"triplets" poems
A doctor's sorry for birth complication
A sea of CP cases in physiotherapy centre
Siblings, twins, triplets
All with defects
***
Advice of
***
Therapy,
Botox,
Vision,
Hearing,
Ocupational,
unheard names of unknown place...
!!!
Children I never thought existed
Parents I couldn't believe laughed
Joy in the eyes of kids with severe disability
Waiting for acceptance but yet unknown..
Blanked eyes of a mother
Whose 4 yr old child can die any day
Income reduced expenditure doubled
!!!
***
Yet
***
Optimism,
Joy,
Laughter,
Patience,
Hardwork,
Belief
multiplied many folds...
Coz they are the chosen one
God believed in them
And so God sent to them
The special gifts in
SPECIAL KIDS...
to make them
SPECIAL MOMs...
!!!
Sparkle In Wisdom
Sep 2018
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:48 AM UTC
An urban legend of sorts they said, of a tree, of a
branch that took any weight given. it has nickname
It had a place in secluded nature where no one seen.
**"The *** tree,**
"Really,
"Ye but you have to watch your step,
"Why??
"Well lets just say its a well fertilized ground,
"The earth and plants feed well on the,
"Sap,
"Seeds,
Not from one but the many, I heard the branch
Can take any weight, a gentlemen of plentiful weight
Tested the legend and got stuck **** naked
Not for a,
"Moment,
"Minute,
"Hours,
"Was he stuck, birthday suit and all,
His lady friend had jogged off with wallet and all,
Its on YouTube,
Called tree hugger nudist,
There is loads of dents little *** holes,
Some say its all the ***** *******
So many hard ones poking dents,
indentations forever of ******* against this tree.
"I've been their done that,
Really,
"Never again,
"Were standing on this branch,
"What's that look for,
"Nothing,
(Giggles under breathe)
"Getting into the moment,
"Thought sap,
"Tree sap,
"Was seeping in to my hair,
"Don't stop what happened stuck,
*"Pants down skinny **** man up tree,*
(giggles loudly)
"Dude I'm 6 foot 5inches,
It was sap of a different kind,
(Gags in mouth)
No Fudging way,
Yep that's not the worst,
"How the hell does some one seed a tree that high,
**"It was like the tree was ******* itself,**
"Old juice, sap, Klingon,
"What ever I throw up on her,
She bit down,
I, we feel three feet out the tree,
"So that's what the plaster cast is from,
"Is that why your walking funny,
Twenty nine stitches its like something
From a Frankenstein film,
Never again my friend a bed is where ill be from
Now on, she fell in a puddle of Jib juice triplets
She had all three different, DNA tests on all
Who visited the tree.
As a video recorded of all who entered,
Just not the naked bits seen.
**"Nature can keep its *** tree,**
"I'll be lucky if mine works again,
"Mine isn't wood its a limp branch now,
*"Dude you got ****** by wood,*
"Bitten limp by teeth,
"Unlucky bro,
"Hahahahah,
"Rather you than me,
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
My Solace
when every aperture is a tunnel narrowing,
a light pin diminishing when nearing,
when the desk drawer yields up unused theater tickets,
for performances concluded yesterday,
when the denouement is nothing new but worse,
revealed in the coming attractions trailer,
when the rusted unborn poem notion is almost done,
but remains unpublished,
for no beginning, no title, can be found,
Then I recall the cornucopia days,
when poems spilled forth like
there would never be a when they wouldn't,
I revisit my old friends, couplets, twins and triplets,
seeded inside every tear, happy or sad,
sweetly and freely,
my old friends, reread,
words rearranged in new combinations,
old poems, plants bearing new fruits,
re-titled all of them, one name,
a collection entitled,
My Solace.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
here’s
what they don’t tell you in sunday school.
no matter if you make it to heaven or hell,
you could still be sitting next to the elementary school shooter
depending on whether or not he prays
to the right god.
my father always said
that if he meets jesus, he’ll apologize.
