"blunder" poems
I met her once
a little, blind girl
who had let me
inside her wonderful world.
Yes, she couldn't see,
the girl with eyes bright.
Yet, she loved her world
like she never lost her sight.
She heard the music
of the breeze that blew.
The love for her world,
it only grew.
She acquainted me with
that music she heard,
from the buzz of the bees
to the chirping of the birds.
Yes, she couldn't see
the wonders of life.
Yet, she smiled
without a sign of strife.
She had beautiful eyes
filled with wonder.
I stood speechless and thought
how could God make such a blunder?
She danced and sang
with a graceful twirl.
How she loved her life
the little, blind girl.
She smiled and laughed,
her face filled with joy.
With wonder in her eyes,
she was serene, yet coy.
She felt her world
beneath her tiny fingers
and on me left a mark
that would forever linger.
Yes, she couldn't see
the life that she felt.
Yet, she never showed
the sorrow that she dealt.
Her world was dark.
Yet, she saw
the Earth's true form
pure and raw.
Yes, she let me in.
But I couldn't overstay.
So, I excused myself politely
and quietly walked away.
I had met her once
a little girl who couldn't see.
Yes, she was a child
but the happiest there could ever be
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
When the nut was plentiful, when the nut was tender.
Because I’m passing from the nut I go outside to clear my mind, but I see a nut tree, I see nuts of every kind.
I begin to wonder, if passing from the nut is a blunder.
Shall I just go crazy? Shall I release the thunder?
But oh-no, I made a bet that I could resist the nut; and I am not a baller, so you’d best believe, I ain’t paying that ten dollar.
A week left for my journey, for the nut I am yearning.
The nut will not bug me, for I am not a Rolly-Polly, thereafter I am a man, the nut will not control me.
December comes blooming, blooming like a daisy, so you’d best believe, your boy’s going crazy.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 4:09 PM UTC
Could it have troubled Pandora’s mind,
On learning where Hope springs -
At the base of her box she chanced to find
The cruellest devil with angel’s wings?
To foresee it seep into our veins -
Leave us to blunder and fall,
Cause mankind monumental pains,
And make a mockery of us all.
As the drowning heretic looks to the skies -
Before a wave knocks him to his demise
Into an absurd and uncaring ocean.
Somewhere a poet quietly smarts
The excess love from her swollen heart
And on a page whispers her devotion.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC
1099
My Cocoon tightens—Colors tease—
I’m feeling for the Air—
A dim capacity for Wings
Demeans the Dress I wear—
A power of Butterfly must be—
The Aptitude to fly
Meadows of Majesty implies
And easy Sweeps of Sky—
So I must baffle at the Hint
And cipher at the Sign
And make much blunder, if at least
I take the clue divine—
8.7k
Only when efforts are taken
Defeats can be easily broken
When mind suffers from fear
It opens the gate for tear
By indulging in self-pity
We may blunder in duty
When we are too much afraid
We lose even from God aid
God wants us to be brave
Then only He can save
Boldly enter into the bout
Let hope finely sprout out
Just by making up mind
A way one can surely find
Honest efforts fetch glory
Hard-work brings victory
Never think pessimistically
Ponder over practically
It is very easy to soon retreat
But, success refuses its treat
Courageous steps achieve
So a bold plan, try to weave
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Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 12:10 PM UTC
A special gift lies on the wind
for each man who dares the blunder
Then rolls the dice to pay the price
to both touch and feel this wonder
As then one finds the reason why
that has thus far been so hidden
Endless the loads that walk life’s roads
with the fear that was unbidden
Therein lies the conundrum
which we know our hearts to command
Now it will be for us to see
how well the ship of life be manned
Our lives have no greater calling
then to comfort a poor child’s tears
Truth shows clearer through the mirror
for he who shares these hopes and fears
But oh the sounds of fatherhood
how narre they touch to the heart
Laughter and tears pour from the years
for each of us who play his part
Tate
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
One misstep,
an ill placed footfall,
the single clumsy blunder,
can ruin even the most graceful
trips.
