This is obviously a challenge poem.
I hope to obtain a prize.
It’ll be an obligato tome,
A bit oblong in size
I won’t object if you become
Obdurate in your view
Of my obsequious pandering,
Introducing words brand new.
I must admit that I obsess
On words that start o-b
Considering them obnoxious
And obscure as they can be,
But looking at the obverse side
I do not want to obligate
Your absolute attention
To my somewhat obstinate
Desire for intervention.
They tell me I’m obstreperous
But they are all obese.
Their aim is to obtain my skill
And obligate release.
But I am not oblivious,
I’m observant of their ploys
So I’ll oppose this silly game
And not join with their toys.
This one was a struggle and it didn't turn out at all well- but if I don't put it here, my numbering will go all wrong. So please accept my apologies and thank you for slogging through it.
This is my first breviloquent poem.
Hope you think it’s a little bit eloquent.
Sorry - couldn't resist. New word to me too.
I see masses of little fluffy clouds
Spilled like a bag of giant popcorn
Across the azure morning sky,
The rest of the heavens are a cloudless blue,
Tinted pink by the rising sun.
This delight is for me alone,
Gazing East from my front porch.
Can't get enough of the Nevada skies. Eat your heart out, "Big Sky Country"
Walking is my one escape
From the walls I find around my life.
Watching the sun break through the dark
Over nearby jagged mountains
Gives my soul the fuel to carry on.
Those walks and sunrise vistas
Are the leitmotif of
Many things I write.
They paint depression
Shades of pink and apricot.
I dredge my store of adjectives
To find new ways to capture
All I see and wonder at
Sometimes it turns into a song
That only I can hear me sing.
“Then sings my soul
My Savior God to thee
How great thou art
How great thou art”
There is religion in the sunrise.
The song is titled "How Great Thou Art" and Carrie Underwood does a mindblowing version on You Tube. Listen.
I have a quiet lake of answers
For your raging storm of questions.
I have a placid summer meadow
For your hectic pace of living.
I have a waterfall of caring
For the times you feel unloved.
I have a purple sunset
When your world is without beauty.
I am a fresh baked cookie
When your soul is starved for love.
I don't often get to write love notes.
I find your pecuniary longings
To be so overcoming that
you have become porcine in
your search for it. Wealth is not
some truffle that can be rooted
out of the ground or society.
You might do well to ruminate
on the profundity of this statement.
A piee of pompous hogwash. Playing with words is such fun.
They advertise Jergens Lotion
As a product that
Softens and smooths
But they can’t know
I have an emollient
Much better by far.
Your gentle voice
Softens my roughest edges
And your tender hands
Smooth out the wrinkles
In my soul.
Good stuff, Jergens Lotion. Been around forever.
Dancing in the midst of children
I writhe and dip and try in vain
To sidestep the unease that haunts me
And somehow spin away my pain.
This is the feast I was excused from
Long before I’d had my fill
Now I only watch the diners
Fresh come from my trough of swill.
I seek for caverns of forgiveness
Turning, gliding, bending low
Reaching out in all directions
Stepping fast while the music’s slow.
Somewhere in the beat, nepenthe
Hidden in the mournful sound
Some small solace that might heal me
Help me back to solid ground.
Floating in the hazy twilight
Reeling from tobacco’s sting
I hide behind a veil of midnight
And listen to the words they sing.
Unknown to all by my design
I fight chameleon’s blending urges
And struggle to remain aloof
While searching for my futile purges.
Stretching muscles that complain
I swivel joints that protest loudly
Pushed by demons I can’t name
I hope that I can go down proudly.
As the thudding beat surrounds me
Pummeling my burdened brain
I wish that it could pound to flatness
Both my body and my pain.
Is there in this darkling cosmos
Any shelter for my broken soul
Or am I chasing moths on quicksand
Doomed to hold an empty bowl.
At a Goth dance club, trying to not be seen by my daughter, the DJ.
