Well Enough Poems

One Day At A Time

You were always so good
At hiding yourself in the dark
I tried and I tried
To throw you out
Of the furthest 
recesses of my mind
And somehow 
you are still there
Embedded in 
the deepest crevices 
of my brain
Where I couldn't see you

Lurking there 
in the blackness
For thirty years 

Waiting ... 
for one of those days
When I'm down and out
So you can kick her
When she's already on the ground

Fighting ...
to get back on her feet
Knees buckling
Remembering how 
to stand again
One day at a time
Before taking my first steps

Recalling well enough
How to believe
How to smile
How to run
From the darkness
And away into the sun
Where you can't hide from me

Where light and heat
Disintegrates you to dust
Revealing all
That you are and were
Until there is nothing 
left of you
To blow on the wind
… Out of sight
Out of mind ...
One day at a time.

We Wear The Mask

We Wear The Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar



After poem by Olabosoye Wemimo Olaoluwa 


Love of our land's labour should make us proud;
The efforts, time, and energy put through...
Well enough to place our pride clear as vowed.

But we wear the mask of pain we don't plowed,
When slavery is to labourers in blue...
Love of our land's labour should make us proud.

Showers of rain ain't just of dusty cloud,
But of heavy downpour and not dew;
Well enough to place our pride clear as vowed.

Yet all harvest couldn't feed suppose crowd,
We become weary of need to pursue...
Love of our land's labour should make us proud.


Just an endless space to measure; unbowed 
Hearts and heads under threat, government subdue...
Love of our land's labour should make us proud,
Well enough to place our pride clear as vowed.

Sunshine Loves her Florals

Sunshine loved her daisies, lilies, daffodils and such
Why do you love these florals so extremely much?
I think because my rays help them to grow but I’m not sure.
Actually, Sunshine had a kind heart, it was innocent and pure.

She gathered up some flowers, and ran with them uphill.
Threw them into the air, and watched them trickle down, a thrill!
The flowers did not mind, they knew Sunshine liked them well enough.
When they were played with, they felt they were sassy and hot stuff.

policy writers writing? wrong

journalist hours visit policy budget for all night viability of crime
the next debate was done
uncovering secrets of privacy violations is a job
violating pricacy of secret places we don't no well enough
is a policy writers wrong
for not being elsewhere or otherwise employed at the moment
all sorts of want ads are always awaiting the newspaper reader for innovative opportunity and adventure

back in the california worlds of different people
no questions are ready for the debate
infinite journalist objectives still the fix of debate
fact checking and rumination
all depressing and emotional ruin a despairing lust for life type of loser could want
endless hours of caffeine religion and madness
hard earned madness dealing with perception
too much options in the hidden dictionary lands of opinion pieces
and the like, go for broke and attempt living on a share of a dollar and a quarter in a lifetime
marching within a soul-less abbreviation of the subway ride to dinner, missing every chance to date the thing thats trendy. thats the malicious code of love i live with
#careermoves

The Sonnet's Lament to the Limerick

O, idle love that flows where meters clash,
Where sense and vigor do not well align;
For thou the bowl of sense do rudely smash,
For I, the quest for harmony divine.
Think not these matters well enough ignored,
That coursing love shall float us to the shore;
For current-crossing whirls one cannot ford,
The broken ship of love a thing of lore.
And still, there is the sunlight of thy strength,
That doth ignite the world with crooked rays;
So great thy power that knows too short a length,
I fear my sense is lost as I amaze.
And if but once thy rhyme was not the worst,
I know my heart with love should surely burst.

I'd advise no'

British troops in Ukraine.? Well they are already there.' 
Whats starners game? As peace keepers they could be
Hit' that would derail things I'm sure of it.' To much
Resources already have been drained.' Leave well enough
Alone..I would think if any really care in the main.?

Bearings of Time

Sitting in this shabby chair
By the screen at night
In the middle of nowhere
Outside and inside
I’ve been meaning to tell you
Something that you know
For a long time that passed through
Something you won’t show
But you know it well enough
So I am aware
That we can’t delete this stuff
It is always there 
Not my fault of past or present
Neither it is yours
It just happens, or it doesn’t
Without any cause
Calling through the wind and snow
It’s the voice of time
Time to come, and time to go
Time that brings no sign
Time that says it is too late
Time to close the call
Time that has no time to wait
Time that makes me small
Time to hug an empty space
Kissing this cold air
Time to turn my smiling face 
Back into nowhere. 

Journey

A pitch black road 
A bus filled with strangers but one destination 
Tranquility and uninvited peace
It's the journey to the motherland for the first time
I get to breath in the air of home and feel wanted
Because it's home it won't matter where I go I will still 
belong.because it's home the sand on the ground is mine 
Because it's home I won't hold a pass as I walk I will speak my mother tounge i just hope I remember it well enough
Because it's home...

