Is it just me, or is this month flying by? It seems like intense poeming always speeds up time for me.
For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) or (blank),” replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Example titles could be: “This or that,” “Dogs or cats,” “Go my way or the highway,” “To poem or not to poem,” etc.
Here’s my attempt:
“ready or not”
we find the children
in an empty house
on the edge of town
where most things are found
recently. in fact,
we aren’t astonished
when they–the children–
are discovered, though
we took long enough
to send someone out.
almost as if we
could care less, we do,
and then, our outrage
at ourselves for our
not getting involved
any earlier.
*****
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*****
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Have to get the kids to school, but just wanted to say hi to everyone… hope you have a very poetic day.
Hi Laurie! Ans a happy poetic day to you also!
thank you, hannah
You’re welcome!!
Hey thanks Laurie,
Yes! Another poetic day
“Pushed or Fallen”
She sits
at the furthest edge
of the playground.
Knees up toward her chin,
holding the notebook
in which she has sketched
the delicate leaves
which have fallen
to the asphalt
in front of her.
Small bits of beauty
but,
like herself,
they are sketched
each one,
alone.
like the sense of edginess in this
Such a sad little piece, gracefully written. Hopefully not your daughter, Chev.
Thanks, Jane and Marie. Marie, it’s about an older girl at my daughter’s school. I see her when I pick up Greta. I hope I’m reading too much in to her situation but . . .
Glad it’s not your daughter. This brought tears to my eyes.
Oh, Jerry. I have been that girl. This is just beautiful. And the title is perfect.
Yes, so have I. A beautiful poem from a caring heart. <3
Jerry,
Quite lovely poem.
Jerry, just become a recent follower–poignant and lovely
Oh…so sad! too many kids out there like this, though. Hopefully, someone will reach out to her.
Thanks Shannon, De, Domino, Benjamin, Sara and Linda. De and Domino, I’d like to think that I would’ve sat down next to you, if I found you, and said, “Hello.”
beautiful and poignant.
Another poem of beauty, Jerry. This must be your month!
The Blank Page
This or that
What is this
What is that
All is empty
The page is blank
Waiting as the clock ticks
Waiting for your scratches
The mark that proves
You were here
If only for a little while
always that wait – that blankness before the singular mark – this gives us the ssense of time stopped for this moment
Well done, Annell. I’m sure we can all relate.
Fight or Flee
Basic instinct takes over
cornered by the hounds
of life
forced back to the wall
by the trials and tribulations
of society
when push comes to shove
when caught between a rock
and a hard place
each one has to choose
each follows their inner voice
their creed
their values
their instincts
and lays down the gauntlet
or turns on their heels
and no one
no person other than the self
has any right to judge
the choice
of the individual
conscience
Iain
really like the depth and moves in this and the way it keeps choices so present – one or the other
Bravo! I’m glad you are all caught up now, Iain. For me, this was worth the wait.
Love this Iain!
I like it, Iain. Good to see you here.
Hi Iain
beautiful write
Enjoyed this! Especially the line “cornered by the hounds/of life”…great job!
Thanks Peeps!
Good morning everyone! I’ve been reading your poems everyday, and you guys are great.
I’ve been poeming right along with you, even though I haven’t posted anything. I just want to make sure that I can market my poems elsewhere as well as here, so I’ve kept my poems to myself. Maybe I might just write something to post. Who knows. Have a great day guys!
to post or not to post – looks like the makings of a poem for this place alone – would enjoy reading your work to – courage or a draft or just a good place to actually get ones work read – go ahead…Smiles to you
Missed this post! Must be scrolling too quickly.
I can understand wanting to be certain your work will not be considered already published. Kind of you to bop in and say hello! Enjoy the remainder of the month, and hoping to get a peek at a poem or two of yours.
You raise a good point. I thought about this, myself — whether I’m preventing future publication by posting here, because those poems will be considered “previously published.” It’s fun to post, though, so I’ve decided to allow myself the luxury of a whole month of poems that don’t have to go anywhere (but here). Robert, if you see this, maybe you can address the question of whether you think many/most journals would consider what we do here to count as publication? I think I would rest a bit easier if I knew for sure, either way.
Yes but might I counter here that there are equally as many publications that DON’T CARE or don’t count blog-work as a previously published sites. And thank God for them! Patronize those sites.
FACT OR FANTASY
It is hard to seperate
they blend so well
A little bit of heaven
a whole lotta hell
and the twain has met
far as I can tell
and it blurs my vision.
Is it real? Is it not?
Cold as steel, really hot?
Hard as rock; soft as pillows.
I can touch with my mind
and it seems quite true,
to believe my eyes
I’d have to see through
the fog. It clears and what is here
is as real as a dream come
true. Fact and fantasy become one.
The line drawn continues unbroken.
enjoy the way this holds to the prompt and opens us to questions of clairty or fog – since rhyming is difficult for me – I love that in your work – reading twice and listening close
Another I can relate to.
This quite draws me in Walt, well done.
I love the yin and yang of this, Walt. Have to have both for balance and you express this so well here.
Love the way you strung us and the rhyme along–unbroken
To Sleep or Write
I should sleep tonight
Draw the blankets up beneath my chin
And close my eyes
But then I cannot write
There is a restless stirring deep within
Sleep is for the wise
To Work or Shirk
Duty is a tireless employer
Reluctant to ease its stance
Its reins too taut for wandering
Or pausing to whirl and dance
The wind tugs my hand from its toiling
And lures me with its rebel-dare
Will anyone notice my absence
As I chase a dream through the air?
To Lust or Love
I trace your body with a hungry gaze
You wink; the spark ignites to a blaze
But lust is a devil in an angel’s disguise
The attraction is gone when the fire dies
Love is constant; not something we do
Its garb is quite humble, but it is true
Love is patient, honest and kind
It satisfies both body and mind
To Persevere or Quit
I want to quit
My Muse is gone
But the one who wins
Is the one who keeps on…
To Dance or Die
To stop hurting or reaching
Or working or teaching
Or learning or giving
Is to stop living
To stop dancing
Is to die
Janet Martin
so many fabulous phrases that give pause to our thought – really like “Its reins too taut for wandering” among many – so interesting and rhytmic – like these joined as one
Precisely!
Luck or Fate?
I will never know
how you found me, but I am
very glad you did.
short and happy one – like it
So much said in just a few words–you made me laugh and smile–I can relate too; glad I was found
Fall or Winter?
The leaves had barely
changed when the snow fell on the
ground. It is only
October. Where are
my pies and costumes? You are
creating a whole
new season where there
once were two. I cannot take
this any longer.
so early and so harsh this fall or winter is up there – good catch of the out of season mix
“creating a whole new season where there once were two” … Good stuff!
I agree with Marie.
