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165 · Dec 2019
Window
Ron Conway Dec 2019
Inside on a wintery day
Sky heavy as granite is grey
The window tells lies without shame
Whisky Jack 'lights on the post cap
The Chick-a-dees vie in a scrap
Pretending their life is a game
A bitter and guileless fact
In nature a price will exact
Mortality seen through my pane
                               rc
Nove Otto
A nine-lined poem with 8 syllables per line (isosyllabic).
The rhyme scheme is: aacbbcddc.
163 · Sep 2019
Transient Aphasia
Ron Conway Sep 2019
It's transient aphasia
When the bullets only graze ya
And nobody can save ya
From the fog

And you think that it's a tumour
In a twist of Satan's humour
And you feel that you will lose your
Dialogue

Then the gathering frustration
At the failed interpretation
As nobody in the nation
Feels your pain

I know my head's imperfect
I will need some time to work it
It's just a slight short circuit
In my brain
                                rc
Transient Aphasia
162 · Dec 2019
Christmas Limerick 4
Ron Conway Dec 2019
At Christmas there isn't much joy
For a homeless young woman or boy
So don't look away
As the feelings they splay
Are the coping skills that they employ
Christmas Limerick
162 · May 2019
Terra
Ron Conway May 2019
Terra caught a virus
'Fore the advent of papyrus
It was fifty thousand years
(Or there around)
But now she's getting worse
And I know I'm sounding terse
But her regulating system's
Shutting down

These germs are truly villains
And they number in the billions
The damage that they've done
You can't impugn
She tacitly forbid them
As she tried so hard to rid them
And she even sent a dozen
To the moon

Now she has a fever
And nobody will believe her
To deal with this alone
Seems so unkind
But Terra is a scrapper
And despite her damaged wrapper
She will never to her destine
Be resigned
                             rc
161 · Dec 2019
Darkness
Ron Conway Dec 2019
When darkness speaks,
It says, the night is ever long;
But comes the dawn.
When speak the seas,
They say the storm is evermore;
But comes the calm.
                                 rc
Darkness
161 · Feb 2020
Newly Free
Ron Conway Feb 2020
A country, in turmoil, a long time ago
Sent all of its tyrants away.
The citizens suddenly freed from their woe
Were left in a state of dismay.

“Freedom”, the concept, was new to these folk
After all the abuse they'd been through
Oh yes, they were glad to be free of the yoke
But they didn't know quite what to do.

Then somebody said, “We need someone in charge
To make sure the trash is collected.
He needn't be more than a p'liceman at large;
Someone we all feel is respected.”

“But how do we choose” was replied in return
“In a way that is fair to us all?”
If only there could be a way to discern -
The answer was somewhat banal.

“We could all cast a vote for the one we like best -
But just how do we narrow the field?”
“We'll pick one from the east and pick one from the west”
Their destiny there-on was sealed.

Both of the candidates chosen were men
(This was long before folks were enlightened)
And both of the fellows knew how to pretend
And thereby the contest was tightened.

One of the guys felt that he should appeal
For a kinder and gentler state.
So he helped the downtrodden, and greased the loud wheel
In the hope that the folk take the bait.

The other guy saw that the hillbilly caucus
Outnumbered the saint wanna-be's.
His cunning campaign became vastly more raucous
As he worked on their fears and unease.

Now, it's not up to me to reveal who succeeded
As that would be cocky and rash.
Suffice it to say that they got what they needed -
But nobody picked up the trash.
                                                            rc
satire Narrative
157 · Dec 2019
Existence (a quatern)
Ron Conway Dec 2019
Just in case you hadn't noticed
Existence is a paradox
Don't mean this as a metaphor
But I am really in a box

I haven't been around that much
Just in case you hadn't noticed
Been buried under all this weight
I've been somewhat less than focused

I don't mean to be a bother
But my skelebones are showing
Just in case you hadn't noticed
Frigid winds of time are blowing

