At the wake of Old Patrick O'Moore
I quite literally hit the dance floor:
but the Guinness was flowing,
my chutzpah was growing,
so I got up and started to soar!
Spring
brings
Paradise.
Farewell
to Winter's
warm fires.
Cuddling
time
expires.....
Crunchy and crusty
Rippled chips
Ideally fragile
Salty
Providing a
Yummy snap
Jolly good time
Under the railroad tracks
Never know what you might find
Kalidescope of possibilities
You accumulate a pile of goodies
Alchemists would be jealous
Relishing my variety of dubious choices
Delightful place to find treasure, car parts, used gum
How can I try for the stars,
When I can't even afford to keep it bright?
How can I chase the moon through iron bars,
When dawn denies me even candlelight?
I dream of rings, of veils, of vows once said,
Yet pockets echo where gold ought to gleam.
The future sleeps on floors I’ve barely tread,
My hands still building scaffolds for a dream.
What gift have I but verses made of thread,
Woven from hopes too fragile to endure?
What altar stands for love the world calls dead,
When bread and rent leave nothing that feels sure?
Yet still, you smile—no coin could match that grace,
A richer man with less could take your place.
[Perhaps this is apart of my twisted delusions? Oh, mundane, antithetical, to dream of a median--a deranged, psychotic thought.]
[“I ponder the chains of order; perpetually asphyxiating a ‘disobedience’. Why, why we need of persecuting the good?”]
[Malice subsumes those who yet to temper, and sorrow enshrouds those refined. Crux, crux, I call to, whom ignore my solemn cries.]
[“A fate of malevolence albeit conduct--oh, love, abhor, equity seldom be attained.“]
[Is it merely viable?]
[“Or am I just simply insensate?”]
[Ah, break me free of the binding chains-- one of rectitude, the other loathe, as if there’s no point in between.]
[“Told of finding peace, tempted to defile, disequilibrium.”]
[Why serenity remain beyond touch?]
[“Is it plausible to grasp?”]
A fate of dystopia.
RECITATION pinnacle of participatory poetics
soul searching
paint with words
spontaneity
imagination
inspiration
faith
&
spiritual
simplicity
& serendipity
in awareness
lucidity
insight
imagery
perspective
& perception
resonate
with
art
daily
Oh Death, thou art a cruel and fickle foe,
Whose shadow looms o'er mortal life below.
Thy grasp, a cold and unforgiving hand,
Doth lead us to the undiscovered land.
Thou comest swiftly in the dead of night,
And steal'st away our loved ones out of sight.
Thy scythe, a deadly tool of final fate,
Doth sever souls from bodies animate.
Yet in thy grim and somber countenance,
There lies a certain air of elegance.
For Death, thou art the great equalizer,
And all must bow before thy stern visor.
So let us not fear thy approach, but know
That thou art but a gateway to the show
That lies beyond this earthly plane we see,
Where we shall live for all eternity.
Spiraling down the old forsaken road,
Oh, the dirt—the burdensome load!
Can I not drift, afloat on a boat?
This despair, a weight I never sought.
Mind awake with dreams unfulfilled,
Hope decays with each passing beat.
Noises loud, yet silence lingers—
Does this path lead to eternal defeat?
Life walks hand in hand with the night,
Does spring not spread its golden light?
The sun stands high, yet shadows reign.
Must I trudge on with a heart so tight?
Lead me, I pray, O spirits divine,
From the wicked ways of mortal design.
Lest with impurity my fate be cast,
Refine my soul—pure, free, and vast.
BRAQUE
cubist
creations
ROUSSEAU
variagated
vegetatioj
SCHWITTERS
assembled
artefacts
TWINKU a double word distich with integral title
¿Hay alguien más leal que un perro?
¿¡Hay alguien que te espere en la puerta
de tu casa moviendo su colita!?
Aquel día a ese animalito al que alguna vez
llame hijo no me esperaba más en la puerta de mi
casa , pensé por un instante que se había escondido
porque haci solíamos jugar pero está vez lo ví tirado
en el suelo , con sus ojos cerrados.
Empecé a pensar que estaba dormido hasta que lo toque
sentí un frío en mi mano , de pronto apareció la muerte y me dijo:
El te esperó todos los días de su vida más nunca regresaste hasta ahora , te fue leal hasta su último suspiro mas nunca lo supiste valorar ahora no te arrepientas de nunca haber venido que él ya se fue para nunca más regresar...
Concurso:"Esto es lo que llamo un amor de verdad"
poem...
poetry
shooting
star
chimera
real
fantasy...
Mis ojos se pierden en el paisaje marchito,
en las viejas flores que susurran recuerdos,
el dolor punzante de lo que no fue,
de aquello que pude haber hecho.
Rozo los pétalos, y se deshacen en mis manos.
Extraño el ardor en mis ojos al ver sus dulces colores,
ahora apagados en el olvido.
There once was a man who came from Dorset,
Who tried to repair his leaking faucet.
But he sure did not think,
He would soon break the sink.
When he misused his multi tool saw-set.
11 / 19 / 2024.
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