INDIAN SUMMER
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Autumn comes as a chariot of nature's flame. From woodland browns are born reds and golds to warm heart and soul. The leaves, like flags waving in every sweet breeze, swirl in a wind-choreographed dance. Soon they rest upon the forest floor, embracing their destiny to feed each earthen wintry root.
seasonal trustees
summertime takes final bow
fall heeds her calling
starry autumn night
season brings artistic hand
harvest abundance
Today I’m grateful for understanding my importance in the continuum of life…
my place in the spectrum of happiness and peace…
and knowing no matter how old I grow
my importance will never diminish or cease.
Because every generation inherits a world it did not create…
and to that world must add more love, acceptance and laugher
as that generation become the guardians…the trustees
of the generation…coming after.
Angels are humanoids with bird- like wings.
Travel fast changing locations with swings.
They’re perceived as other worldly soul forms.
They guide and tell humans about His norms
They're messengers between God and mankind.
They discharge His orders that are defined.
They pull out negative power and heal.
We read about them with a lot of zeal
Angels reincarnate into cute girls.
Immaculate with pure hearts as white pearls
They carry legacy to grooms' houses
Connect the families as best spouses
They're the best managers and serve both ends.
Shower love and bliss with more dividends
They build lineage and family trees
Daughters! A family's real trustees
Though the arrogance of humanity
Insists some part of it we own,
Fragile Earth on which we stand
Is given to us as a loan.
As we impose our footprints here,
May lovely blossoms show our path.
No poisons or impurities,
Just sweet rainwater for her bath.
In robust numbers we shall march
Against pollution of our land,
Treading lightly as we advance,
Trustees of globe on which we stand.
I did not know that my color bled
Into each word drenched in red
Not from blood that runs in my veins
From the white power death forever reigns
My lips move with desperate pleas
Only to soothe your team of trustees
You create my story in your mind
Comfort in ignorance that keeps you blind
I scream louder in effort to be heard
Wrapping my emotions in every single word
Condemned for my angry cries
Fingers pointed at my broken eyes
I am stripped naked and exposed
Opposition has me enclosed
Freedoms door never opened for me
On the other side you all sip on your cups of tea
I knock harder until my knuckles bleed
My vocal cords tear, my hope recedes
In exhaustion I drop to my knees
Hearing you whisper “you pay the fees”
My life was no longer in my control
When my number appeared on your dice roll
I lost long before your game began
A bronze game piece that differed from your iron clan
This world, never ours alone, but shared with other creatures great and small.
The Earth turns and new dawn comes, and will long after we're gone.
A Sandpiper flitted along the shore and told me so.
We must face a truth that we borrowed these days, you and I,
from benefactors and trustees, unborn and untested, yet will be.
I finally understand now, watching the selfless Caracal's practiced smile..
the tawny red bearded lion basks in the same sunshine.
Touch a heart, lift a soul will you? It's not too late.
For I have faith we are mostly good.
Now listen to the song of nature, be kind..
and don't worry about what never would.
A democratic process is done with three elements in a pool of maxi,midi and mini matching the three phases of a house construction like foundation,walls and roof.
Maxi is people,midi the Government and mini is Ministers working for a trust as trustees between people and the Government.
Mini means small and in the last layer of authority.
But now mini is more than midi and maxi!
A trust is trusting another like one.Thisworld is an order under a trust,people are trustees.People came to this world on an understanding of returning to God,no one can say no.Behaving good all what is trust if not is breaching.One breaching the trust is to entrust to hell,aware!
Charlie was dead
Charlie was dead: to begin with,
There is no doubt whatever about that.
I leave my residue to Carol for Christmas
and Little Dorrit his faithful Tom Cat.
There’s been hard times here in Bleak House,
Villainy and miserly crime capers,
I spent my fortune in shops of curiosity,
Pickwick wrote of it, in his gossip papers.
You gather here with great expectations,
Of bequeaths, chattels and yield.
But listen well to my loyal Trustees,
Messrs Chuzzlewit and Copperfield.
To that twister and Street Urchin Oliver,
and to show I bear him no grudge,
I do leave a Crown and one Farthing,
and a sixpence to Barnaby Rudge.
To our mutual friends Dombey and Son,
Please accept my cane and fine silk scarf.
May you prosper all the year round,
As comfortable as a Cricket on a hearth.
So, here is my last Will and Testament,
Yes, I’m worthless, so whimper and brood.
Where did it all go, there is no mystery,
Lost at Cards to Nickleby and Drood.
KS 6/11/2017
Never behaved in the school porcine;
Had wise words for everyone to opine;
Full of wise thoughts and memories refine;
Rachana Sharma is ready without any supine.
An eyesore progress she achieved school in
Even the trustees could no longer decline;
Her help for others whenever did she design
Was a feast – a great help and fun to dine.
