Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Life
Is one detour after another

On this ride
From one end to the other

Where you find
All the mights and the may

Along the line
That life gets in the way

In the blink of an eye
It happens before you know it

The only sign
Is the moment that you're shown it

Where you find
One detour after another

In this life
From one end to the other
-


oh, considerate
counselors~

i fear the scars of your instruction
will never erode, even after i
melt down your mental
tarbabies
with a solution
that i hope will make
them chemically dissolve away,

leaving nothing but your staples.

what was it really ?
hyperactivity, autism,
anomalies of perception,
social detachment,
maybe—

a Gift ?

well, i guess it would not have
made a difference, everybody
knew of this but
                                  me-

patching up my gray matter mistakes
with remedies permanently cemented
between impressionable foldings

i feel this cure like masonry damming
where free-flowing thoughts that ride
upon streams into oceans were supposed
to have discharged naturally,

stopping me from causing my
summers to mix with everybody
else's winters (or vise versa).

you see, my natural configuration
would have sated for me what
would —in turn— infuriate others,

thus the picket around me was built
sufficiently lofty so i would never
grow tall enough to oversee it.

these days i often mistaken this perimeter
for bricks that line the inside of a well,
complete with a leaky bucket
swinging overhead,
beyond my
reach—


of all things an adult child could ever
want for Christmas, the removal of
what now prohibits true potential

these things they instilled into me
so i could not violate the principals
of conventional wisdom in their day—

but this is
My Day
now !

and dead counselors need
not protect their world
from Me anymore !

and this Gift ?

it continues drifting
conspicuously aloft
in my gray ocean—

a Divine Gratuity that remains
—to this day— unsuitable
for redemption...


s jones
© 2020


.
Thinking of happy times
When cold days
Filled with laughter
Warmed the room
Of children
Where an ah ha moment
Came out of the
Mouth of kiddos
Jumping  with excitement
In their desks
Rays of sunlight
Beaming down on
Learning children
Hugs in solitaire
Or hugs in groups
Meltdowns and mishaps
Celebrations for success
A rainbow filled
The room with love
And left a *** of
Golden Treasure
Thinking about my students and the gift of memories they left behind for me to cherish
 Oct 30 Ken Pepiton
Yenson
Don't warble for me on your stolen concertina
your clowns lacquered in putrid red paint
can crawl to pick up giros and cheap beer from Albania
and croak freedom choruses that but taint
as full fledged members suffering from noveau mania

a million and one times I have played cupid's arena
done it with top style leaving them faint
dipped in honeypots ripe in ecstasies delivered from Africa
to leave asking is this a love god or a saint
as rhythmic passion held tight in love from Cornwall to Jamaica

what don't I know or miss with my undoubted flair
I've jumped soft hot bones danced leaving trembling hysteria
in chambers of fifty and more and each left with a cheer
roses for maidens but what gives a stallion who deserves hyacinthia
know in love and fondest thoughts you own a worthy spear

so don't cry or warble for me on your stolen concertina
been there done it with elegance and without a feint
charmed and anointed as if by the Blessed Lady of Fatima
real exceptional the being modern yet so deliciously  quaint
with the slow hands and easy touch and passion like magma
what's there to regret or miss when you gave it your all at the time...
Our inheritance
is loss

I don't care
about liberation

Freedom is
the ignis fatuus

Everyone's a slave
to something
We commonly lay in curiosity and think consciously of biology and astronomy, how people get lost in the monotony,
how lives may change with more autonomy,
how to unravel human psychology and use the knowledge responsibly, how to create comradery and use this to increase the velocity
between two people caught in an apology to listen to the other audibly, sometimes the conversation ends in despondency but I’d rather live in truth with you than in dishonesty
Next page