SOONER OR LATER
It was bound to happen.
It seemed it was just a matter of
time and good timing.
Dedicated to rhyming with words
that touched and teased,
but also pleased those so taken;
thoughts awaken to everything
around you, and it’s true.
It was bound to happen.
Warm heart and a lingering feeling inside
that can’t hide that words laced with passion
can burn unbridled; a side of you left hidden.
The forbidden words held close
choose to speak in hushed tones,
not meant to be read, but devoured.
Showered with praise that raises
your spirit and stokes your fire,
it was bound to happen.
And when you realize that
you carry this inner flame
to light the room with your words
and warm hearts with the same,
you resign yourself to the fact.
It was bound to happen.
Sooner of later.
Love this … this is SO your voice, Walt. LOVE IT.
You’re so right, Marie! This is piece is soooo Waltified
just adore this – all the internal rhyme, the generosity, and warmth come through again and again with the repetition assuring the inevitable…happening.
This is just beautiful. ^_^
Destiny takes hold!
“you carry this inner flame/to light the room with your words” – pure beauty, Walt.
We gossip, slander,
Natter, blather, vilify,
And call it “the news.”
the truth makes me catch my breath- piercingly good
What’s the title, Marie—Truth or News?
This is precisely why I avoid mainstream “news.” Very well put, Maire.
Crunchy or Smooth
You said my hips were
smooth and supple, but
all I saw were dimples
forming over night
like flash photography
on steroids; something
about sticky peanut butter
makes me think that way.
Oh, no!—not PB!
This is way too vivid
Very good – vivid indeed! – Moskowitz
I like this. It went nowhere I thought it would go and that’s a good thing.
Thank you… I’m stuck on PB for some reason.
Right or Left
The journey has been long and cold -
She donned a cloak of guilt
to cover her humiliation
and weakness;
and her pockets were stuffed
with loneliness and platitudes.
She was often offered
scarves of comfort,
teas of advice,
and so many shoes
worn thin from the curious,
awkward, and invisible acquaintances,
that her soul was quite weary.
Then she came to a crossroad –
She could continue down
the dark and lonely path she
started her journey on,
gathering her guilt and loneliness
around her until she was so
weighted down she
crumbled into the very
dust she trod…
or
she could go right,
and shed her cloak of guilt
and marvel in the person she has become,
surrounding herself in the flowers
of comfort, help, advice and love
offered by those who care,
and toss those worn shoes away
along with the pockets full of platitudes
as the worthless things they have become.
I thought about using “right or left” as a prompt too… and you did it such justice, I’m glad I did not. This is marvelous.
Always, I am drawn to that fork in the road.
With your details, you have outlined this so well!
Wonderful poem, Michelle.
To Stay or Go
They live so far from here
Or I live so far from there
the question
of the drive
of the length of roadway
rolling on and on
the whoosh of semis
passing over speed
the press of lanes
to full to slide
from side to side
no avoiding
this push to come
that rush of crush
I would endure
for glint of pleasure
in their eyes
when I arrive
still, insufficient reason
to decide to drive
The seven hour run
The double-time return
Jane Penland Hoover
November 9, 2011
I can so relate to this, Jane.
My family lives 21 hours away by plane.
Good one.
nikkeyg — I feel your pain!
The last of my storm Alfred refugees went home yesterday, 
and I am slowly catching up on the prompts I’ve missed. Haven’t had any time to read, yet, but hope to get back in the game soon. 
Keep PADding along folks! 
MUSE OR INSPIRATION
Nights consume me with thoughts.
Purile inferences that evoke
Emotions and desires.
All blend together to influence these words.
Keeping my mind on one so penetrating
Undermines the value of my intent.
Now as my day goes forward, it is hard
Leaving no stone unturned.
A moving passage reaches longing eyes;
A poem that is as much muse as inspiration.
Whispered, silence echoes in an understanding heart.
Grabbed the wrong word in the second line.
Not intending Purile (Peurile) – childish.
More in line with Prurient – arousing
I guess I picked a bad time to stop carrying my thesaurus!
*~* Haiku Wednesday *~*
Cleaning is a Waste
My day is so short
I have a big choice to make
Vacuum or laundry
But seriously,
Life is a Series of Choices
My life has flown by
How did I get to this point?
Choosing this or that
Future is up to me
Must make the most of what’s left
Whether smile or frown
nix “is” in last verse, doh!
Smile wins, hands down.
I hope it’s okay that I posted the same poem, with minor changes on it, that I had written for a previous prompt, then titled “Until I have my ten-cups fill”. If not, I guess I’ll find out anyway, wouldn’t I
I just thought it was perfect for today’s prompt.
This or that.
Which to do first?—
this or that?
My art or thirst for
words or what.
I know!—I’d do neither
this nor that,
for do I thirst,
but for coffee first.
Drats!—my pot’s empty!
This or that—
to do now—I can’t.
I must try that thing…
Yet I still must part
from words or art,
cause it just won’t do—
this thing called tea.
I so feel this way about all my sources of caffeine ! if you create a desktop image with this poem on it, I’d read it every day
this makes me smile – glad to see it here – seems right to me
Yes—got Jane’s vote, now Robert can’t remove it. Or could he?
Scrap or Save
still family photographs pasted on black pages,
little silver triangles to hold them in place,
of uncles playing scoppa,
and aunts passing chestnuts in a china bowl,
a carnival of stars
rubber girdles, nylon stockings, gloves with cheap lace,
shiny cotton dresses and white handkerchiefs
stained with stories, bitter and sweet
bronze statues, cinder blocks,
marble pedestals, wood carvings,
a copper candelabrum, an iron casting
shovels, scythes, and heavy secrets,
the center of gravity
an old church pew, quiet mornings at Latin Mass,
the ring of Italian words across oilcloth,
Salute! the clink of jelly jars,
Jesus on a cross, scapulas and evil eyes,
notions of sin and shame
pens, nibs and inks,
nuns with bad habits,
lives lived in black and white,
rulers that leave marks,
the shortest distance between two points
tatted doilies, hand-stitched pillows,
knitted slippers, crocheted afghans,
rag rugs, crazy quilts,
their suffocating weight
false teeth and trifocals,
pills, gauze, cotton swabs,
scented creams, and ointments,
the sting of memory that burns
half a wheel, half a loaf, a glass half empty,
subtle gestures, silent words,
pieces of puzzles that just won’t fit,
captured in still family photos pasted on black pages.
Wow! sounds like going thru an attic
it pains me to save & scrapbook because i know it will be tossed when i die… but its fun now =)
Attic, cellar, closets, garage, basement, drawers, closets, shed…memories to keep, but others not. Keep scrapbooking, there will be treasures there.