The marching band had practiced
The majorettes had tasseled boots
And the Tuba was very shiny.
The Grand Marshall was famous
And the car he rode was new.
With bunting all along the sides.
The soldiers in the honor guard
Rode horses striking as their flags
And their brass buttons glittered.
My float was finished just in time.
The theme was deftly chosen
And the final rose at last in place.
The streets were lined with people
Holding cameras and cell phones,
Their children sitting on the curb.
Motorcycle cops were set
To lead the whole thing off -
Their bikes let out a roar
That drowned the sound of pitter pat
As drops began to tumble
From an almost cloudless sky.
It became a shower, which
Became a heavy rain
And ended in a deluge
My little float was battered;
The flowers were all crushed -
All my hard work was gone
The only thing that I could do
Was call out for a rain delay
And take my float back home.
I have only wilted flowers
To remember that day by,
Pressed between the pages,
Of a scrap book on the shelf.
Rain? What rain? 152 days with no measurable moisture in So. Nevada. Wow.
Her translucent gown
but her motive
in wearing it
was also translucent
to the nearby women
who watched the men
falling all over themselves
to get next to her.
The women saw right through
Not always good to be the most daring dresser at a party.
A daisy can never be an orchid
But an opera can be operose.
That one wrote itself
She was everybody’s sweetheart;
Respected, if not loved by one and all
But they couldn’t even put her in the ground
Before they started choosing her replacement.
Disgusted by the cunning treachery of our leaders.
Ruth, you didn’t do us right
You knew that you had cancer
You couldn’t know how long you had
You must have thought Trump wouldn’t win.
And so you took the gamble.
You should have exited the court
Before Obama’s term wound down,
If you were thinking of the nation.
Your ego kept you on the bench
Until it was too late to go.
We all held our worried breath
As we watched your health decline.
Once you saw the damage
That was daily being done
To your beloved country
You could do nothing but hold on.
We know you tried to last him out
To keep some balance on the Court
But even you, with your fierce strength,
Were not a match for what was in the cards.
Ruth, you didn’t do us right.
In the final reckoning
You should have known to step aside
And save us from destruction.
My heart is broken. Whatever will become of us now. Pray.
It’s very quiet now
My sobbing has subsided to small gasps.
My face is wet and needs a drying but
I have no tissue and the air's
Too still and close to do the job.
It’s dark outside and even darker inside
Where the corner begs me to come huddle
And the blue screen mocks my efforts
To concoct a riddle that will save me.
I’ve tried every single thing I know
To find a way to change the past
But it remains immutable,
And I am locked inside
The Amber of regret
Never re-read old diaries.
Cronyism rules the day
It guides the games
That you all play.
You think you’re having
Lots of fun,
But while you play
No work gets done.
The best jobs all
Go to your friends -
It forms a chain
That never ends.
But since you are
The weakest link,
The ship of state
Is bound to sink
Don't think any of thse will win me a Pulitzer !
I’ve been nominated for
Sisyphean Of The Week
I had to work hard to get it
And it will be harder still to win it -
There’s a lot of competition.
It’ll be an uphill battle for sure
But I do believe that faith
Can still move every mountain
And this is just a little stone.
Sisyphus was a rock star !
There has to be a way
Am I too dumb to find it
There ought to be a path
Am I too blind to see it
There should be candles for the darkness
Why did I never light them
There must be a passage through all this
Why is it I do not believe
People say there is a rainbow
How can it not be in my sky
Who is the person holding me back
Why are you waving a mirror.
My own worst enemy is me.
I learned a brand new word today
And know who it applies to.
I thought I knew pejoratives
As well as a Thesaurus
But this one sounds a bit made up.
I stumbled on it glancing through
A list of vintage words and terms
I came across this morning.
I’ve said it over many times
Enjoying how it sounds
It kind of rolls across the tongue
And could be used for joking
But it’s for more than just a laugh
And here is what it means:
“A shrewd, unprincipled person
Especially a politician.”