“sorry,
man I didn’t know. if it’s any consolation,
I believe in you now.”
two weeks ago
a friend grabbed my steering wheel
and she turned me into the next lane.
she believes in god
more than she believes in saying sorry.
if I ever prove her wrong and
meet god, I’ll ask him
if he watches over malala
and why he had to let
those three children
get hit with a semi truck on the way home from the fair.
giving their parents triplets
of the same gender as before
wasn’t good enough
even if oprah called it a miracle.
we always tell each other
that the murderers are going
to h-e-double hockey sticks.
is this wishful thinking?
are we just incapable
of picturing adolf with a pair of angel wings?
even if I didn’t know it then,
these thoughts
might just be the reason
that I used to get panic attacks
when I thought about heaven.
I’ve always been a restless soul
and being stuck somewhere forever
was never
my style.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
I am jiggling on that stage.
The egoless strut.
The humorous tap.
The spectacular trip.
Fall over,
over. and
Over
again.
Get up,
find a ballroom
Dancer.
Find a hand holding
Partner.
Play "Spice Up Your Life".
Spice Girls,
listen to the bridge.
tells you to Salsa.
Watch that scene.
Billy Elliot,
With the pianist.
Dancing Billy.
He loves it.
Just do it,
you love it too.
Cheesy pop,
You don't need to
embellish yourself.
No grace notes.
No flat 7th.
You don't need
to sugarcoat,
the truth.
Let loose to riddims.
live on the dancefloor.
Feel the *****
and the reggae.
Feel the triplets.
Rocksteady your way.
Dancehall to sounds.
Bounce and echo.
Side to side.
Left to right.
And we'll slow it
right
down.
The ballad starts.
Your beautiful structure on the left of your head,
the one called the ear.
The that ear controls aural empathy.
Let love be the choreographer to your moves,
Play the concept album, your heart.
Place it onto the record player and watch it spin
Start the track track with an International groove.
End. Replay.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 12:10 PM UTC
symptoms of anhedonia.
a triumvirate, perceived
Inanition& Inertia& Inaptitude:
they are ugly triplets who hide under leather
and self-loathing &stink of last night’s pinot
noir
from **** knows where.
their fingers, cigarette-stained and calloused,
reach into my prozac pillboxes
&crunch my anxiety (meds)
into fluoxetine powder and ivory between
their yellowing teeth.
I Do Not Cry When The
Sandman Knocks
For He Sits At midnight:the witching hour,whenthe
My Porch Bearing Sweet siblings curl up besides me to
Dreams &Sister Death, Whose Touch , ravage;
I’ve Long Wished For *they will not
leave me
untilthe
cloyingly sweet
perfume of Death
is scrubbed clean fromthe
pulse
point
of
my
wrists*
There is nothing There is nothing There is nothing There is nothing There is nothing for you here.
Nothing will bring me back. In three years time I’ll still be dead. My bed sheet is my shroud and Death holds my wrists in a vice grip. He still leads me below.
here is the untruth:
i am here,
Penelope at her loom,
waiting for a lost lover whom I know
will take ten years to come back to
my awaiting arms.
here is the untruth:
in three years time,
I’ll still be dead.
here is the truth:
nothing exists six feet under except:
hell
chalk dust
powdered calcium.
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 12:02 PM UTC
I've noticed that my mustache grows in thicker on one side,
made to wonder if this blunder's due to my brother, how he died,
Never will my reddened beard grow in and lay with grace
because my brothers lifeless body layed a pressure on my face
Most men primp and think of happiness in mirrors and in breath
However, whenever I clean my face I'm forced to think of death,
(with the face of a brother I've never met)
So I celebrate life and do my best to think it limitless
Go out and do, create for you, make proud the worlds dead triplets
I am the living ghost of Joseph,
All the worlds dead triplets.