I admit it, I had to look up scoppa on Wikipedia. ^_^ This was quite a vivid poem to me, so rich in description. Thanks.
I watched the villagers in Italian hill towns play for hours in the piazzas, now know why the uncles so jealously guarded their scoppa time here.
I like the way a family inhabits this space – whole and held together – the black pages serving this so well – as both done and with such reference.
Cleaning out the parents’ house after 50 odd years, save or chuck was the order of the day.
Va bene! tutti e due! “nuns with bad habits”, “suffocating weight”, juxtaposition of the ointments with the stinging memories. A detailed and beautiful portrait–feels familiar to this descendant of Italian immigrants.
Grazie mIlle, Kit, how did you guess I’m Italian?
Hmmm. pomodoro was the first clue! ; )
REALLY liked this
Or
North or South
East or West
Up or down
Bad or best
Dinner or supper
Wrong or right
Chocolate or vanilla
Day or night
Fight or flight
Bus or train
Air or land
Sunny or rain
Work or play
Coffee or tea
Walk or run
Land or sea
Black or white
Pepsi or Coke
Skim or whole
Real or joke
Boy or girl
Truck or car
Paper or plastic
Near of far
Wii or Xbox
Samsung or Sony
Bacon or ham
Spaghetti or macaroni
Scrambled or over easy
Wheat toast or white
McDonald’s or Burger King
A meal or a bite
Life or death
Buy or sell
Believe it or not
Heaven or hell
Very nice. All the meaningless decisions we make everyday and the meaningful one some put off everyday.
oh the decisions we must make daily
COKE!
What a great flow!
IN OR OUT
Every parent’s admonition,
when conditions dictate that enough time
was spent trying to find a place for yourself.
Door held open letting in the bugs,
refrigerator left open letting out the cold.
In or out? IN OR OUT?
I can’t decide which is best,
I’ll just choose one, and come
back out for the rest!
Walt,
How funny! I thought of writing about my children at first, then a lover and then I decided on the dogs.
how many times a day do i say that? let me count the ways… also to the dog =)
In or Out?
Are you in or out?
Could you please make a decision?
I’m sick of standing at the door waiting for you to do one or the other.
I’m trying to be patient with you.
But you have to understand, I can’t stand here forever.
If you want the safety of inside, fine; you are welcome here.
If you want the adventure of outside, I really don’t mind.
But you have got to make a decision, because I’m going out.
Zig or Zag
The dogs lope around the field in single file
Bear first, eager to try everything,
his long stride taking him far
beyond the reach of terriers until her turns
and races back again.
The smallest ducks, his hot breath on her neck
until she feels it safe to race on by,
zig-zagging across the field
to escape the big dog’s games.
The other terrier streaks past,
racing along the fence line
until enticed by other scents.
A loner, alone,
he has no patience for the others.
They are too slow. Too slow.
You have captured the essence of dogs to a T.
Really rough, but I wanted to get in with all you early birds for once
!!
Rain or Shine
Something small will peep
from the pond,
will skim the sky
or tuck its head under wing,
will warm its face in the sunshine,
splash in a puddle,
touch a snail so gently that
it can continue on its uninterrupted way.
Rain or shine
there will still be life tomorrow.
Beautiful and hopeful.
Thank you, Laurie…my child gets credit for inspiring my optimism
Kids have a way of doing that. = )
You can’t see me, but I am smiling!
(from nano character pov)
The Dog or You
Ocean City Maryland?
Or stay here in D.C.?
Shall I shop along the boardwalk?
Or lie out on the beach?
And which looks more delicious,
the rib-eye or the shrimp?
Today’s a life of luxury?
Or is it time to skimp?
I can choose anything I want
The dog has little say
But if between the dog and you
I’d take you any day.
Coming or Going
Mom used to complain
As we were growing
That she was too busy to tell
Whether she was coming or going.
School and football and band,
Meals, laundry, cleaning, husband –
And love…always time for that.
Later, with kids grown and gone,
Slowing down some was an option,
Travel, dogs and grand kids on the phone.
Until the test results and five years of hell;
She vowed to fight, always answered the bell.
The inevitable call was still unexpected,
Dad, solemn, saying that we should be coming,
Chemo had won, she could not fight the infection –
The doctors all agreed, it was time for her going.
Now it is Dad that cannot figure it out,
Lost and alone in that house, just wandering about.
Run or Hide
Sirens whir and near,
they must be closing in.
She hides in her closet
clinging to her sisters,
who escaped with her
out the window
to their neighbors home
to make the phone call
9-1-1.
It wasn’t fun, just what must be done.
Her first instinct was to run,
but then who would tell the cops
that all the fighting had to stop?
Intense… a sad place for children to be.
Past or Present
A great wooden door opens with a creak,,
A gust of breeze streams through my hair,
And a flash of light flows before my sight.
I seek the halls for another single door –
To link what I have known with what
I will become – into the future I walk.
Come Rain or Come Shine
That little man has a lot of mellow
Marking his memories, a cache of croon
And warble warming up his craggy
Vocal chords, every song I play
A trip for him down memory lane.
I meet him by the piano where he parks
His shiny new walker, a basket tassel
Swinging as he moves, still a young boy
At ninety, with a new bicycle
Riding the wind. “Hello there, Sweetheart,”
He hails me. “What’s say we spin some
Oldies for some oldies?” So we do, adjusting
Our ages appropriately, for him to be no more
Than middle aged and me to be a teenager.
World War II favorites, the Gershwin boys,
Hoagy Carmichael, Cole Porter, Duke Ellington,
Arlen, Ahlert, Strayhorn, Washington, Waller,
He knows them all, calling for songs I don’t have
And don’t know, convinced I have somehow
Forgotten songs that precede my birth by decades.
Music is like that, a heritage from our grandparents
Hummed into our baby ears, made ours before
We know we own a history of smoothly flowing sound.
Sometimes, he joins his favorite lady in the lounge,
My favorite too, for she remembers all the musicals
And jazz tunes even when she loses lunch time
And names of other residents. She rasps out
“Stormy Weather,” her oxygen tank puffing
Along with her, he joining her on the final
“Keeps rainin’ all the time,” both of them swaying
In their chairs as if they’re slow dancing with time.
Then they all sigh and laugh at how this music
Brings back their youth, moving silky across a room
And singing with the big bands, sexy and alive,
“Spreading it around,” as she calls her dancing days.
There’s a seed of fear in me each time I visit
That one or both of them will be gone, a clutch
At my heart that I mask, searching the faces
For them every time. Fear is the price of love,
I guess. Still, I believe that karma and music,
Love and joy, and harmony, when we can get it,
Is as good as life gets. I know I’m strangely healed
By these old friends who cannot heal themselves,
That we make a tiny time trade with each song,
That “one more for the road” could hold us
A lifetime, and that is enough .