I will not be naming names -
Too numerous to list
But choose the one that you like least
And call him Snollygoster.
I love new words. I had fun with this one and in the bargain realized I picked up a previous challenge word that I missed: Pejorative. So I got two for the price of one. Yaaaay.
I ran into my British friend the other day and asked
what he and his wife had been doing lately.
He replied “meander went to the cinema last night.”
OK... now this is just getting dumb. If only I could stop.
The blue lights will again split the sky
Though not without a battle.
The names will once again be read
But by voices on recordings.
The lingering pain, now aged nineteen,
Has not been killed by any virus.
It lives on in a thousand hearts
With no choice but ro grieve alone.
The flags are hung just half mast high
The marching bands are silent
The media is reticent
To add to the depression.
Memorials are quarantined
No gatherings allowed
But love and memories abide
In every heart this date has touched.
I can't see the tower lights from Nevada, but I need to know they're there.
Such beauty I’s beholden
The stuff of all muh dreams
So tightly rolled ‘n golden
Sealed firmly at the seams.
I’s never gonna share it
It’s mine ‘n mine alone
Not even one small tiny ****
You don’t be holdin’, so jus go home.
A little bit of hillbilly humor. I forgot to post this when the word of the day was Beholden.
I once gave somebody a beautiful gift
A life changing treasure to keep
Given with love and no little risk
I hoped I had saved someone’s life
I honored that feeling for all of these years
My own little heroic glow
Something of value was given to her
And I owned a small part of the prize
I didn’t bird-dog the rest of her life
I set her free to evolve
Hoping that she would make use of her gift
To better the world that we live in
So many years have passed since that day
So many miles have we traveled
Such sudden sorrow to learn of her death
And the waste of the gift that I gave her
I do not know if her life was good
Did she go in the wrong direction
Did fate beat her up - give her no place to hide
Except in the depths of a bottle.
Not even fifty - so much more to live
I wonder what ravage befell her
That knocked her so low that her only hope
Was the path that led to the tavern
She left behind a beautiful dog
That she’d rescued as I once did her
She left me with a different grief
For a girl and a gift not unwrapped
A teenage girl in trouble and her best friend's mom made it all OK again.
My great job had me in my heyday
The virus then cancelled my pay day
Now I’m sending out a grim Mayday
I can’t bear another away day.
This one was so easy I'm embarrassed to post it. Probably somebody else already did. Sorry.
How can you be so ridiculous
As to tell me I’m pediculous.
You must admit it’s not real nice
To tell a friend he’s full of lice
Having the time of my life - or at least of my week !
He came to me with the allusion
Of a bump like a contusion.
The circumstances caused confusion.
I thought it just a wild delusion
That would pass with resolution
And a bit of diminution.
When I told him my solution
He declared a revolution.
This wrote itself. Was hard to stop.
With desperation dripping off my chin
I scurry around this way and that
Trying to catch up the herd that
Knowingly is leaving me behind
I trip on stones I couldn’t see
Through all the rainstorm on my face
And stumble even further back behind
With need that pushes hunger off the list
I strive for things not physical
But nebulous and indistinct
That shimmer in the distance
And are always out of reach
Brings to mind an old pop song from the 70's or 80's. It said "I'm in with the in-crowd...I go where the in-crowd goes. I'm in with the in-crowd...I know what the in-crowd knows"
Why do we long for that? Especially those who say they don't.
On the sad day I discovered you
Would no longer requite my love,
My world was torn asunder.
I fell to my knees in vain attempt
To cadge some trace of fondness -
Some kindred feeling, perhaps, of love
But alas, there was no shred of
Kindness offered to my plea -
No hope of any love restored,
Which meant the undertaker’s man
Must undertake arrangement of
A testimonial gathering to mourn
The loss of my true love and life.
6 words of the day for this week - Asunder, Cadge, Kindred, Requite, Testimonial, Undertaker. Whew ! Consider it a make-up test with a double meaning for extra points.
