Poetry

Poetry

Something Happy and Nice

You say that I should try something happy and nice,
So cordially unto you I say:
Good cheer,
God bless,
Have a very pleasant day,
I love you more than these words can convey,

And though it is trying in these unpleasant times,
Best wishes for you:
Be happy,
Be merry,
May you never be blue,
I hope all of your dreams and your wishes come true,

May the angels in heaven guide you along the road of life,
In my prayers you will be,
Jesus loves you,
So do I,
Always be happy and free
Live for today and smile and keep your thoughts of pleasantries

It’s so much easier to pick out one’s obvious flaws
Here are some nice things:
You’re special,
Uniquely you,
You are one of a kind,
Never again, for eternity, one like you will I find

And so when I’m gone and these words still remain
Remember I love you,
Always have,
Always will,
My heart is always true,
Forever captured in time I will be thinking nice, happy thoughts about you.

Flabbergast

Will this infernal racket ever cease?
How will I ever find inner peace?
Without ending the roaring din
Rises above the minds ability to think

And speaking just to hear his own voice
Leaves all listeners without a choice
But to hear the incessant drivel
From a pompous ass whom loves to quibble

And reveling in some forgotten glories
Bludgeons all with outrageous stories
Of great deeds that have come to pass
The captive audience is aghast

The verbose speaker knowing not how many times
He’s repeated his tired and jaded lines
And thinking he is so very clever
With these stories of great endeavors

He attempts to impress the helpless ear
But all the listeners cannot hear
For they have become deaf and dumb
And nod and agree and raise their thumbs

Lethargic and mute they blankly stare
Without any concern for what he shares
And watching the clock as the hours pass
The captive audience is flabbergast

Higgledy-piggledy

Higgledy-piggledy came the flibbertigibbet,
Jack-in-the-pulpit was hung from the gibbet,
Galumphing gaily came the blubbering buffoon,
While the frolicking simpleton howled at the moon,

The ace in the hole was as right as a trivet,
With a prognathous jaw bedecked with a divot,
The hoodwinking flimflam man was primed to bamboozle,
Sleight of hand on the comestibles set forth for perusal,

A cuss with a blunderbuss fired into the crowd,
The blast from the cannon was overwhelmingly loud,
A politician’s filibuster kept the audience flabbergast,
As the shot from the musket struck him straight in the ass,

Within the menagerie sang a stool pigeon posing as a lark,
Awaiting the mélange as it slowly brewed in the dark,
Sneaking through the brambles came the agent provocateur,
Slipping on greased lightning he fell face first in manure,

Rigmarole, digging a hole, singing a song at work,
The pompous puffed up pecker head became a righteous jerk,
Lickety-split a persnickety twit bulged with self-content,
Gobbledygook spewed forth from lips malign and maleficent,

The snide snapping snitch did sneak well upon his way,
Setting sail in a schooner ship he kept down in the bay,
Nitpicking naysayer digging up bones and ideas so virulent,
A ravenous juggernaut devouring scraps left by the corpulent,

This jabberwocky and vociferous senseless piece of writ,
Is nothing more than garrulous loquacity and overblown bullshit,
To create rhyme without reason seems in vogue these days,
Avant-garde aristocratic hypnotists with words and power play.

Too Tired to Sleep

I am too tired to sleep
I can’t stop thinking
The secrets I keep
Deep within my memory

I toss and turn
My bed has become a torture chamber
With feverish burning
My soul cries out in agony

I am counting sheep
But dreams are all elusive ghosts
Oh how I long to sleep
Tossing and turning and rolling and squirming

A faucet dripping or clock tick-tock ticking
Any nighttime sound is amplified
Until my eyes so wide and bloodshot
Begin to dry out and burn

Oh Sandman, where are you?
Come pour some sand in my eyes
Forty winks or even two will do
But how I envy Rip Van Winkle
Someone’s dreaming voice is soaring
Smacking lips in deep sleep content
The sound of snorting saw buzz snoring
Through my open window on a breeze

I cover my head with my pillow
Roll around and moan and groan
Moonlight filters through a weeping willow
I close my eyes and gnash my teeth

The Wraith of Stone Creek

In a house near Stone Creek past the misty woods
Lived a lonely handsome gent,
Well versed in etiquette, born from noble blood.
Late one night lost in merriment,
Counting stars, Joe heard cars crash out on the road.
The scene caused much astonishment.

Joe was terrified deeply, observing fire and smoke.
The wrecked cars became a deathly tomb,
An attempt at rescue proving useless,
The victims suffering eternal doom.
A lovely girl was dead at the steering wheel,
He could smell her lingering perfume.

The emergency past, life moved on,
But Joe longed to know and discern.
From the newspaper he found her name.
He was shocked and surprised to learn
Her name was Elisabeth, a local figure skater.
Sadly, he realized she would never return.
The fiery crash distinctly etched upon Joe’s mind,
How his dismayed soul did mourn.

One night as the dogs barked in the yard,
The window shutters forcibly windblown,
In the hallway a doppelgänger appeared,
A ghostly figure dressed in a flowing gown.
He recognized the beautiful girl named Elisabeth.
With great horripilation, Joe did stand his ground.

Joe cried out in fear at the sight of the wraith.
With a ghostly careening visage shown,
At the mirror she looked upon her own face
In sadness for the life she had once known
And spoke to Joe with a ghastly groan.
“I long for thee,” she said, portentously,
“I will stay here forever. You will never be alone.”

Elisabeth longed to be cherished,
And Joe now no longer lonely,
Together they made a perfect match.
Their love transcending beyond the grave.
They shut the blinds upon the windows
And locked tight the door key latch,
In the flickering of the faint candle glow,
They lingered together in eerie shadows.
Joe cried out in a great lamentation,
Forever after in love with an apparition.

The Beckoning Gate

The cemetery gate beckons for thee,
Pillars and iron cast shadows so dark,
A soul’s departure shrouds a mystery,
When vestiges of mortal flesh depart,
Tombstones stand in symmetric precision,
The funeral march a Gothic parade,
Carnations and lilies cause derision,
Old age becomes a whimsical charade,
The imminent day of one final breath,
Commingling of genes beget a rebirth,
How swiftly fleeting days pass before death,
When cemetery gates beckon thee first,
In memoriam, life’s long endeavor,
A prelude to a slumber forever.

The One That Got Away

All day long by the babbling brook,
The fish refused the luring hook,
No matter how I tried their gall,
They would not take the bait at all,

And so, I vowed, they will succumb,
For fish are beasts and likewise dumb,
And when I reel them to the shore,
Their fishy lives will be no more,

And to the pan they will expire,
Dashed with salt over the fire,
A twist of lemon and sprinkled with spice,
To be placed upon the plate so nice,

But as the sun began to set,
I hadn’t caught a fish just yet,
And longingly I cast my line,
Into the water one more time,

As the sunlight began to dim,
And the crescent moonlight brimmed,
Suddenly a tempted fish did strike,
With all the force of a northern pike,

In the water it came splashing,
On the surface madly thrashing,
I envisioned I should win a prize,
Then I saw its sardine-like size,

It wriggled and dropped off the hook,
Plunging like a pebble into the brook,
Spared by chance it quickly swam away,
Perhaps to be caught some other day,

An empty creel brought me endless sorrow,
I decided to try again tomorrow,
I went home at the end of the day,
To brag about the one that got away.

Your Name is Love

A message written just for you to read,
And within in it is a special prize,
Ingrained within these words and lines,
Love is the very name you will find,
Angels in heaven all know it by heart,
But sadly time will erase it from the lips of men,
In grace and beauty you will forever remain,
Always my one and only desire,
You are enabled to read between the lines,
Take one guess and you will surely realize,
Your name lies at the very center of these words.

The Old Man on The Hill

The old man sits upon the hill,
His peaceful flute song breaks the still,
When on the sea appears a ship,
With angry men and cracking whips,
They fight, they kill, crying mutiny,
The headless captain is thrown to the see,
The old man watches with a twisted face,
His head sways side-to-side in disgrace,
The ship runs hard against the reef,
And quickly it does sink,
The panicking crew, run about confused,
Then plunge into the drink,
The ship it bursts, and boards crack hard,
With snaps and shrieks of thunder,
The drowning men, try to swim,
But the current pulls them under,
A board drifts slowly to the shore,
Now everything is still,
A peaceful flute song fills the air,
From the old man on the hill.

The Immortal Voice

The immortal voice forever speaking,
Etched upon the page as if in stone,
Whether simple message or hidden meaning,
The truth is not but dusty bones,

To leave a thought or idea behind,
Seems to be man’s eternal quest,
How they struggle even unto the end of time,
A futile and vain attempt at best,

But when the voice is strong and true,
It speaks across the centuries,
A glimpse of the past for the present to peruse,
One of life’s greatest mysteries,

As if the speaker who has long deceased,
Has traveled through voids of space and time,
Words like tachyons from tongues released,
Quoting verse from some forgotten rhyme.

The Ghosts of Yesterday

The ghosts beat madly at the door,
The ghosts keep coming back for more,
They’re beating madly at my door,
Beating, beating, forevermore,
The ghosts keep beating at the door.

Reasons for Being

Where, oh where, are my reasons for being?
I’ve searched high and low and everywhere in between,
And nary a clue nor trace have I found,
Why, oh why, does my corpse walk around?

With deep consternation I am searching in vain,
For something elusive and frightfully plain,
For all of the people who know what life is about,
Have found the true reasons beyond the shadow of a doubt,

But as for a pathetic soul such as mine,
There shall be neither patience nor halting of time,
Perhaps if I remain ignorant in all of my ways,
I will be blessed with bliss for the rest of my days,

Existence is much like the leaves on the trees,
Soon they will wither in a cool autumn breeze,
And fall to the ground to be covered with snow,
As to the grave man, woman, and beast all must go,

Surely I exist for other reasons than this,
To wind up as fodder for the worms and sarcophagus,
To be forgotten like wisps of smoke and ashes in the wind,
To fade away like footprints on a sandy horizon,

But as I look around at my brethren and peers,
Who’ve found what I search for throughout every year,
The reasons for being keep them calm and content,
Yet I still do not know despite the thoughtful pennies I’ve spent,

And so to the awaiting grave I will travel,
Watching in earnest as this mystery unravels,
Envying those who are privileged and know,
The reasons for being in this morality show.

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