Death is late…Re-blogged from writer George Agak’s site, Sliver of Darkness.

I am very touched by this excellent poem by George Agak.      His work is very graphic, and grabs ahold of the reader and doesn’t let go.       It is an accomplishment to achieve such a deeply emotional work of writing, and as you folks know, I am not subject to being moved by hyperbole….so I appreciate what I may call beauty-in-horror.      It is a sad fact that this kind of terrible scenario exists in our modern world.       Thanks for letting me re-blog, George!

 

Sliver of Darkness

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I will write a letter and toss it in the wind
Or strip your hammock and toss in the river
I might be dead when they reach you
Nothing has changed
Yet nothing has remained the same
The gods have been vexed
All this time they’ve held rain

Grass still grows
Watered by endless flow of blood
The valley has changed its appeal
The shades we once rested under
Now home rotting humans
And vultures feast
The freedom fighters have fought the system
Then rebelled against their prior motives
They kill anything in human gait

But still….
The government lives
Not counting the ones lost
They fly outside to drink and dine
Because this nation is rotten
Their appetite might wane

When they took you, bro,
I couldn’t fight them
That’s cowardice I know
But death isn’t for the brave either

Bro, this nation is rich
You could have seen…

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Promise in a Poem (Cee’s Odd Ball Challenge entry)

 

I am unique among my peers
having arisen from the Winter
more or less intact… if a bit bedraggled.
One might say the word—disarray?
to describe broken remnants
and staring, bleary rimless eyes
askew and discolored
arrangement of my limbs and leaves,
disheveled scraps of nascent green
tones, silky serrated edges of hemline.
Better days have been….and will be again
and my modest Winter garments
will have fallen to the ground.
Please don’t judge me—for who among us
can preserve the beauty and newness of Summer
beyond the ravages of rain and snow
and Cold from the relentless winds?
You are invited to return in half a year hence,
and feast upon my resurrected beauty
as new green foliage  and velvety petals
of red and white roses prevail.

© Sometimes, 2017

Cee’s Odd Ball Photo Challenge: January 22, 2017

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swan song, Wordle # 124, MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie

Here’s a scrap of rhyme from one of my notebooks, Wordle #124, from last October’s prompt in MindLoveMisery’s post.    I would apologize for the delay, but here it is anyway….better late than never.

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2016/10/10/wordle-124-october-10th-2016

week-124

A grey Cygnet has lost its Mum
adrift on a branch of fennel.
A tad of soft nectar escaped from a bloom
inexplicably left by a passing Sparrow…
serves well as emergency forage
against hunger pangs, until Mama’s return
to bandage the Cygnet’s distress.
The sunlight reflects beams of light
which belie the clarity of vitrified matter
embodied in clear bubbles of resin.

© Sometimes, 2017

 

Fading Eyes… a Haiku for Rodovan’s challenge

Here is a Haiku I wrote for the Rodovan Writes weekly Haiku poetry prompt challenge.   The prompt for the week is the words– Fade, and Eye.

Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge Image 2016

 when eyesight fades, like memories

when my eye sight fades
memory banks are ready
to enter mind’s eye

(Sometimes, 2017)

https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2017/02/13/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge-136-eyefade/

be-longing (re-blogged from Lorraine’s frilly Freudian slip)

Pogo’s saying “We have met the enemy, and He is Us”— in the comic strip by cartoonist Walt Kelly (1971) has long since been one of my favorite quotations…and I find it SO appropriate to our current situation. Thanks for allowing the reblog!   This blog is fresh and different in content and ideas; it reflects my own frame of mind in several ways.   I think my faithful followers will like this blog too!

Lorraine's frilly freudian slip

fear does not a nation make

nor isolation a country great

as we move backward in time

we tread that very very fine line

all seems revulsion, rejection, disgust

“we have met the enemy and he is us”*

must there be a revolution, another civil war

for then “we the people” shall exist no more

* Pogo cartoon strip by Walt Kelly

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dreaming daisies

 

when the snow
covers the meadow
in silence
so profound
dreams of daisies linger long
after petal fall

© Sometimes, 2017

The Shadorma is one of my favorite poetic forms.  It consists of six lines…                  of 3, 5, 3, 3, 7, and 5 syllables…respectively.