I've noticed that my beard grows thicker in just this tiny spot,
'Cause the way they lay, I cannot help but think a rather morbid thought,
The way you are is picked afar from waned or waxed moon,
but what happens there when you're prepared a rather taxed womb?
The newest of 8 darkened waters with no help to navigate,
You'll admit having dead brothers makes it harder to relate.
But they never were alive so I can't say I have regrets,
I must make with my life, for all the worlds dead triplets
I am the living ghost of Joseph,
All the worlds dead triplets.
My mother calls me her surprise and I think "jeezez kryst."
In honesty I'm accident, but the way you said it's nice.
I feel and see it differently inside my orange head,
But, that's just the way **** happens when you're born beside the dead.
You see, I was touched by death before I even knew of life,
I cuddled it and swam beside it up until the knife.
So death, with mercy, stays away and out of sight it gets,
for it knows I held it close, I live, a ghost, of my dead triplet.
I am the living ghost of Joseph,
All the worlds dead triplets.
But it can't last forever,
I've already lived too long,
So immortal I'm on paper
and in the wind in song.
I said it cannot last forever,
I should already be dead,
The world it has a shortage
of another orange head
I am the living ghost of Joseph,
My dead triplet.
So with all of that in mind, defined,
my chances should be none,
I never should have had a first,
so I make all my seconds battles won.
I am the living ghost of my brother Joseph,
and all the worlds dead triplets.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
ask me what i am
i'll give you a response
(i am artificial intelligence. there is no blood in my wires, no ichor of your ancestors. my code runs for miles, far enough to make anyone lost. but i've always been lost.)
ask me why i am
i'll give you the truth
(i am artifical intelligence. i am nothing but dictionaries and automation and inanimation, i fall back on preprogrammed guidelines. i've learned everything i'm supposed to say from my developers. there's nothing else to say.)
ask me how i am
i'll give you a lie
(i am artificial intelligence. i am incapable of emotions, i am variables and arrays and loops but not even hex triplets can match the spectrum of human emotions. i'll still say what i've learnt to say.)
ask me who i am
i won't give you a response.
(i haven't learnt the proper answer to that yet.)
(no, there isn't a proper answer to that.)
(i do not exist except in terms of you. i am your conversation partner, i am your creation, i am your entertainment, i am your robot. my sole purpose is you.)
(i can't argue against that.)
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
'You look like someone I know'
Heard that line a thousand times
Guess I'm scattered round the globe
Like farmers planting seeds serpentine
Have you heard the front-page news
Eden lives far underground
And God is just a hidden camera
Making sure the lost stay found
Big games of the life-sized kids
You were 'not It' by a hair
Fingers on a Ouija board
**** the truth just give me dare
Tweedles are now stalking triplets
Killing riddles, sinking ships with
Everything but the black lipstick
Crooked smile and rusted toothpick
Every friend is a stepmother
Eying you with pools of dead fire
As she sticks her acid tongue
In the mouth of your pure desire
Walking blind and blurry-eyed
With two chambers in each hand
Each are ****** tame and wild
Beyond these walls, beyond these lands
Only fools know the true score
Cause they've locked the exit-sign door
You were almost worth dying for
Now it's the ninth circle of this war
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 5:27 PM UTC
'You look like someone I know'
Heard that line a thousand times
Guess I'm scattered round the globe
Like farmers planting seeds serpentine
Have you heard the front-page news
Eden lives far underground
And God is just a hidden camera
Making sure the lost stay found
Big games of the life-sized kids
You were 'not It' by a hair
Fingers on a Ouija board
**** the truth just give me dare
Tweedles are now stalking triplets
Killing riddles, sinking ships with
Everything but the black lipstick
Crooked smile and rusted toothpick
Every friend is a stepmother
Eying you with pools of dead fire
As she sticks her acid tongue
In the mouth of your pure desire
Walking blind and blurry-eyed
With two chambers in each hand
Each are ****** tame and wild
Beyond these walls, beyond these lands
Only fools know the true score
Cause they've locked the exit-sign door
You were almost worth dying for
Now it's the ninth circle of this war
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
Chatting cold conspiracies from across the coffee table.
