We mortals are known for waging good
And gallant fights to ward off some of
The fury of mother nature. We often
Succeed in fighting, defending, and
Minimizing her calamitous effects,
But we can never wip Mother Nature.
I once lived in an area that fogged
Heavily certain times of the year,
Especially late nights and early
Mornings. The heavy fog sometimes
Caused much damage and loss of
Life in anto accidents.
Some motorists equipped their vehicles
With fog lights to aid in their visibility.
Unfortunately, the company vehicle
I drove did not have fog lights.
When driving was required under such
Conditions, I often sought the tail lights
Of big rig trucks. Their big red tail lights
Would usher me safely through the fog.
The Lonely Weed Poetry Contest
Craig Cornish
I set out across the country,
hitching a ride on boxcars
to wherever the wind takes me.
I tumble here, and I tumble there,
across the steel of eyes,
voices of condemnation,
and the hands of fate.
Yet some days are better than others.
For I bask in the green grass.
Other days, I hide through the cracks,
lonely, dark, and cold.
When I'm hungry,
I take the soil from crying babies
and disrupt the lawn.
Along every stop,
I ward off the pesticides of life,
teetering and tottering with the pull of the wind.
It could be windier ... it could be sunnier
It all started on a whim.
girl memories now gulped from too much air
I could not save you from feeling water
may a daughter's ashes be in sea's throb
the Diet Coke days, I knew who you loved
moments for awhile are in ocean fizz
I thought in your arms I would never drown
though not you turned your face from me within
strewn glass shingled there before me, and cut
kissie, kissie, my bare little pinkies
we sifted through sand for a chance above
the sandcastle we made sea fell over
disappointment slows to figure out waves
unknowing was I how you ward off storms
absolved eyes were blue enough together
an asylum's toll reached out, the buoy
I grew my two more feet after you left
salt tears only come when madness is past
your footprints making mine, between we share
may a daughter's ashes be in sea's throb
I cannot save you from feeling water
girl memories now gulped from too much air
I celebrate all saints this summer's end,
Who help ward off evil ghost that contend...
Against peace, such BLUE wearer
In guise costumes like sharer
Who feels impact; their sacrilege ascend.
Happy Halloween Day!
Life is nothing more
than doing what you want
when you can,
and what you must
when you can't.
To live you need not the loudest voice
nor the most vibrant clothes,
just you, your hands and action.
A blade won't cut through dust
but will disturb it enough
for it to appear beneath the light.
Sometimes that is enough.
If you'll enjoy a grander view
then you'd climb another step,
whether it be for the mountains
or to seek the stars.
Whether it be to keep the lanterns lit
and ward off the fog
or just to feel the wind,
we have to live for something.
Those we love don't go away;
They stay beside us every day.
They’re with us in the morning light,
And sit with us in the twilight.
Sometimes they come to our room;
It’s believed they ward off approaching gloom.
We can feel their presence near,
And wonder at its mystique, without fear.
Those we love can be our inspiration,
The foundation of our creation.
We know that one day they’ll be gone,
And we’ll see life through the eyes of another dawn.
We write odes to preserve cherished memories;
Bit by bit, they become stories.
We can find those we love in the meadow of the mind,
Enshrined by the solitary wind.
July 23, 2025.
thee oughts of thoughts
recycle
so
what always goes round
turns
our crank
and we become generators
of
energies to
ward off spelling errors
and just
see
what we leave printed on
what's left
of trees
len
Like a bolt,
a sad news arrived -
sent by her delinquent son
who had deserted home.
Her mother was concerned,
nervous and afraid;
her fear couldn't be allayed.
Reasons refused,
but she herself found a way:
remembered the soothsayer she knew,
changed her clothes,
rushed to him -
fear lingering, weak and shaky,
her sight blurred,
seeing nothing but the way.
The soothsayer performed the prayer,
invoking the deity,
told of the spirit
dwelling in her son -
but there was still a way.
He prescribed a ritual
to ward off the spirit
next day at his home
without fail.
She took a long breath,
somewhat relaxed,
paid the sooithsayer his fee.
Now better,
she resumed her household chores.
“Thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.” He said,
Filled with milk and honey but overwhelming his expectations - he feared,
Finding peace and solace in its feel of evermore candor-not for-yet made for-in plentiful, he cheered,
Until I sought no more in its unparalleled enchare.
Out the door she gushed and out his heart she made deport,
Staring across the open door, across the hallway with his heart implode,
Laying waste to the mask which clots his eyes afore.
I implore to thee, whose eyes are that of a doe,
Sing into my ears once more and ward off my fiery foes,
Dance with me once more, oh how I MISS YOU so.
Plunger
The plunger fell downstairs and
her neck snapped off. I use her thin body to
ward off
wandering
wavelengths.
The air feels nippy as the Night stretches,
adjusting itself to fit Fall.
Silence replaces the songbirds' sweet songs;
while wailing winds
compose a dirge for Summers's death.
And in the cold of Night,
Jack Frost sprinkles stardust on Autumn leaves,
dusting the tops of deciduous trees.
And overnight, scarlet, orange, cerise, and gold
magically replace green canopies.
A shower of colored leaves
starts raining down upon the ground:
as brisk breezes strip bare the trees.
And the haunting, honking call of wild geese
echos above the barren branches,
as they migrate south to ward off Winter's wrath.
Winter approaches:
concealed amidst a flurry of snowflakes;
sterile and frigid
She usurps Autumn's crown and begins Her reign.
The optimistic side of me wants
to believe that my fear
keeps me safe.
That there's a reason I
check over my shoulder at the slightest
Noise.
That it’s just the caffeine
making my heart flutter. That
if I reject comfort and live
my life with my hair standing on
End,
that will somehow ward off
disaster.
That there's a meaning to
the snuff films I get it
4k anytime I
Dare
to close my eyes. That locking
my door eight times a night is a
positive trait, because I just want
to keep my family safe.
Never go out on a stomach that’s empty,
Was one of my mother’s foibles.
If it’s only a salad sandwich,
You’ll ward off possible problems.
And always drink plenty of liquid
Or you’ll find you’ll run out of oomph.
She was always there to tend my wounds
(I was always hurting something)
My comfort when I was anxious,
She was my guardian angel
Though hard up, she denied me nothing.
Perhaps, looking back, I was spoilt.
But I’ll always remember her comments
If I live to be a hundred.
Whispers of Youth
Dusty boxes, like forgotten books, Hold chapters of quantum leaps— My first steps, tiny and determined, Leading to a world of wonders.
Goat’s milk, flavored with Grenada nutmeg, A remedy for cow’s blandness, And lactose intolerance—the secret code Of those simpler days.
Cod liver oil, Sunday mornings’ ritual, Bitter drops to ward off unseen foes, Mumps, measles, whooping cough— Childhood’s battles etched in time.
Curiosity fueled my quest: Pebbles, night crickets, butterflies— Each a treasure, carefully collected, One line at a time.
And that snarky bird, Caged, then set free— Freedom’s squeak of happiness, A lesson etched in feathers.
The kitchen window, a gateway, Its slight squeak echoing freedom. The bird, banana thief turned guardian, A debt repaid in whispers.
Childhood memories preserved, Not just atop that distant hill, But in the flutter of wings, And the quiet moments we cherish.
Feel free to add more verses or share more memories—I’m here to listen and weave them into poetry! ??
My life is made up of so many stages.
I change as I go through the ages.
A rambunctious child and a shy little mouse.
A loving teenager and a right proper louse.
Through the changes of every season,
There is no uniform rhyme or reason..
Maybe luck from a coin in the Trevi Fountain,
Will change a mouse into a vast mountain.
What I am today, I may not be tomorrow,
Affected by a lottery win or tragic sorrow.
The best I can do is lay a solid foundation.
To nurture goodwill and ward off trepidation.
To always look on the bright side of life.
Helps when faced with trouble and strife.
To always be someone they can rely on,
There when they need a shoulder to cry on.
It’s great to be a mountain some of the time.
A hard act to follow when not in my prime.
It’s nice to know that someone is there.
If I am feeling feeble and need some care.
To answer the question Mountains or Mice,
It’s a matter of preference, both can be nice.
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