“A crimson sky breaks the distant shore”-
a perfect picture view that seems unreal;
the red and golden highlights underscore
God's beautiful and mystical reveal.
The water's edge reflects this lovely scene-
a double gift that soothes my tired soul
with rhythm in the ripples- and between,
the shimmering whitecaps complete His goal.
Such peaceful moments are the awesome prize
to grant me pleasure at this long day's end;
with artistry before these sleepy eyes
on God's amazing nature- I attend.
Oh, crimson sky, I'm lost in your sweet peace
no artist can outdo this work of art.
My thankfulness for beauty, I release
as your amazing canvas warms my heart.
We are much alone when old,
after lifetimes of accompaniment,
of tacit support and connection
from our friends and peers.
Must I now label as mental failing
sometime strange behaviors I exhibit?
These are a consequence of long living,
result in my speaking to the air, to myself and
to my beloved pets. No one else is around.
This becomes habitual. I explain that it is
only to retain my sanity, ability to speak,
to think, to hone skills of artful conversation,
of facile verbal composition.
Although silence may be soothing
or oppressive, calming or profoundly
disturbing, pets are a great comfort --
though they sometimes underscore
and magnify lack of human interaction.
Loneliness is a sad consequence
of aging, intensifying losses, magnifying
declining mental agility, dulling consciousness
of changes in behavior. To fill empty hours,
to calm fears, feel at peace, welcome
the company and affection of pets.
Treat them as deserving beloved ones.
We must protect, support, preserve them.
They are as central to our lives as we are to theirs.
If in his time the mechanism had existed, would he have written even more?
Would all his neighbors believe him mad? As he watched beauty succumb to deaths door
His ethos words impress; insanity only when possessing exquisite levels of horror
Incessantly; even more incessant rapping comes sanity from the walls, halls, ceiling, and floor
A split vision of a blackbird, he saw halves, though hearing nothing worthy of suffering I wager he'd underscore
So I ponder clearly on nights far less dreary, a legacy expanded if Edgar could've had a typewriter
Robert Sherriff, Australian Poet, Author, Singer, Actor, American Historian, Photographer
Robert Sherriff - Political Landscape
The political landscape is ever-evolving, and the events of January 12th, 2025, underscore that even seasoned politicians can falter. For Trump, future achievements will hinge on adopting innovative approaches, emphasizing meaningful policies, and promoting unity over division.
Cacophony of liquored lips
would underscore the room
That cafe bar that I recall
an adolescent’s doom
Yet not of age to then partake
of alcohol’s delight
For pizza, I remember well
indulgence of the night
My friend and I would wait inside
for carry-out to go
We’d sneak a look at follied fun
at things we’d come to know
And while we sat as patient boys
piano banged the eve
A white haired gal of eighty three
would play until we’d leave
She’d ragtime with a mighty blow
her keyboard full of cheer
We’d see her timely reach around
to grab her stein of beer
Then off with pizza undertow
Leone’s special taste
To watch the TV “Monster Fest”
with not a bite to waste
Wanted that first kiss submerging my lips.
Snow White’s open carriage embracing life.
Underscore of green eyes, seized by the sea.
At the lap of waves, over my deck, a song.
Snow White’s open carriage embracing life.
The death of innocence engulfed in Him.
At the lap of waves, over my deck, a song
springs forth like a fountain, mellifluous.
The death of innocence engulfed in Him,
Carried in ebb and flow, and rhythm of rapture.
Springs forth like a fountain, mellifluous,
The impending peak of a soulful harmony.
Carried in ebb and flow, and rhythm of rapture.
Colors explode, like bubbles, as mood crests -
The impending peak of a soulful harmony.
The softness of liquid smoothing out a pebble.
Colors explode, like bubbles, as mood crests.
Underscore of green eyes, seized by the sea.
Gentleness of liquid smoothing out a pebble.
Wanted that first kiss submerging my lips.
