In a world of cutthroat
Competition
Tension is a malady
Too common
To ignore;
Often
Inherited from
Parents
Who themselves may have
Received the DNA
From their own;
I am a past master
In building tension
Even if there is none,
A fertile and overactive
Imagination, ironically,
Coupled with unimaginative
Handling of stress
Can build up tension
In a rush;
Ignoring personal health while
Worrying too much
About the world,
In general
And the future,
In particular
Is an assured path to
A nervous breakdown;
It is not as if I don’t care
I do, but I have an
Uncanny affinity
Between external stress
And natural home-grown,
organic tension;
I am beginning to love the tension
In me
And striving to build it in others
Because I believe in
Sharing
And passing it on to
Others who are
Not so lucky;
Building tension
Is an art
Come to me
I’ll only be too happy
To pass on the
Nuances.
Headless horseman came in the dead of night, but he made no sound.
His stallion did though – it neighed and whinnied and twirled around.
You must have been in Sleepy Hollow a relative said.
He is more unimaginative than a skeleton dead.
~Running the Gauntlet ~
Simplistic in its structure…
Nearly amateurish…
Unpolished attempt…
Superficial…
Facile…
Without subtlety…
Nonsensical…
Journalistic attempt at prose…
Lack of complexity…
Unimaginative…
The underlying message is vacuous…
Unsophisticated…
Puerile attempt…
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Not for us…
Not the right fit…
Not quite right for this publication…
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We are meant to break the ice of hibernation.
Each year as spring begins.
All winter was a trance.
Which kept me warm, but also unimaginative.
Now, I am uninhibited.
Spring is, at first, an interruption.
But eventually it becomes all encompassing.
Leaves that are elegant.
That flatter the stoic branches.
Hope that was once obscure.
During that winter that used to protect us all.
Your face, alive, looking at another, gone.
Paper. Nothing on the other side or known to be.
You puzzle my unimaginative mind,
That image has no evolution that I find
To frame a fascination from, but it begins
With every day your fresh response of memory.
Confined in chromogenic residue.
Silence divided by a lens, forgotten prompts,
To stand like this, face the camera, you.
A rare smile, apparently, called up by your appeal.
Words that I shall never hear. And there:
Those eyes that saw the you I’ll never see.
She is a teen
No idea she is gorgeous
Trying to be like other teens
Not recognizing her own talents and uniqueness
They wear a streak of blue in their hair, so she does too
The “popular” teens, the ones she emulates
Not recognizing her own talents or strengths
I watch her try to fit into their unimaginative boxes, and I cringe.
She is all that and more.
She has no idea yet
She will one day, but for now
It is enough to wear the blue streak and feel popular
She will not remember this when she has her own teen
Wondering why they are trying so hard
To be something less than themselves
I watch and say nothing
She lived to be the oldest of a staid,
unremarkable bourgeois family.
Lavender and off-white lace,
complemented her black ruffled attire.
She played the Granddame with much aplomb,
the matriarch of her passionless clan.
Occasionally her offspring
and her offspring’s offspring came to her for money,
a few with questions, appeals, unctuous compliments
She offered only sneers, curled and haughty lips.
In her days there were giants on earth,
they did not reach just for the middle shelves.
Their thoughts were painted hot-air balloons,
they imagined rocket ships made out of
bicycle parts.
Was it her fault that humanity had shrunk?
Day after day she gave audience
to unimaginative midgets, the small minded
affronted by her regal demeanor.
When she died they gathered
to pick the spoils, unfortunately for them
she had long disinherited her fortune
considering her kindred all just cheap satin
stitched over bovine buttocks.
