#compose
<6:30 AM. Sun May 28 2023>
An internal clock stirs within,
a full fledged conscious conscience rings in,
like a silent alarm at a bank being robbed.
Various devices inform, each with a
different measurement cup/stick, that I,
have slept exactly seven hours which,
pleases, as I am queried,
How do you feel?
Fully refreshed!
my choice today,
most apropos,
for now awake, I begin to:
compose myself.
In the ordinary, is the where that
I have oft found poetry,
not to mention love and other good things,
walk the house, north to south, east to west,
under weakish, not really high in the sky,
sun rays break thru the tree cover and create
a checkerboard of light and dark patches
for children to play upon, if any were/where here.
All seemingly is well.
The rabbits beneath us,
are sleeping in,
because after all,
it is Sunday.
But I digress; composition implies order, form,
even malice aforethought, so as an artist,
knowing the world is yet extant,
and I, yet am in one piece(s),
make coffee for two,
humming an old tune of similar ilk,
re tea
But every human has some master,
and mine the machine!
Want coffee? Hah!
Empty the grounds!
Not enough.
Now, Refill the Tank!
What! More?
Fill the beans!
Suffice! Relent!
I am human, you machine, and I demand coffee.
At last, the impolite machine, that knows not ‘please’ nor
‘thank you,’ nary its native ‘your welcome’ in its native Swissie Deutsche (Keine Ursache!). All very Swiss, and businesslike,
doth relent, making a very fine cup of coffee.
I shall not trouble you with various side trips,
that though common to all humankind, but
provoke two sister thoughts in quick succession.
A modified abbreviated prayer:
Dear Lord, Yo! You have brought me to
the beginning of a new day,. Thanks a lot!
I skip over this remainder part, my excuse?
Too many words!
(“As the world is renewed fresh and clean, so I ask You to renew my heart with Your strength and purpose. Forgive me the errors of yesterday and bless me to walk closer in Your way today.”)
The other thought, a reciprocal to my gratitude.
*Why in hell do our bodies age, ache, snap & crackle, Buddy?
perhaps a revision of this policy is in order, Would it upset
some vast eternal plan if my body never tolled my years
in lines of degeneration, waves of visible and invisible erosion,
or at least make coffee a magical, healing restorative elixir?*
Nope.
The usual sneering silence of just be happy you’re alive
etc., etc., etc. and etc.
Don’t think I am asking for too much. just a little tinkering…
More to write, but I chastise myself with:
Too many words!
Leave off here, though my misadventures
and adventures too, yield up inspirational
hymns galore, and batches of familiar plaints,
that is my inalienable human right to express
to nobody else, in particular,
But you.
For in so many ways, we journey together
though our paths, locales, and courses are
so vastly different, in my mind, we are together,
in the here and now, and in the forever future,
we must continue to share and share alike,
our words….
May 28, 2023
May 28, 2023 at 10:50 AM UTC
take my pen.
write your own conclusion.
~
take my pen.
scribble your own miseries.
~
take my pen.
jot your own formalities.
~
take my pen.
scrawl your own elegy.
~
take my pen.
compose your own poetry.
~
take my pen
scribing is no use for me.
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 1:24 AM UTC
My fingers fly
across the keys
trying to compose
my thoughts to please
For you, my dear,
my lovely Wife
The woman I chose
to call my Wife.
My heart is yours
to have and to hold
forever dear,
as we grow old.
I Love You.
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 12:01 AM UTC
Compose with me here
Lyrics oozing honey
Enchanted sweetly words
All light and sunny, stars and moon;
Orchestrate with me here
Winds tinged harmony
Melody and tune, heard
All along the fields gold of noon;
Sing with me here
This love song we wrote
That we keep writing on
Come lows and highs the notes
Together - in duet.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
One in the know drops a line,
there was no A B C to spell,
yet it keeps spreading.
An animated lingua
wraps round the eyeline.
All those that get wind of it
arise and keep counting.
Without a beginning or an end,
For it has no 1 or 9,
not a mark nor a sign.
Speechless, breathless me,
turn to mine, the one,
superior turned-on mind.
And it appeared true,
true to that credible nature
that identifies indeed
the 'name' of the composer!
Meanwhile, a bird of time.
A giant spell takes no time,
eases off in a blink of eye.
I start to breathe,
begin to revive, again in my
native countryside:
some clay-bumps on the river.
I can cry, smile, now I
can shed tears.
Rhyme on the river.
What's in a river?
'Lores of time immemorial,
an open heart on the move!'
