Without uttering a word, nature preaches.
A google search may hold all the answers except for 'self'.
The watercourse way reveals the solution one seeks.
A cloudless sky, a blank canvas.
Over four million results for 'self' but none about self.
In the direction of purpose, the river flows.
The best teachers of life's cycle are sunrises and sunsets.
The moon's phases hold more responses than Google itself.
Each sunrise carries more hope than a thousand quotes.
Trees heal without charging fees.
Maps directs on every journey except on the path to finding oneself.
Nature's constituents are the best counselors for feeble souls.
Where better to learn the beauty of patience than from the enduring oaks.
Voice often knows how to assist except with emotional health.
The wind blows and alleviates the weight of doubts and worries.
Each sunrise is a second chance,
On a hunt for the input that gives an output for self,
A new chapter is cued by each moon phase,
To get to the ocean, follow as the river flows.
Categories:
unrhythmic, emotions, encouraging, nature, poetry,
Form: Villanelle
I would have monkey arms and ttail
so I would jump from branch to branch
and visit all the trees around
in the city;
Early in the morning,
I would sit in one of them
laughing, chating and
looking down on people
dashing out of their homes,
waiting in lines for taxis or buses,
getting stuck in the traffic long hours
which often occurs;
and in the evening,
rushing out of their offices
crawling across and along the streets
just after they have left
their warm and comfortable seats,
while they are going back home
with unrhythmic steps
as a result of too much stress,
and I would do that with great finesse
Categories:
unrhythmic, imagination,
Form: Free verse
A cross between insanity and complacency
An ounce of heroism drowned by the tears of depression
The moment has no meaning in the eyes of the audience
Each line is forgotten, even though rehearsal is mandatory
The long haul never seemed so strenuous
Tight roping the strings that jerked the heart
Inconsistent and unrhythmic taps
Disjointed, falling to my knees without answers
My moment of disillusion and confusion
Categories:
unrhythmic, age, allegory, allusion, betrayal,
Form: Free verse
The Ultimate Sacrifice
Arlington’s air was thick with death’s pathos,
Grief and pain shared once more in war’s great loss,
The great sacrifice of our nation’s brave,
Fending off tyranny’s harsh tidal Wave.
Horse hooves made a doleful unrhythmic beat,
As the caisson moved slowly and discreet,
Step by step in Arlington’s protocol,
Our flag, the stars and stripes, the casket pall.
Lead us, O Christ, to the vict’ry of peace,
Help us hatred and revenge never seek,
Save us from war from which there is no win,
May Thy grace and love reign supreme within.
Old Glory waves for all who paid the price,
To protect and defend the U S A,
We pay tribute to those who gave their lives,
Taps declare none have given more than they.
Categories:
unrhythmic, america, courage, death, grief,
Form: Rhyme
Spring, as always, has mild days of sun and clouds,
and in between, it sends down the thinniest rain seemingly blue;
I'm blessed to taste it as it runs down the mounds,
below the hazy town seems empty almost vanishing fron view.
The further I go down, the closer I see the unrhythmic streets:
people walk as ghosts wearing broody faces as they hold umbrellas made for giants;
there's the highway that'll take me home, where snow alters landscapes and sounds,
but tasting the warmest rain compliments me for the lack of cheers.
Several thirty-story skyscrapers will block the sun from shining free,
this southern town, hidden among mountains, has known poverty;
the unemployed and young want jobs despite change and monotony;
they, too will taste the warmest rain and will dream of an age of prosperity.
Categories:
unrhythmic, depression, hope, peace, people,
Form: Rhyme
Starving cats shriek to a full, hopeless moon
The thick air drips with decay and rank ruin
Feral dogs scream, adding pain to the chorus
Extending an invite to those gone before us
Fred Astaire and Miss Rogers they clearly are not
As they stumble and scrabble up through Hadean rot
Their eyes wormy sockets, foul-toothed, dangling jaws
Macabre click-click-clicking sounds a hellish applause
Dry bones clack-clacking, grotesque, face to face,
Partner holds partner in hideous embrace
These skeletal dancers reek a rancid perfume
Unsure and undead, their lives re-resume
Their clattering waltz is relentless and jerky
As they dance to hell’s music, unrhythmic and murky
The conductor’s malevolent, ghoulish, reviled
His empty eyes glitter, black flames burning wild
Clarinets scrape the nighttime with fractals of silence
As violins offer melodies of mayhem and violence
Percussion and horns build a battlefield wall
‘Til there is no escape from the dead dancers’ ball
Categories:
unrhythmic, animals, death, funny, imagination,
Form: ABC