DO NOT MESS WITH JACK
SCHMITT DID AND LOOKS LIKE A HACK
BRITT TAKEN ABACK
Lake being so calm and crystal clean,
ripples and reflects so serene.
Every nerve dived in beauty,
while eyes perform their duty.
Blessed with moon's light,
mysteries evolving in the night.
Lake seems to be taken aback,
as if frightened by the wind's attack.
Perplexed to make a decision,
mind occupied by fear's illusion.
Whether to move in or to stay,
just longs to feel joy on the way.
I stood up to leave,
with my mind at reprieve.
Heart being so confined,
still no footprints left behind.
Forest and Dove
Artist: Max Ernst
Turn on the Lights
White of his eye, orange nose, black bird.
Blue sky flying high above the dark forest.
Scenery is haunting; like the kid’s movie “Coraline.”
Disturbing, the feeling of being lost in the forest.
Nightmare of trees depicted as serrated teeth.
(Hansel and Gretel in a cage) dove’s bars behind him.
Is he free, can he flee; will the bars surround him?
The woods, towering like skyscrapers, tight
in the frame; childhood claustrophobia, intense.
The full-bodied bird appears to be caught
“in the headlights,” like a deer taken aback.
Tenebrous green and rust brown, skeleton stature;
shadowy beasts bullying, stalking, terrorizing.
I can’t turn away. My eyes take in the scenery.
No matter how small the canvas, the ink
seeps into my brain, driving me mad in the night.
Surreality; reality of the young and very old.
To those who sit, anonymously making choices,
behind the soupy site
My gratitude, feel honoured to be chosen best new poet for two weeks and also POTD,
inspired, so more poems I will write
At age seventy seven, told that I am old, my reply, "if I think that way I will be"
some are taken aback
This honour bestowed upon me, I now know, gotta long way to go,
before I regard myself, as an uninspired hack
Beautiful!
Beautiful!
Beautiful!
In cohesion they recite
Walking in a prideful cheer
Towards thy who's proud to have accomplished a task so mean.
Broadened her smile seems
As a feathery crown she wears
In her imagination
Just to feel like the queen she's named by reality.
Wow!
Her mind exclaims
For she sees what was clouded
Before the road was paved by an idea
Formidable by thy's mind.
Thankful she remains as she's taken aback.
A mouthful of rewinds
Comfortable in the depths of her luxurious heart ,
Where a victory unforgotten is crowned.
A fellow strode right up to me
tightened his belt and set his jaw
proclaimed his fame gesticulatedly
Taken aback, I mentioned that fame is fleeting
while those who toil in obscurity
~ do so until eternity
A cloud from the sky
plopped down on my knee
Said, ‘Do you realize
all my rain is for free’
Not only that
for the cloud was not done
asking, ‘Are you aware
I shield folks from the sun’
Taken aback, I kept my mouth shut ~
relaxing under a shady chestnut
When I was younger, I thought that in retirement I would take pictures of or paint beautiful clouds situated so vividly above us.
Clouds more often appear as wonderous displays in the canopy.
Clouds sometime seems so ominous and threatening.
Clouds often hover above us like a band of darkness and at other
times, they are white and crystal clear. Some clouds are blown by
the winds and descend in tornadic ways that are too close for comfort, twisting in rotations of destruction.
Casual observers of clouds may be filled with fright. Living in a region where clouds change so suddenly, never have I observed clouds as I do presently. I think that real farmers are not taken aback when grey clouds appear. If they dared to be frightened by troubling clouds, perhaps they would never sow seeds.
Perhaps someday I will follow through on what I once wanted to do. Perhaps I'll begin to paint beautiful clouds as I sit under a shady tree.
Through the beige isle, veins of green holler aloud
Lush foliages of maple, yet I pick upon a rosebud
Mists of sentiment brabble, springing whistles of reminiscing
From the floor, they call out to me, unrelenting
I kept at it, pacing across the vast meadow
Lights begin to dim, even so, I shall escape under the nightly glow
Along the paths, I turned over, my gaze fixed on a lonely, yet luminous flower
Gasping for its life, each breath drew me closer, soon after, I saw it flicker
Taken aback, with these bare hands, I gave it my company
As it swayed, we fell in harmony
The fickle daffodil bathed in silence, hapless, it let out a thud
Gently, sunlight veiled its charcoal petals, a light breeze blew, and I too shall return to mud
Out of nowhere it seems, he appeared to me.
