"widowers" poems
As a non-golfing husband I revel at tales
Of sunshine filled days chasing small *****
Some in the rough others in sand,
All these brave girls fighting nature's pitfalls.
I hear of the times the flock of wild ducks
Hindered a drive that was perfectly hit,
And what of those trees that magically moved
With a subsequent shout 'I just want to quit'.
But then I'm regaled with feats of great skill
Such as the time a Birdie was made,
Out comes the flask, big glugs all around,
Magical moments that no-one would trade.
They say Golf's a passion a lifelong pursuit,
One day may be heaven the other pure hell,
Neither cool mornings nor that full midday heat,
Apparently stops that will to excel.
Yet there's one thing I notice each week,
Yes the real pleasure from playing the game
And what's not to like from those magical views
But without one's good friends the day's not the same.
So to all poor Golf widowers awoken by shrilling alarms,
Then never quite knowing what time we'll see our fair brides,
There's a much higher calling we can but embrace,
'Happy wife happy life' the true gift this pastime provides.
Dec 11, 2023
Dec 11, 2023 at 8:31 PM UTC
What have I done?
what's happening to me?
Am I diseased with
the sickness that's infiltrating
the whole nation
A nation of pill popping zombies
that has addicted itself
to the loophole
of "a pill for happiness"
"a pill for desensitization"
"a pill for nerves"
"a pill for life"?
Why have we become a generation of junkies
whose drug is legal
inflicted on us
but degree holding powers
because "they know better"?
Is it normal for humans like me and you
who feel
who see
who taste
who hear
who smell
to be controlled by a singular button
to be confined to a manifesto
of the "latest trend"
Are we all hypnotized
into morphing into the
"perfect body"
"10 ways to get smarter"
"look like this, don't eat"
is it a blueprint set by a superpower
to transform us to identical robots
to make it easier to control us?
Are we slowly walking down the path
of being identical?
Are we losing the only essence of what makes us human?
Are removing our imperfections
and surgically implanting
"my lips should be like this"
"my thigh gap is a must"
"my brain should have a set of guidelines"
What has become of us?
I pity the fish that
flow with the current
I cry over the youth today
I mourn the artists
of yesteryears
I grieve with the widowers
of lost souls
There's still hope
or so I try to believe
and encourage
the dying breed
of
perfectionists
the humble ones
those whose kisses only
land on lips
and not
*****
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 6:57 AM UTC
I have seen my share of old men
Sitting early in diners:
Widowers, perhaps,
Or never-weds,
Seldom women,
Excepting tired street people,
Tattered bags sprawling
Disheveled out of the wet,
Leaving only when the manager
Steps up with a bottle of soapy water
And a cleaning rag,
The polite symbol of
"It's time to go."
Fast food,
No place to rest,
Up and moving before the family crowd
Can see the riff-raff
Who sat these chairs earlier,
Who hunker now on some lee-side wall
Against the chill spring rain.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
Absent minded
by my own volition.
Warmly embrace
mental attrition.
State of rest
is my mission
on listless and free day
hey hey!
Big Bill
a slingin' his heart chords
Endless visions of bright sunny fjords
sigh
I am yet unescaped
mind neatly taped
to a lonely widowers table
mind is unstable
find an old drunkard
untell this dark fable
i cant sleep and im feeling...
rrreaal tired.
blank unaware
can't help but
stare
into
distance.
I am absent
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
I've heard that my body is a temple.
that disciples once traveled through, they used my ribs
as stairsteps and slept sound in the soft
ventricles of my heart, I've said I used to be soft
and this is mostly true, mostly lies,
you can lay a f i e l d o f c o t t o n
over concrete or cover granite in
s i l k but that does not change the
consititution of what lies underneath
and I have been cold
a bear trap constantly reset, I have been a wolf masquerading
as a girl, slick bricks of ice wrapped in wool
there has been hell in this holy city
and I have been raging through the rooms
scattering caltrops in the halls, wrapping widowers
in smoke, steaking kisses, slamming doors, wreaking
havoc where there need not have been--
Have you seen me? call the troops, have you seen me? fists clenched
temple burning. A chest full burning brambles, hot marble walls.
there is hell in the holy city.
hell.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 9:55 PM UTC
The king sits unhonoured on his throne
As his soldiers are running away from the front line
The queen lies with honour on her bed
As her armies are marching to their own death
Fathers of freedom are mourning for their dead sons
Mothers of wisdom are crying for their lost daughters
Are there any people luckier than us whose parents miss their children?
Are there any poets luckier than us whose lovers can hear their lines?
What else can our parents miss? What else can our lovers hear?
Drum beats are calling, war is answering
The prince eats his breakfast lustily in his dining room
As his battalions are covering death with victory
The princess puts her make-up sensually in her bedroom
As her legions are facing death in the battlefield
Husbands of widows are fighting for their wives‘life
Wives of widowers are waiting for their husbands' victory
Are there any places better than ours which soil offers peace?
Are there any poems better than ours which lines give peace?
What else can our places offer? What else can our poems give?
Clocks are ticking, peace is waiting
---------------------------
THE END
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 9:29 AM UTC
Quick silver streams over our hair and the blinding secrets of his lines sting us like vaccines. Revelations Devine in doctors painters and poets whose grand appointments fixate out illness.
You were allergic when reality took his medicine paintings but you covered me in magenta quilts stitched black
Around the lateness of twenty years in a dark widowers red rest warning me about chain less camels and Chinese factories killing our newborns. I agreed when you said the helpless close up and die shameless.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
There's old junior Bobby
Waltzing fine felt elegies
Back stage fronting
Towards his morning
Patrons of widowers
And their crows
Feather coffee
Trying so hard
To tell young
Men what
Their Rose gardens
Once did before
Our now lady returns with
Smiles hoping
The one letter she took
Out of her name
Creates better tips.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
pictures full of smiling Ghosts.
reminding of all that's Lost.
drowsy clouds encased in Glass.
deep cracks that shall never Pass.
reflecting eyes of Despair.
possessing a painful Stare.
belonging to tired Pulse.
of good intentions - bad Results.
foolish veins that like to Trust.
beautiful mind crushed to Dust.
perhaps made from Hematite.
smart, but never quite Refined.
filled by thoughts so bitter Sweet.
merciful, yet guilt-filled Deed.
memories that taste like Lead.
and wedding vows left Unsaid,
to fading smell in Pillows -
of Widowers and Widows....
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC
War is a complete mayhem
The holistic session of war is mayhem
No victory emerges in war
A party defeated today
Would retaliate tomorrow
Therefore, no victory emerges during and after a war
War is a complete mayhem
No conflict between parties is harmonious
Orphants, widowers, fill the society after a war
Depression, hunger, fill the society after a war
Taste, hatred, fill the hearts of men after a war
The elimination of fathers and kinsmen
Lack of hope begins the hope of mayhem
Nevertheless, no form of hope during the mayhem
You killed your enemies doesn't mean ending their generation
I won't tolerate you
You won't tolerate me
The beginning of the conflict
Tolerance doesn't mean weakness and lack of hurt
Tolerance means the everlasting accommodation of challenges
Don't begin War because it's not the answer your people want
Your children need a future
Your nation needs a future
Your wife needs you and the world you can build together
Don't start what can't be completed
Love, tolerance, deliberation and conformity is the answer
Distraction is war and likewise
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 1:01 PM UTC