I know it’s hiding out there somewhere
That long sought after perfect verse
A silver dove that is a poem
And rides the wind on platinum wings
But I am blinded and I don’t know
The where or how to look for him.
I can hear his melody
And even catch a trace of words
But his glossary eludes me
And I can’t unlock the message
The pain’s a little bit like childbirth
I don’t know how to let it out.
I can’t pick up a razor blade
The need is more than only blood
Longing is a visual thing
Comprised of mist and foggy shadows
That render it impossible
To see a way to find that dove
The one whose tracks are etched in time
Across the sands of living
And the roadway to achievement
The struggle yet continues on
The beating in my weary chest
Is other than my heart.
Another bird is trying to escape
It may not be the silver dove
But no one shuns a Robin
Somehow the vents are closed.
And little wings are growing weak.
It must not suffocate inside
Unsung, unwritten and unread.
What can you say.....
This year’s Estival
Was supposed to be the best of all
But a Chinese pandemic
Gave us something not to mimic
She stands before the bathroom mirror
Creating several different faces
Tryng to find the one that doesn’t
Make her look so tired and old.
Some of them make her look ill
A couple more look silly.
The one she finally settles on:
A wan and disappointed smile -
Accepted as least ugly of the bunch
It’s not the face she’d hoped to wear
In this the Autumn of her life.
She expected some small trace
Of former beauty to remain.
She tried to make a little sparkle
To liven up her somber eyes
And find the muscle in her cheek
That lifts her lips into a grin.
A sorry rictus of despair
Was all that effort brought her
So she gave up and threw the switch
And slipped away in darkness
I remember seeing my mother standing in front of the mirror trying different ways of smiling and holding her face. She wasn't happy about growing older. Hey...neither am I.
I wish it would blizzard
Building forts is my forte
I live in Nevada
So no hope for a snow day
Another in the delightful string of word challenges from BLT. This one wrote itself,
If anyone has the right to inveigh against the weather
It’s me, folks - it’s me.
If anyone plans to stay indoors all day
It’s me, folks - it’s me
If anyone’s thermometer reads 120 degrees
It’s mine, folks - it’s mine
If anyone’s TV says Dangerous Heat Warning
It’s mine, folks - it’s mine
If anyone wonders why they live here
It’s me folks - it’s me
If anyone says the sunrise is worth it
It’s me, folks it’s certainly me.
10 days of 120 degree heat with no cool-down at night. I must be nuts. That sunrise tomorrow better be pretty **** spectacular.
The mask I wear
Says I am OK
That everything is perfect
The song I sing
Says I feel fine -
My body isn’t failing
The words I write
Are mostly lies
Of better times tomorrow
The wand I wave
To change the world
Was purchased at a dime store
The flag I raise
To greet the day
Is hanging upside down
Feeling a little down when I wrote this. We need rain so badly.
When the rules say you must rhyme
I’m a muggle every time.
I muggle through the alphabet
And haven’t found the right word yet
They’ll throw me off the “Hello” site
Unless I finally get it right
I feel as slow as Sancho Panza
Looking for a perfect stanza.
Nothing I can do but quit quit
And say I took a muggle hit.
I found this in "Word Genius" online. They do a word of the day too. Couldn't resist this one. It was new to me.
Our ship of state is being piloted by
A captain with no sea legs
and no navigational skill.
Hence the endless yaw
That leaves the passengers
Turning green and huddled
Over the **** deck rails.
BLT's word challenge game goes on. Love this one.
In a life where malaise
Is the word of the hour and
Rules what the day will become,
I wander from this irritation
To that unknown grumble
And wonder why I feel so bad.
My need to keep going
Is fed by the longing
To see what’s ten years down the road.
I finally seem to find the format for putting titles on these things. Go, BLT, go.
Water’s running down the curb
Someone’s sprinkler head has failed
Shall I take my normal route
Or follow and see where it ends
Silly question - Off I go
I don’t often walk this street
It rises steeply at the top
The stream comes from much further up
But I’m determined to see where...
