"offshoots" poems
Charity starts at home don't we say?
Be kind to your kith and kin come what may.
A family's not only your safe haven
Tis pals your very own roots
Water these shoots with love devoid of hate
So they bear you sweeter fruits.
Maybe you'd say that's not so easy
but perhaps that's coz you just too busy
Or your clock just don't chime
for quality family time?
For if you can't make time for a letter or a hug
Then let my poem give your conscience a gentle tug.
And if this may sound like a very preachy homily
Deserves much more mention and affection the family
If you can make time for so many other things
some of them not even worthwhile
Try discover the happiness family brings
Just a tad modify that routine lifestyle.
My words in crystal clear clarity
sing compassion is likewise a charity
Charity need not be for strangers only
Find out who needs help in kindred and family
Ties of kinship severe not
Value the relations you've got
Your siblings, cousins from your family tree
and all else that you call family.
What supports and buttresses your family tree are your very own roots
And what keeps the tree living on are your beloved offshoots
Love and regard is quintessential to reaping sweeter fruits
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
A few ways exist
Where green growth
can destroy what was
If large tree grows near
Cutting it down will ..
Definitely do what it does
But the shattering thump
When that plan is used is...
Ow! we ended up with trump
And a beautiful tree now dead
When we randomly destroy
There's no correcting a path
There's just all in ..no fold
Or with neglect what was
Can be insidiously done in
By the green growth of mold
But go ahead and lump all
Together left and right as 1
Not seeking any offshoots
Because the best method
To contol the destruction
Sit in shade , encourage growth guiding the offshoot
To become those mighty roots
That's how you save the tree ,stay cool , deny the insidious parasites growth
And then .....you can
with strong roots and decent Foundation have a stable structure
and ...
something to build on.
Or you can just burn it all down
letting Anarchy prevail
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
the stories of women you write sonnets upon , or the ones on caricatures
i consume.
they're all fiction to me.
for the women i know are all looking out the window, wandering into endless abyss.
or waiting on tiptoes - to be tied down
in the bonds of 'holy' matrimony.
when they were young,
living on dictums of
father and brothers was an
unspoken, but frequently
enforced trend.
now no longer lean saplings, (who could be stomped upon with ease)
but sprawling, majestic trees
with branches chartering territories
that remain forbidden for the tree.
their offshoots
are sheared (for they can't be crushed with ease)
in the name of honour.
to ebb out all the figments of
rebellion, the tree
might hold in it's gamut.
still tamed in the garden,
a new gardener comes in place.
a slightly younger one, who
comes with his own tenets.
restraining her with a
strap, in the name of modesty.
he satiates himself by strangling
last shreds of revolt
her father couldn't slay.
the woman is caged in bars of shame,
all in the name of honour.
yet again.
why is it that the women i know only lessen with age?
but the men smirk upon,only inflating their slyness. as the years grow on them.
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 6:12 AM UTC
All I could think of was to shut you up
Smudge your perfect red lipstick
And forget
For once
About our private hell
And the weight of time
Hanging in the gut of us all
Fireworks scolded in your brilliance
Each one a spec k of observation
Amongst a sea of eyes with no limit
Fragments of no time
Infinity was the glance across the table
After our fourth drink
By the sixth we were bringing in the new year
In a fitful, sleepless night
Of stimulant drinks
And cheap spirits
I have been living as a ghost
For several years now
The ashtray is overflowing
In the wake of one thousand tongues
Spilling their way needlessly into mine
Whatever is left
After a lifetime of travel with no destination
Failed treatments and one thousand breathless
Attempts at barely living
Is yours
Whatever is left
Once you are done tending to the offshoots
And slicing each tendon from the bone
Is mine to keep
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
.symbol
A child traces animal ghosts on a cave
wall Left
pictures we had before
our memories and youth
were in them
.family
We dig down Trees in primordial
dirt Left
hidden as roots-- a Dad our Moms
found still loving us diverging
green offshoots
The furrowed brow on an infant's
face Left
impressions within a big sister's
emerging intelligence the natural
heir
to an ancient
matriarchy Left
here full of media streams
saturated with siblings
nieces and cousins
.network
Will social constructs
connections Left
on neural networks firing
locally across our communal souls
be remembered?
