The stream (all workshops)
There lived in the old days, a charioteer,
Who strapped his horses to their yokes in fear,
With a hitch so tight it would bend their yoke,
And make the straight shaft, a crooked joke.
But the mares, like all mares, had a common sense,
Which could smell out grog, on certain gents,
They could always tell when the driver was drinking,
So they made a plan with their equine thinking,
To repay the hurtful hitch from stinging..
If anything could make me want to hurl myself
Entirely into the cavernous void of
Fully trusting myself with another
It would of course be the words
Of course it would have to be
The words You have them
But there could never be
Desperation in my love for you
I am not its shepherd and
I am not its slave
If ever it calls and I follow
It wont be half measured
Tip toeing over the edge
It won't be jumping and
Hoping and pleading
If ever I am guided in
This life by the love
There is only so much I can
take my dear, so much I can do.
but I fear that all my power
is gone when I stand here
right in front of you.
My tears turn into waterfalls
my heart hard as stone.
My soul so full of hatred
oh the fire how much it grows.
My death I know it's coming
I can see it in your eyes
when will you stop and see
the fear you put into my
life.
I know you feel like you don't matter
You want to live, but die you would rather
But please, don't you dare quit on me
You giving up makes me question what I'll be
You feel as though your life means nothing
And the joy from others you are sucking
If you're struggling right now, I'm right here
Call me, message me, I'll listen to how you feel
This December was one to remember
Awaiting a new family member
A pretty lady will soon appear
To make our lives less severe
Christmas has passed and and news has come
The Mom has been admitted with a lot less glum
The the 29 th day has come with joy and pride
As Poppy appeared by her side
What a beautiful girl she will be
A great granddaughter we now can see
A Christmas present we will always remember
No month greater than this December
There is nothing herein which should be interpreted as a statement that the subject possesses prior cognisance
of the surroundings or situation described.
This First Ever Journey.
This is the point,
the point of no return.
The unassailable drawbridge
finally came down.
Now we go in en-mass.
The time being right,
we carry the hopes and dreams
along the way.
We carry them with us.
We carry them for others, too.
Contrary, she wore it
like a sparkling diadem.
So comely, yes
such fine angles
an oddity too, smiling
her secret thoughts,
rapt with unheard melodies.
Speaking only with violet
eyes, under lashes smokey,
dusting her peach
blushing cheek.
Unperturbed by the male
element amassing around her
like dogs in heat...
Tomorrow,
We will be leaving
This fearful palace,
I still remember when I was a little child
I left my mother’s womb
And came to this palace,
I liked it at first sight
Despite people’s objections
I still entered the palace to work hard
The beautiful and grand palace I saw
When I was young is actually not real
Even though there are people coming and going
But the palace is a lonely place
Perhaps everyone is lonely
That is why there is jealousy and suspicions
Because of loneliness
Tomorrow,
We will be leaving
This fearful palace,
I still remember when I was a little child
I left my mother’s womb
And came to this palace,
I liked it at first sight
Despite people’s objections
I still entered the palace to work hard
The beautiful and grand palace I saw
When I was young is actually not real
Even though there are people coming and going
But the palace is a lonely place
Perhaps everyone is lonely
That is why there is jealousy and suspicions
Because of loneliness
This poem is a tasteless tear,
the first the poet’s shed this year!
One verse it formed, and then the flood
that bled, in ink, like precious blood.
This poem is a cry for help,
coyote’s howl or puppy’s yelp.
It’s pointless though, and quite absurd
to weave with woe each wasted word.
This poem is a poor excuse
for pent-up pain to be let loose.
A poet, out of shame or pride
should in her soul let sorrow hide.
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