The stream (all workshops)
Commencement writing this poem
began December 31st: 2:24 PM
ended December 31st: 03:53 PM.
The best geriatric effort I apply
twittering, ushering, and
albeit wheezing Auld Lang Syne
crocodile done deed tear
will yours truly cry
bidding, orally ejaculating,
issuing, ousting hottest year on record,
where global warming signalled goodbye
annihilating, eradicating, incinerating, et cetera
undiscovered flora and fauna
adieu two thousand twenty three
I was a collection of pixels
In the information age
A fancy bunch of font
Just a character on a page.
A typographical error
That has now been erased
Look back at my text messages
I'm sure you'll be amazed.
It is with a heavy heart
That I announce my demise
A few epithets to myself
Now it's time to eulogise.
I know it's just hyperbole
So forgive me while I enthuse,
No one can follow in my footsteps
Or begin to fill my shoes.
No longer obscured by her tresses of green, she lays under a blanket of white, where the barebones of winter offer up a panoramic view of her surroundings,
Early reminders of springs procreation come into view, and the tender buds and shoots tentatively peer out of slumber and the chilled whispers of new birth anticipate it’s coming.
As the Earth shakes off her icing sugar layer of hoarfrost, and the sun wipes the sleep from her eyes, The Robin sings his Strong and passionate territorial differendum to the wood.
With a solid winter wind
she blew out from the east
racing on skis with long strides
slicing through iridescent snow...
Remington Riffle slung low,
secured, over her back.
Shells in deep pockets,
of the blue nylon vest...
*
Destination target west!
Feel the dot of red light
from a good mile away,
count the seconds as they fly.
Time in a heartbeat on high
a fraction of a single breath
when you put it to the test
impact is swift and final!
Sin within our hearts
Destroys innocence and love
Damaging our lives
I'm lost for words,
but I want to say
My faith restored, Ill dream today!
All because of you my friends
At neopoet there is no end
The mystery of creativity begins again
My gratitude runs down
Like great drops of joyous tears
The soft wet tears of a child
Peering up into mothers loving eyes!
I will not ask what cannot be given,
for what can't be helped must be forgiven.
I won't expect measureless days of sun,
nor hope for brave blossoms where there are none.
The wind may chap the addled garden gate,
and its eager verdure must simply wait.
I'll accept the silence of transfixed trees
as their branches endure the winter freeze.
Each time I played some basketball
With son at park beside us,
He’d say my spring had hit the wall
Because of geezeritus.
Or when I yelled a friend’s name out,
“Hey, Tom” instead of Titus;
My son would say, “Without a doubt,
You’re sick with geezeritus.”
After awhile, I got unnerved
From my son’s diagnosis;
So hastily, I drove and swerved
To clinic next to Roses.
Unpacking all that it can carry,
grief finds a destination in my thoughts.
It chooses the spaces where it wants to be.
It’s not being brash, or intentionally unkind.
Memories, the ensemble within,
seek to be worn, over and over.
Buttoned close to me as love perseveres.
This is Wyn. Wyn was a farmer in our valley so green.
This is Dai. Dai worked down the mine, the strongest man I’d ever seen.
Lyn. He was a butcher, comedian and an old soak.
But above everything else, a real friendly bloke.
Then there is Rob. The baker like no other.
And Casanova Steve. Another miner and Robs brother.
Colin Book and Pencil. Our local Bobby and true hero.
Saved the life of Wyns daughter in the river, but he wouldn’t tell you.
Mervin the headmaster. He taught my brothers and my daughter.
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