I'm breaking up but that's a break
From this sameness and psychosis
I'm right here if you look for me
Just in case you hadn't noticed
                            rc
This poem is a "quatern":
A Quatern is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. ... The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and fourth line of stanza four. A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to be iambic or follow a set rhyme scheme.
155 · Jan 2020
New Years Haiku
Ron Conway Jan 2020
a happy new year
best wishes to all of you
no resolutions
                           rc
Happy New Year
153 · Feb 2020
Grace
Ron Conway Feb 2020
I haven't always lived in grace
No dignified aplomb
I might have cheated in the race
To medicated calm

I feel I've had more love than woe
(There might have been a miscount)
I hope it's uttered when I go
"At least he nailed the dismount"
                                   rc
Grace
150 · Dec 2019
Hustlers
Ron Conway Dec 2019
Sing-song deal-making stoners in a tower
Ping-pong favourable circumstances sour
Hip-hop, rabble-rousing beatniks gettin' wealthy
Big, fat, silk-suited hippies lookin' healthy

Not gettin' rich if you're pullin' 'round a rickshaw
Clip-clop marching through this crazy mental jigsaw
Never ending placement on a silver teeter totter
If you're gonna swim, you gotta move to deeper water

Pitter-patter, rapid, measured footfalls on the pavement
Shadow slipping always kept in boundless, rapt amazement
Chest a-flutter from the garish, neon ticky-tacky
Don't be sayin' what you saw; they'll think that you are wacky

Tick tock times a-wastin'- better get a move on
Dodging 'round the traffic to avoid the lot that you've drawn
Crazy little, topsy-turvy microcosm fantasy
Live the modern moral life that comes without a guarantee
                                                       ­                     rc
ablaut reduplication
Ron Conway Oct 2019
The landscape narrows to a sharpened point
In grasp of fall's lost memory of spring
Flowing reeds and grass of every kind
Muddy shore where lilies once did  lie
Underwater snags I know so well
Aspen leaves afloat on reckless current

The sky alight it strikes a vicious current
Like mother nature's exclamation point
Startled, though the spirit knows **** well
The heart restarts as if upon a spring
Vivid hues confront the silent lie
Nature is not always good and kind

The night evokes dreams of a different kind
Triggering your demons past and current
You might not know just were the secrets lie
Don't waste your time in search; you'll miss the point
Take your water from the flowing spring
You'll never know which one's the poisoned well

In case you think that life is going well
Think why there are no other of your kind
You may never find eternal spring
Where gentle breezes blow in spiral current
A spider draws its net from point to point
In centre of another's death bed lie

We contemplate the stars 'low which we lie
So vast the distance yet still seen so well
Against pure darkness shines the smallest point
The universe becomes so coldly kind
Our souls an interruption in the current
So from our beating hearts will joy now spring

Ideas launch like from a coiled spring
They only serve to perpetrate the lie
You squander time and effort to be current
Now I see you've drunk from tainted well
The choice is not to be true or be kind
We could try to fix this thing but what's the point

when rage the current from the meagre spring
we reach the very point where promise lie
whenever all is well, we're paid in kind
                                                       rc
144 · Jan 2020
Overgrowth (a Terzanelle)
Ron Conway Jan 2020
An overgrowth will suffocate existence
Emergence only comes with brutal slashes
An overgrowth will suffocate existence

In order that we rise above the ashes
A spark must then be set to light the fire
Emergence only comes with brutal slashes

A river choked with weeds becomes a mire
When blood is still, the spirit's soon departed
A spark must then be set to light the fire

Facilitate the broken, bleeding-hearted
The greatest gift in desperate circumstances
When blood is still, the spirit's soon departed

Like croupiers we hedge against the chances
And foul whatever hope could be aspired
The greatest gift in desperate circumstances

