it's intentions
it's intended purpose
the unnesscary pressure on
a relationship
to prove our love
and
admiration
to speak of love
with such intntions
isn't overeager
or isn't wrong
but expections
can cause rifts
and frails
your doings will
make you think you've failed
sometimes lovers
do the reversal script
you waste your time
you waste your trip
I aint one with bad intentions
a folish lover
far many times
more to mention
something about love
makes you do these things
th joy of success
the and sorted strains
Maybe just maybe
it's a sign of love
one that makes the other
worth thinking of
to love I lift my glass
a toast to all
for love to last
but for me what a strain
joys of love
and unraveled dreams
For those who Love
i wish you the best
the joy it brings
all the happiness
take some time
to Love
love in every faze
Love is the right time and place
puts a smile on peoples face
what melodious trill has awakened me?
I spy a gorgeous bird I have never seen
Hearing his song I detect pure innocent joy
beginning my day in a fabulous way
on the bird's sad death
in the cage there rests a trill
infinity flight
black bird on the wire
hear the telephone ringing
does not emit trill
Puffins and Parakeets
Starlings and Sparrows
Hummingbirds and Hoopoes
Cardinals and Cochoas
Their colors flashing
Songs edifying
Perching and resting
or airborne flying
They trill us and thrill us at night
Wing their way through the day
Soaring high in tranquil blue skies
or huddling in trees when it rains
Indigenous Americans, their feathers treasure
These frequent flyers give man such great pleasure
A Cardinal’s trill, peep…peep…peep…peep…peep…
often full of himself, wakes me from sleep.
peep…peep…pretty…pretty…pretty; rings out his bliss;
across Kentucky’s bluegrass in the morning mist.
A tad egocentric but, he’s allowed;
his bright red plumes make him oh, so proud.
He’s a splash of color in the trees,
a scarlet, rose red dot, singing in the breeze.
Peep…peep…pretty…pretty…birdie; I’m a pretty…birdie;
must get on his partner’s nerves; he can be over-chirpy.
the female is who is a, rusty brown.
Has to be jealous of that noisy clown!
Written 2-14-19
Who do you think you are?!?
You use your tears like money,
Each one paying for another excuse ...
Lies dripping with feigned empathy,
And staining honesty like blood.
Yet these briny drops fall to me,
Pressed between our empty pages ...
Like a dried rose once given in love, cherished,
Now, left to wither ... thorns and all.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Select C Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Who Do You Think You Are" Poetry Contest
Caren Krutsinger, Judge & Sponsor.
my muffled mind's cloaked in silence
deaf to men's and merchant's chants
tethered together with love's essence
open to whispers of light's acceptance
battling mirrors of inner cages
wrestling wrongful images -
constant accusations
spontaneously hoisted
by a single song bird's trill
perched upon my window sill-
a wonder still
With dawn's emerging illumination
I rise amongst the masked masses
for 'now' is all I own or live for
to offer the best of what I hope for
Law, English, business, and so on—
alas, are tiresome!
All the professors here go on
with a prime axiom.
A moldy, college campus where
knowledge and books abound,
freshmen and co-eds are clueless
and confused all around.
Mid-terms and finals I so dread
as the semester wends;
the pressure's on me to study
as my freshmen year ends.
School's oppressive this semester,
I'll see my old provost
and leave 'ere I rot and fester
to try a better post.
William & Mary's M.B.A.'s
are just worthless BS
(degrees from the home of “The Tribe,”
dross that just obsolesce).
I'll trill as “The Lithium-Laced Lyrist”—
as rhymes are my forté,
not tomes or stuffy scholastics:
for poesy's my métier!
Along resplendent lanes in groves of green
In sundown’s mellow tinge aglow, we cruise
To grasp unto moon’s fingers so serene,
Where we are charmed by lovebirds that amuse
Who hum a rhapsody with lilting beats;
Through gentle drones that seem to render blues
Like first theme song we wish breaths could repeat--
Should we but fix past warmth beyond the sands
The way a glossy mist embraces heat.
A constant vow that ever understands
Our mild and fragrant chiming of daybreak,
As spirits abide on Aurora's hands.
When birds flutter a trill, then ignite
This dulcet paradise we leave to night!
Alfredo Vassallo's Terza Rima
by nette onclaud
In sick dreams bullets cut-through
tire tough truth like raw meat;
stringy and dripping with blood.
Teeth ripping through organs,
heart, kidneys, liver, making
sausage of our small intestines.
There is no valid temperature
for proclamations of redemption,
no trembling for forgiveness,
announcements of new leaves.
Baptism is spent gun shells, as
the chorus trills to the slaughter.
Everywhere we're allowed to go
little eyes stare like Big Brother
hungry to purify secrets.
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