#collins
So long ago was the wonder turned to real by the Eagle flying by.
A child in awe I watched that miracle outside of Earth's blue sky.
In grainy black and white the world united in an up turned gaze.
To dream a unified dream for all, in those long ago heroic days.
A dream for all of mankind and your words they called it so.
Joint in belief of great achievement of how far our species could go.
You carried the heroes of a decade that paved a road up to that day.
You caught the minds of others and set new heroes on their way.
There was Mike and Buzz and you and yet others there would be.
Who would follow that first footstep that you left upon the sea.
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 9:32 PM UTC
Cloud 9
Force ten
Apollo 11
I'm high in the sky
Driven like the wind
But walking on the moon
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 6:31 AM UTC
I've become a lazy reader,
dismissive and curmudgeony too.
Magazines or books? Not magazines--
Magazine readers are a different species.
So books it is. Let me take inventory:
Nonfiction. Sorry, just the occasional science book.
General fiction lost the war for my attention--
Do real people really have so many feelings?
So often and so detailed?
So I read genre fiction.
But bang, bang adventure has become tiresome--
after all how many times and ways can you shoot/stab/blow up/car chase?
Likewise, there are books that seem spend pages and pages describing clothes.
Even though Chaucer also spent many words describing clothes,
his best lines were about bare ***** hanging out a window.
All my favorite characters are now old, Harry Bosch, George Smiley.
To my regret, the Wall falling and the Cold War ending almost wiped out the thoughtful spy story.
Science fiction, a previous favorite, took a goofy turn awhile ago, and I’m done with it.
Let's see: fantasy now seems written for teenage vampire-witch wannabes. Just flutter away.
What's left? I think it's only Detective stories and Poetry.
I'm pulling for Harry Bosch and Billy Collins at 90, and, God bless him, John Le Carre.
Nov 28, 2019
Nov 28, 2019 at 6:33 AM UTC
They pretend to be your brother/sister, but at your back they are a dusty gold digger,
They published your character in daily news, used you as a broken tools,
They paint you in history with their fake and bitter stories,
They chew your bones with lies all day, think that your life will becomes muddy someday,
They blackmail you, told everyone that you ain't real, that your life is a mess, used you as copy and paste,
They drew you with their nasty routine and broken pencil, and used their spicy spite as the eraser,
They looks beautiful on the outside, but inside, there heart leaks with sores,
In your presence, they hail you like king or queen,
In your absence, they murdered your attitude and behave like they are so good,
So called friends,
You find them in church, wove in sheep clothing,
So called friends,
You find them in school, dark aches in the midst of white aches,
So called friends,
They are here, they are there, they are everywhere
Direct copy of the devil, there hands are full of evil and always caught in the act of trouble,
Shine your eyes!!
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 9:14 PM UTC
A poem by Billy Collins always seems to have a twist, some humor or a pun waiting to make you chuckle or stop and wonder while holding your chin.
But now, I’m not surprised by his slights of poetic hand. He has tipped his hat one too many times.
Too many winks.
One can only enjoy a twist so many times.
What would really surprise me is not a poem about jazz that is really a poem about death, or some stanza about a Bird in the winter snow (but really about a distant mother or an Ornette Coleman song or a high school sweetheart)...
What would really stop me in my tracks is
A few simple words
A haiku or prose, a
Moment for its own sake.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 11:23 AM UTC
Misconducts
I have pow ,should I say it's power
The law of attraction
Do not put my mind off the role of spirituality
when my heart is cloudy in pains of the afternoon
I couldn't be happier than a bird
Due to the missing piece of color and sound
Above the sky
Everybird has its place
You can not be a mockingbird and grow to be an eagle
You can only be born an eagle But the nature of humanity Is very important and not rigid.
You can be born a handicap or a disable person
But you can still be a very important person to your generation .
I am even and you are odd
But you can plus and multiple us to get a figure
So do not be shy of whom you are
Because you are a bird or generally an animal.
Even if you are an animal.
What kind ,will you be.
Cat, dog , tiger or lion
It's funny,when someone preteach us to be a bird due to The circumstances of life
I will be optimistic about you and your personality Because it's definitely worth it..
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 5:59 AM UTC
The reason of your smiles
Is to be loved by me
Bad moments could change your face says
The wrong part of lights
But you kept your right smiles.