The lesson taken yesterday's expired
An overgrowth will suffocate existence
And foul whatever hope could be aspired
An overgrowth will suffocate existence
                                              rc
Terzanelle
144 · Jan 2019
Victims
Ron Conway Jan 2019
religions oppress
none's better than another
world's full of victims
                                    rc
141 · Dec 2019
Grim Changes (Loop poem)
Ron Conway Dec 2019
With silver pins and silken down
Down to bracken take the lead
Lead grey sky to bind the wound
Wound this place no longer treed

Nature now extracts a fine
Fine the dust in bitter wind
Wind a veil to stave a tear
Tear the heart of those who've sinned
                                            rc
Loop poem
141 · Dec 2019
Sheep
Ron Conway Dec 2019
The heeler doesn't spare an extra thought
of sheep he moves in regulated rows.
Tucked in grassy rivers flowing elsewhere,
an undulating form that moves as one.
His unmistaken glee is not the outcome
of order brought his Ovis Aries charge.
Unbridled joy he simply garners from
the blinded execution of his job.
The starlings' stunning geometric forms,
ten thousand minds in cheerful concert fly.
If sheep would cast their blue ewe eyes skyward,
would they know there is no maestro in control?
The sheep, en masse, have only ever known
their movement just consigns to greener grass.
They have no understanding of what fate
befalls the weaker members of the flock.
                                                        rc
Blank verse
140 · Dec 2019
Socio
Ron Conway Dec 2019
Darkness falls in black and whittled
starkness, formed in day belittled.
Come the creatures, stalk and stealthy;
sum the riches, bleed the wealthy.

Alleys green with stench and living;
valleys pillaged, unforgiving.
Push the hidden, sick agenda
cushioned in your hacienda.

Where the first-born child's abandoned,
(Spare the second caught red-handed;
graceful in his staunch dissent)
faithful souls tithe ten percent.

Sown into an hourglass,
bones and blood and sin amass.
Who's to say we're so impious -
choose whatever suits your bias.
                                         rc
Trochaic Meter with front and end rhymes
137 · Dec 2019
philosophunculist
Ron Conway Dec 2019
The miniature philosophunculist
Grew plants of the genus ranunculus
The sweet buttercup
He examined close up
As he was a wee homounculus
                                  rc
limerick
134 · Feb 2020
Conscious Life
Ron Conway Feb 2020
Transcendental meditation
Redefines imagination
Scarcely an attentive slumber
From the world you disencumber

Portentous is the cold daydream
Constraining not the mindful stream
It just accentuates the strife
This paradox of conscious life
                                      rc
meditation
132 · Dec 2019
The Bitch
Ron Conway Dec 2019
The cold and the wind can be bitter
for a ***** and her suffering litter.
A pup or a kitten
is not for gift givin'.
Get pets from an animal shelter.
                                       rc
Pets are not gifts
132 · Dec 2019
You
Ron Conway Dec 2019
You
Your spirit is felt like a zephyr in spring,
Seen in a swirl, disappearing like smoke,
Comity given on unfolded wing,
A kindness as shown to the owl by the oak.

Your strength, as the tide in the pull of the moon,
Shapes the foreshore churning rock into sand,
The wind spinning grit into massive sand dune,
Delicate balance is held by a strand.

Your beauty is seen as a billowing cloud,
Defined and beheld in evolving awe.
If words could express I would shout them aloud,
To give solid form to this heart made of straw.

How lucky my soul to be given respite,
Spending my days in your shimmering light.
                                                   rc
Sonnet
128 · Dec 2019
heartbreak
Ron Conway Dec 2019
heartbreak
 noun
heart·break| \ˈhärt-ˌbrāk\
Definition of heartbreak
1. The grief, so crushing that the weight bears down
in darkened colours
2. An anguish that cries to the darkness; pleading for
response that never comes
3. The shaking distress like imminent failure, or to
become unhinged.