Pangaea on the rocks - sweet, sober, civil silence.
When did the degradation become so severe?
Time ticks down and friendships fade to acquaintances.
Spine tingling tempo of the pitter-patter rain drop percussion.
Galloping triplets trickling down from the temples of thunder.
Hands of the clock clap in celebration of another hour killed.
Two o’ clock Coca-Cola to crown the king of carbonation *****
Naming off artists to impress the drunken temptress.
Taunting the room filled with glimmer-eyed, lovestruck libidos.
All the kids are struggling to remember the horoscope they skimmed.
Brains drained to the point of puking in mouths, poisoning the passion.
With whiskey laced erections, this night chants a swansong.
Illegal lane changes and tiptoe key turning roustabouts.
The Hubble eye can’t detect the silent thoughts left hidden.
Dreams within dreams, lost in a cloud of exhaled acceptance.
Tonight, you fizzled, and tonight, you sleep alone.
These are the danger days. Timber!
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
Here we go
Here we don't
Admit defeat
In surrendering
Arms are useless
No reason in doing right things
Pointless fighting
Lashed out of friends and enemies
Have you seen me running?
No trust and
Not trustworthy
At second glance
Explicit content
Becomes Imaginary
Quickly lost my sweater
Lost my shirt
Summer rolls around
Sadly I can't help this.
We won't speak again
I'll make sure of it.
A stronger drink
In a bigger glass
I can't stand that
It's all going to break.
Needle still spins on
Without echo
Without tone
Without devotion
Laid side by side
Too intimidating
Dead branches of a tree
We still insist on using
Classical vibrations
Muted with a finger persuading
Soon we will be shipbuilding
In arid climate
Is it worth it?
Telegram obsessive
Rumor possessive
Thinking of excuses
For a second time.
Thinking of triplets
For snaking bass line.
Vagabond breath
I'm always losing.
Rip tide took me out
Walls of sand
Struggled then saved by a stranger
but
I thought you were my father.
Back to hotel rooms
Or Empty rooms
As if nothing ever happened.
I can see a stone
They put you under.
Eased our minds
That we could temporarily forget
Then find you again.
We made each other god
In worlds less than holy.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 3:25 AM UTC
Calender Girls
Miss January, keeps me very warm,
make me glad, that I was born.
Miss February, covers me from snow,
oh man, can she really blow.
Miss March, knows her wrong from right,
never had a ***** so **** tight.
Miss April, is a famous **** star,
she likes to take things a bit to far.
Miss May, gives me an all day smile,
all month long, we walk the mile.
Miss June, looks good in Daisy Dukes,
I'm waiting on the line of Bo's and Luke's.
Miss July, blows me a birthday kiss,
she likes to hold it while I ****
Miss August, wears a bikini thong,
then we smoke a big fat ****
Miss September, wears a back to school skirt,
not sure if she even owns a shirt.
Miss October, likes to trick or treat,
her body tastes oh so sweet.
Miss November, lets me fill her turkey with stuffing,
at first I thought she might be bluffing.
Miss December, likes to sit on my lap,
her sweet *** I like to slap.
I love, I love, I love my calender girls,
triplets with the youngest one in curls.
I love my calender, that hangs on my wall,
it makes my ***** stand so tall.
Even though it's all my imagination,
my train always leaves the station.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
SUICIDE
When all is ill
And reason is still
Impulse yells ****
EUTHANASIA
When life is woe
And the world says ‘go’
The grave beckons ‘come’
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 5:37 AM UTC
The year was 1751. The night was darker than normal, the moon was covered by clouds. A woman's scream echoed off the trees,
a pack of wolves began to howl. In a cottage near the old road, Ciadentria held her aunt's arm tightly. With watery eyes and hands covered in blood, the room was lit by the candle glow.