The mortal enemy of canvas
is the day the sun doesn’t shine.
The day the sky sheds its grey onto earth.
Whether rain or snow,
it doesn’t matter much.
One misstep,
and cold hearted canvas
absorbs the error you’d like to erase.
Mistakes fade,
but will always be remembered
by your cold, wet socks,
and the cold-hearted canvas.
Sep 15, 2010
Sep 15, 2010 at 11:16 AM UTC
Identifying this domain, naming it life,
Thinking am I the main, just hiding in disguise,
Exploring the world gaining in size,
Singing endless stories to my side,
Working for the day when answer will become one,
Myriad possibilities are there to come,
Questioning is this the one or someone else has to hum,
The dreams becoming reality,
when life will be calling and acceptance will come.
All will fathom one and one will fathom all.
A journey will welcome a journey in rise.
One will start understanding the blunder,
And never will the veracity of a dream be in plunder,
A proliferating uncovering will arise,
And Sapiens will ask Is this world suffice?
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
Funny men in tall chef hats
Marching about so wildly
Stone soup and humble pie
Main course and dessert delight
Give me a dose
And that girl two
Vanity, her dream come true
Narcissistic uncaring and cold
A mid-evil blunder
So daring and bold
Spoiled brats
And rotting Brauts
Sugared too sweet
Not telling the truth
The gossip
And all
The Court jester
The village idiot
He sinks to the bottom
She cheers to the top
It's amazing the wonder
The high school scene
The many things
That relate to its sheen
The short stout bakers
Making profit from weakness
Some goods so smooth
Some just the opposite
The geeks and nerds
Hackers and slackers
Jocks with jerseys
And rebels with rock
Serve up course two and three
Let's make it a festival
Just you and me
Vanity and sheen
Were just getting started
This is high school
This mid-evil concert
For four years we live it
A new melody
A new song
It's not the end
But the struggle
Is on.
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 1:04 AM UTC
once in my sanctuary
it came in a loud gallop
followed by a wallop
my sorrowful lumbar
detaching the fear
of a clumsy blunder
shifted away from
the law of physics
an emptied vessel unmoved
like a sealed vacuum
certain a final curtain
pin drop in code of silence
light time alliances
whooshing me into
ethereal plains
a sublime hemisphere
of infinitesimal space, time
an indescribable beyond
gentle breezes
feathery light teases
soon a star-gazing eyes
darted through a
zero gravity galaxy of an
endless empyrean expanse
a’turnin spherical sight
orange white stripes
rosely red spot
churning roiling clouds
speckled dusty rings
what beauteous it shrouds
why am I here
a knowing voice appeared
melodically close but I
can only behold afar
of an ethereally existential
interstellar manifold
questioning mind
told of convoluted ways
as seen and heard
the rhymes and seasons but
for one and the only reason
mankind's whisper'd words
entrance to the portal
as did my dawned immortal
met a peaceful assembly
I lay in days, this rapturous gifts
what divine effulgence of
a truly cosmic lift
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
A special gift lies on the wind
for each man who dares the blunder
Then rolls the dice to pay the price
to both touch and feel this wonder
As then one finds the reason why
that has thus far been so hidden
Endless the loads that walk life’s roads
with the fear that was unbidden
Therein lies the conundrum
which we know our hearts to command
Now it will be for us to see
how well the ship of life be manned
Our lives have no greater calling
then to comfort a poor child’s tears
Truth shows clearer through the mirror
for he who shares these hopes and fears
But oh the sounds of fatherhood
how narre they touch to the heart
Laughter and tears pour from the years
for each of us who play his part
Tate
Original version with music
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/664153/
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
Indeed
It was a breakup,
‘Cuz I was only for “necking her up”,
‘Cuz I was “dead from neck up”,
Loving her was my greatest blunder,
‘Cuz she played a ***** heart plunder,
Now when I see her
Soft heartbeats become loud thunder,
Hey peeps,
She left me
For other cove,
She theft me
In name of love,
Then
I kept her
In my mind’s blocklist,
Why heft her
Meaningless memories,
Easy say
Hard in action
But I needed a “whole soul checkup”,
Indeed
It was a breakup…..