It’s been said I’m unimaginative
but I don’t really care
I don’t write for the groupies
of the one with no hair
I try to spread awareness
of the lies you think are true
We’re sick and tired of bullies
there is too much hate inside of you
We don’t appreciate the trolling
it’s really just that simple
If your head gets any bigger
it’s going to pop just like a pimple
Cuts will always heal
with a couple of well-placed stitches
The Soup just needs a salve
to heal this rash that always itches
There In Glistening Dewdrops, Invisible Worlds May Lie
There in glistening dewdrops, invisible worlds may lie,
unseen yet thriving beyond unimaginative thoughts,
etching those magical moments as sun's gleaming rays dry
salty tears as those born from bloody battles fought.
Shall we in our blindness, such possibilities deny,
parade in arrogance as if mankind knows all
forget the past, billions of tears survivors cry
when we race down our own imagined golden halls?
What holds true in mankind's bloody history of war deaths
could it be true, we are destroyers of our own course
chaining ourselves beneath dark waters, out of breath
speaking lies in frivolous, and useless discourse?
There in glistening dewdrops, invisible worlds may lie.
Etching those magical moments as sun's gleaming rays dry.
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet, ( Poetically Looking Into Imaginative Realms And Seeing Reality )
Syllables Per Line:14 14 14 12 0 14 12 12 12 0 14 12 12 12 0 14 14
Total # Syllables::182
Total # Words::::::118
To err is human; to forgive, divine
1. Shared virtues be are friends eternal
2. A futile step is a worthless journey
3. In a public forum, liberty is oft impugned
4. Evil is often found at the end of a long leash
5. Prepare for war whenever peace is at hand
6. Vice is a companion of the weak
7. Opportunity is a constant to closed doors
8. Whenever there is light, shadows manifest itself
9. One must first be in the dark, to see the light
10. Fairytales are embellished untruths
11. An unscripted life is a birthright of imagination
12. An encrypted mind is well-rehearsed
13. The unimaginative is a sharp spoon
14. Lethargy is a reason for windows
15. Spare the rod and raise yourself
2020 February 03
Famous poetic lines 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
"To err is human; to forgive, divine" - Alexander Pope
When
they come,
what will
they see?
Organics,
animals.
A world
full of animals.
Dirty messy,
animals.
Animals
steeped in
instincts,
controlling.
Animals fighting.
Pecking order,
fighting for
power, control.
War,
eons of
war, killing
on an
unimaginative
scale.
Millions
upon millions
killed.
Killed
for control.
Primitive
beliefs.
Beliefs,
they’ll
find alien
belief systems.
Religion, they’ll
find religions
preaching.
Controlling.
Speaking
of gods,
saviors.
None of which
resonates with
their understanding
of things.
They’ll stay
out of sight,
so alien this
all be.
Beauty is said to be skin deep, but
everytime fall comes around, I see
a picture that defies any limitation and
unless one is blind, unfeeling, and unimaginative,
there's just no words to describe such breathtaking colors.
I like all the seasons, but I think the fall is my preference
for reasons extending as far back as my childhood when,
under the leaf-stripped trees could be found a treasury of pecans
left by the mighty winds of a fall storm just in time for the holidays.
Funny sometimes how a storm which harmed others brought goodies to us.
All things are usually relative, but fall's beauty is more than skin deep.
Life is like a fall season defined by alterations, bridges, and rotations.
Living in a fall season also relates to a life, after being chased by the sun, finds a cool reprieve
09062018PoSoupContest, Fall Season, John Hamilton
A void
A vacuum
I am an empty space and unyielding
Barren and dry
A word desert
A vulture lands and picks at
a dead sentence
The clouds of a brainstorm
hover and shrink in the distance
And the air is stale with the unimaginative
I can tell that nothing good
will be written tonight
I wanted to write something different
Perhaps a little unorthodox
See from a new perspective
Something outside the box
This box is the king of all cliches
Cure for unimaginative thoughts
I'm trying to be more creative
By getting inside the box
What's wrong with thinking inside it?
It's not let me down so far
I happen to thrive in its squareness
It's where my innovation starts
This proverbial box that I think in
With its reliable rigidity
I think that thinking the obvious
Is now vintage creativity.
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