Love the song AND the poem Jane!
This is so beautiful. The title, the poem, the music and thoughts invoked. Wow. I love this Jane. <3
Thanks, friends.
Jane, what a stunning poem!
Pop or Soda
Pop or soda
or is it a Coke?
Nope, It’s a Pepsi if
you’re one of my folk.
(I feel like everything I’ve written this month has been kind of sad, so here’s a little poem for fun.)
a happy bit of fun – of yes
Rainy day or dreary gray?
She used to love a warm rainy day
puddles and rainbows bidding children to play
When rain barrels were filled with tomorrows supply
and gardens were watered that once were so dry.
She used to love the clouds with ominous swirls,
bringing chills and delight to timid small girls,
When leaves went dancing, making room for the new,
and everything was brighter when storms were through.
Now she looks out and sees only the dark and the gray,
no rainbows, no rain dance, no children to play,
The rain beats on the roof bringing a deep heavy dread,
and the wind seems to moan with words left unsaid,
The clouds seem to mock with their dark dismal dance,
like they’d swallow her up if they got the chance,
The wind blows the leaves, the trees lie naked and bare,
spring may not come again, and she doesn’t care.
She used to love the rain when it came,
now sorrow has blinded her and nothing is the same.
Loves Me or Loves Me Not
(a shadorma)
We all know
daisy-petal love,
evens odds,
is child’s play,
but we still pluck bloomed hope and
wish on falling stars.
That’s a new form for me. Going to try it on the next challenge. In addition. I love this poem
Oh, try it, Gregory. It’s fun. And thanks for the kind words.
DECISIONS!
It’s now or never
Take a November challenge
Make writing your bliss
Choose,
Said my inner coach writer,
Whatever direction
You decide
Your words will not go amiss!
Your money or your life
Your life-blood freezes as I grab the door
and vault inside. I laugh and menace your
pathetic husband with my pistol while
he cowers, dripping giant crocodile
tears on his gilded seats. I can’t ignore
your beauty – from your fine lines, I am sure
you are a masterpiece! That this old bore
has you in tow defeats me. Why while
your life
away a tethered bird, when you could soar
on powder-blackened wings? Come pour
yourself out on this highwayman! Your smile
is all the bounty that I crave from this vile
rolling stage. I don’t want your money or
your life.
This really is quite lovely. The robber who really just wants to steal a heart. <3
I love this!
Winter or Fall
The auburn leaves compete as such
with winter’s pearly snow
Ill prepare for winter’s rush
It’s strength can hold no more
So ridged is the winter’s breeze
Cantankerous to the norm
Poor autumn could not dare achieve
The beauty that it forms
The greens, golds and vibrant reds
A theme that won’t be seen
For winter reared it’s dreary head
And broke into the scene
The birds shall chirp no more
As all prepare for what’s in store
This needs work, but I have to meet another deadline, so I decided to meet this one in however slapdash a fashion….
Snow or Pudding
Winters mean discontent, disdain, death’s anteroom,
and the last name I chose upon marrying
my true love. A blizzard of contradictions.
We claim February is the worst month and bless it
for being the shortest, yet in the middle of its heart
we plant Cupid’s arrow (itself an image of sweetness
and pain). We celebrate God’s new life on the shortest of days,
lighting candles to keep the sun on its path. We curse
the yellow-brown wall that spans the trash-heaps on Broadway,
lest it stain our designer boots during the one season
it’s cool enough to wear them. We dance among the flakes
and fall, freeze, get found in April. More of us kill ourselves
at “the most wonderful time of the year.”
Our sisters die in skid-outs; our bosses’ babies
make forts and top-hatted men. We bury our heads
in metaphors, hoping for sleep,
as the lovely white killer freezes our brains.
Pamela Murray Winters
Several disturbing alternatives that have tortured me for years now
*
Rain or Snow?
It depends.
Drenching shoes and sticky clothes
Vote for snow,
(Or else, for sunshine.)
Tea or Coffee?
It depends.
Parching thirst and sweating heat
Call for tea.
With A/C on, it’s time for coffee
On and on.
Cats or Dogs?
It depends.
If drenching, drizzling shoes and clothes
Are not a real stop for you,
Most probably you have a dog.
© 2011 Mariya Koleva
I loved your cleverness. ^_^
Domino – thanks a lot! I never thought of it that way exactly
Pingback: Friend or Foe? | Soul's Music
Almost went blank on this one. However, my poem may be found here:
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2011/11/09/friend-or-foe/
Thanks
Sight or Sound
“Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize the manifold blessings that lie in sight.”
from “Three Days to See” by Helen Keller (January 1933)
How could I choose never to see
another Grand Canyon sunset
or Atlantic Ocean sunrise,
another heron taking flight,
rainbow appearing then evanescing,
or August meteor shower,
never to spot a four-leaf clover
or toothless baby grin,
never again behold the face
of my beloved?
But how, instead, could I choose
never to hear a tight four-part harmony
so sweet I taste it in my throat,
or the summer storm through
my window, torrents against the panes,
thunder just one Mississippi away,
or the lone saxophone played next door
by the ten-year-old girl, her dog
baying in accompaniment,
or the crack of a bat, the crowd’s roar?
How could I miss the sound
of his car pulling into the drive,
his key at the door—home at last,
the sound of my name?
And poor Helen Keller did not have either, yet made her life beautiful anyway. (But then, maybe she did not know what she was missing.) I do like your poem a lot, though. ^_^ How could I ever choose either?
She actually said that if she had to choose between the two, she would choose to be able to hear. You’re right. How could we ever choose?
Write or Not
Writing is
Right but
I find I am juggling
Today tonight tomorrow and find only
Echoes of verse
Outlined like a murder victim
Reality says
Now is not the time to write
Only the dream of verse remainse
Today I must again cope with lost memories
To be or not to be
My Day 9 Attempt!
SEE HER OR YOU DON’T
Dad was sipping moonshine
when she left. Maybe
she was looking for home
like wild geese overhead,
wings against sunset
as the pond drifts toward night.
Skeins of geese are gone
by morning. Can you still find
her here, at the edge
of father-air and mother-
earth, dark water? This pond
rippled with light.
Taylor, like the way your details paint a picture!
Actually have some free time today, will be back later with a deeper (womp womp!) one perhaps…
…
Sink or Swim
(ovillejo)
She thought, as she slipped through the water:
why bother?
When had life ever taken her hand
on land?
She would rather not resist the fall
at all–
she sees a crenelated coral wall,
spectral fish, flowers, tangle kelp green and taut:
a museum of drowning. She’d rather not
bother with land at all.
lovely and eerie. different than what i think of as your usual style – it’s a beautiful branching out.
['Cause everyone likes blank verse sonnets, right?]
