Fruitful or less service to universe, race, self?
Resources used wisely or squandered?
Desultory paths wandered with intent or not?
Sands silently stop
Waiting for the all encompassing corruption, subsumption
Contributions ultimately forgotten or turn to dust
Future kind dig, discover, analyse remains
Content of past lives being hypothesised
Perché, pam, why?
Deep blue sky unmarked by cloud or objects high
Longest shadows cast low upon journey’s path
Soul chilling clamminess battles warming morning
Lively zombies walking jogging ambling waving
Covid-19 avoidance strategies employed
Brazen blooms bounce in the gentle breeze
Poincianas advance into skeletal slumber
Dew laden blades tightly packed unmoving
Noisy silence interspersed with staccato birdsong trilling
Strangeness of feeling being part of the ab-usual un-normal
Temporary
Having more than the average, five;
Projects ones thoughts into longer term.
Drawing out syllables, rhyming parts:
‘Temp – Schemmp’, ‘por – more’, and ‘rary – praery’.
Magically feeding self-denial.
A state of mind, as well known as the,
Skittish nature of often absent,
Fleeting muse. One certainty, in time,
All things good, bad, indifferent shall pass.
Beneath bright golden veneer of respectability;
Strong sense of black and white, right and wrong.
Consistently, calmly, controlling, checks and balances.
Within an organised mind of professional standing;
Team player, relationship builder, extraordinaire.
Seriously, delivering on goals for stakeholders, all.
Now and then, chink appears.
Mischievous smile, reveals;
The darkness shining through.
In this age of unreal digitalis,
Two species; dead and alive.
Overlaid in unintentional way.
For this, homeward traveller,
One missed heartbeat of joy. In the moment,
He returns to capture it.
Post or pole, what are the definitions?
Stirring thoughts, connotations.
Is height a factor to be considered?
Vertical ground bound, are posts.
T’other hang angled; online truth obtained.
Garlanded or wreathed by leaves?
Both appear to suit this situation.
As with notice, frame seems best.
Insta or blog worthy? Driven by will,
This inspired author conjures
Prose. Ten, seven rythmn, no rhyming here.
End in sight; high time to close!
Pouring down, hitting ground; transmutating.
Seeps slowly underground, no abating.
Gradually following gravity’s pull,
Channelled torrents churn to violently mull.
Cascading courses entwine, clashing. This
Roaring deluge crashes with a hiss.
Omnidirectional mist, high and low.
Fleetingly dancing, riding to and fro,
On gentle cavern’s zephyr, in the dark;
No living creature to watch or to hark.
Droplets traverse the void of chasm, old.
Catching hold, dingle dangle, dripping cold.
Rivulets forming, trickling, finding pass,
Slowly towards the edge, achieving mass.
Flowing from upon high to splash below.
Tinkling then momentary ripples show,
Moving across slow ebbing surface, creep.
Joining still amorphic pool, running deep.
Late afternoon in Morningside.
Yellow and purple-blue jacarandas
Stand, in contest on Kates Street.
Puffed up in show of flower bells,
Attracting bees to plunder, and
Springtime passers by, to wonder
At the temporary beauty beheld.
Lazy limbs and bones,
Sluggish to the core.
Stagger, twist and swing
T’ward unknown purpose, all
Insatiable appetite for flesh,
Undiscerning, rich or poor.
Reproductive feedings, leaving
Swathes of blood and gore.
Horrors of imagination conjured in name of fun.
Back to real life, it’s all basking in the Sun!
Thoughts ….. float ….. forth.
Unconsciously conjured from etheric darkness. Transmuting into gems, to be raked, graded and sequenced.
Strings
Uncoil, undulate,
Knot.
Repeated until magnum opus’ in hand;
Orators inspire,
Dictators demand.
In comparison, soft speakers mouth and utter.
Unheard messages left fading
….. into….. soulful….. silence.
I recently met a writer in a non-authoring situation. After completing a little background reading on them, I decided it was time.
I enjoy writing poems, but are they any good? When viewed through Olumide Holloway’s creative writing lens (Word Up), they mostly suck.
In the spirit of reflective self improvement I have revisited one of my ditties.
On a side note I learned that shaking the iPhone, in frustration, allowed me to undo the accidental deletion of said poem.
Tinsel
Polyvinyl chloride sparkle, eons in the making;
Irresponsibly procured, a token,
In an intergenerational
Treasure hunt for more,
now strewn.
Destined to voyage and become entwined,
In a grotesque ocean whirl.
To disintegrate and be consumed by
Zooplankton and coral; the primordial source.
Reports abound of microplastic laden seafood, served upon the plate.
Will it lead to ecocide and humanity’s suicide? Scientists debate.
Let me know if you think it is an improvement on the original, below, or not.
Incongruous
Beneath a hedge
Beyond leaf litter and bark
Draped over twigs
The blue tinsel-tousle dwells