Oh! What’s that by the puddle there -
A tiny little humming bird
Darting just above the flow
I stop to watch - this is a treat
The tiny thing with atomic wings
Hovers here and there
Than lands at water’s edge
It’s only centimeters deep
But to him it is a river
At last he settles in the stream and drinks
His needle beak darts in and out
He doesn’t know I’m watching him
And now he dips his wings and head
And fluffs his feathers in the morning air
Giddy as a toddler in a splash pool
It feels so good
He does the same thing two more times
While I stand stock still, transfixed
At last, refreshed and clean, he launches
Into the heart of a nearby tree
And disappears from view
I can’t see him any more
So I move on -
The broken sprinkler still calls me
I find it only two doors up
A geyser by the driveway
Burbling up their water bill
The homeowners likely still asleep
In this very early morning hour
I don’t know the residents
So I don’t go knock on their door
I’m sure they’ll see it soon enough
And shut the water off
It’s blazing hot but I feel cool
Walking along the little stream
That’s running down a street
Called Rippling Springs - how appropriate
Each morning walk is a different gift
As I make this new place into my home
But spying on a humming bird
In the comfort of his morning bath
Is a treasure that’s above the rest
Sometimes there's just a treasure waiting for you to find.
There are things I must not think about
For if I do, I will hear the rumble
Of a Tsunami coming and
I’ll be swept away in a churning wash
Of memory and regret.
There are words I must not ever hear
They’ll cut me to the bottom of my core
And scissor open wounds no
Surgeon could stitch up again
There are photos I must never see
Of a happiness I can not share
And if I look, I’ll crumble into ashes.
There are places I can never go
For if I do it all will end.
And everything will have been for nothing.
Some things are best kept locked away.
Acknowledged as a beauty
In her youth, with a trim
Little figure that
Slowed the traffic
It did not stop,
She sailed through
Like a butterfly.
From her wings,
And oh so slowly
She became a moth,
Ever circling in closer
For bit more of the light.
Growing older is not for sissies.
If Jack the Ripper lived in OZ
He'd have a double name
He'd be "That Ripper Jack the Ripper"
He was very good at what he did.
I'm ashamed of myself. Look it up.
My mid has drifted, I'm sad to say
You cannot say I'm lying
It's bigger still than yesterday
And that is why I'm crying.
That one was just too easy, BLT ha ha ha
Made no longer risible
From a virus that’s invisible
Not allowed to travel
Our spirits now unravel
We can’t get excited
The country’s not united
A very clear selection
At the next election
One’s a crook with orange tan
And one’s an honest, decent man
History will clearly note
How carefully we cast our vote.
I hope this was BLT's word of the day. If not...it's MY word of the day.
Will we ever find our way
Through the menace of this forest
And the storm now swirling through it.
Can we avoid the lashing wind
And hidden things that sting us.
Will sunlight ever penetrate
The darkness of these shadows.
Have we dropped sufficient crumbs
To follow back to safety
Or are they all dissolved in puddles
Will we be be soaked and blown away
Lost to to everything we love
Or find we stashed a flashlight
In a pocket we forgot
And we can make our way back home.
The quagmire grows ever deeper.
I heard him say what’s killing us
Is nothing but a myth
And that he has a lawful rightMore
To make my mother sick
He will not cover up his face
Though everybody does
He swears the constitution says
He needn’t.... just because
He wears a seatbelt on a plane
And also in his car
It seems that safety matters there
But only goes so far.
He knows that life is full of rules
And laws he must obey
And whether he approves of them
They guide him every day
But suddenly the healthcare guide
No longer causes him to jump
He’s free to make the whole world sick
Just like his idol, Mr. Trump.
More and more stores require it to enter, but the minute they leave, off it comes.
One stone tumbles
This is most assuredly not about boulders rolling down a hilside.