Now , you could lay your head on me
Because,I am here
Even when the lights goes dark
Like the sun lost its way by the footsteps
Of a unknown man with one foot, as try to take you away from my love
As the agony of your pains
Keep me smiling at my difficult times,
I replied
Love is power which you know
We still loved each other
As the birds Love the color of the skies.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
With a smile
Many could do thysame
As an unforgiven cry's and pain
That ran through our vain in Eve'ry minutes by minutes
Hour by hours,
Day by days ,
Week by weeks ,
Month by months , year by years
And at the end of a result
We all smiles
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
My RAIN DROP
AS FAR FROM MY HEART
I SEARCH FOR YOU
IN THE DEPTHS OF YOUR LOVE
I WAIT FOR YOU
YOU ADDED A DROP INTO MY HANDS AND ITS HARVEST MY HEART
THE MORE, I SEARCH FOR YOU
THE MORE, YOU SWING INTO MY HEART;OUT OF CONTROL
AM WITHOUT THIRSTY
AND AM WITHOUT RANGE
RANGE IN TIME BUT YOUR RAIN ALWAYS REACH MY CLAIMS
I SET OUT FOR YOUR LOVE
ONLY TO FIND YOUR LOVE , GROWING INSIDE MY HEART AS A BRIDGE ACROSS MY WALLS
WHAT MANNER OF CREATURE ,ARE YOU
THE SOUND OF A THOUSANDS LAUGHTER "IN MY HEART"
AM NOT SHY OF YOUR TERROR IN THE LAND
AS FOR ME , YOUR UNSTABLE SOUNDS CALL FOR US TO LOVE MORE AND MORE
EVEN, WHEN YOU STOP FALLING, YOUR RAIN BROUGHTOUT BRIGHT LIGHT INTO MY EYE'S
THE LITTLE SOUNDS AS YOU FADE AWAY FROM RANGE IS LIKE A RIVER FLOWS WITHIN ME
YOUR LOVE AS WASH ME CLEAN AND YOUR TERROR AS FOUND ME TERSE
YOUR LOVE IS MY RAINDROP.
FB:Timon Timonlibrarynigeria.
Em@il:[email protected]
☎:+2348160963957
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 10:44 PM UTC
When Simon was born,
He had a rare syndrome,
The Treacher Colin one.
It included missing ears,
And condescending from it,
Were the missing years.
But he had his luck shining,
He met Vicky on sign language classes,
That he attended as he is challenged.
Even though Simon can not hear,
He heard Vicky's heart beat for him,
And both of them had a baby.
Unluckily, the baby has TCS as well,
But we must take time to appreciate,
Time & love the parents dedicate.
They named the daughter Alice,
So beautiful and healthy she is,
For Simon's burning wounds she is the ice.
Especially Simon Moore is careful,
Careful that his daughter is happy,
So she doesn't get the missing years,
A tough road lies ahead with missing ears.
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
**The cracks in your story are illuminated within reason
And your truths are so transparent
Even I can see beyond the void
And past the screen you hold up to hide behind
Sunsets have no need to hide beauty
Nature basks in truth
It is only mere man that wanders aimlessly
Wanting a place where his truth is hidden
Come I beg
Drown me in your desire for a life less meaningless
Oh how I desire it more my friend
And how the sunsets beauty no longer sets me free from my suffering
Souls scream
Hearts are fragmented, crumbled and left to scatter on the breeze
Your scars are unique
And I my friend will trace with my finger tip along each one
Like a dot to dot
And you will show me your truths
You have tried to stay hidden
But I'm sorry you have failed
There are a few
We are special
We are unique
Maybe we are your scars made into reality
Maybe we are your madness running wild
Write a story of unburdened love
Create an art piece
Before it crumbles
What was it that you desired?
Who were you portraying before you lost self to the breeze?
You may like to believe my friend that transparency does not exist
That your not made of glass
That you will not break
But break we must at the end of every day
So that tomorrow in sunrise the sharp edges may morph and surrender
Once more hiding within
The man excapes into the sunrise too fearful
And yet does not realise
The truth before his own eyes***
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 2:01 PM UTC
How quiet it must have been
for you, Michael Collins...
How calm it must have seemed
for you, Michael Collins...
How tranquil you must have felt
up there alone
with no one on the radio,
except for you, Michael Collins...
Doing something no one had done
with no one around to see
because you were in a place no one had been
with no way to share what you saw
because even radios fail that far away from home.
But not you, Michael Collins...
How dark was it in there
with not even the sun to guide your way?
How still was the air
with not even the wind to make a sound?
How many times did you ask yourself,
Michael Collins,
if you would ever see home again?
How many times did you think to yourself,
Michael Collins,
that you might not ever again
see the faces you remember?
On that clearest night,
did the stars not seem brighter than before?
Upon coming into the sun again,
did you,
Michael Collins,
not feel lighter than before?
It must have been strangely startling
to have been startled by that strange crackle
coming from the radio.
For another human voice to sound so foreign
yours must have been a lie.
How did it feel leaving that void,
Michael Collins,
and crashing back into existence?
How soon did it feel,
to you, Michael Collins,
that your feet were back on the ground?
I imagine you must miss that silence.
...
I imagine you must
from time to time
walk far far away
and look at the stars.
I would ask you one question if I could,
Michael Collin,
on the clearest night
when you look up into that darkness
have the stars ever been brighter than before?
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 1:51 AM UTC