The taste of forever
Wild oats and thistles covered the track
stinging my legs for punishments
for since forgotten
The misty Dale that makes war look
like a romantic adventure
that separated men from boys until
a wolf howled
Trespasses, are buried under flowers
keep a soldier's last secret,
his name blew away in the wind
The cottage was still there, trees around
had grown, could no longer be seen
from the main road.
the door was rotten but still locked
the window curtain
was made
of spiders web
the room was shady in the noon heat
intense silence came thundering
demanding to be heard
so many graves not visited and tears
of the betrayed ran into a lake where
trout waked
He hits his knuckles on a stone wall and
savored the pain, blood dripped onto
the floor and ants came
He threw a rope over a beam and climbed
on a table, his dog outside barked
it sensed utter peril
At ease, by now, he walked back to
the main road, and behind him in
a cabin, a noose gently swayed
Pinocchio don’t want
to be no real boy no more
Too many strings attached
He can’t do this or that
Tic Tac Toe
Everybody telling him
what to do, where to go
He can’t go with no flow
No more wild oats to sew.
He’d rather be
that puppet without strings
Drinking with his buddies
Listen to them sing
Liar liar, pants on FIRE!
So what if there’s some burnt wood?
Things they be fun in the hood
Only real boys gotta be good.
Jiminy Cricket
He miss that little fellow
Conduit of conscience caution
Kinda entertaining, sorta?
To bad he wasn’t more mellow
He heard Jiminy fell on soft times,
tripped head first into a bowl of jello
Ironically it was lime green
He got chomped
Curtain call! Jiminy’ final scene.
Pinocchio’s mad
You see
real boys they gotta grow up
Lessons need learning
Fun? Hell no, something will always interrupt
Eyes forward
Become the teachers pet
The best it ain’t happened yet
Some decisions magical boys regret
He learns the lessons
Grows up, shuts up
Becomes the thing he once was
Just another puppet
But this time
somebody else pulls the strings.
There's a place that poets go
when they must their wild oats sow
They camp out in front of the TV set
Are the Three Stooges on the air yet
spring joy
day breaks in coral
dawn and white rose share secrets ~
dewdrops sprinkle glitz
fog spills over hills
winds of change swirl wispy clouds ~
doves coo limericks
bountiful spring rains
wild oats take over garden ~
now the need to weed
warm weather returns
rainstorms take a vacation ~
spring wears thick sunscreen
droplets of glitter
splash across meadows ~
tartans of flowers
rich earth births poppies
orange hues trickle to earth ~
champagne wildflowers
5-8-23
"Wild Oats, Steel Cut"
Words like food
can become an addiction
it’s in the swallowing
that the story
consumed like
some feast
laid out at the
Hatters Table
poured into
kidney pans
returns
steel cut
in our warm
memories
glitching all over
our wild oats
while we
are stitched up
being fed porridge
and honey
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Don't eat the shellfish
the sea filters through
Every thing is a dichotomy
they say in the end
This obliqueness
sows it's wild oats in
the forest where only
small shreds of light
make their way to the
ground
A starlight is worth a
multitude of sound,
a one liner, a lyric,
a pun, a religion,
you and me
and all we have on this
Earth
was meant to mean
good things to some
The great replacement
Through the bird’s world came the call of a land of plenty
rives, mountains, lakes and plains place for everyone
Millions flew to this Paradise, but mostly sparrows settling
inland where the wild oats were plentiful
Vultures came, eradicated the local birds, and nothing left
but paintings of birds with colourful plumage.
Raven, the incurable thief, occupied coastal march land
to get powerful, stealing a wonderful feather at a time.
The eagle took position on the highest peak, aristocratic
showed, contempt for the lesser sparrows.
Until, a powerful, rich bird with flamboyant plumage
showed up and together, with the ravens, promised safety
for the lesser fowls and the negligible ones rejoiced they
didn’t know they were pawns in a much bigger power play.
Among the unfortunates in life I’ve known
Are some who’ve slipped between the cracks,
Most are they who have their wild oats sown.
Practices in adolescence still make me groan,
In adulthood, still not grasping social knacks
Among the unfortunates in life I’ve known.
They continue to muddle through life alone
Still sampling the worst of addictions’ snacks,
Most are they who have their wild oats sown.
Life coming down on them like an old crone,
Basic life skills are counted among their lacks
Among the unfortunates in life I’ve known.
