As i consider, posterity and the multiverse
Of titular? Though my efforts be known as un-dignified, it observe at the very least they may become signified.'
Proud poets parade playful wordy wit,
Their careful craft becomes just diddly s..t.
No matter how hard we may try
Can’t outdo IQ of AI.
Shall we hoist the white flag and run with it?!
Digital era deemed undignified,
As bright grey matter becomes atrophied.
Before the mindset goes awry,
We shall eschew diddly AI -
Its fatuous facade is dead inside!
I will dance before You, O Lord,
Not with the steps of men,
But with the fire of the Spirit burning in my bones.
I will move without rhythm,
I will leap without pattern,
For my praise is not for show
It is for You alone, my God and King.
I will dance as one set free,
As one who remembers the pit You drew me from.
I will spin like the wind,
My limbs a living offering upon Your altar.
Let the watchers mock
Let the proud turn their gaze away.
I shall become even more undignified than this,
If only to delight Your heart, O Lord.
You are worthy of my praise, O Lord
I will dance in pain and in peace,
In sorrow and in song,
For only you remain faithful in all seasons.
My feet shall testify,
My hands shall proclaim,
That the Lord is good and His mercy endures forever.
Clothe me in Your grace like a garment, O Lord
Let Your joy anoint me like fresh oil.
And if my strength should falter,
Still I will praise You with all I have left.
Blessed be the Lord, who rejoices in the praise of his people
Let my dance be incense before Your throne,
And may Your presence remain with me
Now and forevermore.
Amen.
...or Jack be walking funny for a while...
Jack was nimble,
And Jack was quick,
But he miscalculated
That candlestick.
It was skinny and tall,
He was thick and quite small.
When he lit,
It was with an undignified bump,
With a blister
The size of his fist on his rump.
Then a notion occurred
To this game little actor,
Before he tries it again,
Jack will use a protractor.
“How-do-you-do?” the seminal leaves of Autumn wave.
“When would you like to fly away?” prickles the gust.
Maternal-oak holds on tight as one birdy takes flight.
The gust will have none of this ballyhoo, knowing
what he must do, calls for fingernails-on-chalkboard rain,
for the bad-wolf-wind, for lightning, insane.
“Toodle-loo,” says each spiderling-leaf, parachuting to earth.
They make such a scene; whirligig and wandering,
each drenched in colloquial colors, memorable, forsaken.
Each one in turn catches a potential eye even as it lands
in puddles, whirling and twirling, a final splash. They mourn
as blends of orange, yellow and red bleed into the stream.
Undignified, decomposing, going under, all poetry spent,
dwarfing and drifting; washed away down the drain.
Spring regeneration haphazardly avoids loose-leaf goosebumps.
I cannot face a whole turkey
for when I see the leg sticks
trussed up in the air
it is undignified
and reminds me
there will be no more running days
no more flirting days
no more chasing dancing courting days
for this particular fowl
I prefer to purchase a turkey breast
knowing that you can live without a breast
it makes me feel less like a killer
more civilized somehow
as I push the corpse into the turkey bag.
I have withdrawn from grim and gloomy feelings.
I have no time for wistful faces that plague the day
with melancholy conversation and life-sucking sadness.
The drama too much to digest and too trivial to express.
The shroud of depression envelopes the soul
spiraling it toward the depths of psychosis.
Discard delusions of undignified and unfounded discontent.
Instead, I seek cheerful gladness and joyful vibes.
I invest my time with gregarious and social aspects
of amiable discourse and exuberant life-serving happiness.
The manzai of life situations is peculiar funniness.
The revealing mirthful banter opens the psyche
whirling it toward heights of responsible normalcy.
Embrace each moment as though it is the last – it could be.
Manson, the surgeon.
I know of a famous neuro-surgeon who retired at 65
to write a book that made him more famous
Now he is 72 and has cancer of the testicles, life
in the fast lane has ended.
In the night, he is visited by patients who died
on his table or left in a vegetive state, this I think
is caused by him performing surgery when he knew
the outcome
He tells the dead, he followed procedure, somehow
this sounds like “Follow orders” is what the guilty of
war crimes say.
He worries about getting old and decrepit needing a nurse
to wipe his bum, so undignified for a famous man.
When he visits his hospital where he reigned supreme
he is forgotten except for the relic of a porter who
salutes him, he is glad for that.
The newer generation sees him as an old man coming
for his checkup and treats him with hurried nonchalance.
Sic Gloria Mundi.
A wobble waiting in the shed
A joke cracked by Victorian comedians
A test of youthful instability
A trial by tarmac
An unyielding seat with changing views
A wetter way of travelling through rain
A soundless nemesis for pensioners
A tin-tack gathering machine
A complexity in ambulation
A tool used by the mad or desperate
A ticking mockery of balance
A frame for shaming the unfit
A creaking snail on hills
A public declaration of pretence or poverty
An undignified arrival and
A bait for thieves
Fear
In any form
Is ugly
Just as death
In any form
Is undignified
And fear of death
In any form
Is both
Ugly and undignified
The Intrepid
Tall Savannah grass, he had to drive on its only road it was narrow
had no pavement, he rode his scooter could see the ears of big cats
listening.
It was noon, the lions didn’t like the smell emitting from his scooter,
animals only eat when hungry.
He stopped switching off the motor he wanted to be attacked by a lion,
be eaten alive he thought life would give meaning to his futile life.
The silence was total heard insects crossing the road sound like a regiment
on war foot.
Now or never, walked into the tall grass remembered lines like
“I’m the master of my destiny.”
What rot! He knows nothing about the future.
The savannah was an oat field, a farmer shouted scared the lions away.
Sometimes we will be eaten by the worms in the soil
that is undignified.
Wishful Watching
Voluptuous, soft curves, peek-a-boo with fine silk, “Come hither,” I hear.
An old woman observed me as undignified ilk, “It’s only a mannequin, dear.”
Written on November 28, 2021
Submitting in the FUNNIEST COUPLET EVER CONTEST
Sponsored by: L. Milton Hankins
Leave me alone to be with my maker
Damage done to only be one
Broken undignified fool of a fantasist
Gone from a time once begun
Where dreams were natural to only believe
Potential perfection has now taken leave
With heart now closed to love unknown
As progression to God surpasses alone.
Deadbeats
Written: by Miracle Man
August 5 2021
They avoid opportunities in which to shine,
they’ve refused to work, and have chosen to whine,
Steady work would mean they might perspire,
So they depend on others for each heart’s desire.
They feel entitled and are always scowling,
and like a hit dog, they’re always howling.
Believing one day a year, if you sweat you’ll die,
and not knowing which day, they refuse to try.
“There is no labor that a man can do that’s undignified-
if he does it right.”
Bill Cosby
In the Grasp of a Group Home April 16, 2021
A young Cree man, seventeen years of age passes away in a group home.
Shocking and disturbing, undignified and unnerving.
Communication lines not open- No faith in them, no hope ‘n
Chills down my spine, a young indigenous adult deceased, why couldn’t he have been voluntarily released?
Sometimes life is a rocky road,
Sometimes we meet a few frogs, other times a big ugly toad.
Sometimes we bare the load,
Sometimes we relate less with “society” and more with Skid Road.
People can strip your dignity,
Their hearts gone cold,
Their disposition a malignancy,
Their infraction a stranglehold.
My last request to you,
Is that you follow through-
With your hopes and with your dreams,
Such as helping others, or making diverse teams.
And this young man,
Lost to the system
Should have never been lost at all.
His heart and belly should have been made full,
He should have been made proud, he should have stood tall.
In memory of Traveon
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