A FAIR PAIR
Willy the worm would want to wiggle
Just a joke joining in with joyful jiggle
Gaity I guess, giving guffaw or giggle
Delighted to dig and dive down deep
Why one would wish to walk or weep
Continually checking, caution to keep
As surface security seldom seems safe
Worried to wander as a whining waif
Choices change, yet chancing to chafe
Stop being silly, Sam Snail softly said
I’m slimy and I slither slowly instead
However heavy to hold I have a head
No shame sheltering in a shiny shell
I’ll try to tempt you with tales to tell
Quiet questioning quite easy to quell
My mistake made if I’m mild or meek
Supposing no special space to speak
Being breakfast in a blackbird’s beak
None need know any new unknowns
Both born blind, bare with no bones
Grudgingly, grinds grates and groans
Great, gradually going underground
So silent, simply still sensing no sound
Finer feelings of fairness finally found
Basically being what a bare belly begs
Dripping not drowning, draining dregs
Laughing’s allowed, even lacking legs
In the mornings, building staff,
Equipped with long green hoses,
Wash sidewalks down, attentive to
What lurks beneath their noses.
Most often, it’s what’s left behind
By dogs which poo or piddle,
With owners who, despite the law,
Obey it very little.
Though yesterday, a homeless man
Sprawled on the sidewalk, sleeping.
Though he was dry, surrounding him,
Was proof of clean-up keeping.
Aside from where he lay, the street
Was wet from recent hosing,
A kindness from the worker,
Or at least what I’m supposing.
I’ve sometimes gotten spritzed a bit,
An accidental spraying,
But I was touched to see this dose
Of empathy displaying.
I know here and there I stand
to surmount a hurt of unknown
differences, if not something bad.
The devil may go anticlockwise
but, I how dear
how bold, I know I supposed.
Supposing I have to start
start from the past century
then, how many cups of tea or coffee
I should drink tonight?.
Or supposing this country of mine
I wished to change with another, another
how to endure and where.
Or supposing Africa and America
and Europe and Asia and Australia
are continents, how technocracy or aba?.
Like just brother the years to come
the wind a thing, the world
like em, em, em,..........
somewhat is something
which I felt is this sometimes wither
in life.
What hope if I alone must strive
commandments to obey?
Could all my self-constructed good
withstand the Judgement Day?
Supposing I could keep one day
completely free from sin.
Would that be good enough from God
eternal life to win?
If I protest my innocence
before the accusing Word,
would that persuade the Righteous Judge
to leave my case unheard?
Nothing that I articulate
can contradict God’s Word;
indelible His judgement stands,
with Him I must concur.
No works of my poor righteousness,
no deeds that I think good,
can overcome my total need
of Jesus’ precious blood.
Provision far beyond my dreams
impossible to fail –
my Saviour dying in my place;
His righteousness prevails!
“He was wounded for our transgressions.”
Isaiah 53:5
Sadness sealed under my spects
Still supposing someone can sense
Savvy one can't see,shread veins of my heart
Suck all the blood,make me empty
But fill me with your love....
Supposing that “special” is somewhere soft,
and never further away,
As always in my space….
The air I take in
The calm colors I catch in every view
The strong words that make a better soldier out of me
The safe hand of someone who knows
The smile of a stranger
The distance between where I had been, and where I am going
The warmth of remembrance
The blessing of friendship
The greatness in growing older
The magic of wishing wells
The power of prayer
The way that all my questions are answered
The laughter through pain
The sunshine through the rain
The fine gift of sight, being able to see the beauty in all the things around me
Finding that “special” is not some feather floating forever out of our reach,
But it is in everything, everywhere…
As always kissing our cheek.
How lucky can one man be
To have the love and friendship
Of so many sweet adorable people
Here on the Soup... male and female
It's like a love-in from the sixties
Minus the beads and hippie hair
(Well I'm supposing!)
Those were wild, free spirited days
Making love, NOT war
I was newly married back then... 1957
Busy raising three young kiddies
And struggling to make ends meet
My rewards though were much greater
With 3 super kids, a gorgeous wife and a new career
The closest I got to becoming a hippie
Was letting my hair grow long (shoulder length)
And sporting a beard
Which, believe it or not, I still have today
Those were difficult times back then
But oh so rewarding... ahhh memories!
George asked for a date,
supposing I’d wait
all day.
That morning at eight
I stood by my gate;
oy vey!
He called and said, “Mate.
I’ll be really late.
OK?”
His mate? I said, “Hey,
your style’s not the way
for me.
I’ll go to the bay
and find my friend Ray.
Then we
on jet skis will play.”
(Ray’s gay I’d not say.
