Sure Enough Poems | Examples

Footnotes

A thirst for walking shoes tightens ankle bones –
it would be sure enough a miracle
if for at least one morning
I could parachute out of my own inner attic
to make a soft landing into
lighter than air sneakers.

Alas this world is overrun with footnotes,
warnings that we are not to take anything at all
for granted.

Amazing how some days
allot me just enough time
to recall, that I am not yet,
or may never be,
Bonafide.

The spiritual path is rocky and narrow,
agile mountain goats get ahead of us,
as we slog behind
picking up their leavings,
each dropping a footnote an*
that the race we have been losing for years
may be already over.

If (by any chance),
I have any wisdom left to me,
I would vehemently caution all:
for God’s sake
to always read the small print -
*

Tapestry Replenished

Sure enough
they'll be leaving 
one by one-by-one by one
leaving a steady stream of grief
leaving pin prick holes
in the foundation of the heart
the tapestry of the soul.
Like termites taking down 
a mountain of Mahagony
one clacking mandible at a 
time
time is the ravenous masterpiece
these infinite waves of grief
have no mercy
for a thinning beach.

One day soon enough it'll be my turn
to leave behind this timeless stream...
I pray the foundation is restored
the tapestry replenished.

Spitin Seeds To my friend Art

I dedicate this song to my friend Art Hill a fellow musician  
 who really does keep watermelons handy 
during these summer months
 to share with anyone who cares



Arthur Likes His watermelon
So, he keeps one close a hand
He gets them at the market
Sometimes a roadside stand

But no matter where he gets it
When it's time for him to feed
You can catch him out in front
on his porch, spitin' seeds

When the Sun is murder
I walk over to his place
And sure enough he's sittin'
Stuffin' melon in his face

With one hand on his melon
The other with a knife
He leans over to me
And offers me a slice

It's funny, on a hot day
Cause Arthur knows our needs
And before I can say watermelon
We're both spitin'seeds

As We Metamorphose

Line of inquiry:
“being mistook we burnt the book
thoughts rest, we dwell in our heart’s nest
touched by spirit, our body shook
by God’s light blest as we undressed” by Unseeking Seeker

Undressed, with no pretense showing,
we'll have metamorphosed into His glory.
We can look around us then seeing all is glowing.
Beautiful development will have been our story.

The narrative we'd simply had to change
while meditating deep inside our mind
as we waited for things to rearrange.
Though we were a pupa, bliss we could find.

Sure enough, God-touched and wholly shaken,
we became as butterflies, prepared for flight,
for to paradise we will be taken
on wings of love into God’s precious light.

Rickety Rackety Ruffled Ridiculous Rhine

Rickety rackety ruffled ridiculous Rhine,
Make her hair stick out like a ball of twine
Let it fall out on the floor and in church too
Put a permanent skunk in her chimney wazoo

Make her look silly in front of thousands I say
Take away her fun, sabotage her in every way
If she takes a step, let her trip on her ugly tongue
Do not let her make friends or have any fun

Slickety Slackety shuffled sure enough complete
Take away her taste buds to taste anything sweet
Give her cheeks a headache, make her front teeth crazy
Let her be known as a witch who is nothing but lazy

Speech Impediments, Moons and Spoons

There once was a girl from the south
Who had a hard time with her mouth
Boy with same issue said, (S)"poon!"
She said, "Not poon! We say,  "poon!"
Correcting his speech without doubt.


 To thin girl we constantly had to say, 
"Pull up your pants, the moon shines not in day!"
She noticed my shirt, cut low...
"Mrs.Crystol! Your buttcrack shows!"
Sure enough, too much cleavage on display!

BAWDY LIMERICK

I’m laughing at Ex boss, Tess Tickle
Once so anti marriage – how fickle
Dick Pickle she’d marry
Though she calls him Larry
Now married she’s Tess Tickle-Pickle

On baby making Tess ain’t shirkin’
They’re bonking and grinding and jerkin’
And soon, sure enough
Tess got up the duff
The baby boy they’ve christened Gherkin!

Chateau Makes it to London Town

on a bet, Chateau decided to walk to London town
We told him it was futile but he was honor-bound
There is an ocean, we reminded him, as we told him bye.
He gnawed off part of the mountain, and began to fly.

Chateau flew through the air in a confident way.
We looked at each other in pure amazement that day.
He has ideas that seem far-fetched said my sister Jill.
I rolled my eyes as he disappeared over the hill.

I have no qualms that Chateau made it to London town.
His positivity is so upbeat, he is almost never down.
I watched the news, hoping to see him for it was my dare.
Sure enough, on London’s Channel thirteen, he was featured in the air.

Pistachios

When I was a kid, pistachios
Had shells they dyed bright red
And sure enough, that color
To your fingers quickly spread.

