As the world grows distorted and unsorted,
Guard your heart from gathering and hoarding.
Stay grounded in truth, separating the lies,
Seeking and asking for wisdom that steadies and clarifies.
For the pen refuses to write;
Even struggling doesn’t seem right.
And for all one cares, I see no light—
Yet these legs walk, fortnight after fortnight.
However strong one’s mind seems,
At unending, nerve-wrecking scenes it dims.
For all supports appear blurry, even strong beams,
Striking uneasiness and swaying wherever the path leans.
But breath goes on—uncaring and unfeeling,
Offering no remorse, no solution, not a thing.
Every rotation carries its own unsorted fling,
Yet breath goes on for this wretched being.
Fumbling through a lost episode ,
That I thought I knew
I find that memory erodes
Shouldn't I feel a bit new?
I was trying to form a list
Of the things that are still important
Of the opportunities missed
Of the problems I left unsorted
I intended this stuff to rank..
The next moment I distract
Sometimes memory gets blank
It does seem an unconscious act.
There are folk, in church or non-church family
Abounding in warmth; "Hi folks!" with charm
Least expected ... On the couch, deep memory:
Kind misdeeds, intent ignored: cut on thy palm
NOTE: a pastor may counsel successful churchgoers & find unsorted anger & hurts, rumbling & smoking with volcanic ferocity. Watch for small signs: the unkindly cuts from charming people. So, talk ....talk, talk, talk. Someone will listen so that volcanoes will be natural disasters, not human. Shalom ShalOm
IN GOD'S WILL
NOT THINE OWN
OR, OTHERS TO FOLLOW
BECAUSE OF BEING ALONE.
A LONG ROAD AHEAD
A PRICE MIGHT PAY
LATER ON IN LIFE
IT MIGHT COME BACK SOMEDAY.
GOD'S PLAN FOR ONE'S LIFE
IS THE BEST THAT CAN BE
ALL OTHER PLANS AHEAD ON THEIR OWN
REAPED OR DISMISSED, NOR SEWN.
FOLLOWING GOD'S PLAN
FOLLOWING GOD'S WILL
FOLLOWING OTHERS, NOT AS PLANNED
CAN SOMETIMES COST YOU
IF NOT IN GOD'S DEMAND
LIFE IS SO REAL.
FROM A TO Z IN GOD'S WILL
IN THINE OWN WILL
IT'S LIKE N, E, A, ETC;
ALPHABETS ARE OUT OF ORDER
MAKING LIFE UNSORTED.
You can't tell a conservationist by the colour of their skin,
You can't tell a conservationist by the hat they wear,
You can't tell a conservationist by what comes out of their mouth,
You can't tell a conservationist by their age,
And you certainly can't tell a conservationist by their sex,
The fact that they belong to a conservation group,
How much money they earn?
Or how much land they own.
No, you can't tell a conservationist by any of these things,
There are however a few things that can give them away,
Like the number of trees on any property they own,
Like the number of birds nesting in those trees,
Like the amount of plastic, they leave unsorted,
Like how much food they waste,
Like how many trips they make to the supermarket,
Like the toys they make for their children,
Like how much wood was used to make their home,
Like how much they go without or use what nature provides,
Like what they tell the pollsters is important to them,
Or how they find novel uses for things that others send to the tip.
Even then the ultimate test may well be how much they share around,
So, others can pollute less.
The lumps of flesh and bones lie nestled
in the rotting leaves littering the forest floor.
How long it has lain there seasoned by the rain
as worms work through the tattered tissue.
She approaches the rotted flesh directly,
at a slow cautious pace.
As if it might reinvent its self,
rising up a demented force of instincts and endurance.
She gently snuffles the carrion,
as a lover would nuzzle the neck of his mate
after an evening of playful passion has sated desire.
Mellowing to a glow of contentment,
she breaths deeply of the foul stench
letting it fill her flaring nostrils.
The scent awakens an instinctual desire
born in a bygone, primitive past.
Flittering through the Jungian memories;
a myth where all the names and places are burned.
Only the shapes and figures remain visible.
All memory has been twisted, sorted and unsorted
till it is simply her shadow cast upon the forest floor.
In my man cave, is a closet
Which would spawn horrible critiques
Totes full of old computer parts
Some of which my be antiques
Various plumbing parts abound
But Lord knows I'm not a plumber
Game parts, tools, nuts, bolts and nails
Old clothes from winter to summer
There is some work out equipment
For some reason it looks brand new
In the corner is my tool box
With tools scattered most askew
It's been like that for a long time
In a terrible unsorted array
If ever found clean or empty
I must have died or moved away!
Broken pieces
intermingled
scatteredshatters
unsorted
reassembled
a mosaic of madness
blending
scars and flaws
into the beauty
of a shared life.
John G. Lawless
©3/10/2019
Nothing is new the robin on the branch or ice on pines
Each rain sparkled petal folding on its eye to sleep
When night with one stroke erases light
Years of clutter unsorted in the mind
Ending or starting around a circle vanish
And nothing changes unless the heart
Resolves to step in the unknown and love.
First Place: Brian Strand-Max 20 Lines-1/11/19
The mishmash mayhem of jumbled clutter
at first seems to be confusion's cause.
But after tidying up, nothing can be found.
Nothing is where you left it lying, easy to find again.
Last in, first out is the principle of your piles and stacks
of assorted unsorted stuff you left lying all around you.
As you contemplate clearing up the mess to see your desk,
the gathered hodgepodge medley of mess
hums a melody, a ditty in warning:
"Messiness is the sign of creativity"
"If a cluttered desk begets a cluttered mind,
what does a cleared empty desk beget?"
Enough already! I want to be more creative!
It’s not a mess, it's inspired creativity on active duty!
Shadows slithering beneath the threshold of my door;
Yet I can’t, no shan’t
Crack it open and peer outside.
Are there people shuffling “bye”, stealing my light?
I hear no footsteps?
Swing open the door, catch them before they knock.
Perhaps it’s only in my unsorted mind.
But I’ll catch them if I can,
Put them in jars like butterflies or fire flies
To prove the validity of my sightings,
Their offenses or evils in the night.
But why take them as prisoners in my soul?
I’ll simply open this old window and set them free.
Then shut off the light and “lie” in the darkness.
Unknown to the truth.
Knowledge in my hand,
Facts tell me I still don't understand.
Uncommon voices sounding off unheard bells.
Familiar is strange in this unsorted game.
Love bothers my mind.
So I wonder where my heart is at times.
One of a kind,
This joker is no joke.
Laughter feels my soul,
Happiness is my unknown goal.
Here I stand.
Mind so bland.
Words are not enough.
Fragile to life,
But in disparate need to live.
Love me I ask. Love me I want. Love me I need.
Bringing myself to empty,
My mind scatters.
My world has no dream.
But dreaming is my world.
I cant get myself.
Twisted in my own thought.
Stop it......
This is my cry for help
My mind is so distorted
All these thoughts go unsorted
It's time for desperate measures
Not taken by the urban pleasures
Thoughts of you go through my mind
There is no bad that I can find
At least one thing I know is true
And it's that my love is real for you
I know that you love me
And together forever, we will be
No emotions between us can go un taken
The realness of our love can't be mistaken
I shout out to the world what's true
Baby, I shout out "I love you"
Though my mind is so confused
I know I'm not just being used
The feelings between us are real
It's simply just how we both feel
I love you with all my heart
And I promise you I will not part
My love for you is forever
Indestructable, one can not sever
A thousand miles between us stands
But my heart still lies in your hands
I shout out to the world what's true
Baby, I shout out "I love you"
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