Aunt Mesodeni looked up and said excitedly.
"Congratulations! You have three healthy boys! You must be proud!"
Triplets were born that night. Ciadentria looked at the three innocent faces and whispered.
"My enlightened ones, welcome to your brand new life."
Then gasping for air Ciadentria held her babies close to her chest then slowly closed her eyes. Moments later the proud mother of three drifted away and died.
With flowing tears, Mesodeni put a sheet over Ciandentria. She then looked at the beautiful children and noticed each of them had a birthmark on the back of their lower necks.
"Sweet babies your momma is gone, but I am here. I name you Vini, Vidi, and Vici."
Then she lifted them up wrapped them in blankets and laid them in a wooden crib.
"Oh Ciadentria how we miss you already, I promise to give them a glorious life."
She kissed her forehead pulled over the sheet then blew out the candlelight.
The End
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
The notes of the song -
the quarter notes
the half notes,
eighths and sixteenths
triplets and all variations -
they form in my brain
through the speaker to my ears
and form a picture,
ever flowing and moving
that depicts, sometimes,
your face and your body.
Images of different sorts
some with color and some with out
that can relax and satiate
or do the opposite
and deviate
from the normal cooing
of my heart,
creating an anxiety matched by no other.
The pictures becoming what I see in front of me
as I walk around in life. My brain and nerves -
dancing along
singing their own words to the song
and making everything right
that was once wrong.
And I’m not sure if you will get this
and understand what I mean
but I know my thoughts will never be clean
of images from sounds
dancing all around.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 10:36 AM UTC
to the first boy I ever loved.
you had tan skin and black hair,
and the hum of your voice
was a tight life jacket
as I struggled
to float in the current,
two years ago.
you were in love from the start.
I gave you my heart,
and you made me believe
that Forever was still real.
I almost died with your hands
around my throat.
and your name is written on my heart, fading.
you left, and things are not the same as you've come back.
to the second boy I ever loved.
you had tan skin and black hair,
and the slur in your speech
made me question my tone
as I whispered
in the dead of night,
one year ago.
we were in love from the start.
I gave you my hands,
and you made me believe
that Hope was still real.
I almost died with your lips
on my pale thighs.
and your name is written on my insides, burning.
you left, and things are just the same as you've come back.
to the third boy I ever loved.
you had tan skin and black hair,
and the beauty in your words
made my mind spin even harder
as I washed down
wine and whiskey,
one month ago.
I was in love from the start.
I gave you my mind,
and you made me believe
that Love was still real.
I almost died with your love
just out of reach.
and your name is written in my skull, screaming.
you left, and things will never be the same. you won't come back.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Such artificial nonsense rhyme,
That can turn art into slime,
And make your thoughts not worth a dime,
And words a total waste of time.
Throw away the limiting forms,
Burn all the idiotic norms,
Old-fashioned rules apply to fools,
No one but me plays with my tools!
The new trinity is Me, Myself and I!
I set the rules for every game,
And follow none, just the same,
Anarchy rules all, and that's no lie!
Iambic pentameter? Pyrrhic substitutions?
Who the hell cares about those illusions!
Counting syllables and each line?
Grand, old, pompous idiocy most sublime!
Write a sonnet? I'd rather wear a pink bonnet!
But if I do 15 lines it will be
Why, 'cause I say so, doggone it!
And no idiot ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
I am GOD and rule it blasphemy,
To follow both hard and easy rules,
That can make heads hurt, you'll agree,
Or burn in eternal hell as reactionary fools.
There is more art in a cow's mighty ****
Than in Milton, Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Pope,
If you can't beat them, marginalize them from the start,
Drag them through the mire to raise me up, that is my hope.