For 8 years was she my dear mentor fine
From whom I learnt how to continuously grin
In adverse situations and start from begin
So that new fight and efforts lead you to win.
Earlier she was looking like a pumpkin
But now she managed her past confine:
Looking beautiful, smart, nifty and divine
Is ready ever any problem to define.
She is my inspiration, she is my Kline,
She is the best lady as a helpful friend in.
With her I developed Monorhyme fine;
And defeated many enemies malign.
A good mentor and nice for nation mine
Is none than Rachana - a brave feline.
We are our brother’s keepers
for this duty we came into the world
how else can we thank our Creator;
for the life we never applied for!
The wealth we have with us
natural talents endowed to each one
we use as custodians and trustees
to serve fellow men without bias
Great and wealthy nations of the world
feel one in unity with the impotent
have empathy with the suffering
It’s the best way to be brothers’ keepers
The world we live in is temporary
the wealth we control is temporary
the life we so cherish is temporary
But brotherly life gives permanent bliss
I love the browns in Tahoe’s nature,
I cry from the beauty in each acre ….
I have seen many parts of America,
savored each region’s unique flavor,
yet I am now a mute and awed appraiser.
In Tahoe, nature and enchantment neighbor.
Deep inside me, emotional tribute waves
gather, build and then rise in praise.
I feel the fuel of my soul’s veneration
as it revels in my Father’s creation.
My head and my heart harbor no doubt
that God comes here for any timeouts.
The oldest, tallest and most sturdy trees
are the lakes and mountains strong trustees.
Each flaunts an assured, confident attitude
for they have long lived their attributes.
I watch these trees with my soul’s eyes
as each nestles clouds in lazy, velvet skies.
Trunks reddish to dark brown are superb.
Such huge trees dwarf mankind into a blur.
Ancient brown trunks are divine to behold.
I give thanks man left them undisturbed.
I would love to dwell in this forest’s folds.
A simple cabin would serve my fantasy.
Each day I’d visit a different brown tree,
absorb them one by one, most happily.
November 2, 2016
Golden soft was the light that swiftly flew,
As whistling rain pelted majestic oaks.
And the soaked birds began to cry for you
As Nature silently wrapped up its cloaks.
Thirsty for coming dawn, so bold and new.
Silver Maples fluttered in the wind,
Where the fast sleeping rabbits hid away
All beautiful, we wish to never end
With brightened colors, every joyful day.
As Nature's beauty flowed out to transcend.
Dappled sunlight flickers in swaying trees
Squirrels forage for their winter food store
Shadows dancing in warm autumnal breeze
The beauty of nature holds me in awe
Man must protect earth; we are its trustees
God blesses us with four seasons each year
Each one brings its own delightful beauty
Gardens grow, pretty flowers soon appear
Bringing joy to our world for all to see
Please cherish the world that we hold so dear
Collaboration by Robert Lindley & Jan Allison
30th November 2014
Albert Barnes, who grew up poor,
Became extremely rich
And had the means to buy some art,
Which satisfied an itch.
He bought Cezannes, Renoirs, Monets,
Picassos and Matisse
And mounted all upon his walls
As numbers did increase.
He wrote a will with lots of terms
About his precious art;
The public could come twice a week
And that was just the start.
His paintings weren’t to be moved
Or loaned to anyone,
But since his death, financial woes
Meant trouble had begun.
A legal battle did ensue;
The artwork all was moved.
In spirit, Barnes was honored;
A new building was approved.
And thus I got to see this art
His trustees seemed to save –
A treasure trove unparalleled –
While Barnes rolls in his grave!
(Barnes Foundation Museum in Philadelphia)
English quintain
I’m leaving, going far away
and when I’m through, I will return.
But meanwhile, mind my vineyard, stay.
I’m staking out a risk to earn;
It is for you, to try and learn.
I lease to you my private land
which I have hedged. I’ve built a tow’r
so you may guard my kingdom grand.
Till I come back, you are in pow'r.
I will come back, an unknown hour.
Time lingers on, I send trustees
to test the fruit; the vintage won.
The tenants stone and wound all three;
more were dispatched , more harm was done.
They’ll show respect, I’ll send my son.
Imprudent keepers of my lease
imagined I was surely dead.
They saw a chance the land to seize.
My heir’s demise they thought ahead
would free the land to tenants’ stead.
This is a story Jesus told
a parabolic sermon heard.
The tenants’ logic had no hold;
God’s kingdom soon would be transferred
from Jew to Gentile. Thoughts are stirred.
written by Reason A. Poteet
first posted at Poetry Soup – 3 Feb 2015
Iambic tetrameter – an English quintain
for Giorgio’s contest: Structured forms-Iambic verse - Recite and analyze a fictional event
inspired by a biblical parable, Mark 12:1-12
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