Still paying the price for a youth that’s flown
Somehow, they didn’t seem to grasp the facts,
Most are they who have their wild oats sown.
And now they are too far gone to toss a bone,
Society only wants to give them a punitive axe
Among the unfortunates in life I’ve known,
Most are they who have their wild oats sown.
THIRD PLACE WINNER
Written July 3, 2022
Submitted to “Pick-a-Title Vol 31" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
Immortal we seemed in fleeting youth
When worry played no part in life
Failing to see the absolute truth
We live and love on throw of the dice.
Youthful salad days, wild oats sown
Age was just ephemeral thought
Distant future was great unknown
Here and now constantly sought.
Twilight years insidious and slow
Relentless in their pursuit of youth
Have me at their mercy now
It's time to face maturity's truth.
''Y'' Contest
Youth
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by:
Constance La France
30/11/2021
CONSEQUENCES
The closer grow the trees, they more contend
To reach t’ward sky and seek the Sun they crave
Competing yet makes harmony in blend
Like soaring columns of a gothic nave
The meadow grasses now above waste high
Among their reaching stems blue damsels reel
Wild oats and barley shelter butterfly
And weave a downy carpet ‘cross the field
Could such Elysium arrive by chance
Of chemistry unthinkingly conceived
Or so, decreed by God to thus enhance
And bless the lives of all who may perceive
A plan that’s micro-managed in all sense?
Or splendid unintended consequence
[P.S. Or a bit of both]
Poet's minds have abstract thoughts
emerging in waves from their hearts.
Words are unraveled and untangled,
where once their meaning was mangled.
All too often, as many readers would,
they're found baffling; misunderstood.
But oh how genuinely lucid and austere
when read aloud, to the discerning ear,
are the sentiments written by a poet's pen,
distinctly implicit enough to comprehend.
Perhaps, based on his/her life's anecdotes,
but with imagery a poet sows wild oats.
Prayed for courage
And in return was given porridge
Topped with salt instead of sugar
And water for milk
Cooked in a kitchen of filth
To be eat out of a chipped saucepan
With plastic chopsticks for cutlery
Tracing help into forage ferrell wild oats
The holy father's sins
Handed down to his children
~ Corny Narrative ~
Go west, young man, he was told, so he did
He was only eighteen, a big raw-boned kid
His girl still back east, a lump in his throat
A high price to pay to sow his wild oats
So, he plunked down in Kansas, Prairie Land
Just a spade, a horse, and his two strong hands
He carved him a dug-out under the ground
He'd laugh at the wind and coyote sounds
He tilled that soil, and he planted his crops
Corn for millet, then potatoes for hops
For himself, he'd whip up some rabbit stew
He was gonna be fine, gonna make do
Now you're all waiting for that 'shoe to drop'
But there's no 'but;' his good luck didn't stop
Corn sprung up high, potatoes a-plenty
New settlers came, around about twenty
So he sent for his girl the love of his life
They'd marry, have kids, she'd be a fine wife
Well, she took one look, went back to New York
Said, "There ain't any pigs, I only eat pork!"
The gin is starting to wear off as the boat tour comes to an end
Heartache sets in as I remember seeing you and your new mate
I feel saddened and hurt and know we can't even remain friends
Life is complicated again with even more added to my plate
I walk unsteady for miles trying to find my way back
To the little bungalow we rented on the sandy beach
Feeling irritated, if she is in there, I just might crack
Not knowing what to expect as I start to plan my speech
As I get closer, the bungalow looks abandoned and dark
I find my key and take a deep breath as I open the door
To my surprise, it is empty, the walls are bare and stark
I then notice your ring and the little note left on the floor
I feel hurt and angry, not sure if I should read the note
I shakily read the note and cry, I can't believe my eyes
"Sorry my love but I am bored and need to sow my wild oats"
I pick up your ring, no longer a symbol of love, just your lies
Oops, silly me! I do apologize for believing
most of my adult life that marriage is...
a sacred union of two souls. That it's between...
two people. Just two!
Is there a bigger insult to the institution?
If one exists, could someone please enlighten me?
What's the point of marrying someone
you don't want to fully commit to?
It couldn't be more peculiar. An open marriage
is not a marriage. It's an excuse to continue...
sowing wild oats. An excuse for commitment-phobes
to keep playing the field, to keep bed-hopping
Why would any self-respecting individual stay
in such marriage? If it can be called a "marriage"
To call a spade a spade, it's more like...
Open adultery!
Date written: 06/20/2019
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