If blessedness is a choice,
who chooses to be accursed?

What need for God,
since we bless ourselves;
by the strength of our arms,
and the cunning of our wits;
but that they remain
strong and sharp even with age,
and that our store houses,
are not burned down or robbed,
and that Evil be kept far from us.

Job was blessed of God.
Evil touched him to his bones,
His storehouses burnt down,
His sons and daughters massacred.
Wishing death rather than life,
but enough life and fear remain,
to know torment, pain and suffering,
and to question agonizingly without answers;
accused falsely by unwise friends,
who spoke the wind as if its wisdom;
and to live days without end in sight.

We bless ourselves
as we count blessings:
Beholden to the flesh,
its desires and fears.
As the blind,
content not to fall,
but destined to fly
and see the unseen
and be the unimaginable.

And you were staring at the joker instead of the queen,
With dashing good looks and a wit yet unseen,
The card was way simpler, alas -
Just listen me carefully, ****.

With brain yet so big but so drained,
You won’t able get my ordain.
With ears but yet deaf and so loud,
You will fall like rain from a cloud.

The higher you are - the more painful the fall,
Don’t climb without rope, you will pay risky tall.
What you cannot chew and try to just swallow -
Means that your spine is simply straight hollow.

With narrow, but self-absorbed mind,
I offer to you my resign.
Acceptance of your helpless ego,
Will only cause people vertigo.

In moments of my life
I lie, I do admit.
I try and guard my heart
with my rancor and my wit.

In moments of my life
I gave a piece of myself,
for nothing in turn.
There's always another woman
for whom a man's heart will yearn.

In moments of my life
I doubt I will have a one and all;
one who understands me
when I cut and when I crawl.

In moments of my life
I try and run from my fate.
Yet as I've found,
with growing dread,
I'm already too late.

Birds of a feather,
Not unlike me,
Love fine weather
(When it’s pouring tea).
Manners, wine and dining, too.
Mantis, llama, kangaroo.

Overmade, they do make over.
Things so brittle like the rover
Sent to Mars, the Milky Way,
Bounty, sneaky in its way.

Inbetwixt the words they utter,
They choose bread over the butter.
Frying French and grilling Jerry,
Jamming jars of juicy berry.

Duty-bound, they bound off duty.
Flock together! Fly, my beauties!
Plumes all owned. And not one borrowed.
Standing still amidst the horror…

Jokes aside, and folly ousted,
Peace preferred to putrid bloodshed,
They, like me, are hard to find…
Seems, at last, I’ve lost my mind!

Ronnie couldn’t talk
And be rhymless at all.
He could barely walk,
I'm pretty sure he'd fall,
Unless he was rhyming.
He said to me, “You see
The thing is with me
It all has to do with timing.

The cadence when I walk
Become words I hear,
The beat when someone talks
Makes a poem in my ear,
Then the rhyming begins
And seems to make good sense.
The words like magic appear
Poetic possibilities immense.”

All of the time I knew him
It seemed to be the truth
He rhymed almost constantly
From his very verbal youth.
He was like a Hallmark card
Sometimes saying pithy things
That fit the moment exactly
And had that ***** ring.

But other times his utterances
Were acerbic and very witty.
When it came to sarcastic tilt
He was the Mayor of Snark City.
Or he could rhyme endearingly
And paint pictures with his words
Saying some of the nicest things
That were ever put into words.

Yes, he was Rhyming Ronnie,
A poem for any current thought.
You couldn’t stump him even once.
At least not that I ever caught.
Ryan was amazing for sure
And some found it rather vexing.
But oh boy in the internet age
It came in handy when texting!

Hi
[How high is it?]

I’m not exactly sure—how tall are you?
[I’m about as tall as I’ll ever be—one day soon, I’ll probably start shrinking. I’ve heard that happens when you get older.]

Well...
[Well, you say? How deep is it?]

It’s hard to tell, since I never used it for water.
[Deep wells are best—why I still remember the drought of ‘34 and all the trips we made to the neighbor’s well after ours dried up.]

I’m sure those were quite the days, but how are you today?
[Today? Today I do as I please...so long as I’m pleased to do as I’m suppos’d to.]

That sounds like a good strategy.
[Thanks. You’re welcome to adopt it—I won’t even charge you for it.]

How generous of you. Thanks. You have a good day now, ok?
[I hope to, because every day above ground is a good day.]

i can't stop thinking about you
why?
what is it about you
that leaves this lingering effect?
i don’t want this
i keep dreaming of you
its always the same.
and sometimes i get aroused
at just the sound of your name
in my dreams you are chaos,
always unfurling in your beauty.
you are indescribable to me
for words are just letters working together to be beautiful, and you are more beautiful than any group of words can ever hope to be
in my dreams you drench me knee deep
in your wit and soundness
you fill my head with such tender words.
i wish i could let you know how much
i love to watch you sparkle in wisdom.
how can i explain to you
that when i feel myself awake
i try not to blink an eye
so that i could live off your touch
for the rest of my life.
as crazy as it sounds,
not even in my dreams
have i ever dreamt
of a girl as perfect as you
and though i continue to dream in fear
i think we both know
i have secretly loved you for so many years