Dressed in a curated grace,
We guard the fragile, superficial light,
Hiding the fractures of an inner space
That drags us through a solitary night.
Who should we blame for these conflicted ways?
Rich in composure,
Low on peace.
The quiet demons draw their subtle knots,
While the unspoken truths demand release.
Stars built inside the mind,
Implode on impact
Scattering the private altars into dust.
No battle is the same,
The unseen tallies grow,
The weight of what we cannot trust.
It is a longing, deep and vast and cold,
An invisible burden we are forced to hold.
A pulse that beats beneath a calm disguise,
A quiet fever hidden from public eyes.
Leaving us to play our pristine parts again,
While our wisdom is pulsing with arcane fervor,
Begging us to burn the silent, heavy chain.
("Little Things Mean A Lot"
Kitty Kallen 1954)
If you think God tallies
in His columns of +'s and -'s
how many times man gets
to the moon or mars
you are really mistaken -- Little
things mean a lot. Like, personally
cutting the nextdoor old lady's grass
instead of just hiring someone
is more profound than 10 successful
rocket launches -- little things mean
a lot. The rescued kitten, the stray
dog fed -- the breaking of bread with
family and friends, this is how one's spirit
is healthily fed (little things mean a lot).
God pours all his wisdom as potential
into the hearts and minds of newborns
that they may do amazing things with
their lives. Little things mean a lot. Maybe
everything, far exceeding all our
imagined big things. Better to stay
grounded than to reach into the infinite
(wasting precious time) only to find what
was already within your near grasp from
the very onset. In our speed world
Big Things will always get their fair share
of attention...while far more slower dearer
little things can be lost forever. Little things
mean a lot.
Double Con Don says he hates it,
But we know he lies more than a bit.
It’s not the hate he’s feeling—
It’s displaced anger he’s concealing.
Is it for the many times she missed campaign rallies,
Or as First Lady, having poor performance tallies?
Maybe it’s for the absence from the White House
Or from the bedroom as a spouse.
So, he redirects his anger at the East Wing
And destroys it with the fiat of a king.
Did he give her any warning or destroy it in a blur,
Removing the First Lady’s office to spite her?
My bars the words, the prison guard my verse,
Rattling the staves of this poetic cell,
I struggle vainly, locked up in this jail.
Yea, thus is my predicament, my curse.
Oh, how jealously, you smirking blank verse,
I look upon what freedom guides your quill;
For formal phrasing does of me compel
Stubborn structures—the styles which I rehearse.
But, boldy bumbling, art is now arising!
Walls becoming my score, and tallies tones, ?Confined to meter, bound by rigid rhyme,
I yet find measures full of surprising
Motifs. The modern poet at sonnets groans,
But I, I do believe they’re quite sublime.
There are many zones
the popular Twilight Zone
crossing the school zone
with all the basics
like writhing and reeling and
arrhythmias are fatal
for Western students
cluelessness, secrecy, and
incapacity
ignored globe grows dust
and the school's walls have blackboards
dartboards for target practice
the teachers alarmed
walled Glocks that toll assassins
the lambs are noisy
indoors and outdoors
the hung apple's score tallies
The Tree of Knowledge still grows
principal announced
school will close for funerals
the town folks will meet
and begs an answer
school razed for homeschooling
new breeds promise no more graves
twenty-twenty-five
parents, their kid's commencements
gymnasium armed
library screams sh!
nobody crossing zone signs
fronts empty cemetery
Quite far we have traversed, in pursuit of goals we chose,
Through troubles and trepidations of seasons in throes;
Sometimes reveling sunshine, sometime in glum of shadows,
Always together~ on barren terrains, or verdant meadows.
In albums of yore, we ruminate now, turning pages of life,
Banishing anguish of feelings-forlorn, fuming in strife;
Reminiscing in moments passionate, of love sublime,
Treasured in memories-beloved, accumulated over time.
Harboring wisdom, inlaid in life’s waning phase, as we age,
In realms of reflections, insights-sapient, now we engage;
Learning from knowledge gained, from choices we made,
Accepting with grace, laments of secrets, as yet unsaid.
Regrets unmitigated, voice remorse of unuttered sigh,
Seeking empathy from goodwill of repentant goodbye;
As life tallies good versus bad, that introspections confide,
Eying a tranquil state of mind, devoid of hate and pride.
It’s time to reflect, it’s time to mend, it’s time to befriend,
As journey of life, beaming content, approaches its end;
Living final days in covenants revered, humbly we penned,
Elevating self, in peace of bliss, to heavens we shall ascend.
A shored life
awakes the old
patience is a virtue
a wondrous light
a way for the world
one way passage
yielding trifles
abundant returns
nameless faceless
novelties in scrolls
constant to air
The Book of Life
accounts tallies
clearly visible
hidden from sight
chance of a lifetime
warps through glass
bottled sealed.