Hee hee.)
Ray’s such a sweet pea.
We laughed with such glee,
then ate
buffet near the sea.
I sure wish that he
were straight!
But some things can’t be;
I stay fancy-free.
That’s fate!
(sure hope I did it right this time. My Virelai "Blue" was not done right)
March 28, 2023
For the Write Me A Virelai Poetry Contest of Kim Rodrigues
Supposing my fingers could talk
while I'm on a cold winter walk
one hand, mitten-bound
the other, gloved sound-
I bet with each other they'd balk.
With gloves, fingers need to be steered
through openings not truly geared
where digits get stuck;
yet mittens bring luck
with wide open space fully cleared!
My gloved fingers- each tucked alone
just fabric between every bone
no company there
in the frigid air
perhaps not the best comfort zone.
My fingers in mittens each smile
enjoying their warm, cozy style
each share body heat
in one place complete-
so thankful for space-versatile!
December 16, 2022
Contest: Of What Use Are Gloves To Fingers
That Only Understand Mittens?
Sponsor: John Lawless
supposing this mined ground beneath a sky of warheads
and a time of damaged armor that try to evade the point of bayonets
when the planet will be called blood
and seeing that harmony soon gets sick
and walks towards destruction,
strange you not accept that the blades gradually spread the decline
because that's how it is
there's nothing new
it's like a simple and logical game of win and lose
and now it's our turn my love.
Armchair politicians always provoke a laugh
Spouting what they would do if they could,
I’m supposing they’d never make a bad gaffe
The world would go as they think it should.
They have the answer to every bad situation
Many years of practicing amateur diplomacy,
Interestingly, they have little valid information
Yet, are sure they could make better history.
I tend to leave affairs in the hands of experts
Who have the real scoop and lots of advising,
Day by day handling things, not in little spurts
Not on questionable rumors plans devising.
This isn’t to say I believe they’re never wrong
But admitting they know far better than me,
I hum tunes, but they know lyrics to the song
So, as best as I can, I avoid criticizing, you see.
written April 6, 2022
“The idea of a vision is revolutionary and groundbreaking
but achieving it may be back breaking,” says Johnnie Dent,
Supposing it is not frivolous ... or, shall I say, time wasting?
Whatever you bring to the table, your time is well spent.
For 24/7, we listen to various ideas, some have gone viral
Enough, I tell you, to send most of us managers into a funk
Others from the get-go, though well-presented, tend to spiral
Out-of-control, no-brainers ... we are inundated with junk!
SECOND PLACE WINNER
written February 1, 2021
especially for "Buzzwords" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
At the edge of shafts, you quested for calmness.
In a Utopia, we whimsey you survived a slash witness.
I swung the specific option to guzzle your unhappiness.
I wiped my knuckles to remove the pleasantness.
Weakness has instantly made my mouth swell across.
Such a blood clot, they plied to moan voiceless.
Supposing we're neutral with ourselves on sharpness.
Concepts might not have evolved this grotesqueness.
How can I be heedful, or may I eagerly shred my kindness?
Nothing would delight me further than to live harmless.
The closet is my refuge
a place where I escape
from all of life's intrusions
to give my thoughts some shape.
To do what I came in for
it's needful to let go,
forget whatever's pressing,
all bothers that I know.
As this may take some doing,
I close my eyes to see
what's going on inside me,
obstruction of debris!
My eyes once more now open,
I'd like to see the view,
but frosted glass prevents this
vista from the loo.
To add to my frustration,
I hear the ruddy phone
in my pocket ringing
with its persistent tone.
Although I do not answer,
I wonder who might be
wanting me this morning,
supposing that I'm free.
It feels like absolution
as I'm relieved of trash,
discharged of so much refuse
with just a gentle splash.
“Be out in forty seconds,”
my father used to call.
“Use both sides of the paper.”
– in those days crisp and small!
So much for my reflections
while I was all alone.
The time for my emergence
I can no more postpone.
I often find myself in a faraway place in a dream,
Living in a most unimaginable, exotic land rare
In a graphic situation so real, I awaken in sweat
And wonder out loud what I was doing there.
Supposing that, perhaps, my deja-vu was real,
That I was re-experiencing something of my past
Another life from long ago, now purposely relived,
Or was I in some eerie dream-like drama cast?
Or does my creative mind wrestle in the night
With wild and crazy scenarios of far-flung feat
Having no foundation in realty, mere fiction borne
Or, in some future time will I remember this beat,
Its adventures and exploits, in mystifying dreams,
And realize in them all some inscrutable schemes.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
written November 7, 2021
entered "Sonnet Salutation" poetry contest
sponsored by William Kekaula
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