Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
It never is too late to start
Pursuing what you dream.
Listen closely to your heart...
Allow your mind to stream.
Do not let status or age
Instill crisis within you.
Successfully turning the page?
Only if you decide to.
All of us when we are younger
Wish that we could be
A certain someone - this, we hunger
For innocently.
Many of us follow through,
Becoming with ambition.
Life goes on for others who
Do not reach such fruition.
Time, effort, determination...
All of which are needed
Concerning a qualification
Being earned - succeeded.
When it comes to a career
And all of its deployments,
Necessary to hold near...
Your passions and enjoyments.
Caught up in our daily lives...
Succumbing to routine.
Suppression of ambitious thrives
Which go unheard, unseen.
Commonly, what was desired
Is lost or forgotten.
Their fruits from a tree inspired...
Now, fallen and rotten.
At any given time, this tree
Can produce and provide
More fruits, of which you are free
To choose in your decide.
Will you come into your own...
Take up what makes you clever?
To say the least, this much is known...
Better late than never.
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
I am a sailor of my mind...
Up for sale, you will find.
Nights of voyage in my head.
Boarding ships of pink and red,
I bottle down in my unwind.
During the next day of dawning,
I am washed up in its morning...
On an island and its beach.
By nightfall, within my reach...
Another ship - as if respawning.
Of my wine, I do not whine...
Its prior vessels in a line.
Each was taken on with pleasure.
In search of some kind of treasure...
Something, someone, to call mine.
This sees me go through the motions
Within myself - upon the oceans.
Seven wonders and seven seas...
Wanders to discover these
Or any other hidden notions.
In the real world, still a sailor...
This, I am - and my own jailer.
The prisoner inside me streams
Successively in silent screams
Of want or even need for tailor.
There would be no second thought
In trading some port for support.
If I was exchanged devotion
From a newfound love, my potion...
Portioned at least - maybe nought.
Co-ordinates and their location...
Or some self co-ordination?
The rising waters of my storm.
Will I remain uniform
Or can I find a new sensation?
Someone special - such a friend
Could bring my sails to an end.
The two of us - two if by sea.
Perhaps this is destined for me
If I bring myself to transcend.
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
Side A:
Players of an album made...
Vinyl, cassette, CD.
Audio output displayed
To ears of you and me.
Mono in the days of old
For output of a song.
Better mixing would unfold
When stereo came along.
Physicality was more
Abundant way back when.
One went to the music store
To buy albums - and then...
Side B:
...after years of being sold
In shops to you and me,
Music nowadays is told
And heard in MP3.
One's collection can be built
Online and through their phone.
Consider music as a quilt
With tracks together sewn.
Who would have visioned or thought
That since days of devices,
Artists can be streamed and bought
At reasonable prices?
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
Established in our acts of greeting.
Found and sounded in a meeting.
Manners present, kindness sown.
Etiquette of which is shown
Throughout a standing or seating.
Extending common courtesy
Is most ideal for you and me.
As we converse and project,
Understanding and respect...
Mutual, they both should be.
Some folks have an attitude,
Seeing them come off as rude.
True that first impressions last...
Food for thought - spoken to cast
A fishing line inside a mood.
Questions which I ask of you...
Nowadays of at least two
Within a group, does etiquette
Play the part of a silhouette...
A shadow in itself, played through?
Sometimes seemingly forgotten,
Its techniques are doomed and rotten.
Some people serve this reminder.
Etiquette still plays a binder...
Mental candy to its cotton.
The simple use of a serviette.
Mindfulness of a cigarette.
Please and thank you go a long way.
The making of another's day
Could be complimentary yet.
Undergoing formal handshake.
Gratefulness in what we take.
Others' needs in front of yours.
The offering to open doors...
Sometimes, left ajar to make.
Avoid behaviour apprehensive.
Choice to not voice the offensive.
Proper usage prevents storms.
Demonstrated in its forms,
Etiquette is not expensive.
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
Waiting all week for the weekend
To spend time with you, my friend.
Set for these forty-eight hours
To see what our freedom devours.
Exactly what will be in store?
Laughter, fun and so much more
Because there are so many ways
To make the most of these two days.
Working away the other five
Towards when we can start to thrive
And enjoy such good companies
Of our friendships and families.
