"senseless" poems
One day my brother and I walked the path to the Mango Tree
I was so happy to go see my friend the mango tree.
How ever my brother was not…
“What’s so great about a stupid ol’ mango tree it’s never done anything for me!”
“SHH!” I said scornfully “She has feelings too, and she has done much for you. She has given us her fruit to fill our bellies and shade for free.”
But my brother didn’t listen to me,
He stubbornly went and kicked the tree repeatedly.
And yelled “Mango Trees do NOT have feelings!”
The tree shook violently and out from under it’s leaves dropped a bright green mango SMACK right on my brothers head and he fell dead.
Another juicy plump mango dropped at my feet like the Mango Tree was thanking me.
I picked it up and sat beside my senseless brother by the Mango Tree while devouring my mango and enjoying the silent scenery.
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
Trade,Globalization,Terrorism and Corruption
What's the difference?
Each of us look at the world with open eyes yet with closed minds.
We see the structures of society right before us
yet we can do nothing to alter its existence
Marxism, Liberalism, Elitism, lenses that see a point but not the whole picture
The age of politics is over, the market comes to be our master
I know some might argue over me in this, but hear me out still.
The world we live in is like a senseless commodity
Our natural resources is taken every day
To create excess cars, excess food, excess everything
The surplus is too much that its overflowing with decay
Another thing is war,
A place where precious lives are seen to be walking bags of meat.
The preach for violence that could've created peace, and for what ?
To protect the free world? where the rich sit in high places
and some of us pushed down to supply their greed
Globalization is a license, a license to what?
A license to **** a license to invade other states
without the use of soldiers to force out our will
We become docile as people in their wake and companies are laughing as we speak.
These corrupt figures ,conflict is their business, opportunity and peace is their excuse.
Human integration is what they say and offer, for a better society they say.
But look at us now, where is the promise of a future in the world today?
The world terrorizes me, terrorizes the people who are willing to see
and if I am in terror, what makes the system different from the loud bombs we hear when they explode.
They only made ways to make the killings silent and the experience more traumatic.
I'm sorry if globalization is a bad thing for me, but living in our country, globalization harms before it can give
it takes before we can receive.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 12:20 PM UTC
.
He liked to gather up the silence in the springtime
Pack it up and carry it in an old timeworn leather rucksack
From a distance it looked like he was a senseless fool
Picking up handfuls of nothing; then putting it in an empty jar
No mind is paid to the fleeting glance in the corner of a stranger's eyes
They were out of reach from the box he was living in
He kept gathering up the endless silence like missing pieces of a lost soul
It seemed to be everywhere ― and in it heard, the only voice he knew
Supposing all his thoughts pondered come forth of silence
Often resting sheltered beneath branches where it grew on the trees ―
It wasn't just the songbird that broke the stillness in dappled sunlight
It was the dearth of love that rivers through a strong heartbeat’s
silenced words ...
Jesse Stillwater
04 May 2018
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 10:58 AM UTC
The form in which we live our lives
Breeds in the midst of demon hives.
For dogs do bark in senseless fright
At shadows lurking in the night,
And souls shiver at that unseen;
Cathartic reasons not to dream.
Voices whisper ideas, faux truths,
That knowledge has no valid use.
And when we hear, we do obey
The voice that blocks the light of day.
Lamplight dances against cave walls
And childlike wonder slowly falls.
Pavlov shakes his head in sadness,
For we, indeed, are his madness.
And Plato weeps within his cage
For all his truths leave him in rage.
Is all that we can ever see
Vague words that tell us not to be?
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
we live in times when words have lost their meaning
they only serve to fill some soundbite gaps between
faces of popstars, politicians, presidential candidates,
maybe some refugees, victims of crimes and natural catastrophes
and more sensational media creations flooding our lives
with unrelenting hype unless you push the button
that brings quiet to your life and you find time to reconsider
what it might be exactly you desire to achieve
in the short time we are allotted in this world
you will discover it is not the senseless media blather
but some coherent thoughts turned into words becoming deeds
enacting change leading to bold decisions
think for yourself and don’t let others think for you
then speak your thoughts in words like others cannot do
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 5:53 PM UTC
small cheap rooms where you walk
down the hall to the
bathroom can seem romantic to
a young writer.
even the rejection slips are
amusing because you are sure that
you are
one of the best.
but while sitting there
looking across the room
at the portable typer
waiting for you on the table
you are really
in a sense
insane
as you wait for
one more night to arrive to sit and
type Immortal Words--but now you
just sit and think about it
on your first afternoon in a strange city.
looking over at the door you
almost
expect a beautiful woman to walk in.
being young
helps get you through
many senseless and terrible
days.
being old
does
too.