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 7:10 AM UTC
In keeping their head
Above water
The wise draw
A quick lesson
From others' blunder,
While the fool
With a deaf eye
To many a wrong turn
Their life squander!
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
Thousands of electric pulses
scattered in confusing patterns.
Imagination convulses,
tattered, mind under matter.
Enveloped by space and time,
pardoned by neither,
eloped by both.
Pacing.
Shooting from the hip,
mind's eye is blind fire,
pawing through the labyrinth,
waiting for the shift.
Hopeless.
Blunder.
Shocks.
Over.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
To a Louse
by Robert Burns
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hey! Where're you going, you crawling hair-fly?
Your impudence protects you, barely;
I can only say that you swagger rarely
Over gauze and lace.
Though faith! I fear you dine but sparely
In such a place.
You ugly, creeping, blasted wonder,
Detested, shunned by both saint and sinner,
How dare you set your feet upon her—
So fine a lady!
Go somewhere else to seek your dinner
On some poor body.
Off! around some beggar's temple shamble:
There you may creep, and sprawl, and scramble,
With other kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Where horn nor bone never dare unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now hold you there! You're out of sight,
Below the folderols, snug and tight;
No, faith just yet! You'll not be right,
Till you've got on it:
The very topmost, towering height
Of miss's bonnet.
My word! right bold you root, contrary,
As plump and gray as any gooseberry.
Oh, for some rank, mercurial resin,
Or dread red poison;
I'd give you such a hearty dose, flea,
It'd dress your noggin!
I wouldn't be surprised to spy
You on some housewife's flannel tie:
Or maybe on some ragged boy's
Pale undervest;
But Miss's finest bonnet! Fie!
How dare you jest?
Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And lash your lovely braids abroad!
You hardly know what cursed speed
The creature's making!
Those winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice-taking!
O would some Power with vision teach us
To see ourselves as others see us!
It would from many a blunder free us,
And foolish notions:
What airs in dress and carriage would leave us,
And even devotion!
One Sunday while sitting behind a young lady in church, Robert Burns noticed a louse roaming through the bows and ribbons of her bonnet. The poem "To a Louse" resulted from his observations. The poor woman had no idea that she would be the subject of one of Burns' best poems about how we see ourselves, compared to how other people see us at our worst moments. Keywords/Tags: Robert Burns, louse, church, bonnet, lace, Scotland, Scots, dialect, translation
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 5:26 AM UTC
Open your mind to wonder.
Don't close it with belief.
For the spell it puts you under makes it difficult to leave.
The road to self deception, paved with preconceived conception, makes an evolutionary blunder that much harder to believe.
But in the natural ways we suffer and the things we have achieved, I don't think we should be misplaced -- mistaking all things as perceived.
And the self-redeeming peace that lives in uttered pleas for buttered ease -- like praying for forgiveness for the feeling of appease.
Or kneeling-bound to beg facedown for children with a sickness.
(Although prayer doesn't prove to cure disease or wickedness, it seems.)
So if you ever get a chance to wander and start to see the world with wonder, don't let it slip into neglect.
Nor impose upon another what you chose when you were younger.
Don't abuse your self-respect.
Instead, just seek to be free
and find the wonder in-between.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
Revolving in oval loops of solar speed,
Couched in cauls of clay as in holy robes,
Dead men render love and war no heed,
Lulled in the ample womb of the full-tilt globe.
No spiritual Caesars are these dead;
They want no proud paternal kingdom come;
And when at last they blunder into bed
World-wrecked, they seek only oblivion.
Rolled round with goodly loam and cradled deep,
These bone shanks will not wake immaculate
To trumpet-toppling dawn of doomstruck day :
They loll forever in colossal sleep;
Nor can God's stern, shocked angels cry them up
From their fond, final, infamous decay.