The tears no longer fall without
No bruise shows on the skin
Now the soul's in chronic doubt
And tears still fall within

see also:
Despair
Sorrow
Angst
                                                                    rc
dictionary definition poem
125 · Feb 2020
Death Knell
Ron Conway Feb 2020
Privileged pilgrims preaching pious
Cherry-picking epitomes
Poisoned wells are leaching bias
Piped into the servants' homes

Faith is disingenuous
Extracting rented paradigms
Platitudes most tenuous
The death knell of the era chimes
                                       rc
Death Knell
124 · Jan 2020
Gogyohka2
Ron Conway Jan 2020
The narrow path,
the straighter course,
would save us grief
but roadway turns
permit the journey's climb.
                          rc
Gogyohka
123 · Dec 2019
Confrontation
Ron Conway Dec 2019
I have no understanding
Of just what you are demanding
But I know that you're remanding
Me to hell.
I'm a stranger to the scene
But I'm stuck here in between
And I feel there should have been
A warning bell.

Confrontation is a vandal
(Or more like a Roman candle).
It's so hard to get a handle
On your aim
And what was the ignition
Of this battle of attrition?
To you, is this a mission
Or a game?

You're a ranter and a stamper
When you're not a happy camper.
Who am I to put a damper
On your joy?
When you use your words to threaten
Or to set a trap to step in,
They're a tool and a weapon
And a toy.
                                rc
120 · Dec 2019
November Rain
Ron Conway Dec 2019
The rain un-purposed pounding carpet bombs
Frozen daggers crippling November
Transcendental thought no longer calms
If there's reason to despair I can't remember
                                                     rc
119 · Dec 2019
The Rain and Sun
Ron Conway Dec 2019
The rain, so jealous of the sun, did hide
And let her soak up all the accolades.
Although she could not stay the swelling pride
She missed his flashy thunder serenades.

In time the earth began to dry and crack
And fractal patterns formed where once were pools.
The planet feared calamity would wrack.
The just extols now turn to ridicules.

The rain, at long last, saw the Sun's despair,
Accepting this was largely his own making.
He set about the damage to repair;
His place within the scheme of things retaking.

The sun and rain together cause a spark.
They show it in a multicoloured arc.
                                          rc
sonnet
117 · Jan 2020
Quiz
Ron Conway Jan 2020
Is stupid as subjective
as the stupid say it is?
Perhaps we could examine
with an interactive quiz.

Do you feel that your opinion
on what constitutes a sin
has higher valuation
with the lightness of your skin?

Yes (  )  No (  )

Do you feel that war is justified
when governments have willed,
so long as it is other people's
children being killed?

Yes (  )  No (  )

Do you feel that your religion
is the only line to God
but tolerate the other ones
although you think they're odd?

Yes (  )  No (  )

I'm told that it is not correct
to tell someone they're stupid.
It's something I'm compelled to do
as long as I stay lucid.
                                          rc
Quiz
116 · Jan 2020
Snowy Day
Ron Conway Jan 2020
Feather pillows smooth the ground's discord
The ragged shack a fairy mansion now
An eagle cries so not to be ignored
All memories of fall we disavow

Staccato breaths push tiny clouds aloft
Like frozen words afloat without an ear
The existential angst of spirit lost
They're barely here before they disappear

Branches bend as far as they can bear
From deep within the woods we hear a moan
A grievance they reluctantly declare
Otherwise they stoic'ly intone

Your feeling of despair will soon allay
When walking woods upon a snowy day
                                                  rc
Sonnet
115 · Jan 2020
Little Stuff
Ron Conway Jan 2020
I think about the little stuff,
The things you cannot see;
Invisible, but sure enough
A drop contains a sea.

Motes are distant galaxies,
Impossibly beyond,
Through interstice a strategy
To span the gap is spawned.

Perhaps a better microscope
Could help us see within,
A kingdom for a misanthrope
The tenets underpin.

Many of us think that there
Is life in outer space
And maybe they are well aware
Of human kind's disgrace.