14.2k
Saved by the Sunflower
A very strong storm was arriving,
there were large black clouds coming from the east,
strong gusting turbulent winds threatening to snap everything,
severe down pouring of flooding rain,
as if the clouds were crying out in pain,
it did not seem there would be anyway to save the flower garden,
nothing could survive this unannounced exploding of nature,
this seemingly uncontrollable outburst,
something, maybe everything was going to be destroyed,
this day turned in to this night of hell,
the rain, the wind, the flashes of lightning,
this violent death would not be stopped this time,
then a small voice could barely be heard,
at first it was ignored, flicked away like a mosquito,
the voice did not give up though, once again it cried out,
once again it was ignored, brushed aside,
the voice continued gaining strength, it refused to be shut down,
the creator of the storm suddenly took a step back,
looking down to see where this voice was coming from,
it was emanating from this one lone sunflower,
it was the sunflower that had been given the name Perly,
Perly would not, could not be denied as she screamed out,
leave this garden oh evil storm, I will not except the outcome,
the outcome that you predict will never occur, we are fighters,
we will never give in to your senseless urges,
please wake up and hear my plea for sanity,
the storm started to weaken, slowly at first, but continued
gaining momentum loosing it's grip on this act of violence
until finally succumbing to this cry of desperation from
the little sunflower.
Gradually, the wind stopped blowing,
the rain stopped falling,
the sun began peaking thru the clouds.
Perly Sunflower had saved the lives of all the other flowers
in the garden, and the life of gardens caretaker.
A plaque is now erected on this spot proclaiming the
bravery of this little sunflower that would not give in,
would not accept, would not cower away.
The caretaker of the garden professes eternal gratitude
and love for this brave creature of Gods doing.
Thank you Perly sunflower
Gomer LePoet...
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
it is a sea of leaves -- a deep, bottomless, sea of leaves.
you can get lost in there, you know.
lost like an abandoned child in a city of strangers
and lost
like when you drive and drive and drive
aimlessly, mad, senseless,
when your only intent is to get lost and be lost.
but
this sea of leaves
[yes, this vast ocean of leaves on leaves on leaves]
this is myself only on the best of days.
my mind cannot and will not ever find itself.
sanity had been abandoned years before
when i came to the realization that
nothing really matters
too much.
and now i am autumn when all of the leaves fall down --
unordered, hysterical,
all of the time changing
all of the time varying
never the same as a moment before.
beautiful, but knowing
that beauty is impermanent.
soon i will be like the tree branches
when the leaves have abandoned them.
stark, empty, cold.
naked, with all of my flaws displayed to the world
[with all of my life on the ground.]
and i will still be lost.
and so incredibly lost in my mind.
lost.
so let me dive into this deep sea of leaves,
'cause lord knows it is better than being found.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
