
And we all know that when chocolate gets too hot, it melts
And I like chocolate, so I admit that sometimes I do like to taste myself
I just can't seem to help it
Because my birthday suit always demands another helping
But there are many who cannot handle the sweetness
They get a little sugar in their system and my suit becomes their weakness
For those that cannot handle, I strongly suggest a sugarless diet
Because once you've taken a bite, you'll forever be tempted to try it
You may even be tempted to buy it
Just remember, No returns, refunds, and no exchanges
And bout time I'm finished with you, this birthday suit will surely be famous!!
Categories:
sugarless, fantasy, birthday, birthday,
Form: Rhyme
Business in my head … it won't stop
When it starts it can't end
Where it ends nobody knows
Decisions, decisions - always, never ending.
With the wind in my face, wheels turning around and around
I hear the YellowJackets; Theonius Monk pulsing in the background
Charlie Parker screeching to the beat of real jazz
Melodious chords after chords floating onward – peacefully in tune inside.
Momentum carries my thoughts of one, today
With smiling green eyes of
Golden hair forcefully driven - dressed in happiness, colorful
Echoing throughout my day.
Outside she … coated in sugarless healthy sweetness – wine in hand
Inside I wonder - what moves her?
What thoughts she may have of life’s joys and false toys?
Wearing outer power … searching inner self for what she is, will be, wants to be?
Wondrous movements of such deep intensity – hmm.
© Charles H Keys, 2012. All Rights Reserved
Categories:
sugarless, imagination, introspection, romance,
Form: Free verse
TWO COUPLETS ON “ FLAWLESS vs FLAWS “
POEM 1
I had no idea what he meant :
We bought a small one-roomed unfinished apartment.
He said I was too critical, always looking for flaws.
This apartment was 16 floors up but had no floors.
16 floors up, this room has its floors up. As I speak,
The floor’s up with guys looking for water leak.
Looking for flaws ?!
Damn right I was I was looking for floors!
This place wasn’t flawless, it was floorless;
As well - by the way - as doorless.
POEM 2
What is the real story with Aunt Jemima’s pancake mix?
You gotta add egg, sugar, and milk, before you can fix
A breakfast or lunch pile of flapjacks,
And sit back, eat, digest and relax.
Our Aunt’s eggless, sugarless, milkless, but not flourless.
Her packets of stuff are certainly flawless.
Let’s hope she continues with at least her flours,
For if her stuff is flourless : and then it will have flaws.
Categories:
sugarless, funny
Form: Couplet
AT 60
For 60 summers, I am
With memories wrinkled
As age has conceived
What time had committed.
And mark the day with a chiffon cake
One sturdy candle at the center
A wish to whisper only once
But no one bothered what was said.
I think now of those decaying decades
Old and dearly friends I hardly meet
Share a bit of the sugarless pieces
Bland to the hardest crisp.
How many faces become vague?
Lowly sounds shrill my ears with daze
How long ago has there been a gift?
And one lonely lamp beside my crib?
Such thoughts remain qualms
Agonizing my spirit
When autumn begins, I shall be
A tiny leaf among the heap
To be raked, ashed and dust off
Hibernate underneath the cold earth
To sprout again, perhaps never
On any spring, thereafter.
Categories:
sugarless, imaginationautumn,
Form: Free verse