Truths, as though fairy tales, I have heard so miscellany,
That her flora and fauna reveal true theophany;
Rolling and spinning lowlands with hill-like granite blessings,
Moss misty magnificently mysterious dressings;
Romantic and luring - they say - her existential look,
Brooks, rooks, and snooks are seen in every woods and water nook...!
Temperate temperature tranquilizingly tempting,
Gardens, perennial and seasonal trends preempting;
Gold old civilization on earth stands head holding high,
Awesome islands, like handsome tree-grooms standing by the sky;
To both the sons of the soil and the strangers so friendly,
Life though flows slowly, smoothes, soothes, and breathes quietness gently...!
The aroma of flowers and herbs all through wide valleys,
History mingles, merges with mystery, and tallies;
Farmers' wharves... fishermen's wharves... all such well flourish I learn,
To explore the harbor and Victoria Pier I yearn;
Enchanting, they say, Victoria's immaculate air,
Just once! Only once in my lifetime! I long to be there...!
18 December 2022
From Sports Pro Media.....
Reports.
The yearly contract meddling
Event, a tradition in wrestling
Where we tally winfalls, draws
DQ's, countouts.
The contenders who are named
Combatant, in each of the four
Categories, get two opportunities
At whomever has most.
The Worlds champion leads the
Field with countout losses, this
Means whomever is drawn as
Contender will have two sixty
Minute opps, to capture the Worlds
Title. This year those ranked between
Five and eleven leads the feild.
We can reveal that both tagteam
World champions have both
Indivdaul and team tallies.
Meaning if management see's fit
Half of a tagteam championship
Could make new champions, that's
How they roll!
Anglo-Saxon rulers were interned in the Orford castle.
Its polygonal edges secure the town's harbor from dazzle.
Many tallies of feral men caught in fisher webs hassle.
In 1826, Joseph Turner intended a hardcover poetry book.
On his trip to England's East Coast, he was led to the fort look.
Turner drew it with a pencil tracing.
He used a deep stain on a blue rag to add raging.
Orford's fort was veiled by red twilight in a verse hard coating.
Written: February 04, 2022
http://collection.imamuseum.org/artwork/49383/
A Strand (1069) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Tanka is five line verse
Though the tail is unlike
Tallies with Haiku scheme
Traces profound feelings
Transmits strong emotion
Through an implied image
The end states its notion.
_______________
January 24, 2022
Syllable count : 6 per line
Checked on PS Counter
Contest : Write About A Form
Sponsored by : Joseph May
Funeral home crasher
observing peoples raw grief
tallies visits up
no one questions her
assume she knew deceased
its rarely the case
over four hundred
I am askance and concerned
at her weird hobby
Not to feel empty
one must constantly feed
the savage pangs of power –
It is a hunger insatiable...
whose members, a soulless tribe,
lacing their opposing arrows
with venoms of fear, envy
and false claims of racism –
no true emotional investment
in their themes, – simply rhetoric,
designed to sickly take-down and
not healthfully propagate – the only
count mattering to them are the
tallies: how much and how
many, the sum of each manically
crafted victory...while losing
more ground of self,
hand in hand
with the Devil
of the day....
Dear car repair man received your bill of Friday last
Need I say when I read the sum it really made me gasp
The price of parts and hoses made up less than half
While the labour that you charged me that really made me laugh
The sum in total tallies twice what the car is worth
Even when the makers first produced its birth
I took my car to you for a tune-up and that squeak
You looked at it kicked the tyres said I could have it in a week
Now that old car it bumped and groaned but it usually got me there
Though at times I called it nasty names and sometimes I would swear
I know the paint is chipped and cracked the upholstery ripped and torn
But the radio it works just fine and it has a special horn
The tyres hold the air okay and the smoke is not that dark
And it usually gives a little sigh when I put it into park
I'd be sad to see the old bomb go it's really been a mate
Its been around for so long now I can't recall its date
I know it's not a new car and it has served me well
But rather than pay your outrageous bill
Why don't you drive it straight to hell
SCORES OF SORES AND SORRY POURS
ALL FILLED, BOTH UP AND OUT
TO BALANCE SCALES OF EMPTY PAGES
TIPPED FROM BOTTLED BOTTOMS END
POURED FROM MOUTH TO SPOUT.
TIMELESS AGES TALLIES MADE
HALF EMPTY BY OUR FOOL
PAGES STAID AND TURNING LAID
WHILE DRAUGHT OF DROP-LESS DRINK
IS SAVORED COOL.
DESTINY OF MAN TO MEASURE
INCH TO FOOT AND DROP TO VAT
VACANT SPACE NOW DRAINED OF AIR
AND LIFE SO FULL WE OVERFILL
WITH ALL OUR MONEY, GUNS, AND STRIFE,
AND ALL OUR TIT FOR TAT.
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