*Jis Ki Janib Woh Nazar Apni Uttha Lete Hain
Uss Ki Soyee Hui Taqdeer Jaga Dete Hain*
**Towards whom they raise their glance
His resting destiny they awaken in a trance**
*Teri Duzdeeda Nigahon Ko Dua Dete Hain
Jitne Chubte Hain Yeh Teer Utna Maza Dete Hain*
**For your peeking gazes, I pray
The more these arrows wound, the more delighted I lay**
*Jab Se Dekha Hai Unhein Apna Mujhe Hosh Nahin
Jane Kya Cheez Woh Nazroon Se Pila Dete Hain*
**Ever since them I saw, senseless I have become
What they pour from their glances, a mystery it has become**
*Takht Kya Cheez Hai Aur Laal-o-Jawahir Kya Hai
Ishq Wale To Khudai Bhi Loota Dete Hain*
**What is a throne and what are lustrous jewels?
Lovers surrender divinity against the rules**
*Aik Din Aisa Bhi Ata Hai Mohabbat Mein Zaroor
Khud Ko Ghabra Ke Naqab Apna Uttah Lete Hain*
**There is one such moment in love, indeed!
With nervousness, they raise their veil**
*Apni Barbadi Pe Khush Hoon Yeh Suna Hai Jabse
Woh Jisse Apna Samajhte Hain Mitta Dete Hain*
**Happy with my own ruin I am, ever since I have learned
Who they consider their own, obliterated have turned**
*Apne Daman Ko Zara Aap Bacha Kar Rakhna
Sakhat Aahon Se Bhi Hum Aag Laga Dete Hain*
**Your own hem a little, you save and claim
With deep sighs, we set the fire aflame**
*Jis Ki Janib Woh Nazar Apni Uttha Lete Hain
Uss Ki Soyee Hui Taqdeer Jaga Dete Hain*
**Towards whom they raise their glance
His resting destiny they awaken in a trance**
— Translated by Jamil Hussain, Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
Saved by the Sunflower
A very strong storm was arriving,
there were large black clouds coming from the east,
strong gusting turbulent winds threating to snap everything,
severe down poring of flooding rain,
as if the clouds were crying out in pain,
it did not seem there would be anyway to save the flower garden,
nothing could survive this unannounced exploding of nature,
this seemingly uncontrollable outburst,
something, maybe everything was going to be destroyed,
this day turned in to this night of hell,
the rain, the wind, the flashes of lightning,
this violent death would not be stopped this time,
then a small voice could barely be heard,
at first it was ignored, flicked away like a mosquito,
the voice did not give up though, once again it cried out,
once again it was ignored, brushed aside,
the voice continued gaining strength, it refused to be shut down,
the creator of the storm suddenly took a step back,
looking down to see where this voice was coming from,
it was emanating from this one lone sunflower,
it was the sunflower that had been given the name Perly,
Perly would not, could not be denied as she screamed out,
leave this garden oh evil storm, I will not except the outcome,
the outcome that you predict will occur, we are fighters,
we will never give in to your senseless urges,
please wake up and hear my plea for sanity,
the storm started to weaken, slowly at first, but continued
gaining momentum loosing it's grip on this act of violence
until finally secumbing to this cry of desperation from
the little sunflower. Gradually, the wind stopped blowing,
the rain stopped falling, the sun began peaking thru the clouds.
Perly Sunflower had saved the lives of all the other flowers
in the garden, and the life of gardens caretaker.
A plaque is now erected on this spot proclaiming the
bravery of this little sunflower that would not give in,
would not accept, would not cower away.
The caretaker of the garden professes eternal gratitude
and love for this brave creature of Gods doing.
Thank you Perly sunflower
Gomer LePoet..
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 9:50 PM UTC
i am so ugly, why am i ugly
i am not happening, what is happening,
still so ugly, i am trash
so minnesota, i am abstract
forget my alibi, i am so ugly
**** what im worth, i have these maggots
inside me living, morbidly filthy
deserve to live me, i am so filthy
no one has done me,
no one i am
i have these maggots, here to preserve me
i am not me, i am these maggots,
they represent me, deserve to live in me,
i am so filthy, plz just **** me
forget the feeling, i have no feeling
simple being, i am so ugly,
i feel so ugly, feeling like stealing,
i am stealing, breathless feeling
senseless beating, set fire to me
i am so ugly, so ******* filthy.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 3:21 PM UTC
Earthquake Poem
3/5/2014
What do you suppose an earthquake does?
Sure, there are the shakes and scares,
Seismic shifts accompanied by tectonic tears.
But ditch this global perspective,
Figure out what rips those ripples, detective.
Let’s see you pound at the ground.
Hit it hard, ‘til you hear a heavy sound.
Is that enough to fissure some asphalt?
Tell me, could you bring this spinning planet to a sudden halt?
I can’t say for sure, what an Earth-quake does.
Though I’ve been a victim,
Earth isn’t where my quake was.
An Earth-less earthquake,
On a planet whose name I’ve learned to forsake.
Wynn’s world wandered ‘round someone else’s orbit:
Drawn to its gravity like grapes grow on a vine;
Brightened by its solar system’s shining smile, so divine;
Emotional tides tugged in and out;
Guided by its mysterious moon’s midnight meandering about.
That’s right – an orbit with its own time flow.
Time that could stomp its heels and steal a spotlight,
Time that could manipulate a moment like jello, mayonnaise, or some other squishy substance,
Time that could crash course, while standing still,
Time that could reveal something you never knew.
