What Does 1776 Mean to You?
Does it speak of freedom—
the year the United States was born,
its birth certificate
penned by none other
than Thomas Jefferson?
He wrote of liberty,
of unalienable rights,
that all are created equal,
yet kept others in chains,
refusing to see
the humanity
of his enslaved brothers and sisters,
while building a nation
upon their labor.
How can a man proclaim
that all are created equal,
yet deny that truth
to those he enslaves?
How can he claim liberty
while taking away another's?
How can he exploit their women,
then deny the children
born of those unions—
his own flesh and blood—
while declaring freedom
the birthright of all?
Thomas Mark Harmon
thought he was darn charmin’
he drank a case of Mr. Pibb
and became head NCIS head slappin’ Leroy Jethro Gibbs
Hard not to love Dylan Thomas’s tall tales
Each gloomy day may just tip those scales
Sends you off the rails when all else fails
Dilly dally schoolboys get cat of nine tails
Go doolally rally in the valley hard as nails
Don't cuss no faff or fuss for us Taff males
Knew along with a fair few Cymru crew's hue
Shared view that no where else has in spades
Cascades of so many gloriously grey shades
Dylan boozy villain mutters hip hop hooray
Gusts bluster beneath his sails on his travails
Trooping way this colour can't be kept at bay
Muster bulbous tinted voluptuous glinted bales
Proudly ride loudly in the night on his coattails
Very fond of merry vagabond's beyond the pales
Hail the true Withnail's escapades made in Wales
Don't harangue pang for meringue gang at play
Not a gimmick pray clouds don't go away hold sway
Rollick then frolic & fossick.. a limerick for any day
Outdoor foray adore bucolic score kaleidoscopic GREY
Enter Poet, clutching a sonnet: ‘The checker says I’m guilty. See, it flagged my rhyme as machine!!’
Podcaster nods sagely: ‘It is not your imagination; it is proof the robots haunt our dreams.’
Audience gasps: 'That’s NOTHing. SHAKEspeare ALso ONCE acCUSED – / preDICTable Iambs, GROSS susPIcious RUSE!'
Poet protests: ‘I swear it’s quill and ink, not silicon and code …’
Checker blinks, statistical gears grinding: ‘Patterns resemble algorithmic load.’
While phubbing, critic whispers: ‘False positives thrive where meter marches tight.’
Podcaster grins: ’Ignorance sells—truth is dull, paranoia bites.’
Poet sighs: ‘Convenient shield, this oracle of error—‘
Exasperated, Curtain falls: ‘Disinformation thrives when denial meets terror.’
From the wings, Thomas Gray’s quietly haunting voice: ‘Where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise.’*
______________________________________________________________________________________________
*From the final stanza of Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College, by Thomas Gray (1716–71).
The gifts of love
sent from above ~
a peace that passes understanding
is beyond outstanding;
the grace of domestic tranquility
provides stability,
it fills a home and overflows
to the world where it glows;
a cottage radiant
looks salient
with a sky so calm,
that brings hope like a balm;
colourful flowers
have healing powers,
a garden within a fence
spreads joy immense,
Nature bathed in breathless serenity,
It's "A peaceful time" depicting divinity.
I’ve no defense for your delusions;
You always justify your lies.
Your words & actions contradict so much;
That tears are always in my eyes.
In lacking confidence you lose stature;
So you're worrying needlessly;
It’s your own temper that betrays you;
So please stop accusing me.
Passion shadows insecurities;
Love needs compromise & trust.
When invaded by jealous, selfishness;
It leaves a you & me… No Us.
Death Bed Poetry: Dylan Thomas
Alcohol and co-dependence make poor conspirators
Delivering more a life driven by inquisitors
Dylan Thomas poet and drinker
Part time lover and full-time thinker
In fading health and across the sea
He gathered himself for one last spree
The White Horse Tavern welcomed the man
And there he started his final stand
"I've had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record!"
Alcohol, pneumonia, and Doctor Feltenstein were more than he could afford
Caitlin flew in to remark, "Is the bloody man dead yet?"
Comatose and failing, the bard was not quite there yet.
Still and silent, and lying abed
A few hours later and Dylan was dead
having gone "Gentle into that good night"
with no further words and such little fight.
Thus, the end of our Welsh poet Dylan
a bit of a rogue but not such a villain
who now learns Death does have dominion
in spite of the bard's differing opinion.
You came in quiet, steady hands
like Vivien Thomas in a crowded room
studying the pieces I thought were lost
tracing the cracks no one else could see.
Your words were gentle, your laugh a balm
mending what others left in pieces
stitch by stitch, you held my brokenness
turning fear into something soft and whole.
You didn’t rush me, didn’t try to fix too fast
just knew how to let the hurt breathe
and slowly, I felt my heart remember
how to trust, how to beat again.
Now every pulse carries your touch
a quiet miracle I never saw coming
my heart healed, my soul steady
all because you knew how to stay.
a friend told me
it was highly recommended
but then maybe everything is?
i met friends for drinks during the day
i read poetry on the bus
and the combination of this
and seeing a fistfight in the middle of the road
pure exuberance
mr. toad at the wheel
i looked up penguin's top one-hundred novels ever
chocolate beer crafted in berkshire
and reading one after another intoxicated
i will rearrange penguin's list
depending on how far i get lost in them
sitting at the kitchen table - tanked.
do not go gentle into that good race
Tired muscles should burn and ache by race’s end
Run, run against the slowing of your pace
Try not to get scared, scariest stories
I was just in my room, socking it. That’s when Larry and the creature, and they pickled my chilli dog, and that’s when Larry. I was driving in my Bergen truck, drunk, that’s when I saw a deer, I was later pulled over for DUI and killing a deer. Asgore. Once Diddy diddled my diddle he did. James?
I am grateful for the words on Thomas Paine…
whose words, like me, are a little old and time-worn…
but convey every parents’ dream from the time our children are born.
It is a dream we parents have…a dream that will never cease:
‘I prefer peace.
But if trouble must come let it come in my time
So that my children can live in peace.’
Admirable
Tough
Lots of energy
Abrasive
Sunset
Trusting
Hardworking
Original
Mature-ish
Accommodating
Sociable
Balanced
Ultimate edition
Candid
Healthy
Abundant
Non-nonchalant
Agile
Neighborly
mountains white
bathed in the light
of sunset bright
dusk lingers
sun's fingers
are joy bringers
humble homes
with tent-like domes
shine like chromes
nestled here
where nature's near
spreads tranquil cheer
pine trees tall
heeding winter's call
rustle in the squall
a river flows nearby
gurgling waters sigh
lingering dusk catches my eye
and reminds me of...
... God on high
a perfect
place
a peaceful
space
for a time of
reverent renewal
a moment of silence
to refuel
the trees
soften the light
creating harmonies
of shadows and hues bright
fragrant floral aromas
float in the air
in this small sanctum
of solitude fair
birds sing happily
in the trees
as if a church choir
praising God with ease
thanking Him for the
grace given
to this little
garden of heaven
look and listen and
allow His presence
to fill our hearts
in its small world essence
the gazebo of prayer
helps connect with Providence
a beacon for all of us
in providing guidance
a shelter, a haven
a refuge, a retreat
getting lost in this gazebo
where my God I greet
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