I’d be derelict in my duty
That I owe to humankind
If I didn’t help the homeless
By every method I can find
That man may be a derelict
A hobo and a ***
As he slumps there on the gutter
Reeking of cheap ***
His address was a derelict
Condemned to be torn down
They’ve turned him out onto the street
And told him to leave town
But he’s still a human being
And his needs aren’t being met
The city has abandoned him
As one more losing bet
I offer him my tool shed
As a quiet place to sleep
But he turns down my offer
Says the price is way too steep.
He’d have to come and go on time
And follow simple rules
He says he’s better on his own
Among the other fools
Who populate the ***** streets
On the poorer side of town
He shambles off to join his pals
Leaving me to stand and frown.
You can't help those who don't want to be helped.
The Streets of L A are full of people who are perfectly happy with their life just the way it is and have no intention of changing it.
The trick is to find the few who actually want to be helped, and will do their share when the chance arrives.
Common people called him stingy
And with his funds he was.
But he was parsimonious
In areas that they never saw.
True, he never spent a dime
If he could get it free.
He never wasted any time
That anyone could see.
He didn’t have much love to give
And wanted no love back
He had a certain way to live
Laid out in white and black.
He didn’t give and didn’t take.
He had no use for friends.
He died alone and that’s the way
This kind of story ends
The word was, of course, Parsimonious. I like doing these, but am having trouble keeping up with one a day every day. They are easy, but sorta like graffitti on a wall. It's OK to paint them out.
Coming down the street I see
20 folks with masks just three
I ask them why they don’t comply
They offer me a fast black eye
They say they have a legal right
To infect anyone they might
And I should stifle what I say
Or they will send a sneeze my way
They say the bug is just a myth
Nothing they’ll be dealing with
They say they take their cue from Trump
And if he tells them, they will jump
But til that day they won’t believe
There’s any germ they can receive
And if their Gramma catches it
It was just a bad luck hit
They’re going to a rave tonight
They know that it will be all right
The hundreds there are super cool
And no one there will be a fool.
One of that group, a guy named Weaver
Said feel me - do I have a fever
I think I maybe don’t feel well
I may have caught it - who can tell
They all laughed and walked away
To them another normal day.
I cross the street to give them space
Can’t chance them breathing in my face
I find it so mysterious
That any group could be so dumb
So selfish and oblivious
Of reckonings that soon will come. ljm
Arizona is full of reegade idiots who swear it's their constitutional right to infect all and sundry with whatever they may be carrying. And besides, it's all a Democrat hoax anyway.
Reaching out to nothingness -
There must be something there for me
Letters stacked in piles of gibberish.
Emotion down my cheeks but not my pen.
Where is my muse - the one I promised
To give my life and being to. She’s gone.
My fingers grasp the nothingness
And clutch it to my wounded heart
As if somehow to make it treasure.
The accolade is down the street;
And I have no way to get there.
Crippled pen and crumpled verse
Is what I have to proffer here
Who is it wants what I pour out:
Acid on the desert of my soul
Burnng wth a flame that never dies
Wipe the salty tracks away
Pick up the barren pen again
And strive to coax a butterfly
Or fawn or bunny from its depths.
Gardenias with their magic scent
Are surely locked inside somewhere.
I need to somehow set them free
And if not that, then find a way
To learn to live with what I have
And never whisper “I want more”.
Can't seem to find my groove.
TP’s back on the market shelves
Easy to find Purell
Lots of bleach for you to drink
And lots of gloves to sell
Numbers go up instead of down
Nobody’s staying home
They all go out without a mask
When they decide to roam
“It couldn’t strike me down”
I’m an invisible carrier
Busy all over town
Clap hands, clap hands
I feel a tickle in my throat
And a little raspy cough
It’s getting sort of hard to breathe
I need to take time off
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
NO more clapping of the hands
Now is the time to pray
That you’ll survive this killer big
And live another day
Go wash those hands, don’t clap them.