Protection vs Stolen

For a consecutive 6 weeks,
You helped a project of "putting the lipsticks on the pig".
Has the fence not damaged by the strangers, 
We would not have worked together.
You helped keeping me safe from outsiders,
Prevent people invading into my living quarters,
But, you had stolen the key to my heart's locker,
Made me seeing the fence as a reminder.
Let it bleed inside my mind,
It hurt all days and nights,
Despite I have tried,
The pain and heartache have not ended.
Remember those dots I used,
They were exactly how I felt at the time,
But did not know you well enough to share my inner feelings,
Should never have those feelings in the first place.
It was never your false,
You did not encourage nor give me any wrong messages.
It was me who was so vulnerable,
Growed an affection and invested emotion feelings on you.
I never blamed you terminated our friendship,
If there was any of it.
However. I loathed you for disrespecting me and discriminating me being part of dirty system.

Along for the Ride

I let the handful of sand
fall through my fingers
letting it go, streaming.
The tide claws at my toes
rising with every surge of waves.
I let it have its way with me.
The sun sets before I'm ready
for it to go, without as much as au revoir.
Will it return and pop up from the sea
tomorrow peeping from behind the clouds
embarrassed to turn on the lights
for what it might see?
Change is the inevitable consequence
of my wanting to control it, 
more is less, if I go with the flow, 
with joie de vivre, 
if I let it be, well enough, 
hands free.

Elegy for e Space Poet

You don’t watch the news anymore,
forget to wash your feet in the shower,
dream of walking on water 
because it was promised to you.

You have never heard of rebranding.
The sky is your meandering picture show
it is a really bad video,
you just have never found a good director, 
that’s all.

What if poetry appeared in an alien spaceship,
I mean a human craft
but one hijacked by aliens, out there
in the vastness of God’s bubble?

What if this poetry thing was not about you
or any other known life form,
would you still expect your nails to grow
as they rattle over a keyboard,
your spine to be a rack of lamb
upon which words arrive as alien artifacts
just so you can decorate the space
that haunts you behind your eyes.

Is it possible that that unidentified grainy image
wobbling over a prairie landscape was really you
taking a driving test?

Your words are out there as space junk,
images that you don’t have the power to undo.
Is it possible that none of your poems,
not one,
will ever land well enough?

Soften Up

Soften up to me, my darling, you know well enough
That if all the friends would block each other
There will be no friendship, not to mention love
And no life at all, because the people bother
It will be a different spirit over waters 
Saying different words no one will hear
And no one will come to touch your shoulders 
With “how good my love, to feel you near.” 

Ghosts

They seem more active at certain times
Not just at day or at night but 
When you are in a battle with your faith
Ghosts can help you or be your nemesis 

The ghosts of loved ones who passed
Often seem to invade dreams 
They are messengers or perhaps
They are us and we are them reflecting 
The darkness and light of our present life

Ghosts of loss and of ambitions
Fruition of destiny we should welcome 
But we fear the unknown perhaps
Because we have yet to know 
Our own ghosts well enough
To call them by name 
Fearing pink brain to be insane 
Rather than face the reality 
That ghosts live inside of you and me

All the things we wish to be
All that we are all that we know
But more so our ignorance and stupidity 
Stirred in a poetic soul food
Feeding that which we obsess over 
We don’t have to wait till October 
To see a ghost for we have them close
Whether we want to acknowledge it or not

Circle of Life

When I was a lad growing up in the small village of Wakenda, I would sometimes sit on the back porch and watch the stars move across the night sky. I would listen to the tune of the birds and farm animals calling to me every morning. A choir of a hundred different voices singing their praises to a new day. I spent my days doing exactly what I wanted to do. Now I am retired, and we moved to the hills in the Ozarks of Missouri. I sit on the back porch and watch the stars move across the night sky. I listen to the tune of the birds and farm animals calling to me every morning. A choir of a hundred different voices singing their praises to a new day. I spend my days doing exactly what I want to do. Why didn’t I leave well enough alone?

Why did I chase life
through so many wasted years—
just to get back home

Refurbished Nursery Rhymes: Song of the Piper's Son

"Tom, Tom the piper's son
Stole a pig and away he run.
The pig was eat,
And Tom was beat,
And Tom went crying down the street."

Now, this rhyme,
For a reader,
Offers minimal relief
As to who ate the pig
Or who chastised the thief.

And why Tom was punished
When his dad wasn't able
To pipe well enough
To put food on the table?

I can only hope that the author
Wound up in the slammer
For promoting delinquency,
Child abuse…
And really bad grammar!

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