3.8k
Victuals for intellectuals:
be quasi and prototypical,
not pseudo or ritual.
Feel shame and wonder.
Don’t blunder in the shallow muck,
shovel to your knees and look under.
Do not track linear paths:
Think sideways, backwards,
upside down, exist laterally.
Accept contradictory truths:
they are not just possible
they are inevitable.
If you haven’t found one
in your search, keep your
head down and eyes open.
Be new to avoid ennui, and
let no truth chip your tooth.
Be quiet, not stupid,
be rarely edible and
hoarse from spirit.
Be invisible, not loud,
be a hoax until
you are undeniable.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY’S BONNET AT CHURCH
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!
Your impudence protects you sairly:
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho’ faith, I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.
Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunned by saunt an’ sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her,
Sae fine a lady!
*** somewhere else and seek your dinner,
On some poor body.
Swith, in some beggar’s haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle
Wi’ ither kindred, jumpin cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn or bane ne’er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.
Now haud ye there, ye’re out o’ sight,
Below the fatt’rels, snug an’ tight;
Na faith ye yet! ye’ll no be right
Till ye’ve got on it,
The vera tapmost, towering height
O’ Miss’s bonnet.
My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an’ grey as onie grozet:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I’d gie ye sic a hearty dose o’t,
*** dress your droddum!
I *** na been surprised to spy
You on an auld wife’s flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On’s wyliecoat;
But Miss’s fine Lunardi!—fie!
How daur ye do’t?
O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An’ set your beauties a’ abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie’s makin!
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!
O, *** some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It *** frae monie a blunder free us
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait *** lea’e us,
And ev’n Devotion!
3.6k
Evening was in the wood, louring with storm.
A time of drought had ****** the weedy pool
And baked the channels; birds had done with song.
Thirst was a dream of fountains in the moon,
Or willow-music blown across the water
Leisurely sliding on by weir and mill.
Uneasy was the man who wandered, brooding,
His face a little whiter than the dusk.
A drone of sultry wings flicker'd in his head.
The end of sunset burning thro' the boughs
Died in a smear of red; exhausted hours
Cumber'd, and ugly sorrows hemmed him in.
He thought: 'Somewhere there's thunder,' as he strove
To shake off dread; he dared not look behind him,
But stood, the sweat of horror on his face.
He blunder'd down a path, trampling on thistles,
In sudden race to leave the ghostly trees.
And: 'Soon I'll be in open fields,' he thought,
And half remembered starlight on the meadows,
Scent of mown grass and voices of tired men,
Fading along the field-paths; home and sleep
And cool-swept upland spaces, whispering leaves,
And far off the long churring night-jar's note.
But something in the wood, trying to daunt him,
Led him confused in circles through the thicket.
He was forgetting his old wretched folly,
And freedom was his need; his throat was choking.
Barbed brambles gripped and clawed him round his legs,
And he floundered over snags and hidden stumps.
Mumbling: 'I will get out! I must get out!'
Butting and thrusting up the baffling gloom,
Pausing to listen in a space 'twixt thorns,
He peers around with peering, frantic eyes.
An evil creature in the twilight looping,
Flapped blindly in his face. Beating it off,
He screeched in terror, and straightway something clambered
Heavily from an oak, and dropped, bent double,
To shamble at him zigzag, squat and *******
Headlong he charges down the wood, and falls
With roaring brain--agony--the snap't spark--
And blots of green and purple in his eyes.
Then the slow fingers groping on his neck,
And at his heart the strangling clasp of death.
3.6k
Blue is not sure where to find the propeller.
The motor boat sent to scotch the shimmer. The waves
break inside a jar, and the little pieces are swept up by the wind and made into mist.
The Jar is shaken, the titanic sinks,
and the seagulls peck at our eyes.
Covered in barnacles, the new-found fish men
wander onto the sand and get coated,
as in cornmeal,
ready to fry.
Infatuated and floundering
they wander
to water again.