What do you suppose an earthquake does?
A quake could be anything that makes you shake.
Think of quaking in fear, as an unknown figure draws near.
Think of a jittery heart, that’s been bit by a bullet.
Internal tears,
think of organs bleeding,
Think of needing,
solid ground,
but falling and time keeps stalling.
When a quiet little quiver promises to deliver,
its slight shock signal straight through the middle.
When a molten magma core fizzes its manic madness,
like a shaken soda.
When an epic eruption carries out its upward excelsior,
Rejecting the spinning without a stop.
Oh, the mountains will tumble,
The hills and valleys, they’ll crumble,
And gurgle in the raging rivers’ rumble,
As volcanoes churn out violent bubbles,
Stirring up all kinds of troubles,
For one person’s personal planet.
For one person’s personal planet,
These violent forces of nature can’t compare to an Earth-quake,
When the ground you stand on begins to break,
When you realize your senseless stability is fake.
When that little quake knocks your Earth awake,
It’s reality coming alive to take, and take, and take,
Because for love, you put everything at stake.
What do you suppose an earthquake does?
I’ll tell you – it leaves a wrecked world with a cracked core and scorched surroundings.
Just because.
Just because, love on Earth always comes with a quiet little quake.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
High up above our war-torn city,
On Snapper hills sit the old lighthouse.
For years in storms, she did her duty
Rain or shine without any kind of excuse.
High above our beautiful sandy shores,
Just like a good mother, she watches
not only over vessels but those
Who lost hopes and suffered all kinds of damages.
The light she flashes has for years,
Served as a perpetual beacon of hope
For those with bad memories and fears,
those traumatized by wars who still can't live and cope.
High above Monrovia, she stands
Watching the resilient people below
Survivors of the deadly Ebola strands
Who once refused to bow their heads low.
High above she sits, beyond the Montserrado basin.
At night her light remains the star of the city,
That has endured moaning and crying,
A city that has seen the good, the bad and the ugly.
The old lighthouse still stands there today,
directing maritime traffic at night
and flashing light over our beloved city
That for years witnessed a ****** and senseless fight.
IB-Poetry©️
2/19/2018
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 10:33 PM UTC
*Another "randyhornbag" poem for all avid fans of *******
rip off my dripping *******
and part my waiting **********
sniff my fresh-scrubbed ****
then rim me ******* senseless
taste the sweet-sour tang
of my recent defecation
force your ***** mouth-prick
past my eager sphincter
seeking to engulf me
in my ****** cum-lust
and now for our delectation
shove your huge **** up me
and fill me with your hot *****
or fist me till I scream
my ******* brains out and
then **** myself in terror
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:54 AM UTC
There are people that
Irritate me and I have
To beat them senseless
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
Christmas can be a time
when families get together:
Young children scream, wine glasses gleam,
both ready for M&S dinner.
TV's in the corner
rerunning Home Alone,
Heart radio's in the kitchen,
Chris Rea's driving home,
again.
Toddlers find the wrapping
more engaging than the Duplo
Teen couples find the company
less of interest than their own.
The dog's confused and excited
with so many different sources
of scratches and pats, he can't relax,
his whining is remorseless.
Christmas can be a time
when families are missed,
the parcel made last post
winging off to little sis.
Zoom will come in handy
to laugh across the miles,
the screen will mask the tears
and focus on the smiles.
Gran will talk of Christmas past
when everyone was home
'Cept in Gulf War 1 when Uncle John
went away, ....
Christmas can be a time
when budgets get stretched tight,
cash pressures get to breaking point
and prompt senseless fights.
Some focus on opportunity
to spend some gilt-free money,
the only prayers are for extra hours
and a faster tesco trolley.
For others it's simply ' Yuletide'
an excessive celebration,
a winter feast, all you can eat,
give in to all temptation.
Most focus on the family,
even more on the gifts;
there's little time for Jesus
assigned amongst the myths.
Some do remember Jesus
from half forgotten carols,
they know there's something more
than donkeys and angel heralds.
For there He is in the middle,
noticed once in a while;
it's His birthday, but all He's getting
is a half-hearted song and a smile.
He's no longer a babe in a manger,
He's now a resurrected King,
waiting for those who would worship
to stand and welcome Him in.
Whatever your experience of Christmas
you can come just as you are,
His love is unconditional
He'll accept you warts and all.
So come on!
It’s a season to celebrate!
To dance, to sing and to shout!
Your Saviour invites you to join Him,
so when you sing this Christmas, make it count.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
At the back of the noisy cafe
bent over a table sits an old man;
a newspaper in front of him, without company.
And in the scorn of his miserable old age
he ponders how little he enjoyed the years
when he had strength, and the power of the word, and good looks.
He knows he has aged much; he feels it, he sees it.
And yet the time he was young seems
like yesterday. How short a time, how short a time.
And he ponders how Prudence deceived him;
and how he always trusted her -- what a folly! --
that liar who said: "Tomorrow. There is ample time."
He remembers the impulses he curbed; and how much
joy he sacrificed. Every lost chance
now mocks his senseless wisdom.
...But from so much thinking and remembering
the old man gets dizzy. And falls asleep
bent over the cafe table.
8k
Past years reminding me of ancient ideas, wasted hope on young lustful love
which now translates to the tune of reluctant,
senseless adoration as I watch
my first birdie take flight
and spread his wings like a majestic eagle in the sky.
I wave goodbye.
You know I'll always remember
the first summer we spent together.
In the good times, and through all the bad
concern and dim hopes were all we had
but then, she heard wings of all sorts
scattered at her front door flocking
My birdie came knocking
stopped the boat on uneasy waters from rocking.
Opened up his tormented soul for me to see
and asked every graciously "forgive me?"
I pleaded, "but it was I who'd sent you away!"
and it still haunts me to this day
that I hurt my best friend
and thinking of those tainted sheets in which I lay.
But you told me not to worry, not to fret
the past is the past,
so lets start off where we finished last
we were stupid, carefree and naive
we knew no greater truth than hair dye & ****
And simple things,
like paintings, a smile and teddy bears
were all we needed.
But I'm here today to prove
That I will always stay true
To give guidance and support all the way through
Ex-Lover,
Best Friend,
Brother
I love you.
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
She comes to me every night...
When all is asleep with stars lit yonder.
Comes to me with subtle might
Peeking fiendishly from darkness's cover
Await such time she'd choose to show
Await the chance to finally take.
Ready to pounce like a well tensioned bow
Arrow-like talons, ever honed to stake.
Awake or asleep, she would come without fail.
Creep is her gait; this shadow clad figure.
Always a ***** in my impervious mail.
Claiming her wants with ferocious fervour.
Deemed to be strong, easier to succumb.
Don't fight...don't struggle... Don't call for aid...
Just wait and will yourself numb
She'd come regardless of prayers that's said.
She was here with me last night
In bed, I stared at a being that's faceless...
And my heart wrenched tight.
Gripping and feeding me senseless...
Soon as she came, she left but not before
Siphoning the good and replacing with dread...
Stole was what she did; left me wanting more...
Once deed is done, into the dark she fled.
I know her all too well,
Nocturnal guest that I unknowingly invite
Her intentions to incite, not quell
Send me spiralling through emotional blight.
Day will recede, making room for dark
She'll come; swift and without sound.
She'll arrive majestic; inflicting her mark
I'll wait for her, ready and unbound.
Looking forward to her return
This silent foe whom I find familiar.
With every touch I cringe and burn
Oh secret friend whom I'm beginning to savour...
She is synonymous with various names
Each would bear the likeness of semblance
Let fly her cloak of not dissimilar aims
Endearingly I call her...,
Despondence...
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Fill the hollow crevice of my existence
With light, show me a warmer way
Stop numbness from taking over
I am slipping further0 into dismay.
Down the senseless pit of despair
My direction is out of control
Darkness paralyzes my mind
Strangling thoughts that crawl and roll
Constricting my body until I give up
I kick the air but cannot land a blow
The empty space will never stop resisting
The sound of my own scream has become my foe.
The endless void swallows my voice
Here the tears I cry fall forever
The lies I have told mean nothing now
I knew my will was always meant to sever.
Faced with nothingness all around
This is my life; a big black hole
It's slowly shoving me outwards
Little by little, pain taking over my soul.
Chaos has reality gripped
In a tight but unsure grasp
Confusing the mass of color
And motion contained in its clasp
Bullied by the tidal wave of isolation
Head above water though it is strong
Giving up the ability to move
Surviving by the current floating me along.