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
bah bah black sheep... ok... the black sheep knuckled you to sleep
and now you’re asking for directions using a map and not a satellite navigation
across europe, esp. tremendous in germany near dortmund
and the rhine cities getting confused... but that’s no reason
to drive with ease from new jersey to florida with a glum pickers' pride
en route... i can play the ‘i spy with my little’ game into midnight passing me and spare myself inventive optics -
like shadow like hallucination in consistency, both flimsy,
i can recognise the real filth from packaged recyclables
from the orient.
well there’s that and there’s old russell the schizoid affective
outside tesco drinking a bottle of old speckled hen
and talking about snowfalls... 3 / 4 years ago last time i spotted
saint clause... i slipped and imagined myself breaking a knee...
didn’t happen... what happened was was a clearer truth:
why this fake image stimulant... i cant’ watch the stars
but have to subconsciously watch candy crush?
it’s **** i want the days within the insignia of war,
i don’t want my subconscious patented with candy crush,
i want the stars to remain... better an autocrat than a technocrat...
at least a human face... adolf touchy-feely,
here we go...
i imagine all those rivers of heraclitus concerning a coordinate
known as a waterfall... and post-humous exactness expressing peace...
then i spot picasso on the roof outside my bedroom window...
i support his elevation through evangelicalism from halo to angels wings...
you know what the three wise babylonians said...
you scared them to egypt you idiot announcing reign of the ditto,
you scared them them with myrrh, melchior you’re already close to malachi,
that will do... look at it... it’s babylonian already...
it’s a babylon of orthodox christianity (greek / russian), catholicism,
protestantism, baptists, pantheists and other offshoots
like being mormon!
well you can never make an omelette by the dozen involved
without asking the thirteenth egg: chicken or egg first? crucifix?! oh.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
He oozes oil
down to his fingertips
his winning smile
devouring your hips
he’ll spread his seed anywhere
creates offshoots, he doesn’t care
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
You are my forgiveness. My long lost way out of this eternal labyrinth of suffering. I have never let someone grow so close to my heart before you.
I have never let anyone hurt me so deeply before you did.
And I certainly never forgave anyone for hurting me like that.
Before you.
You are my forgiveness.
You opened my eyes to the fact that just because I was hurt, doesn’t mean you did it to hurt me.
You never wanted to do that but that didn’t change that you thought what you were doing was right.
We still argue about it sometimes.
But you are my forgiveness.
Just because I know that that hurt was deep
and real
more real than any hurt I have received since was little more than an infant
doesn’t mean that I have to hold it against you
or against myself
I love you eternally.
Growing apart for us doesn’t have to be inevitable
Maturing and changing
Becoming more of who life is shaping us to be
That doesn’t mean that our closeness still isn’t meant to be
If I do nothing else great with my life
nothing of import or worthy of notice
I will go to my grave with the satisfaction of knowing that I did not let my relationships follow the pattern of societal acceptance.
I will hold on to people I have known forever, for loyalties sake.
For love’s sake.
I will never stop loving you, or them, so why should I let the warmth between us die just because friendships don’t “usually” last that long?
When I’m 30, I want you to call me old and laugh.
When you’re 40, I’m going to dye your hair completely grey instead of back to black.
When you finally have those little offshoots called children, they will call me auntie and I will let them name any kittens my hoard of cats is likely to have
When I finally pop a few out, you will be their stern uncle, that warns them against the flighty ways of their ever errant mother
Telling them stories of drunken nights and bad decisions
Scaring them with almost too many details about who we both used to be
Our matching pair of German Shepherds and our almost identical college diplomas will always remind us of where we came from and how far we’ve come down
The road out of the labyrinth.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
i couldn't help
but do it--
gently take
offshoots and
cry, hidden between
sanctuaries
over the lilacs
i'd forgotten
how truly sweet
i am, not cloying--
imperceptible until
close, i am tired
of forgetting who
i am i shouldn't have to
be reminded of something
that is inherently me
like the lilacs off the
road, I am angry but
that is not a stone-cold
truth, I am not going
to meet with them years
from now and say i am still the same
because I will not
I will bloom like I have said before
and will say again, I am struggling
and lost-- I can feel it in extraordinarily
deep ways but I cannot cry over lilacs
and be
as cold
as they
say.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC
Fathers, like the trunk
Of every single tree
Are the strength
For each family
They take the weight
Of branching out
And keep each branch
Anchored throughout
Although their leaves
May wilt and fall
They stand *****
Supporting all
So as each branch
Grows its offshoots
They know they came
From Fathers roots
BOEMS BY JA 401
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
In the middle of the night
I share this poem with you
What do you know
what do you see of me?
