Worrisome Poems

Potted Sins Under Tweed

In potted hills Finnish
Cauldrons run quips losing custard!
Vanquished serpents necking
Lounging cretons lavish
Tasking tisks
Mirroled bounce
Hinde bounding exiles
Worrisome kneels condensing bonnet?

Will and either knawlings
Coffered
Loave of Samson
Reason less below her faults


French horror?
Recalcitrant!

Heartbroken- Lord Please Help

“Life's a gift, but sometimes sorrow
        moves the path of our tomorrow."
                             _ by Poet

From happy to heartbroken, we've become,
without a thought, her life would take a turn.
Strange symptoms that were very worrisome,
with outcomes that took many months to learn.

It started with the hurt in her left arm
when moving it became a painful chore.
Then, day by day, this triggered an alarm,
as her left side became more stiff and sore.

A search for diagnosis was the goal.
It was not easy as her symptoms grew;
from sleeplessness and mental stress, her whole
demeanor, doing things, was changing, too.

With visits to physicians, days went by
for swings in blood pressure, her beating heart.
New doctors and neurologists would try
to diagnose these symptoms from the start.

In early June this year, the verdict came-
one which we feared, but hoped would not be true.
For then we knew she'd never be the same.
There was no cure; just medicine would do.

From happy to heartbroken, we've become.
Our daughter, early 60s- Lord help, please!
This outcome is now very worrisome.
She's diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease.

LOST

Lost in echoes of darkened time
dampened, dithering, dazed
wet withered witches mime a dime
fearful, I’m mazed or crazed 

Calling Divinity, voicebox shut
eyelids glued, nostrils stuffed 
lips zipped with copper thread
eardrums worrisome waned

Where are chiming confluent clocks
highways and internet ?
shadows dim whisper, “badly blocked,
pointless you bet, get set !”

Surely I paid every debt
learnt my lessons very well
trusted faith, no futile fracas
rose from every slothful rut ~

LOST, part of adventurous life
to find own lucid laws
undoing inner sceptic strife
opens all barred doors …

This Magical Place

This Magical Place

In a place mystical, in an age so long ago
In a scene where all life flourish and grow
In a time so strange, changing within the blink of an eye 
In an era of uncertainty, confusion of how all this apply

What is in the truest of heart that beats within all souls
What is in all those worrisome thoughts that take control
What is in all those queries that race in your mind at night
What is that, within your deepest of slumber, so out of sight

Where there are dragons and bravest of kings
Where the fair maiden seeks what love brings
Where all hope is nigh and a saviour appears 
Where all the love abides from all those fears

When brave men fought with guns of iron and steel 
When men stood tall in the saddle, bravery so real
When the evilest of men seek no more that just fear
When the two meet, calamity and justice appear

In this wondrous play in your mind that lay before you
In this hopeful light that illuminates all of what you do
In this place that is of some concern, but lost in destination 
In this magical place deeply immersed in your imagination

Bus Stop

“I’m so glad you’re alive”
I told you this, maybe a little too soon
With Nyx painting shadows on our faces
it was a little too dark
But you’re eyes were transfixed completely on mine
And I was completely aware
That it was a little too beautiful for just the second day

I met you a little too late
I wish you could’ve known my 10 year old secrets and friends
And I could’ve known yours
Maybe I could’ve wiped your 10 year old tears
or traced your 10 year old scars with the same worrisome frown I have now
And maybe then it would have mattered

I told you on the day after we first spoke
After hearing what you could only tell a stranger
“I’m so glad you’re alive”
And this was entirely true, but you replied with 
a nervous laugh, your eyes exposing the lie in the curl of your lips
“Why?” You asked
I really didn’t know
I guess it was just a little too soon

my attitude is laissez faire

Laissez-faire is the attitude I wear
For worrisome things I don’t give a care
Government may concern another
I’m not running, neither is my brother.

Some people are exacting and stern
From these peasants I prefer not to learn
You do it your way, I’ll do it mine
Then the world can get along totally fine

PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR HIS GRACE

December 24 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on 2John - Jude

Key Verse – 2John 1:3 Grace be with you, mercy, and peace, from God the Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of the Father, in truth and love.

PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR HIS GRACE

Praise be to God for His grace, indeed:
Giving us His goodness
Granting us His greeting’s glow
Guiding us by His grip of great gear
Guarding us against grievous greediness
Governing us toward growth along His grip

3John 1:11 Praise be to the Lord for 
teaching us to do good by His:
Wisdom despite worrisome weakness
Word midst welcoming weariness
Work against worldliness’ wishes
Ways beyond willful wickedness
Will around worthy wellness

Jude 1:1 Praise be to the Saviour for 
sanctifying us toward:
Dedicated discipleship through His doctrine
Directed dependence by His design
Determined diligence in His duty
Devoted desires by His driving
Delighted destination. Amen!

December 24, 2024

Double-Ku

Worrisome wind-whipped waves warring weakened wetlands without wavering

Kingdom

All the jesters from every land couldn't make me laugh.
Their cure for my depression didn't work. The hurt I went through has no cure.
My mind would have to be wiped in order for me to live life.
The kingdom I'm in is forced to mend my brain. No one should have to deal with this.
In the abyss, I lie all day with incurable uneasiness, the most worrisome of my diseases, with my heart always pounding out of my chest in distress. One day, I'll finally be laid to rest.

Stay a little longer

Let me stay a little longer,
In this utopia that lies yonder.
Where my worrisome mind decides to sleep,
Where my soul finds the tranquility it seeks.

Amongst earthy mist and hypnotic haze,
Where symphony of rain plays.
That’s where my soul is bound to reside,
Where an articulated poem aurora recites.

I walk bare foot,
On the velvety grass.
And then slowly slump,
And watch the moments slowly pass.

Umber eyes closed as tears stain.
And the pitter patter on my face,
 An aid to my malign pain.

As I flare and exhale,
Who knew I slowly heal,
My heart and soul so frail.

Enough with the facades. 
Enough with personas so hoax,
Let this mind be independent,
From all the falsas and coax.

Let me stay a little longer,
Let me be me a little longer.
Leave me alone where
Beneath canopy rain seeps.
Where my lost inner child,
Finds a window to peep.

Let me stay a little longer,
In this imaginative dream that lies yonder.
Where away from troubles, I decide to sleep.
A place which longs for me,
And all my troubles, its willing to keep. 
Let me stay a little longer,
In this imaginative dream that lies yonder.

I'm Waiting God For My Country

My mind is in
my country, so
sad, on what's happening.

Foreboding, worrisome
my leaders not good
standing, tail ender.

I just pray for good
my duty as citizen
is being abhorred.

I wait God's miracle
to intervene my country
the way we want it to be.

If

If I wasn’t so black
If I wasn’t so fat
If I had a task
That made me last
Like worrisome rash
If I was a lad
Who could be glad
Or a girl in fad 
Whose looks not so bad
If I made you mad
Then made you laugh
With food of thought snack
If you could imagine that
Put on your thinking hat
And be the first and last

The Bumpfraut

Way down deep in the cushiness of the Germany forest
There is a mystical dwelling built by U.M. Borest.
Some of the oldest oaks are fully aware that it is there.
Designed by a worrisome sorcerer with super coarse hair.

Borest is a Bumpfraut, who can disappear at will.
He can invisibalize his home, changing it to pickle dill.
You might sense a mushroom house lurking in soft moss
It is not visible to everyone, especially not to those who are cross.

I can tell you nothing else because forest secrets are deep
If you hear loud snoring though U.M. Borest is asleep.
It’s best to tiptoe past the oak and use whispers near the trees.
If you are lucky you might catch a wisp of a brownie in the breeze.

mix 3

A sigh of sound
sweet batting of eyes
there is no end
to worrisome

our defence is to gather
round the fireside
where the spirit
fails to congeal

Her First One Which Is Sure to Stun

Karen,

your very first one
will write and never be done
her poems surely stun

You Are Responsible For You
It's good to be proud.
Of yourself, and of others.
Be pure and kind too.

Take pleasure in nice
Find hobbies that you can love
For fulfilling life

Don't expect others
To give up their dreams and goals
to entertain you.

Whining's worrisome.
And complaining is wearing.
Be happy today.


Your life's work is to
Fulfill yourself completely
And Follow your bliss
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018

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