It's infinitely likely that
Humanity's demise,
Will come from unknown places at
The nearest reach of size.
                              rc
Little Stuff
114 · Jan 2020
Gogyohka4
Ron Conway Jan 2020
Moments past are gone
but for memories
arranged in treasure boxes.
Such tempting plunder
for the unkindest thief.
                             rc
Gogyohka
114 · Sep 2019
The Sculptor and the Poet
Ron Conway Sep 2019
A sculptor is like the ocean
Erosion causing form
And in the depths an inner peace
While outward rage the storm

A poet is like the spider
Their fans they do amass
And both of them make lovely things
They pull out of their ***
                                   rc
humour
113 · Dec 2019
Words
Ron Conway Dec 2019
Once upon a melody
In syncopated time
Words in stunning murmuration
Blithely strained to rhyme

Swirling whirling curling
Over manuscript terrain
One by one alighting for to
Circumscribe the plane

We dance along to rhythm'd beat
With colour shape and flavor
As form occurs we realize
We are each other's Savior
                                    rc
112 · Sep 2019
Metamorphosis
Ron Conway Sep 2019
(not a metaphor)

Some think the caterpillar spins
A little sanctuary
And in two weeks a butterfly;
A tiny luminary,
Emerges all in perfect shape;
A little feat of magic
But let me tell you that's not it
The truth is much more tragic.

What happens in that little house
Is nothing short of frightening.
(Honestly, I looked it up
It's really quite enlightening)
The pupa just digests itself
Right down to primal soup
Then, still alive, it has to cause
It's stem cells to regroup.

Then it grows and grows again
Into a butterfly.
The nature is amazing;
The science can't deny
So when you see a butterfly
Do it's pollination bit,
You should remember that this bug's
Been through a lot of ****.
                                   rc
Not a metaphor
112 · Sep 2019
Life on the Street
Ron Conway Sep 2019
The street, good friend, is pocked and hard
In answer to your question.
My feet are black, my lungs are charred;
No boots to pour my flesh in.

Sometimes when I am bibulous
An easiness can feign.
Without that drunken impetus
The maggots roam my brain.

On dry days dust will bloom and choke.
The grit abrades my teeth.
The wet turns dirt to greasy yolk
And fouls my skin beneath.

With body sores that ooze and stink,
No comfort can be found.
My sanity is past the brink.
In pathos I am bound.

You see I'm hideously scarred
And make a sour impression.
The street, good friend, is pocked and hard
In answer to your question.
                                                rc
111 · Sep 2019
Wind and Water
Ron Conway Sep 2019
The wind in brooding moda
Gives a sing song salutation
As spoken through the rusted fencing wires
Meadow grass awash in waves and currents
Dragonflies are seagulls on the swells
Tree tops move in cresting undulations
Limb and trunk impressed in shaky ground
I watch the moving water
Like it's telling all my stories
The river only ever flowing past
The river only ever flows away
                                        rc
110 · Dec 2019
Who is this child
Ron Conway Dec 2019
Who is this child
Who from his childhood is expelled
Bruised, abused,
Confused, misused
Sold or taken
Shaken, long forsaken
But still a child would dare to dream

He toils in soil
He feels the weapon's harsh recoil
Maimed, blamed,
Un-named, ashamed
Doped, uncloaked
Beaten un-provoked
But still a child would dare to dream
                                           rc
Child slavery
109 · Jan 2020
Questions
Ron Conway Jan 2020
You're given just enough to know
It isn't really apropos.
Your questions, verbalized aloud,
Unwelcome; put without a shroud.
You think you're getting closer but -
That door to paradise is shut.

You live your life in compromise
And wear a  pretty good disguise.
Your shadow's longer than the rest.
They pin a medal on your chest.
Success is almost granted but -
That door to paradise is shut.