A few patches of black
carved in the white of a screen
a few sad words trying to soothe
what is left of me
I live secluded in an apartment
downtown of a half a million souls' city
founded by the Atlantic ocean
I live a cosy and quiet life
sometimes going out to feed myself
and breathe the lousy air of town
Me and my few friends gather once every week
to share a drink
to exchange meaningless thoughts
and useless ideas
around the fate of man
the hopeless prospect of our destiny
We are bachelors around forty
We were born wild and hard
offshoots of the oddest
long gone sycamores
rooted in the most infertile soils
We used to read powerful litterature
Nietzsche, Kafka, Broch,
Joyce, Balzac, Beckett,
Shakespeare, Goethe and Bernhard
to name a few
But none of them has ever helped us out
to find a heart to love
and a pristine soul to care for
All the books we read
have tormented us
with many questions and relentless issues
Now we sit still in our chairs
and watch the clouds go by
hoping for the next blue sky
hoping for the next feeling to come
And never do we ask when...
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
A/The/My Way (redone)
I never knew I had a ‘way’.
And still it shows up day by day
Laws but felt, themes unmeant;
Through sudden fountains of content;
Through many offshoots but one road,
No signposts to direct or goad.
Still it is:
A kiss of fate though non-insistent,
Usually
An accident and serendipitous.
And because, and just because it is a whisper
I’ve no choice
But to
Tune into
And obey,
Swaying to its hinted push,
The glint of pressure
Nothing but a pure, faint sureness
And a pleasure.
Minutes past I ate three plastic plates of pasta.
Forgive this frilly, dilly of a joke.
I can be such a silly yokel
With punch/pun-ny lines that hit my funny bone(s).
Now I sit with pen in hand
On my verandah, in the wind,
Thankful for not understanding
Karma’s muted law un-grand,
Inscrutable but suitable
To me alone - one on her own
Within the actions and concerns.
A/The/My Way 8.6.2017
Pure Nakedness; Revelations Big & Small; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II;
Arlene Corwin
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 7:12 AM UTC
Whispering air
In moonlit night
Stars up there
Twinkling bright
Rustling leaves
In eerie silence
Tall green trees
Huddling dense
Branches daring
To touch the sky
The stars luring
To reach the high
But the old roots
Deep and down
Keep the shoots
Firm to ground...
My thinking heart
Does sympathise
Men who depart
Severing old ties
The uprooted roots
Silently cry
As their offshoots
Reach the sky
The old cannot forsake
Their comfort in hut
The young cannot take
Them out of the rut
Moonlight follows
To console the pain
In the deep hollows
Of the hearts' terrain....
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 11:35 PM UTC
A/The/My Way
I never knew I had a ‘way’.
And still it shows up da by day
Laws but felt, themes unmeant;
Through sudden fountains of content;
Through many offshoots but one road,
No signposts to direct or goad.
Still it is:
A kiss of fate though non-insistent,
Usually
An accident and serendipitous.
And because, and just because it is a whisper
I’ve no choice
But to
Tune into
And obey,
Swaying to its hinted push,
The glint of pressure
Nothing but a pure, faint sureness
And a pleasure.
----------
Minutes past I ate three plastic plates of pasta.
(a pun-ny lie, but funny)
Now I sit with pen in hand
On my verandah, in the wind,
Thankful for not understanding
Karma’s muted law un-grand,
Inscrutable but suitable
To me alone,
One on her own
Within the schemes and actions of concern.
A/The/My Way 8.6.2017
Pure Nakedness; Revelations Big & Small;
Arlene Corwin
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 10:40 AM UTC