Drinking death hand over fist,
they ring themselves out with simply a twist.
The fish flap their fins so forcefully;
trying to
be flying to
a sea called the sky.
With a crumbled-ed crust they say, “motherboat or bust”,
but the navigation of aviation is a compilation of great frustration
for fishes whose function
is on boats, wrapped up
in those silly greatcoats.
Yet they made it, or so they claim, and with only one flounder or flunder who had made a blunder to blame.
If only old skipper had been a bit quicker, he wouldn't have had such a queer story to claim.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
It is one more night.
There is no light when you
Come in to do the things you do
Things that I don’t want to.
I don’t mean to taunt you
To encourage you to touch,
To touch my secret parts.
That makes me feel *****
You say I act flirty and that’s why,
But it makes me cry.
I wish you won’t want to play
This awful game again today
That you will go play it
With Mommy.
Maybe she likes it.
I already know I won’t.
Daddy, please don’t.
Don’t get on your knees
Beside my bed and touch my head
And tell me I am pretty like a girl.
It makes my head whirl with fear.
You tell me no tears, keep quiet
And I try it, but it never works
When you **** down my unders
And I feel your fingers blunder
All around on me.
And inside me.
It’s nasty.
Daddy, please don’t do it.
I knew it was wrong the first time
And I know I’m the reason
And you say you are pleasing me
And you mean it lovingly
But it is hurting me inside.
That’s why I always cried
Even though it made you mad
I couldn’t help myself, Daddy
It hurt so badly, and you didn’t care.
You told me not to dare to tell
Or I would go to hell.
That I was a bad little boy.
You didn’t have to tell me
Because nobody will help me.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Tired of living in a false paradise of consumption,
suffering everyday our labored prostitution,
trade in your hours for a handful of scraps,
smile while your master puts the cigar out on your back,
this is the workers symphony,
aching joints, aching psyche,
smothered in whiskey to **** the pain,
our autonomous freedom we'll never regain,
slave till you die, laugh till it hurts, your meaning in life, to merely survive,
collect your checks week after week, creative minds stomped out, just smile and drink,
be a good slave except your fate,
it's just the way it is boy get back in your place,
we gravel in dispair, they spit in our face,
we waste our lives away,
on our hands and knees but we just smile and drink,
thinking about breaking these chains,
it's punishable by law,
authority laughs when you die slow for your keep,
with your eyes wide shut,
don't wake your slumber,
it's all a bad dream,
just go back to sleep,
and forget life's blunder
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
Silly humans, why can't they see,
The web I weave so carefully?
How will my children ever eat
If they don't control their clumsy feet?
Why can't they see as they walk?
So wrapped up in their silly talks,
Into my precious web they go,
With their loud squaks and bellows!
They scare my children half to death
Why can't they be quiet instead?
No respect for the home they destroyed;
In fact they leave feeling annoyed!
So self righteous these humans are
With that attitude, they won't get far.
Surely evolution will wipe them out!
All they do is shriek and shout.
There they go into my web again
The one I rebuild with such care and pain,
Not a thought given to my efforts!
This selfish race really should suffer!
I'm outraged by this behaviour
Oh other insects, please be my saviour!
They squash and trample us all the time
I'll give them a piece of my mind!!
Friends, there's strength in numbers
Their underestimation is their blunder
Slowly, I'll let my evil plans unfurl
Soon, the cockroaches and I will take over the world!
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
What I mean by bad is not good.
Trust me, what I mean by bad-it's not good.
Into every discernible instance-
we split them up by seconds-
I fell, serendipitously.
No one had ever made a mistake
so gracefully.
There is a trick to this.
*Steph,
hey Steph,
you better
bear my blunder now.
Steph,
hey Steph,
you better
call your cardinal
because my counts are no show now.
Steph,
hey Steph,
I just heard a ****** story,
hurry, I'm freaking,
I'm seeking you out.
Steph,
hey Steph,
I better
come
pick up
those sunflowers
I left in your bed now.*
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC