Those little negative things we say, that prick another’s heart,
can’t we see, that’s how a fight will start.
Why do we say things that hurts, instead of heals,
why are we so drawn, to it’s cheap little thrills.
Why is it so hard for us, to build one another you see,
and to destroy someone, comes so easy, for you and me.
The darkness of this world, will turn a heart to stone,
the evils of this world, sitting on its throne.
As worker’s of darkness, the destruction of the hearts,
those negative things we say, thats how the darkness starts.
It will soon take over, and thats just how we’ll be,
one, great big ball, of negativity.
Under teal sky, in swift breezes
Lavender wisteria spills,
Twirling anyplace gust teases,
Under teal sky, in swift breezes.
Wildflowers sway, when wind seizes.
What colorful summer dance thrills!
Under teal sky, in swift breezes,
Lavender wisteria spills.
I rest better
knowing he was here
and that he’ll come back
you know how a puppy jumps
for joy at reunion with its master?
Though he is not my master,
that’s me,
waiting at the door
all senses armed
ready to explode with joy.
Wanting the moment
when he walks through the door
smiles, and hugs me
like he wants to squeeze me flat.
“Do you think about me as much as I think about you?”
He asked, loosening his hold so I could breathe.
“Probably not,” I lied.
“Savageery,” he said, chuckling.
.
.
A Song for this:
I Can't Help Loving That Man by Björk
Rust: Oxidation in Action!
~ Tamp down the excitement
With swoosh, swish, buzz, chirp, chatter and trills
Birds, bees and me, gush with Spring's thrills
Even cold days
can be warmed with
the warmth of your soul.
Take a cup of coffee
in the midst of hot
summer day to feel cool.
Try coffee and ice cream
feel bittersweet
like life aftertaste.
Appreciate arts
in many forms
one find shapes and colors.
George Edward Foreman
was a man who had a plan
he was a great boxer who gave us thrills
and Big George managed to sell thousands of grills
Skating upon Saturn's rings, on the outskirts of gold,
executing my double axel, in the brisk, season of cold.
The sole sound is of ice skates, spraying bits behind;
In rich, purple dusk, of the chaotic universe entwined.
A wide-eyed dreamer, in the red heartbeat of fantasy,
does slow twirls and excited spins, jumping uncannily!
Skating on concentric rings-the adventure of her life,
Stars shining all together, a hundred moons in the sky.
"Dreamland can be a great place to live." By Poet
I hold three magic rocks, in my hand,
Rolling them over and over and over,
Leaving this reality behind, far behind.
These three rocks are making music like a band,
one is painted with a yellow clover,
if I look closer what will I find?
A magical journey I will take,
before I must awake.
The three magic rocks I found,
were deep underground,
now I am feeling spellbound.
All reality is now gone,
I must wake before dawn.
If I don't,
then I will be on my own.
The magic rock band is playing loud,
under the sky with just one cloud.
The sun is coming up over the foothills,
this night has been filled with thrills.
My dear no more yellow clover tea,
never before bedtime is the magical key.
The rusted Ferris wheel, a skeletal hand,
Points to a sky it can no longer command.
Once, laughter echoed, joy on the breeze,
Now silence reigns, whispered by the trees.
The carousel horses, their paint chipped and worn,
Dream of merry-go-rounds, of days yet unborn.
Once, children squealed, clinging to their steeds,
Now shadows dance, where happy laughter bleeds.
The cotton candy stand, its windows cracked and dim,
Holds the ghost of sweetness, a forgotten whim.
Once, sugary clouds, a magical delight,
Now only dust motes, swirling in the light.
The roller coaster track, a metal serpent curled,
Whispers of thrills, a forgotten world.
Once, screams of delight, a dizzying race,
Now only rust and wind, in this silent space.
The park stands empty, a monument to time,
A reminder of moments, once so sublime.
The ghosts of laughter, echo in the breeze,
Whispering of memories, of happy, carefree days.
midnight hides a fear
that stopped the whizz of the winds
chills run down my spine
To Live and Breathe Creating
…for some time
again
to rapidly wing
into joy
creating
with words as heartbeats
and lines
each sketched for breath
as these pens with their inks
draw in a song of solace
from creating
with its humbling thrill
given stroke by stroke
to designs discovering
thought arias
poetic murals
lit in symphonic chiaroscuro
for embroidered souls
flying the stunning winds
into Beauty…
————————————————
(c) art & poem sally young Eslinger
11/16/2023- 6/3/2024
Glory to God!
"Poetry Contest Sponsored by Brian Strand"
Capture the change as time goes by,
Capture every moment the day sculpts,
Archive moments that gladden the heart,
Let those that sadden the heart fly away.
Relish in nature’s embrace.
Open the windows of your chamber,
Disperse the gloom that pervades,
Exhale the turbulence that permeates,
Walk in the newness the day brings,
Bask in nature’s bloom.
Treasure glee moments,
The night comes to everyone,
Just as the sun has its sinking spell,
Take this meandering road,
It leads to redemption.
Listen to the symphony in the dancing wind,
See yourself with new eyes,
Speak to being the unseen that thrills,
Good times will wheel to us,
If we let our mind take its wheel.
There's no experience like learning that most chaos kills
I won't lie or pretend this, x marks the spot my skin chills
An orange moon doesn't negotiate, what darkness wills
An existence plagued by pharmacies making bitter pills
So I'm crawling against the surge, brought by appalling stills
Disturbed by what relegates, our open hearts into, Roman thrills
Cruel
You call life cruel
What do you expect of it?
The thrills of it is taunting
That's what makes it cruel.
By Isaiah Akantere Asangalisah
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