True or false
My brother, 17, who curls away
from conflict like an insect from a flame
is to be put to death for my crimes:
I killed a man with one of those fluorescent
tubes. It was harder than you’d think. He had
it coming. I don’t want my brother to die.
Our father says that justice must be done,
and ties me to a chair with Cat 5 cable.
I plan a jailbreak, a rescue, a bold
heroic last resort — and wake, mouth dry,
stomach afroth, rebellious brain sparking.
He’s fine, of course. Wants to be a rockstar
or a priest. Innocent of homicide
by lightbulb, I draw the blinds, close my eyes.
I like blank verse sonnets! This one is quite nice. ^_^
Brr! I was happy to pronounce it false.
Paper or Plastic?
We’ve all heard this once or twice
and have opinions on what’s nice
to haul our groceries away.
But I usually bring my own net bags
(and a couple made from t-shirt rags
that have a certain cool cachet)
I do sometimes get funny glances
but really don’t mind taking chances;
I just don’t care what people say.
Paper or plastic?
Neither.
Print this out on little cards and share them with shoppers, you’ll make lots of new friends
oooh! great idea.
That is a good idea! ^_^
Cut or choose?
That is what I
told my kids
when there was only
one
slice
left.
The ultimate
fair solution to
the problem of
two kids
and only one piece left
(of cake or pie or cornbread).
When they first heard,
“He gets to cut it,”
one would beam
and the other groan.
But then I would add,
“But your brother gets to choose
which one he wants.”
And the looks changed
to puzzlement
and torture.
The most even pieces
in the world
(of cake or pie or cornbread)
were produced at my house
when my boys got to
cut or choose.
Oh, now I loved your cleverness! I will be careful to learn that lesson by heart!
LOL I must have learned it from someone — but it really did work. ^_^
Brilliant and cunning! A lesson to us all. Love it!
Hahahhaha. I love this poem
A single mom has to be cunning. (And they all grew up to be really nice people, so I must’ve done something right!)
Pillowtalk or Pixilated
Quickly,
Let Me hear your voice yet again
Whisper, and I will incline my ear
Sustain me with a word
Otherwise, our double faced
Tongue shall defraud us
Severing our bond
Chocolate or vanilla
Sugary, sweet concoctions
Displayed at the bakery
Are each glazed with desire and
Iced with enticement,
They waft their confectionery aromas
Beckoning me to come and eat,
Resisting is, of course, impossible
But a greater concern grips me
I hesitate, stopped in my tracks
Stunned at the absolute
Inability I feel
To choose
Chocolate or vanilla
I think you’d better chose both. ^_^
Wait or Chase
I didn’t have
the requisite confidence
to wait
for the pretty girls
to flock around me
so I could
take my pick
of any of them
just like
my mother
told me
they eventually
would.
No,
I had a mirror
and perfect eyesight.
So, I began the chase
and I learned to charm,
gently cajole,
listen for clues
and win their hearts.
I got very good
at
it.
The formula was
of finding out their likes
their secret dreams
unspoken passions
and then
fulfilling them,
with brazen,
unflappable
creativity.
Yes,
I could’ve and
would’ve
loved every one
of them.
l won many, many hearts
but I rarely got laid,
because while they all
desired someone
who acted like me,
they didn’t want someone
who looked like me.
(Again, that infernal mirror.)
I still chase
my beautiful
muse,
baring my soul
and my skin,
laying it all
at her feet.
I earn her approval
as she giggles
and the poem
blooms before her
and she breathes in
its rose-like scent,
smiles
and pats
her seeing eye dog.
Oh, my talented friend. How glad I am that yours fell right before mine today, so I caught it. Because now it has caught me. Charmed. Cajoled. Won. Perfect.
I am overwhelmed. It is so powerful!
Your muse must be ecstatic right now
Oh, Buddah….those girls missed out on so much!
~Paula
Love this, Buddah!
<3 This is so beautiful! <3 I love it.
Truth or Dare
(a Fib)
You
dare
me to
hold my breath
while you decide if
we are coming or going this
time, fingers crossed behind your back
forked tongue poised, burning
through and through.
Go. I
dare
you.
Wow-ee! This packed an unexpected punch! Is this a certain poetic form – to my statistician eyes it looks like a histogram.
Excellent (as always), De.
- thanks
el Mosk
Thanks, Mosk. It’s a Fibonacci.
Ah,so it *is* a mathematical doo-dad.
Yes. This one is ascending/descending.
Syllable counts of: 1,1,2,3,5,8,8,5,3,2,1,1.
I loathe math, but loves me some syllables.
Very nice De! (as usual) love them syllabels <3
De, this is AMAZING. Your poems always have such emotional oomph, and often so much in so few words.
Know or you do not ?
Songs and stories,
be it real or not;
words and images
presented or thought;
touch of your love
imagined or not;
changed me for real
you know it or not ?
ME Or Her
A past Just met her
Real Fellings Just some fling
True Love Just puppy love
Wanted Marriage Just wants sex
Children Wanted Just wants your money
Knows what I want in life Just doesnt know
Holds you when you need it Just knocks you down
Best thing that ever happend to you Just another notch on your belt
Will be there through anything Just runs away when things get tough
Its supposed to be slpit but it didnt do it. Everything starting with Just is her
I really liked this – Buddah M
Pingback: Know or not ? #novpad day 9 « Pages from my mind
Sink or Swim
Some think its just
The ocean waves
That can pull you in
They haven’t seen
Seen my current desktop
With papers up to
My chin
I feel the pull!
Robert I love the content and the form of your poem
With or Without Lemon
I never pluck the lemon
out of the water
give it a squeeze
or a twist
and drop it back in the water
Squeezing that bit of lemon
into the water
won’t disguise
or improve
the taste of the water
Too many lemons squeezed
into that same water
makes lemonade
not the water
for which I have a thirst
It’s amazing how many lemons
are applied to water
enriching the lives
of lemon pushers
I’d be just as happy without lemon
I like the focus of this – well done.
Heaven or Earth
At the edge of here,
she entered -
perfumed in the past,
wrapped in garments of light,
holding the future like a gift
in her outstretched hand.
I wonder -
Is this delicate being
real?
At the threshold of there,
a delicate mew is heard -
first utterances of this angel/child -
blessings spoken in the primal tongue.
We stare in awe –
Heaven’s gift!
Aww… that’s so sweet, just precious!
Thanks, Laurie! I wrote it with the birth of a friend’s baby in mind.
Pingback: Try Your Hand | Prose Posies
Try Your Hand (a blitz poem)
do or die
do, not try
try again
try my friends
friends or foes
friends forever
forever and ever
forever young
young or old
young at heart
heart and soul
heart of mine
mine or yours
mine alone
alone together
alone at last
last or first
last dance
dance away
dance all day
day or night
day of the dead
dead tired
dead wrong
wrong or right
wrong way
way out
way back in
in or out
in the beginning
beginning again
beginning today
today or tomorrow
today for sure
sure thing
sure enough
enough is enough
enough time
time to start
time of my life
life or death
life stories
stories and stories
stories are written
written or spoken
written by hand
hand in hand
hand it off
off
hand
– Cara Holman
I love blitz poems, and yours is thrilling. Blitz poems always have something special about them – the part you cannot alter once you begin. So it seems to draw the poet on and on, and it’s a form where I may admit that Muse leads me by my nose
So, that is it with blitz poems – in brief, Do or Die
Thank you, Mariya.
I agree– there is something special about blitz poems– once they start, they do seem to take on a life of their own. The really tricky part is counting lines and figuring out when (and how) to end!
I love that form. Nice job!
Pingback: Sunrise or Sunset? (NaNoWriMo – Day 9) « echoes from the silence
Heaven or Hell
Richard-Merlin Atwater Nov 9, 2001
Draw the line, mark the spot, take your own forgone lived choice,
Which will it be: Heaven or Hell; as they say: To be, or Not to be?
Are you bad as Hitler, or good as Mother Tersa, drive a Rolls Royce,
Or live as a crusty foresworn sailor who plies the seven seas.
Who can say with definitive stance the place YOU will go?
Some are good, some are bad, and some are just so-so to ban!
You may live in a tent way out in the northern driven snow!
But not be pure and lily white as the drifts unseen to man.
Can heaven or hell be the ONLY choice, either good or bad?
How good is good enough my friend; how bad qualifies to fall,
Below the line because of one bad deed which makes it very sad
That you weren’t good enough by one mere point to avoid the gall.
Me thinks the answer is more than that, that God is good and just,
That ‘after life’ has many degrees like Dante said in famous rhyme,
Divine Comedy of Inferno’s call may be just that, and thus it must
Be that gradations exist in ‘the after life’ according to the sinful time,
Or level of sincere repentance given by Christ’s ATONEMENT – “Lust
For Life” may be good or bad, depends on how you see it true,
You can look with wanton eyes of a devil, or zestful eyes for joy,
To lust with evil intent, or lustful desire to see it through.
But where will it all get YOU in the end, my full grown girl, or boy?
To Heaven or Hell; we get to choose by the life we live each day,
But again, me thinks there be gradations in ‘the after life’–we go
Into the mist of the unknown world from whence we receive the final pay,
For semblance of truth of the matter read my next poem to KNOW!
The Three Degrees of Glory and Perdition
© Richard-Merlin Atwater 2011
Dante took a trip to south, and back to north again,
He told about it in his song of reverence for the truth,
Inferno residential statuses; divine, the comedic has been
A guide for all to recognize the possibilities, or uncouth.
With Roman noble pagan Virgil thus to lead along the way,
One can not get lost or deviate into forbidden paths.
Like Baron Munchausen tales of how he earned his pay,
As soldier, adventurer, beyond Limbo of Roman Baths.
No exaggeration from the scriptures for the monk
Who seeks to know what will become of us at death,
Revelation gives us part and substance, not the bunk
Of what we wish to know: where went Adam, Abel, and Seth?
And all the sons of men who lived before the Flood,
As well as Patriarchs who lived among the Kings,
And Prophets down through time of old whose blood
Was shed for truth of noble cause assailing in the wings.
And masses of the tribes of earth who died before the Christ,
In blood and carnage of the legacy of man still given,
Until the Son of God was crucified in Meridian of heist,
Which set the trend towards the norm of death driven
To insanity of life whereby the sword predominate,
With battlefield of strife and hate and bloody gore,
And sport of torture lead the way for mortal fate,
Wherein the Inquisition religiously expand the lore.
Yes, the lore and legacy of wicked humankind,
To kill, dissect, behead, and hang and quarter,
Or burn at stake in mortal fires of hell to bind
For tortures sake the body thus to exchange and barter.
Who is good, who is bad, who is evil, is there righteous?
What of heaven, what of hell, where to draw the very line,
To qualify for north or south, up above, below, mightyeous!
Or not so mighty as to qualify at all, purgatory, limbo, fine.
Perhaps Dante was right after all to see nine heavens,
Multiple hells, and in-betweens, of Catholic disposition,
Levels down, and levels up, with stops along the way, leavens
Of the bread of life in multiples of loaves of various constitution.
Should innocent babes and children unbaptized go to hell?
Or death bed repentant evil man rise above to Abraham’s bosom!
What of the aborigine who has no sense of anything at all,
Who can justly say the line between them all is not only hissin’.
Sibilation of the mind like Eden’s serpent unto naïve Eve,
Take a bite of sin my darling woman, tempt the man to do,
Learn the knowledge of the good and evil as if to sieve,
As the Gods can separate Moslem, Christian, and the Jew.
Place within the proper sphere, be it joy or brimstone fire,
Is it one, or just the other, choice of God to so measure,
Draw the line and balance weigh, as the angels play the lyre,
Me thinks the outcome is more like Dante’s Inferno pleasure.
Multiples of weighty matters in the after life thus to go,
Some to one, some to another, some to the next, and so on,
Up above or down below, or in between, to and fro,
Heaven or hell comes in plural themes,happiness or forlorn.
Based on law of varied levels with obedience as the stance,
To determine outcomes of the future, beyond this mortal globe,
Shall we suffer crippled memories, or live to sing and dance?
Place our hand upon the chin, or fingers on the earlobe?
Do you ever think to ponder on what comes in after life?
As the body in the grave lies thus to crumble into dust,
Past the realms of spirit bodies in the Prison or Paradise!
Beyond the Day of Judgment, past Millennium’s crust.
Where do good men and the bad men go for eternity?
Or the evil and the righteous find their seat of immortal time,
Blazing fires of hell for some, others a throne of felicity,
Who can truly sort the difference of kindness versus crime.
Can the atheist beat the agnostic in the thought of who is right?
Or will Islam by its’ numbers crusade above the Hindu clan?
What of lowly exponential numbers of the Mormon upward flight?
Chinese peasant to outnumber all the Christians in the Promised Land?
Where is justice? Who has mercy and compassion for the few?
When will the meek inherit the earth, for now we know it is not true,
Not for time of Satan’s reign was the spoken word given to
Saints of old from Jesus’ lips upon the Mount who knew the clue.
The clue of mystery for the faithful who are given enlightenment,
Endowed with power from on high so that they may understand,
The where we came , and why we’re here, and whence we go, enticement
Of the Gospel truths revealed to prophets dispensed throughout the land.
Thus the secret and the mystery given to one Joseph Smith,
Tells of Three Degrees of Glory and Perdition based on law,
One Celestial, one Terrestrial, one Telestial, the other no myth,
Outer Darkness for the Devil and his unholy crew to caw!
Revelation in the book of prophetic modern day, from Section 76,
Of the Doctrine and Covenants gives us insight on the mysteries sway,
Pertaining to salvation, or not, of mortal man to ‘pick up sticks’,
And build a kingdom in the land that will be his final eternal stay.
First the vision tells us concerning the great fall of Lucifer from heaven’s sod,
Cast down to the earth to be the Devil, and called Perdition , “ the lost one”,
And the testimony of the prophet proclaims a living Christ as the Son of God,
And worlds created to be populated by mortal sons and daughters on the run.
The Gospel truth is thus revealed concerning Jesus crucified to rise again,
To bear the sins of the world through the atonement based on repentance,
And thus be the judge of both the quick and dead, of righteous and of sin,
To separate the sheep from the goats and send each to his final stance.
All to receive some kind of salvation except the sons of perdition who
Having denied the Christ through the Holy Ghost’s witness to them,
Will thus receive the second death and be cast out with the devil, true
Spiritual death as separation eternally from God, any light even dim.
Now in contrast to the evil comes the vision of the righteous holy ones,
Who come forth in the morning of the first resurrection as the just and true,
Those baptized by faith and repentance in the name of Christ as His sons
And daughters in ‘the Faith’, who receive the Holy Spirit, and who do
The bidding of the Father by keeping all His commandments that are given,
Within the Order of Melchizedek to become priests and kings unto God,
Or priestesses and queens as a husband’s mate sealed up unto glory driven
Forward to the Pearly Gate, just men made perfect through the covenant nod.
Thus they rise unto the Celestial Kingdom as their final fate and draw,
Within, three realms exist, for those who seek the highest point to be–
Are sealed by temple law as man and wife, a family, full joy, no flaw,
Others may circumscribe as angels in a lesser stance in what they do and see.
Next the vision opens up a middle kingdom for the good and honorable man,
Those who were blinded by the craftiness of ‘men of cloth’ not in the know,
And others who died without law, or received not the testimony of Jesus when
In the flesh, but after in the spirit world accept, and those not valiant in the flow.
All these shall come forth in the afternoon of the first resurrection and also
Live during the Millennium on the Paradisaical earth under reign of Christ,
Heirs of the Terrestrial Kingdom be they– after the 1,000 year quid pro quo,
To inherit like the glory of the moon in eternity so thus they are truly blessed.
Then the lower kingdom comes to view in vision rare for the prophet thus to see,
For the bad in life who are thrust down to hell to suffer for their sins that are
Not removed by Christ’s atonement since they refuse to repent of sin and who flee
From living by the law remain liars, adulterers, sorcerers, whoremongers, at the bar.
They shall not live in the Millennium on the earth but must await in torment
In a Spirit Prison thus to suffer ’til the second resurrection comes to view,
When that final moment sets a date to place the day of ultimate Judgment
Whereby each is assigned to his location, the Telestial Kingdom, the lower crew.
Thus we see that poet Dante had it right so long ago in what he writ as Inferno,
Or the Divine Comedy, in which there are gradations of glory and of punishment
In eternity for God to be fair in mercy and justice of His Judgment, those in the know
Recognize that man is judged according to his works in mortality the time of testament.
Chicken or Egg
Which came first? I don’t know;
I wasn’t there when it happened.
I was, I was, I was … wherever we wait
before we are an intention, or even a wish
—before there is anyone to want us.
Chicken. Crack it open to see if there’s an egg.
Egg. Hold it up to your ear and see if it clucks.
This quandary ALWAYS stunts me! Nice, I like how you related it to us as humans in the “question,”of life.
I always think the answer depends on if you’re a creationist or evolutionist. If you’re a creationist, well then, the chicken came first of course. An evolutionist? Well it must have begun with an egg that evolved to become a chicken. ^_^
Hmmm…thank you for this, clarifies things, believe it or not!
But what of the egg?—where did it come from?
From something besides a chicken. If you’re an evolutionist. And it mutated and BECAME a chicken once it hatched. ^_^
~REVISE OR REWRITE~
Words won’t lie
peacefully on page,
muses meaning
meandering
like loose strands;
tresses teased
by Autumn wind
lit golden with sun.
Pale yellow grass
field gone fallow
nature doesn’t try to fix
just starts fresh
the gem of green
emerges within the thick tufts.
Dried blades swish
articulating in thick whispers
not grieving in passing
rejoicing in the rewrite.
Regeneration breathes
in every new heartbeat.
Muses flirt. So, revise or rewrite, we must.
NAUGHTY OR NICE
At second glance, I can’t believe,
why, is it true? Do my eyes deceive?
I see your name and I’m confused,
why sure, the term seems overused
but it says you’ve been naughty,
you’re acting quite haughty
and that’s just not like you.
Always so helpful, a friend that is true,
a big heart of gold and you give from the same,
and still you appear here? My, it is such a shame.
I don’t feel quite right to mark you this way
so I’ll check it again, what else can I say?
I’ll turn up the heat if that’s your desire,
I’ll check with my staff; hold their feet to the fire.
I know you are good and you’ve got a good soul
why, you even run circles around the North Pole.
You see my point, when you get right down to it,
you belong as a “nice”, my choice by the sound of it.
So snuggle up on your bed, and I’ll get right on it,
don’t lose any sleep, keep sweet dreams in your bonnet
I’ll check every highland, leave no meadow unturned,
I make sure your status and good name are returned.
I check my list twice. Yes, I’ve found a few flaws,
but just trust me to fix them. I am Santa Claus.
OH NO!! How did my name end up on THAT list!! I love this, Walt! Nice to be your poetic neighbor today!
Ditto on the neighbor part. I wouldn’t put that smile on anything OTHER than the nice list. Trust me, the naughty ones know who they are!
Phew! I was starting to think my Christmas would be bleak! Although we both know the best presents aren’t things. BUT if I had to I could probably think of a couple of things to ask for from Santa!
Ho! Ho! Ho!
Loved this one! Can hardly wait to get my hands on that Santa piece you’ve got in the hopper! When will it be up for purchase!?
A bit of a setback Paula. The woman who is illustrating the book had broken her neck and has been befallen by surgeries. I haven’t given up on her yet, so I’m letting the project rest for now. I will revisit the poems and see if some of the new ones can make the cut.
Love this Walt— would make a perfect Christmas book.
Thanks Laurie. I am putting together the “I Am Santa Claus” poems into a book. As stated above, I am having it illustrated. But, yes they do seem to tell a cute story.
Enjoyed this!