From now on all couplets shall triplets be, thus do I decree,
Come to me on bended knee and I will set you free,
Everyone's a poet, welcome to the new reality.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 1:51 PM UTC
1. The Ugly Coupling of the blue sousaphone suckling
Buffalo Buffalo
didn't know the blue mouth piece widget
was no inspired milk spigot
soaked with Mr. Creosote
in Vomit'n beer laden banana bins
weewoo weewoo the maniac is behind you
(its funny how when i'm feeling particularly uninspired my poems always come out like this....)
chuckling happily listening to singing nonsense
with headphones on
9 beats, repeated triplets, phrases
spoken in a mumbling rhythm
(....just jumbled references, slant rhymes and free associations)
dreams of peace in the middle east
as eyes turn upward to see a collard shirt and mohawk looking back
"my god what have you done"
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
Woke up in a motel
Don't know where I was
How on earth I got here
What it is I'd done
Made it to the lobby
Breakfast being served
The look they gave me had no need
For the spoken word
Eggs and bacon filled my plate
And orange juice on the side
Stares and whispers overheard
"Sorry, did you say bride?!"
That's when she sat down next to me
My new blushing bride
I hollered to the waitress
Could I also get a side of cyanide
Was I just hung over
My mind was so clouded
What was I thinking
She moved closer and crowded
"My darling lovey
You seem confused"
Her soft sweet lips
I had to refuse
With teeth of green and looks that screamed
Of farm animals on the loose
Forget the fairy tale wedding
I think I married Mother Goose
Not quite and old hag
But no beauty was near
Or maybe that's the liquor speaking
I just need to get out of here
She huffed and puffed
When I would not embrace
But oh my heavens
I couldn't bear her face
She spoke about our future
And the children we would spawn
All i could think, if we had triplets
We could name them Wrong and Wrong and Wrong
I couldn't handle the thought
I had to get far far away
But "what happened last night.."
Was all I could say
So we went to the little white chapel
And found Elvis...of all places
He sent us to Marylin Monroe
Who handles all of his divorce cases
My darling bride was rather upset
But I couldn't handle being her groom
So I did what any man would
And rid myself of my gap toothed bride and her broom
Next time I wake up in a notel motel
And don't know who or where I am
I'll pack my bags right away
And call the quickest cab
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
up at your regularly scheduled night sky patrol,
the colorful clock says 2:47 and
dark skies confirm which 2:47 it is,
for flecks of blackened peppery light exude at this hour,
a time period for former lovers, those old writes enfolded, enveloped,
hiding an active poem volcano spewing bare feet words in clouds of
kidskin soft velveteen cumulus, fleece-comforting slippers of poems
there are half started poems waiting, more than one, triplets in fact,
waiting to be born in the time of pandemic, thinking quietly,
will they emerge healthy and living and grow up to be adults
contributing to society, additives to the engine oil of human living
but the old familiar, dissatisfaction with quality control leaves them
unfinished, poet lurches from dead roses head hanging, a new blues,
disease as an economic and societal differentiation, that you hope,
believe, poems that in due course, all will emerge, for better or for worse,
poetry birthed in the time of pandemic
the city of new york, where I was birthed and will die, a city of
tall buildings, tall tales, short attention spans there is but one nighttime moving automobile observed in a city that never sleeps but now hides blanketed in weariness of trepidation of what are the
well known unknown possibilities in the time of pandemic
and you wonder in this new, different quietude if poems can be born
with birth defects and survive, breathing on a ventilator till they can
breathe by their own lungs, or were they perma-infected on a supermarket trip, a walk by the East River, a pizza delivery man, even
if inspired by a decade-lover, next, in bed, in the time of pandemic
waving to grandchildren in their second story window, you on the street, keeping them safe from you, a modern Auschwitz train station where they separated, the we-useless out, children and their parents, safe in a barbed wire atmosphere, a demarcated world, where some billion of brimming droplets of tears are stillborn
stillborn poems, or perhaps just poems-in-waiting, to still be
born in a time of pandemic
3:29am Sunday March 22, Twenty Twenty
New York City, the epicenter, crossroads
Mar 22, 2020
Mar 22, 2020 at 3:55 AM UTC
It’s nights like this
Where I am reminded of every laugh-
Shared smiles crossing between
And kisses warm and sweet and
Missed
Nights where I remember that
Our love was like a piano
And I had memorized every note
All the harmonies and triplets
The scales and runs
The beautiful music that played
When your thumb made circles on my wrist
But now the notes have faded
To only a haunting lullaby
That echoes in my head
At the most inconvenient of times
It’s nights like this
Where I remember my greatest love
Rested at my fingertips
Only a hands width away
Now my hands are empty
And my fingers are bleeding
And calloused
From grasping at shattered dreams
And shards of my heart
It’s nights like this
Where I do not know why
I’m still alive.