Is there anyone out there
'tapped into the running cycle of water,
following the rhyme on the river'?
One in the know drops a line,
there was no A B C to spell,
yet it keeps spreading.
An animated lingua
wraps round the eyeline.
All those that get wind of it
arise and keep counting.
Without a beginning or an end,
For it has no 1 or 9,
not a mark nor a sign.
Speechless, breathless me,
turn to mine, the one,
superior turned-on mind.
And it appeared true,
true to that credible nature
that identifies indeed
the 'name' of the composer!
Meanwhile, a bird of time.
A giant spell takes no time,
eases off in a blink of eye.
I start to breathe,
begin to revive, again in my
native countryside:
some clay-bumps on the river.
I can cry, smile, now I
can shed tears.
Rhyme on the river.
What's in a river?
'Lores of time immemorial,
an open heart on the move!'
Is there anyone out there
'tapped into the running cycle of water,
following the rhyme on the river'?
One in the know drops a line,
there was no A B C to spell,
yet it keeps spreading.
An animated lingua
wraps round the eyeline.
All those that get wind of it
arise and keep counting.
Without a beginning or an end,
For it has no 1 or 9,
not a mark nor a sign.
Speechless, breathless me,
turn to mine, the one,
superior turned-on mind.
And it appeared true,
true to that credible nature
that identifies indeed
the 'name' of the composer!
Meanwhile, a bird of time.
A giant spell takes no time,
eases off in a blink of eye.
I start to breathe,
begin to revive, again in my
native countryside:
some clay-bumps on the river.
I can cry, smile, now I
can shed tears.
Rhyme on the river.
What's in a river?
'Lores of time immemorial,
an open heart on the move!'
Is there anyone out there
'tapped into the running cycle of water,
following the rhyme on the river'?
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 9:40 PM UTC
How it hurts to know, to see
that I won't ever have the words flow, like you, through me.
My sentence structure, lacking
thoughts toss upon the sea, the sail we're tacking.
There is no passion to my words,
just novice, vice sent to up to the birds.
My strong desire, though, is meek
to dance with words until my hand grows weak.
Please be patient whilst I learn,
to write, to feel this wistful nocturne.
-t.s.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
To write, or not to write
that is the question,
as I stand at pedestal of my oak desk.
The moments fine to take the plunge.
To scribe, or not to scribe
that is the question,
as deep breath grounds my poet's heart.
The moments grand for starting new.
To scrawl or not to scrawl,
that is the question,
as fantasies grow inside dreams.
The moment is lined with adventures.
To compose, oh to compose
is the answer,
as energies of heart leads on,
and manuscript-like boat floats gracefully.
Floats to be christened
inside waves for a lyrical birth.
Floats, to be christened
inside waves for a lyrical birth.
StarBG © 2017
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC
I carry an umbrella again
and find gigs to play
when soon my adherent of veracity
does connect mood with a thread
here her snooty wish now verbosity
and fill nights with vicissitude
that can still cling to virtual attitude
with a quasar if I can compose near
as a constellation tout direct ties there
though multitudes from clouds of authenticity
and ridden with adversity only good as Columbus
while a homespun manicure of bliss
will stiffen stations with thine air
and stake canvass in this future sound.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
You can not see because of the light
It is way to bright
Let the darkness soothe your sight
Relaxe, stop your fight
Let the darkness end your blight
Welcome in the coming night
Make you forget the worlds snakebite
That left you feeling so contrite
In the darkness your fears you can smite
Let the darkness left you upright
Find your wings and take flight
Then you will be able to indite
And sing through the skys like a meteorite
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
*They asked me to compose a song
A song that would express my feelings
Feelings of love, hate, happy, or sad
I have finished it for a day
Only to see your name
On the white sheet of paper*
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 6:44 AM UTC
To indite or
not
to indite;
there's really
no question.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
An unintelligible verse,
Is worse than a curse.
A badly worded rhyme,
is a literary crime.
Instead of rhyming ‘bird',
With a word like curd,
Some people are plain absurd,
And will use lacquered.
Poetry is emotion,
Expressed through lines,
Not word commotion,
Going off like mines.
The rules of grammar,
Have to be in place.
So please don't anger,
The grammarian populace,
By confusing their and there,
And misusing you're and your,
And using any word anywhere,
And thinking your poetry is pure.
Big words make not a poet,
Hyperboles won't add to the meaning,
So when you poeticise please know it,
Short stanzas are more appealing.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
sometimes i compose
so many poems i think
i bleed them out; some
days i believe the ******
poetry nestled in my veins
are all that's left of
me.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC