“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Doing the math
A good belly laugh adds a minute.
A warm embrace, easily a whole day.
TV wastes years, so do tears.
Alcohol, cigarettes, digesting
things we can't pronounce, revenge and regret,
their price-I forget.
A day to do nothing but play, just wishes and kisses.
A few minutes with a poem, Hi-ho-Hum.
Working at Someones Expectations Inc.
(offers no benefits or retirement).
The sun.
The ocean.
Negative people.
Settling or stagnancy.
Let's see...
Plus or minus, more or less,
Failure, I mean Opportunity
I'm about even with karmic destiny.
This is totally life.
Image By Bhakti Ziek (provided by the author) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Lip sticks and stones
The way my name sits in your mouth, at least, you want it to. The 'a' hanging an ellipses on the sound waves. The rattling of conso...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
Failure is all the rage these days. I have been practicing, and I understand the rage. Someone said that melancholy is tragedy handled well....

No comments:
Post a Comment