Run From the Small Fires
Do not let fickle minds smudge your still water.
Some carry only mirrors,
so they may admire themselves
while pretending to measure the world.

They duel for the crown of a thimble,
brandishing rules like rusted keys
to a door that opens onto nothing.
They will spoil the wine of your words,
turning the vintage to vinegar.

Do not linger in the marketplace of fools
where voices are loud,
but the wares are air
and the applause is the dry clap of moth wings.

Smile.
Wave.
Swallow the ember that wants to leap from your tongue.
Better a silent oath under your breath
than the long scrubbing of their smoke from your skin.

Avoid their hands
sticky with the tar of self-importance.
Avoid their feasts
a table heavy with arrogance
but starving of truth.

Wisdom sits in a cathedral larger than pride,
its spires lit by questions,
its stones carved by humility.
Those who dwell there
have no time to throw pebbles at passers-by.

So run.
Run from petty brawls and papier-mâché crowns.
For to argue with a donkey is to bray in chorus,
and to wrestle a bull is to be flattened beneath it.

Leave them to their puddles.
Your river has farther to go.

by Geof the cheeky breakfast bard

I tossed some thoughts into the blend
A cup of hope, a half-wilted friend.
Banana peel of bygone days,
And berries bruised by wistful haze.

Almond milk of maybe-so,
A mango flash of long ago.
One dash of “should’ve,” chilled regret,
A swirl of dreams not done just yet.

I stirred it once with quiet grace,
Poured in a smile, pulp to face.
Some leafy truths, still bold and green,
From tangled vines of might-have-been.

Then irony, that spry old spice,
Snuck in with “wisdom's” thin advice
“Regret's a flavour for the brave,
Served best in chalice we misgave.”

I shaved some ginger, sharp, sincere
To cleanse the gut of latent fear.
And as the final blend grew thick,
I sipped, then sighed, “That did the trick.”

the day has flared
and fallen

into fire
clouds climb

in silence
the trees whisper

something green
in their mystery

in places
wait the oranges

and reds of autumn
in places

wait the whites
and blues of winter

sometimes we must
look upon the things

we have no name for

Through halls of doubt and grand frustration,
Echoes floccinaucinihilipilification,
A lengthy term, with weight so slight,
To shun all worth, deny all light.

Yet words alone can twist and sway,
Can bend the heart, lead minds astray.
If value’s lost in careless diction,
We drown in mere contradiction.

So heed this verse, let meaning last,
Don’t let worth slip, fading fast.
For even long-winded deliberation,
Deserves its own appreciation.

Today some cloud
Put on a show,
Streaking across
Clear blue sky.

Pretty
Empty
Condensation
Evaporating far away

Plum ripe from windowpane
Meets enamel

Two drops
Blood-red juice

New shirt
Baptized

Quote  By William Arthur Ward:
A well-developed sense of humor is the pole that adds balance
to your steps, as you walk the tightrope of life.

We were young and filled with responsibilities
new to town, married and in our early twenties
My husband needed surgery and I didn't drive
with two small kids I had to find a way to jive

When I got to the hospital I bought him a souvenir
one big fury ape with a grin that said "I'm here "
He wasn't in bed so I put the ape in bed instead
a nurse came in and almost fell over with dread

He came out of the washroom and found  it there
when it comes to humor we make quite a pair
He soon recovered  and the ape came live with us
I took driving lessons and now I don't take the bus

This is a true story of how I used humor to cope
years have come and gone still I climb the *****
Using humor in a crisis can surely help my dear,  
it can ease the soul and help you when you fear.