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Joy in your life
Does not follow wealth
Or fame
Or even ambition

Joy in your life
Follows purpose and meaning
Friends and family
Incremental progress

When you feel disconnected
From Joy in your life
Reach out to another
And connect again

Connect with laughter
Connect with play
Connect with gratitude
Connect with focus
Connect with service
Connect with forgiveness

These will light the fire
For joy in your life
And joy will remain
Your constant companion
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my Mom has a website, and I help her keep it up and create and link new content.  I was working on her "Joy" page and pondering about what creates joy in our life.

Check it out and see if you agree.  This poem is actually prose, since it's one of the very few that doesn't rhyme at all.  

For me, the things that bring joy into my life are so simple, and you can choose to act today to bring more joy into your life.  Amazingly, these choices and actions will also bring joy to others.  So share this poem freely and let's impact the world for good!
carvermon Feb 2021
A billion dollars I have gathered
That’s the billionaire’s way
The bit that I’ve earned
a tiny fraction of that
(only so many hours in a day)
Instead of hard work
I work around rules
that once described the way
that one who worked hard
spending effort and hours
could secure that hard day’s worth of pay

Many have struggled
to build the wealth I’ve now juggled
into shelters and holdings and banks
I could carelessly burn it
‘cause I didn’t earn it
But those who did,
I guess,
deserve thanks
Ken Pepiton Feb 2021
sides in position
self imposturing, pre sep
paration, settling scores and bounds
separation
church from state… wait

what are these

things? Words? Or mental wisps
inter
daring done to render due
to whom due, honor or otherwise reknown.

Heroic words. I've uttered some,
imagining all boys did,
singing with their dad's, to Queen,
we
are the champions
of the world, we pretend, to the end, then

we fall away… or they
fall away … the anthems in the ballparks,
oh,
say. can you see… we are the cops,
we are the redcoats and the brown shirts
and the cavalry and the real estate speculators,

slipping my grip, the idea of me, citizen-soldier,
come limping home from the edge
of baseball,
where futbol over laps ancestral lessons
in rendering unto the owner rents ……….

How old is old?
Ask a child, for old men never
learn the bounds, or
if they do, I can't say,
there seem no theys I fit just right.

I
balance _ or I lie /I\ am lifted leaning lost.
…………..

Salt, salaried man,
spending time in reading strange sayings
as if
we
know there is meaning found some times,
we think.
we mentalate, cogitate, take a tic

to stop
and think
a gain or a loss, more sense or less, inessence
or essential point

in time? See? Say what you see? Squiggle wiggle
vermicule breeeze, or
whispy vapour
rising
above or diving into a period,
a point
in time to see ifery vanish in wasery wonder iffing
whatsitmatter,
any way.

We lived past that. Now, we make sense……..

Radical is root-related, as well as
edge
related… out on the edge of known
a
self awareness wonders at my existing
outside the inside
as seen on TV
via AI guides through the explosion of knowns

I am anonymous.
There is a canyon near my home
the sign says it is the canyon with no name.
The map says it is a slot-like canyon, with no name.

Thingery thinking in terms of lines and letters letting
all we knew
blow into the winding times told of in tales too tedious
to
recall
with Howard Bloom level detail. {he is unique}
He touches me, do I not touch back? The curio knows.

How sharp the edge of a point stretched from

the mind that could see the wind whip a spark to life.

Sense when nonsense seems the fashion, the way
forms fashion fasteners around axes,
facistical twigs and vines

something says this is missed as a message,
this ax bound in sticks,
I dare, I do, I ask what was the meaning of this,
and
while we're on my dime, what's with the wings
on the Phrygian cap,

I mean,
what was the artificer's source of inspiration, like
why is liberty always a lady
wearing fashion far up the ladder of learned things,
what is the trick
that
feminine wile, legendary lure, curious art, enchanting
c'mon
one bite.

That idea, boing, stretched so tight it threatens ever
if it
breaks once, just
once

the attention span…

An encrustation sensation overwhelms me,
I'm thinking
I know
I know
I know
nothing so important that it could not wait to be said
by you, reader/writer being ready
read on

words to the wise are plenty,
these who say we know bread, they say leave the leaven.

:they said leave it in Egypt:

But who knows how?
Sour dough is sour dough, y'knows, it don't cook with no bubbles,
no,
dough rises in a backpack tied to an ***, crossing the red sea,
near that place where
National Geographic got that image of a golden chariot wheel,
reminiscent of the drowned army,
or was that
not true?

Do you believe AI knows? I mean, does your believing matter?
Ask who knows what and you learn, the memory we share
holds answers to questions you are afraid to ask.
………….

One in 8 billion, those are the current odds,
taken to scale, with man, all varieties and models,
augmented intellectuals allowed,
the measure,
of all things…
but
two's a crowd.
Social distance morphic resonance,

send me money, I am drowning in debt…
do I doubt?
Don't you, what if… somebody is going to win,
I think I can.

Ha, Wattie Piper, child hood infection exposed
too soon  to
W. Clement Stone, do it now

selah, right word right time, just before
I lose my mind

na na na na
--------------

Is the universe friendly,
does it matter if we know or if we agree?
It is,
I say.

I made my bet, I go with the goodness aspect
of knowledge,
truth itself, yes, the idea, real, the whole

enchilada.
Good is never evil. That is a true story rule,
you can bet on it,
because life isn't fair.

Think no evil, see no evil. My side won.
My weapons are not mortal, I know.
Once fooled, once ready,
I know
the trick is knowing good enough to know
the difference,
by now. We are mostly post-

original disconnection beans being removed
at birth,
with that little blue **** thingy,
nigh on universal by 1948,

super bloom, that was the year, the pollen way,
say,
hey, see this singer singing home song long song
so
far away, way way way away
hey

---- dancing dust motes seen in sun ---
A scratched itch, if nothing more.
Chad Young Feb 2021
Sometimes silence has little use.
The "made white" ghost even feels silence a burden.

Sirens call "them" to me.
Wicked Caucasians here mostly.
Is it circumstance that calls my back to be straight?
Poor Caucasians drunk, violent, mischievous, or in possession.
Why do we do it?
Are we fed up with the powers of the world, so we lash out against what we see is their society?
Is it really a lack of gratitude for the wisdom that the hand of God has dealt?
For we are all equal/united in wealth, for God's wealth is in the possession of the poor and God's destitution is in the possession of the material wealthy.
But if ignorant of this unity, or in doubt of it, who can help one in rebellion against God?
For those who we think are more powerful, really abide by the "unity of station" where no one is exalted above another. For exaltation and righteousness is expressed in apparent abasement and wickedness.
For many an outer bad deed has hidden an inner good deed.
Can we not be agreed?
Disturbed silence
When tired give it a rest, don't be too harsh on yourself.
You will get things done in time, never sacrifice your health.
Health is wealth.
Tyler Matthew Dec 2020
"America I've given you all and now I'm nothing."

Nothing.
An empty chair in town hall.
A piano with no white keys.
An asterisk in the legislation, if I'm lucky.
I ate your bread,
attended your circuses,
burned my bridges for promises you made.
I remember I saved four-thousand dollars
after college and believed I had foresight.
You burned it all before me
and then pierced my eye with your sword of justice,
placed me on the scales and found that
all your wealth weighs more than I do.
The American Dream!
Yet, how am I to dream if I cannot see?
And do you feel heavy?
No, I don't believe you do.
You have your patriots to prop you up when you begin to slouch.
And good on them for being more blind than I am,
or good on them for otherwise.
But that is not the American dream, is it?
I think not, but then again, who am I?
After "America" by Allen Ginsberg.
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