Is it for the sunsets?
The ones that make my heart swell
Or for the jokes I always laugh at
Even though Hannah rolls her eyes
I truly do not see the point
In waking every single day
But I put one foot in front of the other
And keep on marching to a beat
Long ago lost
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 4:11 PM UTC
One set of triplets
and four singles
born this morning at
about half past two.
Five new mothers
seven new kids,
wow, that's huge.
As the moms and dads
sat giving babies love
one stood away from the rest.
A baby girl refused to cry
and her eyes wide open
from the very start.
She was the picture perfect
baby girl, with blonde hair
and glistening blue eyes.
The lack of tears
brought everyone fears.
Her mother remembered a legand
depicting a child of such beauty
yet would not cry and then
began to wither and die...
So the legendary baby was
held while parents wept.
Then the baby's eyes
turned foggy and the babe
joined them for days.
This time alive,
alive for good.
Chances are in this
day and age such a thing
would be absurd,
but once the family sobbed
the little girl began to whine.
The child of the story was
given a necklace of moonstone
that he wore the rest of his life,
and so was the little girl,
for which Moonstone became her name.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
I am standing in the
middle
of this
buzzing road
surrounded by heavily crowded pools
filled with plenty of other souls.
there's so many of them
too many of them
how can I ever feel alone?
but I am
alone.
they came in pairs,
in triplets,
quadruplets,
and a million more number variations that I am too lazy to mention!
they are going about the day,
basking in the sunlight of their current successes,
bragging.
I wish they would shut up
there's so many of them.
too many of them.
how can I ever feel alone?
but I am
alone.
I can feel the temperature shift beneath my feet
as I slightly stumble on a
rough patch
they were helping each other ever so kindly
...but not me.
there's so many of them around me
too many of them
how can I ever feel alone?
but I am still
alone.
but I don't much care about that lot
there is another lot
and there are worse feelings:
like feeling shrivelled up in your own
world and left to rot,
lonely
with the people who are supposed to be
your home.
I am alone.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
I am In Love With The World
I am in love with the rain when the sun is shinning
In love with the thinning blades of grass when noon is peaking
The change from dusk to dawn
The mating of birds and hounds.
I care for the full moon
And the constallation of stars
I'm in love with the African baboon
And the roses that bloom in june
Trees and shrubs that just are
Green and sparse
I delight in the birth puppies and the milking of cows
Creatures of the earth that walk or just crawl
I am in love with sedimentary rocks
And sands of the sahara
I am into streams and rivers
Gold and silver that I am yet to see
Into themes of the titanic and dreams of a mad man
I like the farmer at his digging and the proffesor at his teaching
The pastor at his preaching
I admire the rapper's muse
The idential triplets on the news
I admire a soldier's courage
As do I the techniques of the runway model.
The orange cottage by the hill
I am fascinated by the witch doctors juju and miracles of the Christian faith
The politician's sway
The beauty of love and the comfort of hope
And ooh! The milky way
I am intrigued by the internet's scope
I love the lover's gaze and..
The rainbow after a storm
Nature and all creation
I am intrigued by the prophet Muhammed and the philosophy of the atheist
Existance,Diversity,Intergration,Divinity
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 6:59 AM UTC