The levels of loneliness of a poet of longevity
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The levels of loneliness of a poet of longevity.
Have I been there today ? But it’s easy to be.
Ever heard the expression “ idle hands n devil”

Loneliness fills the empty void if you are idle
Expanding loneliness to fill that barren space
Virtual reality I know that’s not the answer
Ever watched the kids these days at play ?
Levels of loneliness expand within availability
See when spare time gathers you start to feel

Occasionally being reminded of those bygones
Friends and family you’ll not see again is real.

Let that not bring you down, try meditation.
Only then can you believe you are in control
Not giving yourself time to be at all maudlin
Each day loneliness can be kept at bay.
Loneliness is a dull sloth that can be tamed
In not letting things get to you in any way.
Not giving up to the inevitability of old age.
Even if bits keep falling off your body ev’y day
Stoop n build ‘em up again with worn fingers
So many times in life you seem to hit the rocks

Oh yes I know ,you say , “ tell me how you feel”
Feelings ? Well I’m pretty sure you’ll fill y’socks

Anyway , they all can see that you’re still real

Poets are a very special breed of person.
On a scale of one to ten I guess a nine.
Experience fills their minds to overflowing
To the point where they’ll burst or put it right

On that occasion best sit an’ write a poem
Friends can then receive it straight overnight

Love each friend you have “Without condition”
Only then can see that friendship is alright
Nothing ventured,nothing gained , a fine ideal.
God granted us the sacred power to choose
Ethereal guides stand there in our background
Vicissitudinous opportunity presents itself.
I as a poet and friend  I know this to be true.
True as the nose upon a happy poets face.
Yours is the life , yours the opportunity anew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
November 18th 2018.

I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                         An Acrostic.
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily.

And I ask with a willing heart ; May I contribute
Perhaps if I list at least five without obligation
Poetry is the first gift that I today can attribute
Rhyming line after line in our poetry Legation .
Easy when you’re under the spell of your Muse
Clever to add value n share gifts to the World
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily.
Another gift that I see is the love everlasting
Today and everyday so unconditionally
Earth Angels guide me always keep romancing

Treat others as you would be treated.Tenderly.
Home’s where a heart is n your jig for dancing
Eternal everlasting friends best to practice on.

Can you appreciate all the comforts you have.
Only me for one, I do yes I do . For God I’m one
Memory is the next comfort that I cherish of all
For it serves me well and as far as I recall
On occasions ,I talk remembering to pause
Reacting to the other persons conversations
The secret is not to talk at one ,be mutual.
So tell me can you really appreciate your gifts

God needs you not to attend church to praise
Oh these days Gods spirit is environmental
Dedicated to you by his will and your intention

God you carry with you and that is inspiring
Remember to thank him for your gift of rhyme
And know it really doesn’t matter at all t’rhyme
Now do you appreciate the gifts of comfort
The command of the English language a plus
See the words that you accumulate daily.

Making three words fit where you should one
Especially on a poem with a syllable count

Dear poets ,that is a true gift of God’s spirit
And let no man (or woman ) tell you otherwise
I appreciate the comforts God grants me daily.
Let me say the number is beyond limitless.  
You can read my words n challenge if you will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
November 17th 2018.

She loves the music more than words,
While I'm caught up in sentences,
The nouns and verbs obliquely heard,
The slanting lines of innocence,
Too often at the end of nerves
To have our tongues make any sense,
With nothing more than broken words.
Mistakes are human, I've been told,
Forgiveness from a greater soul.

She says the songs don't sing her name,
And poetry has scant appeal.
She sings.  I write.  We're not the same.
And yet our kisses make a seal.
With time gone south and winter near,
I  wish your legs, your lips were here.