My consciousness is traveling lethargically
I no longer feel my torso or limbs
Attempt to wiggle a finger but it won't budge
It takes all my strength to speak and part dry lips.
This is where existence ceases
Where time's beginning meets its end
An unending loop of monotonous emotions displayed
A breif instant in which Eternity life does suspend
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 6:35 PM UTC
I write my pretty poetry
and I beg to know of thee
what you see
and what you want to be
what makes you flee
and what makes you free
how often do you plea
do you like a bee
or am I irritating thee
with my random personality
I'm sorry but that's my gravity
I don't need you I have my sanity
I call it sanity and you call it insanity
like I asked you who to be
I'd rather follow my fae
It seems to me
you lack the imaginary
and that I cling to the extraordinary
I mean who likes ordinary
I pick extraordinary
One more time
Extraordinary
My mind is endless
I act kind of senseless
Oh I see breakfast
here comes my fist
if you insist
I can't resist
Am I dismissed
I know there is something I've missed
the crazy insists
I can't resist
The malevolence
in your intelligence
I don't know where I thence
hence
I make no sense
This baby is crazy
But the God our lord made me
To be whoever I want to be
if you dream it you can achieve it
Believe it and you will see
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 4:07 PM UTC
my whispers,
they float over the currents
braving the undulating waves in our overture...
around their necks, hung time-worn pendants
whispers...
struggling to convey my sentence
like wreaths adrift perhaps with hope
like a requiem filled perhaps with remorseful penance
but more like weakened footholds on a slippery slope...
this dream...
only spoke grandly of sprawling blackness
where nothing did gleam
only thoughts heavy but...
oddly weightless
except for...
a repertoire of transgressions...
raucous and obnoxious
mischievous taunts that pull me back
caging me,
enslaving me,
smothering me senseless
that was my consciousness
where second chances exist...
in faint sporadic eruptions
through the heavy curtains of uncertainty's mist
finally awakened by hastened breaths
heavy and laboured
as like previous temporary deaths
I could hear my heart
thumping...
beating...
fighting...
to set its beats apart
breathe deep...
allow the new day's air sink in
rise fully from sleep
wake up
and...
let today begin
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
~~~
“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” Henri Bergson
well in that case,
I’m either the most immature teen here,
or Rip Van Winkle
the re-creation process is six, nearly seven,
decades long (you thot days, ha, no way),
can’t recall the last name
I called myself
the delving, the researching, the forgetting,
the fifty first dates of no short term memory,
the checkdown, throwback Thursday of
did I write that?
no recollect, the pretense of
prehensile strength to touch
you and me simultaneously
might, could be true,
if you claim I authored it,
ok with me and all that
life taught me this,
the one who oft hangs around
very young kids
learns a lot,
and soon recognizes
maturity indeed endless
but not senseless
just a poem-of-the-day process
indeed
every sense says the minute difference
between this morning and this approaching midnight,
an opportunity to grow up, stand straighter, uprighter,
write down my failures one more time,
cause that is the sterling hallmark impressed upon
thyself, ourselves,
that is genuine maturity,
the courageous wisdom to start all over again
the clock has transgressed,
moving past
the 12:00am digits,
which for cause
makes me giddy,
it’s permission to write a new one,
of course,
maturely thinking I still got one within,
a newbie, an aged day-old brand new baby,
a poem,
of course
god bless, I’m all grown n’ growled up,
with wisdom to know I don’t got nada,
but own the immature youthful courage of maturity,
to keep on trying, endlessly,
being your obedient-servant
~~~
*p.s. this is kind of love poem of thanksgivings,
a love poem with no misgivings,
a thank you for the fragments of sharing -
hold so dear,
the best reason to mature,
the best reason to change,
the best reason to write
right now, here comes the mojo
my newest oldest friend,
reminding for the last and first time
that I’m all growed,
using the bigliest words I’ve known
to say baby, hey baby,
good night good morning
write us a poem,
a thank you note,
from one who blessedly forgets his name,
day in and year out*
For that guy,
you, that ancient kid,
That poet-in-retrograde
so rewrite the title, a refresh,
are you immature enough to write?
1:12am
~for the crew~
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 1:28 AM UTC
The full sea rolls and thunders
In glory and in glee.
O, bury me not in the senseless earth
But in the living sea!
Ay, bury me where it surges
A thousand miles from shore,
And in its brotherly unrest
I'll range for evermore.
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