He had the eyes of an eagle; the heart of a lion.
He had the strength of a bear, but he was a man.
He posed questions to me in the tone of a teacher.
My curiosity ran high when in a gentle voice
He said to me, "The answers are for you alone
To find". Taken aback, I stared and waited.
He then asked me the following 8 questions:
"What is your vision?
What is your mission?
What is your plan?
What is your passion?"
"Without vision, where is your hope?
Without mission, where is your destiny?
Without plan, can there be victory?
Without passion, do you really care?"
And then it seems, he drew pleasure from
My staring eyes, my pounding heart, and my
Feeble strength dripping down my spine. He then
Stepped back into nowhere and quickly disappeared.
To the best of my memory, the word brainwash
has been used in reference to me only twice.
The first time happened more than 50 years ago.
The second one occurred less than a year ago.
One referred to my religious involvement.
The other was connected to social ideology.
The first one came from a stranger
The other came from a relative.
When told that I had been brainwashed
in reference to my beliefs about Christ, I felt
nothing amiss about such assessment.
In fact, such a veiw of me was acceptable.
However, when charged by a relative that I had
been among certain people and allowed myself
to be brainwashed by them, I was taken aback
and deeply hurt.
I took offense by my relative's accusation and
told him so. He apologized for how it made me
feel, and I have forgiven him. Notwithstanding,
although the subject has not risen again, there
is a very thin wall between us regarding that
encounter. We are close friends, but I cannot
deny that something 'not good' happened that day.
It was on the 7th of May.
It was in the early part of the day.
He appeared but was never invited.
Upon seeing his kind, I was not delighted.
There were smaller ones I had seen,
But not this size since I was fifteen.
Slowly, around the corner, I saw him glide.
He then settled into his curl as if to hide.
I called a friend and learned that he was out of town.
I then called a relative who could not be found.
Years ago, I touched a large one as it lay in a hedge.
"He's harmless" are the words that my coworker alleged.
Now, 60 years later, a large one had glided onto my patio.
Of this I was certain: He could not stay but had to go.
I then quickly reached for a hoe and a stick for my defense.
That snake was in the wrong place; Of this I was convinced.
Indeed, I was a little afraid and taken aback;
But my fear quickly switched into a mode of attack.
050325PS
As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true
A delicate design, gently painted are white ink spots on each wispy wing
polka dots align her spine, O what a sight for sore eyes in virgin spring
A fancy moth is what some say, an insect with a marbled brown fringe ‘til they're taken aback by flair’s array, iridescent cerulean and teal tinge
A thousand miles she will fly, against Fall's tender cool azure sky
golden rays her solar compass, to orient her pathways—alas
Her journey comes to an end, up the coast where time she’ll spend
Vanessa flutters by, a painted lady, a butterfly
It's funny. The mind goes there and back,
Switching between lyre to inspire -
And the sober thoughts of black.
If all I love is theory,
And if all I know is fiction,
Then why do eyes get teary,
To the tune of my prediction?
I could dream a thousand times,
And play the songs that flow.
If nothing else at least it rhymes,
With my heart and face aglow.
It's funny. The mind goes there and back,
Switching to inquire and tire -
All the sober thoughts of black.
It's far more fun to forget,
And to sing for what excites.
In ignorance it's nice to get,
A chance to see the lights.
Even if these words won't last,
I don't mind their stay for now.
Lyrics should be slow not fast,
We don't have to wonder how.
It's funny. The mind is taken aback,
Switching inspire to quiet fire -
And smoke's sober thoughts of black.
Well, there is someone for me now-
I thought as I bought him home from the pet-shop,
My boy had left me last week,
Now I have him to kiss my cheek
Ah! What a company!
I took him in my lap,
And showed him my house's little map,
Which I had made for the rose now faded,
Which was seen by the Fresh Rose whose company greatly to me aided.
I named him Abel,
By hugging whom I could now sleep-well,
I forgot all about my past,
For he loved me truly- Without looking for beauty, creed or caste.
Yet one day when he was hungry,
He bit my newly-purchased skirt's hem-being now violent and angry,
When I pulled it back,
He tried to bite me as well- I was now taken aback!
Then did I sadly realize,
That Gold cannot be replaced just by painting your favorite object Yellow,
I then went to my room and closed the door,
For I realized my folly and did not expect from him favors anymore!
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