Why is it that petals fall from the rose,
Leaving only thorns upon the stem?
And why do lilies bend low to the ground?
It's so out of character for them

Well, roses know when love has deceived,
The petals they let fall are their tears;
Strangely, flowers can sense love's fickle ways,
In their own way, they vent mortal fears

And when lilies are seen bending their heads,
You can be sure they're in deep despair;
Love has once again shattered someone's heart,
Setting dreams adrift on sullied air

But Love will not be held accountable,
A free spirit -- thus it must remain,
Bringing unbelievable happiness,
Or rendering unbearable pain

And so I just glue the petals back on,
(The rose thinks my tears are morning's dew);
While I run a wire through the lily's stem,
I lift its head, and say "This love is true"

O, I'm aware such folly has its price --
Pretense stains life in a somber hue;
But when Love dons a dark, deceitful robe,
Just what is a broken heart to do?

So I start each day with my hope renewed,
Yet, anticipating old sorrow;
Full well I know as long as this life lasts,
A new love will find me tomorrow

And my life goes on - it's a brand new day,
Another rose is starting to bloom,
As I wait for petals to fall -- and they will,
I'll plant more lilies -- just in case -- if there's room

Awake soon my muse and joyful rise.
You are loved , don’t be surprised .
This is a love that you have never
known before .
And it shall open all those doors.
To Xanadu and many more.
I am to be your North and South,
Your East and West
Your eyes your mouth
The poetry you inspire today
Will serve us well along the way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
For his clever Muse.
November 17th 2018.

Poem Ref 027

We had better to talk in metaphors
————————————————
We had better to talk in metaphors
Every time we open our mouths to speak

Have you thought , how it’s misinterpreted ?
As the listener you pass it to your brain n then
Depending upon your intellect or vocabulary

Between bull sh** or beautiful prose
Everybody gets to talk in metaphors
Tongue twisting Twitter patient trash
Time and time again it’s so misunderstood
Each dull mind resorts to that freeking F word
Rather than the composition of a good reply

Then we’d best to talk in metaphors.
Only then does it season verbal prose.

Talking in metaphors displays an active mind.
Active mind negates the essential need entire
Like a good metaphor can be twisted in a fight
Knocking arguments,do you know what I mean

If you talk in metaphors you have a chance
Not only winning an argument but saving face

Metaphors have been around for many years
Eventually loosing their initial meaning.
To shoot that messenger or be in the hot seat
An eye for an eye or a tooth for a tooth satisfy
Procrastinating has become a thief of our time
Holidays all around the world Perfect Paradise
Only we had better talk in metaphors for life
Really it guilds the lily of the English language
So step up to the plates  ,friends , give it a try
—————————————————
Written by Philip. 26/9/18.

Everything is poetry and  poetry is everything.
I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~l

Everything is poetry and poetry is everything.
Variegated and multicoloured rich rhyming
Every line a rich tapestry of finest work.
Rhyming refulgent words brilliantly shining
Y-chromosomes with male characteristics
The male poems less feminine than the female
How do you tell the gender of a rampant poem
In everything is poetry and poetry is everything
Naughty poems are food and drink to youths
God fearing Catholic Poems are ubiquitous

In praise of God these poems are school fed.
Sunday schools singing their hearts in praise.

Prayers set to the music of the mighty *****.
Oh the Victorian poets were the masters of it.
Everything is poetry and poetry is everything .
The modern poets have lost the art of praise
Redemptions are hard achieved in gods name
Yet more poetry written on a toilet wall.

As six mumf ago they cuddent even spel poet
Now by Jove they are one. Hallelujah.
Desuetude books of self published remainders

Poetry being all things n all things being poetry
Osmosis of a dilution of simple talent lost.
Epistemological studies of poetic knowledge
******* in blue ribbons in chronological order
Rarely seeing the light of day on a dusty shelf
Years on a collection of dead poets published

In everything is poetry and poetry is everything
Sagas of eponymous hero’s before a nation

Escalading castle walls to rescue fair maidens
Vexatious poetry going nowhere but hanging
Every stanza a cliff-hanging story of old.
Refineries built to recycle old poems for new
You know everything is poetry as I have stated
There is not so much on web-sites ever seen
Hundreds of poems viewed n little critique
It gets brushed over with a simple thumbs up
Now next time you wonder ...Can I inspire. ?
Gainsay with gusto the death of the verse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip.
November 16th 2018.