Doubt

some words of wisdom from Opinionated Man (Jason)

HarsH ReaLiTy

I cut her with a little doubt. Not enough to break her, but enough to make her doubt herself. I watch as confusion clouds the clarity of her eyes as everything she thought she knew dies. And instead of despise, I feel her need to find herself once more. To remove the doubt I have placed as I doubt what we have.

-OM

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@smokendust

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Scapegrace…MMLM Wordle 137

(Day 16, 2017)

Rogue Mayor

ever the scapegrace (his position aside)
given no quarter of tolerance
for sudden nicotine cravings…
mealy-mouthed and queasy from years
of parapraxis and gelatinous back-bone…
he longed for a fusion of wit and wisdom
to complement his vast popularity.
Then at last came the day that a spark
took flare and he enacted a non-smoking law
of dubious but far-reaching value.

© Sometimes, 2017

 

week-137

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/01/09/wordle-137-january-9th-2016/

 

a walk in the park… a wordle poem

As we walk along the darkened trail
pine needles crunch beneath our boots
giving pungent aroma into the night.
Lanterns glow beyond curtained mist
we laugh as  an owl a “good evening” hoots.

We take the trail to the river edge
where trim gardens hide their colors
as they gather rest for tomorrow’s sunlight.
The moon parts clouds to reveal the bridge,
silhouetted demurely against midnight sky.

The horn of a passing ship on a mystery trip
captures our fancy as we breezily speculate
on excursions we still might have taken—
these are the things…  a sigh, a kiss…
form memories that linger in clear view forever.

© Sometimes, 2017

 

As all two of you know, I LOVE Wordles!     Wordles is a feature of MindLoveMisery, and I enjoy doing them.  I search for them on the MLM site, and write the word list in my working notebook, and work on them when I have a chance.   Sometimes it is an extra challenge to make a story or poem using all of the twelve words given.

t269

Wordle #269, originally published on Sunday Whirl, hosted by Brenda Warren  https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2016/10/09/wordle-269/

https://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com/2016/10/09/photo-challenge-133-and-wordle-269/

 

 

 

The Echo

(Day 15, 2017)

The Echo

Do your ever wonder, kind Sir
if she ever wonders of you?
The answer would be, if ever asked,
truth might be revealed…when taken to task..

Oh yes!  the lady remembers
and the words echo in part of her brain
and again she whispers…ever so near…
“never forget me”…from her lips to your ear.

Long ago and far away
a dream thus lasted, until this day.
those words echo again…come what may…
lips are silent, have nothing else to say.

© Sometimes, 2017

circling the wagons…

keeping up with the shenanigans
leading up to the off-again/ on-agains
complacent in our political wagons
endeavoring to circle… Old-Western style…
made difficult by attempts to  mis-beguile
by conflicting opinions and factions

turning the political order on its head…
keeping promises to the rabid, illogical  crowd
flies in the face of common-sensical thought
due to ignorance of which they are proud;
defying the principles by which they were taught,
…the  cost with which our freedom was bought.

© Sometimes, 2017

 

Who Knows Cats?

I am compelled to re-post this photo of MAWKIN and a cat poem from last year. In this shot he was observing our efforts to clean the garage.

SOMETIMES

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 Kitty…
Where do you go
When you vanish like that?
How do you reappear so soon?
Why are you napping now?
What is your game?
Who knows?

© Sometimes, 2016

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ambivalence

(Day 12, 2017)

which is worse…cold crisp snow
that freezes the toes and tip of the nose
that chills our  livers  and sends shivers up the spine
—or melting  slush of wet and grime?

in place of charming crunch of boots
and pinching cheeks rosy and frosting young shoots
discouraged from peeping ‘oer the sturdy ground
that protects from  sinking deep in the mire…

wading through former fresh fallen snow,
now transformed into slurping melting slush pools
seeping into shoes and soaking pantlegs
dripping and sogging our ankles..

soon more sparkling drifts of snow
will follow, draping upon the slush of yesterday…
adorning crests and crevices with camouflage
of winter’s beauty…just tread with care.

© Sometimes, 2017