Kind of Blue…
Slinking into a still hue of blues
Haunting trumpets dart in and out
Like taxi horns in freeloading traffic
And cling like silk onto full figured rifs
When winsome modal notes wear sleek cobalt
Where soulbeats throb from smoky bars
Blue moods of so what
Sway like humid lovers on rainy nights
To the clink of ice in shot glasses
And afterhours shades of whisky, sweat and old scotch -
Smooth as muted cool
Luxurious tracks of indigo distilled intimacy
Stretch without strict resolutions
Improv exhales unashamed sketches
Of empty barstools and empty arms
As modes of blue undress into serendipity
When newborn sounds wrap limbs around
Old scores of stale melodic staves
Steady bass lines underscore mellow beats
Unperturbed ruminating pulse,
Slow percussive murmurs
Like rhythmic subways of all blues slow walking
With mystic measures of ebb and neap attraction -
A perpetual kiss slides slow into a kind of blue.
deeper and deeper still
still my heart
that cannot fathom
that cannot reach
Your depths
i cannot breathe
eye-level of the seas
higher and higher still
still my heart
that cannot fathom
that cannot reach
Your heights
i cannot touch
the sun on tippy toes
still my heart
keep my soul
deeper and deeper
higher and higher
where breaths are not needed
where the heart stops beating
where the Spirit is living
with ponderous wonderment
of the inkling You gift -
my open hands feel the weight
of Your mighty and gentle palms
You underscore them in embrace -
i dance in the transcendent space
Wounded whisper,
Bleeding heart,
Crouching soul,
Forlorn hope.
She’s in troubled waters,
She sails across tempestuous seas,
Dawn chauffeurs the unknown,
She journeys through precarious days.
Her cries fall on unconcerned ears,
They don’t see her travails,
They're inconsiderate of her plight,
The elements underscore the unseen.
Our hands have sculpted her pathway,
Our desires have painted her portrait,
Her tomorrow is overcast,
Her midnight approaches,
Our changed ways will
harbinger her sunshine.
May 22, 2023.
This or That, Vol 18 Poetry Contest,
Edward Ibe.
Bowling is what I do during Spring time
And swim hundred feet touching the sea floor
Flexing like a gymnast, swing overtime
Holding my breath, a bowler underscore
Bowls of clear blue waters I play for more
Bowling pins like needles for life I strike
Bowling and swimming, sports for life I like
Don't swim too deep without an oxygen tank...
Life is precious to keep as waters know no rank!
(Prosebite)
As to underscore
A higher power's
Well earned happiness for me
Toiler, at year's end
Down-tracked, back and forth
These my swimmer's arms
Dragonfly cherubs. Who's flash
With sun's last did blend.
A classmate brought a gun to school
Back when my son was six.
He showed it to some friends,
Which brought a teacher to the mix.
The loaded weapon was removed;
The police, of course, were called.
The news made all the papers
And the parents were appalled.
The child was transferred; no one
Ever heard from him again
And fortunately, nobody
Was shot or hurt back then.
Yet just this week, another boy,
His mom’s gun in his hand,
Shot his first grade teacher in the chest;
How can we understand?
The news reports said no one
Of that age did that before,
But that classmate of my son’s way back
Can only underscore
How we’ll never learn that guns in homes
Quite simply don’t belong
And allowing access to a child
Is criminally wrong.
When dawn calls we are torn between bravely walking
In the light and running away from it
The pains of what we thought the previous day splendor
Brought verses the agony that was served fresh to us
The unending streams of tears as a result of our
Weakness and failure to meet what is just requisite
The beams as fresh as they seem calls out to us
Beckons us for an orderly order
The deity we kowtow seeks our vassalage
Reminding us of the heartfelt embassage we have
To pen every day, to justify just being in the light
Its forceful cries ring repeatedly in our ears
To underscore the day granted by leaving behind
Tokens of our sojourn in the priceless present granted
Every hour intently stares back at us, shedding tears
The moment we waste its presence, forcing it in
Eternal evanescence
Or radiates its members, calling unto them to usher us in
Magnanimous future if we walk in step with its ticking clock
Congruent to its admonition
In stride with its pace
And at peace with its canon
A winter wish is like a kiss upon a virgin cheek
it softly woos with words like jewels that brightly shine and speak
and all around its song resounds in notes of pure delight
its message rings and slowly brings a weary heart to flight.
What are these words, such blessed words, that underscore the season?
From long lost times, an ancient sign, that went beyond all reason?
A Light came down, bowed to the ground, a quiet hush, a swoon
as lowly shepherds heard the news, angels sang their sacred tunes.
A Child was born, of humble means, into a lowly manger
was sent forth from the heart of God, to save mankind from danger.
Oh, Savior mine, for all humankind, Christ freed us from our sins
the truest Love, given from above, new life is found in Him.
And so, my friend, my winter wish is truly, simply this
that you would know the love of God and live in everlasting bliss.
Written on 12/11/2021
Falling in Love with Autumn Leaves
David J Walker
It seems liked I’ve
Lived this fall day before
Autumn is all that matters
Winter will come
With implicative lore
the moon derives
the underscore
what’s more
The breath bequeathed
In a summer breeze
Will freeze if it
Really matters
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