It didn’t wash off easily,
But left a tell-tale clue
About what you’d been snacking on,
That bright red proof on view.

Today, I cracked pistachios
And wondered, as I ate,
Why someone once decided
To disguise their natural state.

No matter why, that dye is gone – 
Red fingers not the answer.
For all we know, pistachios
With dye might have caused cancer.

Here

Ohio is right here, and the rattling gold of
earth-born corn is here.
All over creation the sky is wide open
and the green and yellow stalks are swaying
right here.

Here the wind-songs are rough and ready,
yet they are as holy as any prayer.
Over there a stand of trees
where the olive frocks of summer
sway and shimmy.

The mud and dirt here is as good as any,
all just as rich as anywhere else
and the grubbing creatures in and upon it
are our wealth

These fetched-up farm fields
are sure-enough an atlas,
the roots of heaven rise below us,
time delves and sprouts here,
the sky descends to till the soil.

This is the land beyond the great river,
the sun nests here, and the stars appear
reflected in up-turned eyes.

We are the unrolled map, we are rural Ohio,
come walk over the world here,
rest on a wayside bench, linger long
or stay - right here.

old man from the harbor

After midnight, an uncle
was born a newborn.
In the center of the Buddhist room where incense smoke lingers
He was born sitting on his haunches
He stood up, his legs trembling
“I really wanted to be a steamboat.“
He was a troublesome man.

So the next day, we went out to the harbor in the morning.
Uncle Pulp was armored up with a heavy body.
“Watch out, Uncle!”
I closed my eyes.
Behind my eyelids, the sunlight shone thinly.
Sure enough, he slips on the tetrapod.
He slips on the tetrapod and flips over.
His head was bleeding and he couldn't move a muscle.
I knew he would not live long
But the way it all ended so quickly
I was a little disappointed and sentimental for a while.

The next afternoon
under the bridge, where I could hear the sound of the rain
I was playing with stones
The leaden sky stretched far out to sea
to the sea beyond. 
Then I saw my uncle's soul emerge from his corpse
the soul of my uncle, shimmering
It came to me
“I still can't be a steamboat
But I think I can become a mirage.“
With a look of unconcern on his face
He went out into the rainy sea.
And he never came back.

Too much of a good thing sniffed

The farmer looked on sown fields with dismay,
Be-spotted with tiny holes in despoiled array.
Each spot where mice had dug up and eaten.
Wheat seeds sown with mice-controls well beaten.

The farmer had tried to poison the mice.
Tried birds of prey once or twice.
Tried cats and smelly scent deterrents,
All to no avail to beat the endless recurrence.

One night the farmer awoke from fitful sleep.
Ah Hah! I have an idea cheap, neat and deep.
What if I make the entire field smell of wheat,
By spraying the field all over with wheat-oil neat?

Sure enough, the over spray with oil worked a treat.
The mice dug a myriad of holes with tiny feet,
Where their smell, said wheat should be,
Only to find all their holes empty, no seed to see.

Frustrated, exhausted they paused their paws.
Cursed their noses, tricked by the scent-only cause.
A wheat field, over-sown with superfluousness,
Made their search, dig to eat meaningless.

Prospecting for Gold

   Prospecting for gold 
     in a mosquito-infested ravine
   The junior explorers all mighty keen
     to prove their skeptics curmudgeony scolds

   And sure enough, they return all gap-toothed smiles
     pans overflowing with rare and precious gems 
   The kind prospectors turn up in sequestered mountain glens
     at the bottom of creeks that twist and turn for miles

  Old-timers gawk at the kids in wonder 
     their colored stones, all shapes and sizes
   containing abundant suspicious surprises  
     ~ Whose rock garden did these little ones plunder

Fonty The Vegan Vulture

Fonty was a vegan Vulture. 

Other Vultures tried to offer their advice 

Told him they were created as carnivores and eating 
meat 

Is an essential part of their diet.

He stayed true to his commitment to be a vegan

Ate fruit and berries but they never satisfied his appetite 

He resulted to stealing stale bread from pigeons 

Crows kept him away from the cornfields

He was too weak to put up a fight

The Vulture Committee knew he wouldn't last much longer

Sure enough he died from starvation 

The Volt joined together as a Wake and all said a prayer 

Then they quickly ate him.

Judge Santiago Burdon
Stray Dogs and Deuces Wild, Not Real Poetry, Quicksand Highway, Fingers in the Fan, Tequilas Bad Advice, Lords of the Afterglow, Overdose of Destiny, Architect of Havoc .

Gratitude

On a cloudy day 
Should someone ask how are you,
I would for sure say:
Joys of a sea shore, skies blue,
And God giving me my due.

What if it gets grey,
If skies are not bright and blue
On a rainy day?
Grey skies, a sure enough clue
That soon shall the skies turn blue!  
_____________________________ 
Tanka |21.01.2024| gratitude

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