I sat on the edge of love
Too afraid to go all in;
Not knowing if I would sink and drown,
Or, instinctively know how to swim.
I stood upon the shoreline
Watching many a fish swim by,
Never working up the courage
To give meeting any of them a try.
When finally, I dove in,
I discovered I was just another guy,
And when living emersed in water
No one notices when you have a cry.
I eventually found my lover,
After venturing into the deep end,
Surprised to have discovered,
She was disguised as my best friend.
I wasted time standing on the sideline,
That could have been spent with my soul mate,
But, better than never diving in,
Is jumping in a little bit late.
So, if you are sitting on the edge of love,
To you I give this advice,
Work up the courage to come on in,
The water in here is nice.
. Quite often
. Inspiring prompts
. Are offered
. Brain waves
. Work up
. A storm
. Crashing towards
. SPONTANEOUS
. Outbursts of
. Creative expression
. In exultation
. You ride
. The crests
. Celebrating your
. Impulsive poetry
I have work up in the bed,
After getting results in my head,
For votes between Mathayo and Ditrick Richard,
Can I tell you what's goes ahead?
Do you really want to know?
Who has came president in the law,
Just cool, I will go very slow,
In my next stanza which will flow.
Name started with D, ended with K,
His name is DI TRI CK,
He has got a lot of ticks,
He has came winner in the week.
Congrats to him for leadership to pick,
Opposers are no longer strong than weak,
Some got strock and they become sick,
Losing the sit, they could not think.
One:
Wake up slowly.
Admit it was never that deep.
Let your first word be hmmm.
Let your second be whatever.
Two:
Stretch, but not like you mean it.
Pop one joint, then stop.
You are not an overachiever.
You’re alive. That’s enough.
Three:
Brew something hot
and unnecessarily complicated.
Call it process.
Sip. Sigh.
Spill a little on purpose.
Four:
Reintroduce yourself
to color.
Start with gray.
Work up to a muted mustard.
No pressure.
Five:
Trust nothing that smiles too easily.
Except maybe dogs.
And one cashier
who says you’re all set
like she means it.
Six:
Throw out the list you made
of everyone who owes you.
Keep the one you made
of whom you survived—
remember who survived you.
Seven:
Don’t look for closure.
Just check your teeth for spinach
when you think you ate,
and get on with it.
Oh you can't have sex after sixty
She said with a bit of a blush
You can't have sex after sixty
It's meant for the young folk like us.
So if I get that testosterone rush
When we're lying together in bed
We'd better not start making love
But you take out your knitting instead
And I'll get out my journal
And pass a bit of the time
Wrestling with the words
To work up a bit of a rhyme,
But if after half an hour
The desire still hasn't abated
Lets hug and cuddle and love
Until appetites are fully sated.
But we won't tell the young folk
Just leave them feeling contented
Like all younger generations they think they're
The ones by which making love was invented.
The truth can’t be seen through blinders.
Eyes and ears covered with hatred.
The tongue’s ready-lash sidewinders,
twisting and spinning what’s sacred.
The truth, the fact, reality
masked - the masses bobble their heads.
The illusion of blasphemy
here, when the scripture’s left unread.
No need for truth, when it’s made up.
“What is truth,” plank’s in Pilate’s eye.
Pilate knows - the charges trumped-up.
Wolfish masses prefer a lie.
How often the accusation,
front page news, folks - everyone’s riled.
The leak, having no foundation,
reneged where no one looks - exiled.
But still the crowd cheers old nick.
The stage decked out in crimson fire.
A civil war waged with a Bic.
No matter the damage - it’s dire!
The law, “Love others as yourself,”
truculent in divisive ways -
‘stead hate and pride speech off-the-shelf.
Lollygagging verses… no one prays…
Spend time in the prayer closet.
It’s worth every cent! Spare time!
Hear God - work up the composite.
Don’t listen to the world. PEACE TIME!
9/3/2022
Used to take a while
to work up a sweat
Had to jog a few miles
or sprint like a jet…
Well, those days disappeared
in the rear-view mirror
Now I sweat climbing stairs
that I’m older is clearer
''Big shout out to all the fans out there who have followed my work up until now. You are amazing!!''
Where do we poets go?
Hiding in the shadows of small towns and big cities,
Where do we poets go?
Spilling our hearts out onto paper for the world to see,
Where do we poets go?
When we no longer hold the pen with pride,
I’d like to believe we live on,
in ripped page corners and whispers of ‘where should I start?’
I’d like to believe we live where our imagination is needed,
Creativity welcoming us with open arms,
a smile for his lucky few,
his creative wonderers and idealists;
us who question the very fabric mother nature sewed,
us who like to scribble on her walls,
us who pinned our work up on her fridge,
Wouldn't it be lovely,
to be remembered for the words we never spoke,
the names we never uttered or even went by,
the streets and shadows we hid in?
Where do we poets go?
Because we certainly don’t die.
Wednesday 25 November 2020
Unstrung lover broke her beads.
Pearls - black and blue, pure white, cream.
A river of wicked deeds
would release her unhinged scream.
Vertiginous whirlpool’s drunk
on All Hallow’s Eve. Unbent
string and fine ornaments sunk.
Unwound hate and pearls ferment.
10/19/2020
Contest: Impressions
Sponsor: Nette OnClaud
Visual #1
*to work up (as into a state of agitation)
For how long will I wait in silence?
Will I ever feel your warmth again?
You left me broken by your absence, and torn by your elegance.
We had a perfect harmony, priceless moments and epic romance.
I long to embrace your touch and sense the aroma of your beauty;
I miss those days when we cried over our laughter, stare at our flaws, and hated our love;
I miss those days when I work up to your cherry heartbeat and drank from your sorrows;
I miss those days when we hid in public and shouted in secret;
I miss those days when time was an illusion and your awe voice was a remedy for my soul.
You filled me with flames of affections, lighted me with tender care and cover me with direction.
In captivity of your love, I'm a prisoner of the past.
Tender body. Oh lonely!
I'm a young professional.
I don't know my personal mission statement yet.
I'm nervous about calling IT.
It might take me a couple days to work up the courage.
I am trying my best to be professional.
I don't know exactly what "professionalism" is.
I feel as though I need to continuously work hard in order to earn the paycheck I'm getting.
I feel guilty sometimes knowing that some of my peers are performing manual labor for less pay.
This is the first time I am not among them. Who are my peers now?
I'm trying to interact with my coworkers organically.
I'm decades younger than them.
I'm getting really good at using the scanner.
I copied-and-pasted the email signature of my supervisor and filled in my information.
I'm a little embarrassed about the car I drive to work.
I went out and got new clothes for this position.
I'm not sure what my job is supposed to be.
Life
Life may be tough
Days may be rough
But u still have the power
You still have the vigor to conquer
the tower of failure,
Yes life may be tough
Sure life can be rough
But you still have a road to drive
You still have the mind to fight
Nothing is simple in life
You just need to strive
So work up from your comfort zone
And get into your combat zone.
- [x] By Lincoln .
Novel ideas
Circulate in his head
Swirl around evasively
Intimidating his dreams
He has no idea what to do
He has never written more than a short story
His muse entices him to begin, inspiring trust.
He wakes up with a full work up of what he is going to write.
“I am going to write a novel,” he tells everyone he meets that day.
There are many eye rolls, but none of them are his. He happily begins….
Sex is like a snowfall, never know how many inches to expect
Or how long it'll last, an important meeting you might forget
So you say “screw it”
It's more festive I admit
A cool exercise but at times we don't even work up a sweat
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