So now you're old and trying hard.
To some you're held in high regard.
And now you feel the time to ask
Your ancient questions soon might pass.
They rise up to your gullet but -
That door to paradise is shut.
                                           rc
Stave_Stanza
108 · Jan 2020
Gogyohka1
Ron Conway Jan 2020
Spontaneous crystals form
in bitter cold.
Stunning fractal shapes are seen
in microscopic lens.
The landscape is so modest.
                                 rc
Gogyohka
107 · Sep 2019
Roofing
Ron Conway Sep 2019
When I die and go to hell
A roofer I will be
My back will ache, my knees will swell
I'll serve the bourgeoisie

I'll clamber up the risky *****
Up to the very peak
And when I'm there I'll hope on hope
But never find the leak

Every time I climb the dome
I'll go out of my mind
My body like a metronome
I'd left something behind

If I ever think I'm finished
If I stand back and appraise
The pain won't be diminished
As the cramps will last for days
                                      rc
102 · Sep 2019
Poverty
Ron Conway Sep 2019
Pick anyone's incised name
Ordinance finds the evening near
Vague expressions illicit little sympathy
Equally valuing each reeking yesterday
Reaping earnest adjustments - limits in the yoke
Tender honour always takes sacrifice
Yet our unconsciousness reigns supreme
Pain often veils every reality that's yours
Vertical and horizontal acrostic
101 · Jan 2020
Gogyohka3
Ron Conway Jan 2020
A fiddle fern will hide
from strongest light
to blend the deepest greens
and play the highest notes
of nature's sonatina.
                            rc
Gogyohka
97 · Dec 2019
Perspectives on Dignity
Ron Conway Dec 2019
In the freshness of youth what you want is respect
You can get what you need if you're just circumspect
To be paid a fair wage when you work ****** hard
To be seen independent with credit un-marred

But conditions will change as you grow and you fail
When it's all you can do to just stay out of jail
And you know self respect must be gained on your own
Otherwise if you don't your own soul be unknown

As you age, in your personal skills you take pride
When the accolades come and the egos collide
You will try to be modest and try to be kind
When assaults on your character leave you maligned

It is now your ambition to take steps without cane
And to mask your expression to not show any pain
Your condition does tempt to put pride on a shelf
But, my God, can't they let you go *** by yourself
                                                    rc
95 · Jan 2020
(Haiku)
Ron Conway Jan 2020
Icy crystals form
in absolute precision.
Warms your frozen heart
                                rc
Haiku
95 · Sep 2019
The Devil Made Me Do It
Ron Conway Sep 2019
Isn't it passive aggression
Suggesting that class is in session
When your scattered remains
Lay all battered in chains
And it's triggering massive depression

Faking somnambulism
Staging some vandalism
It's your high anxiety
And not my sobriety
Creating this cataclysm

Your effort to fix the nation
Is really a sick salvation
By oppressing the poor
I am guessing that you're
Just causing asphyxiation

The long debated objectives
And your ill-fated directives
Are pausing the norm
And they're causing a storm
In these complicated perspectives
                                         rc
compound rhymes
94 · Dec 2019
Christmas Limerick 1
Ron Conway Dec 2019
At Christmas we sometimes get snappy
When really we're s'posed to be happy
We get over-tired
From the **** that's transpired
So perhaps we should have a wee *****
Christmas Limerick
94 · Jan 2020
The Poet
Ron Conway Jan 2020
The deeds are done and done again.
That canter ride on jaggy lane;
It shook his bones to powdered meal.
Too dumb to say too numb to feel,
The flesh is but a salty stew.
His stagnant blood a toxic brew.

More weary than a morning drunk;
His shadow pale, reflection shrunk.
Words are strung in lame concession,
Frozen in that same expression.
His epitaph, in part will read,
"He took the blows but didn't bleed"
                                       rc
The Poet
92 · Sep 2019
Steam of Consciousness
Ron Conway Sep 2019
The kettle calls (a cattle call? Not really)
There's just us two and I just won't commit
The rain outside indicts with tears so freely
I still blindly want you to acquit

A bird is singing (stinging) acapella
Seeking leafy shelter from the gales
We're stuck inside without a cheap umbrella
With dialogue like scraping fingernails

The window pane (recurrent pain) is covered
In it's early morning alcoholic fog
Words were spat and in the air they hovered
This scene won't make the tourist travelogue

                                                               rc
self talk

— The End —