Moments which consist of these
Make up the forest for the trees.
So let us spin another tale
Before age sees us old and frail.
Time is precious - life is short
And goes so quickly, we are taught.
The weekend is one time as such
We can gather and keep in touch.
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
Here we are - both you and I...
Yet to ask each other why.
Why, that is, our combination
May result in conversation.
The two of us - complete strangers...
Potentially abled exchangers.
Upon more magnified inspect,
Do the two of us expect
More or less of first impression?
For now, this is unknown confession.
We verbally commence the meeting...
Extend our hands in formal greeting.
A confident and firm handshake
Suggesting what we each will take
When our talk comes to its closure...
Composure, or maybe exposure?
This is set aside for now
As who, what, where, when and how
Becomes the basis of our blog...
Communication - dialogue.
Underway now - that of which...
Our information, thick and rich
Is swapped without the need to smother...
Conversing - one to the other.
Throughout its course, I play detective...
Looking into your perspective.
The further our talking is travelled,
More of which we are unravelled.
Common interests, histories...
Perceptions, other mysteries.
I get to know of you much better
In person more than a letter
Could outline our situation
With its grammar and dictation.
Of our meeting in the present,
I view these moments as pleasant.
Our mutual respect is there...
This, we are both well aware.
Without the thought to criticize
Each other, we can summarise.
Here we are now - you and I...
In warm embrace of our goodbye.
We can say we are exchangers
Now more than previous strangers.
We took the time in our attempt
To not leave anything exempt.
More a fusion than confusion...
Our departures, the conclusion
Of a strong collaboration
Succeeded in its conversation.
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
Secret agent on my mission...
Objectives, derived from fission.
Some are based upon directive...
Others differ in perspective.
Their achievement brings fruition.
My job takes me many places
And I see numerous faces.
Allied forces are on my side.
My enemies - of which I ride
With weapons of cold embraces.
Kill or be killed - this, the name
Of my secret agent game.
Espionage plays its role
As I attempt to take control...
Stealth also one of the same.
Along the way, I rendezvous
With another - out to do.
We serve seperate agency.
Secret, my identity...
I am sure that hers is too.
Opposing forces, we both test...
Until they are put to rest.
Following mission success,
Our brief debriefing of undress...
Pleasure plays business's guest.
After our acts of devotion,
Wheels are once again in motion.
We are called upon once more...
Another mission to explore
As we begin to cross the ocean.
Soon, I board a submarine...
Solitary - and not seen.
Before much longer, subtraction
Of enemies - this action...
Out of a gun's magazine.
Such is life for me, a spy...
Fronted by a suit and tie.
Shootings, explosions and chases...
All else done within their spaces.
Do or do not - there is no try.
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
I see through you now, crystal-clear.
In the end I used you - then, you would use me.
I was taken by you when you were taken by me.
I kept taking you as you kept taking me.
You kept taking me as I kept taking you.
You were taken by me when I was taken by you.
I would use you - then, you used me in the end.
Crystal-clear, I see through you now.
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
Everybody has a past.
Everyone makes their mistakes.
But they are not there to last.
Time heals wounds that judgement makes.
Human, we are all only...
So it is safe assuming that
We can leave our errors lonely
At the drop of our said hat.
Pencils have their rubbers and
White out corrects our pen.
Backspace with a keyboard hand...
Now overrides back then.
There is a saying - that best cold...
Revenge served in its dish.
But then I think, when I grow old
Will this still be my wish?
Dwelling on my yesterday
Will not see me get anywhere.
All I can do is make my way
Using today to get me there.
When it comes to what has been
On those otherwise cloudy days,
Any storms that I have seen
And lived through, my mind can erase.
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Matthew Tripley Poem
Words made up with their letters
Of consonants and vowels.
Paragraphs from sentences
Which serve as verbal bowels.
All letters from A to Z
Play an important role
Every time we read and write...
Each one has a goal.
Numbers used when we decide
That we would rather count.
They are used in many ways
To come to an amount.
Use a calculator when
An answer may seem far.
Letters and numbers together,
You have algebra.
When the alphabet is soup
Inside a bowl for you,
What was 26 instead
Can become 62.
Copyright © Matthew Tripley | Year Posted 2024
|