Lately my mind ebbs
Days mind numbingly routine
The Summer just flows
(8/6/26)
building castles of smoke
reaching for sky
hangs heavy tears of stars
in the quiet spaces
the echo is forever
in these days of dust
the sun bleeds into rust
long shades that stretch
in ghosts of twilight
hangs heavy the air
in shrouds woven
of forgotten names
my breath is fragile
only shadows remain
and walk this earth
as watercolors in the rain
a canvas of all eternity
ticks the secret clock
rhythm in decay
through an hourglass, rages
the mirror, a stranger
a metronome echos the ages
in these oceans of dust
only I linger in the last days
the sun bleeds gold
long shadows stretch
a fragile shade, smoke
hungry is the maw of wind
in morning dew, memories spin
suns burn away all
a clock whispers secrets
marching inevitably to dawn
glimpses into the abyss
from dust, we are told
we are born bold
a testament to resilience
a reminder even in death
there is rebirth
Where shadows lengthen, fade
The clock whispers secrets
Each grain is life lived, lost
A fleeting shadow
A haunting of frost
Hourglass empires
Sands slip away
A slow, silent dance
At the close of the day
As the dust untold, well
Etched brave and bold
In branches of ancient trees
In the twilight's embrace
Where memories dwell
I'm sick and tired of the so-called muses,
especially the one who always chooses
to make it clear that I don't work hard enough,
yet, when I ask for a little help with my stuff,
she's always the first one who flatly refuses.
My muse yelled, "Stop! That's prohibited."
I said, "What?"
"The behavior you just exhibited."
I said, "What did I do?"
She said, "You took some lines that didn't belong to you."
I said, "Jeez! Instead of helping me, you're making me feel totally inhibited."
Someone asked, "Could you write without a muse?"
I said, "Probably could, but I'd refuse.
Why? Because a muse is so good at showing
what to tell the audience and what to keep it from knowing
so that you can keep right on going with your wild-ass ruse."
I was having a hell of a time
with a poem that shouldn’t ever have been mine.
The muse had made a big mistake
by giving me lines that shoulda gone to this poet named Blake,
of which I could make neither reason nor rhyme.
I vow to silence the whispers of my heart
No longer will emotions drive my pen.
I'll write from reason, all there at the start
Let words flow furiously like an angry stream.
Should I write a heartbreaking poem
They’ll read in joy, marvel at my art
As though, it lay bear, my heart, on the slaughter
Others will pray for more misery as if it was meant to bleed.
Should I compose a breathing sonnet
Her nagging voice will rise to tear it down
Finding fault in every Mona Lisa’s smile
Pointing sharp fingers when a light skinned's mentioned.
If on politics, the sacred cow, I dare to write
Many will frown, calling it a fool’s debate.
They'll build their walls, deem me the enemy
Not knowing I was just writing for fun.
Daily, I see injustice parade through halls
And the walls of our places of work
If I dare to write of this parade
I’ll be the one who bites the feeding hand.
So I'll fold my thoughts, tuck my truths away
As I thread lightly on this worn, thin path.
I’ll keep my silence, put my emotions in check
While I still collect my monthly cheque.
Yesterday you lost someone you love
But sometimes that love becomes a positive
That loss can bring back some of your old friends
And it can start a new long-lasting friendship
It just might come in your life when you need them the most
You know deep down, you have so much love in your heart
And you also know God gave you so much strength
You have to remember love always wins over your pain
Love of yours has no limit on how much your heart can grow
Yesterday you lost a dear one
And that day is gone
Today keep your head up high
So you ask yourself who wins these days
So stick to your heart when it's hardest hit
And the outcome will start slowly
And in the end, you will always be a winner
A job defines bits of our life
Though it often causes us strife
We’ll find a new fit
If we choose to quit
And not slit our wrists with a knife
Tim Horton, Tim Janis
Kofi Annan, In a scaffold that knots a shoeless
You are mincing me on a cutting board, these days
In pounds per pounding heart , with knives and bleesed hone
You were a father's lump and a mother's grace
And slowly in your ladder you learned to term these as art
Not those in Those Winter Sundays.
What did you do with that wooden frame?
Did you find the tree in ancestry?
In a writer's studio
Yes even without an autobiography
Surname, on a Harlem street, for one , Lucy Heo?
She is on learner's permit
Dreaming in off white in a bloodshed
That paid housekeeping in Ramses Two.
For a resume in pre-positioning Curator
Which rub will call prophecies of Moses through optical fiber
In Tele-communication.
For an analog togetherness, long gone, scare-crow , coo!
to exhibit digital exit, incognito, too.
Survived a six-week vacation
in downtown Gary, Indiana
Bucket lists these days
have gone bananas
“One of these days I'm gonna fly”
When time stands still, His love saves me
“gonna see a million faces”
Blessed by the One who made me free
Don’t let go of the hand He gives,
“One of these days I'm gonna fly”
“One of these days I'm gonna ride”
Someday, I’ll know the when and why.
“I’m gonna walk the streets of gold”
When He comes, I’ll know real love
“One of these days I'm gonna fly”
He’s the light sent from God above.
“There’s No more pain and no more grief”
In the end, I’ll move through the sky
Ever alive, because He’s mine!
“One of these days I'm gonna fly”
One Of These Days, Song by FFH
So, thinking these days
About all the times I prayed
Thanks be to God
Things worked out and
I’m only somewhat odd
This place has filled my lungs
With the freshest air
Nothing quite like living up here
We say the words, “Thanks be to Him”
And I’m ready to begin
To write the best I can
To not be bland
To think the words into being
Can’t believe all the success I’m seeing
Don’t ache for the old days anymore
But being happy with what I got
Couldn’t find a better spot on the pond
Rebirth feels like summer all year long
cs
These days
I was thinking today
About yesterday
The days when we
Stood together
So young at that time
Laughter so fine
We gather now occasionally
Older and wisen
And still there is laughter
These twilight years
When I still know you
By your laughter.
© Paul Warren Poetry
~ TPI ~
Abner got divorced before he married
His new wife Mae found that kind of scary
But she knelt at the altar
Though her courage did falter
"Bet 'my BIG man' is really a faerie"
'TPI?' ~ Why, that's
'Totally Politically Incorrect!'
Nyuk, Nyuk, Nyuk
Shocking, those stockings, suspenders and all.
In old days, told to pull yourself up by your bootstraps.
These days, old man, you just don’t want to fall.
And truly you’ve had your share of mishaps…so
Go forth, adventure, into the old age zone
Put on your thick glasses and disposables.
And for goodness sake, don’t go it alone.
It is not yet time for condolences!
6/3/2023
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