Stupid or Innocent
Silenced as you stood over me
crouched into a fetal position
shock overcoming shakes
What just happened?
one minute looking at artwork
the next pushed onto a plain
mattress, struggling to get up
NO, apparently was not an answer,
room darkened, thinking my arms were stronger than
noodles, pinned down, knees prodding, rage infused
weight, a true weapon working against the zipper and button
no, this was not my idea of fun, thanks for asking
such a friend was this, to presume against a solid
no, guys in blue jotted down my story,
but I was just an ignorant girl who happened to
enjoy the fine arts and creativity of others,
allowing free minds to presume
I am as openly creative on their easel,
Is it my fault I saw black and he demanded red?
An amateur at work
law took his word, forget the hate mail, forget
it happened, walking
Alone downtown cobblestone amidst a gentle, falling
snow, such things taken for granted,
scolded cold, shaking flakes out of my hair,
Should’ve known better.
Okay, major major pre-apologies to the Beatles fans among us (because I love them, very much) – this just popped out of my keyboard, but it doesn’t indicate my depth of respect for them, as musicians or icons.
John or Paul? Paul or John?
Soulful, serious,
joyful little doodles and moments
of glory, but he got pretentious and
arty and before he could get
back to himself, he was killed, horribly, and it
was unfair. He didn’t have a chance.
But then there’s pretty and honest,
sincerity in every vocal lilt,
and songs for his mum,
you’ve got to admire that –
even in the face of that MBE.
Too hard to choose between the one who died
too young or the one who got too old.
Oh, hell – just give me that mellow
sitar and gentle missing George,
or even Ringo,
who tells the truth, even if it don’t come easy.
Poetry or paperwork?
These people pay me for my time -
you know I’d rather spin a rhyme.
In the reams of paperwork
the realms of detailed devils lurk.
My longing is to run away
to a land without cliché,
where jargon doesn’t show its face
and meter sets a dancing pace.
I love Excel files, don’t get me wrong
but these are not the stuff of song.
Lists and totals cause me grief;
pure poetry is the prime relief.
My words are choppy, brief and trite –
I worked them in as best I might;
if my bosses get annoyed,
tomorrow I might be unemployed!
TO FRIEND OR NOT TO FRIEND
With social complexities
hyperextended,
and electronic quick draw
we can all be offended.
Previously wrote something on the same subject titled “In Good Company”
Fish or Fowl
Unique was her word, special,
Extraordinary (said in two words),
But never different or strange,
Weird or wrong. Love whoever you are.
She wanted us to be comfortable
Being ourselves, even if that meant
Neither one nor the other
But scales here, feathers there,
Beak and maul foraging,
Fins and gills soaring like wings in water,
Our ever-increasing wing-spreads
Riding winds and plunging deep,
Measuring the distance between
Have and have not, want and need,
Hope and hold, guess and know,
Expectations and desires, self and other.
Sink or swim
-for Sarah
The last sounds I hear are my
car’s idle and the faint hum of
my cell phone on vibrate.
I will walk into this lake
like a goddess, let the ducks
and geese watch me slowly disappear
as my long, blonde hair spirals
around the algae tinted water,
as I hold my breath and watch it
ripple around my body.
For a minute, I even thought of
just swimming through the murk,
to get to the other side of the pond
to rid my sinuses of the stench of
this water, until I realized why I
did this in the first place.
I tire of all of this.
There are no answers to find on
my Facebook page or in my car.
I will leave you all to figure out
why I couldn’t remain on this earth.
LISTEN OR HOLD ON
A child at the edge, you listened
to water’s strange language
of time and fall, shatter and roil in rock-
pool, glint of summer sun.
Your mother gripped the guardrail.
You couldn’t understand
a word beyond the river’s call.
So many years later, camped
along a river under stars, you hear that
same tale whispered
just beyond the edge of language,
water on its way of letting go.
Is this what your mother tried to warn
with her hands clenched tight?
Today… a tanka.
“Eat It or Starve”
Turgid mound of meat
gray or brown or olive drab?
I really can’t tell
They should not call it a loaf
without any oats or grains.
“Breeze or catastrophe”
A stack of paper money blows away
in an autumn gust. Who left it outside?
And why? Malevolence or naiveté?
Now the rosemary bush holds a fiver
and Grant disintegrates in sprinkler spray.
We revise plans, wash them down with coffee.
The neighbors all say, “We’re in for a ride,”
looking up through the leaves of the plum tree
where Franklins wave at us on the sidewalk
on another slow yard-sale Saturday.
But at least there’s coffee, sidewalks and trees
(the fruit’s gone) and conversations are cheap.
The rosemary on our tofu is free.
We unpack our wool blankets for the deep
drifts of winter and these perilous tides.
We start sleeping like hibernation sleep,
praying the holy winds our souls to keep.
Cash or Kind
She likes to talk on long drives,
to assess the life they’ve lived.
“We never had a million dollars,
but we had a wonderful family,
and all we really needed.
Isn’t that better?”
Silence. “Well?”
“I don’t know,” he says, considering,
“I never had a million dollars.”
She stares at his ear as he drives.
“Well, good grief, honey, money
can’t buy happiness, can it?”
“No, I suppose not,” he finally decides,
“but it will buy some remarkable substitutes.”
Silence.
You Thurber you.
Don’t ya love a good car fight?
Pingback: PAD 9 – blank or blank | Vivinfrance's Blog
Whether near or far
blogging brings us together,
cements the friendship
On a day which saw the first in-the-flesh meeting between two long-term blogging friends, my senryu sums up my feelings,
Oh, ViV! I was thinking that you were to have met by now or soon. LOVELY poem!!
Words or Work
So far work is winning.
so much said in so few words. i feel your pain :-S
To Love More or Less (a sedoka)
In relationships,
one person’s love is deeper.
Enlarged heart, engulfed
by emotional
vulnerability if
love suddenly flees.
The other, with keen
advantage, bars locked in place
to ward off wounds of
the inner chamber,
can never fill to content
his imperfect heart.
“Inhale or Exhale”
Finally
facing fear
I’m rendered breathless
Rich or Poor
The poor are pitied
by some,
invisible,
to others.
Poor is struggling
to keep
a roof, a meal,
dignity.
The rich are envied
by some,
hated
by others.
Rich is not having
to worry
about comfort,
while terrified
of losing it all.
I’m sure not all of the rich folks fear losing their material things.
Wayne Elsey of Souls for Souls is a great example
a.paige, You are right. I should have qualified the “rich” with “some.”
Forever or Not at All?
Look up at the sky as it purples
so you are unsure when to feel the pinch
or if you should feel it at all,
then imagine you’re the sky,
your arms spread out over each horizon,
your wingspan as limitless as your lifespan.
To fly
many reply when asked their super power of choice
but it is the sky I want
and who needs the ability to fly when you are the sky,
the clouds your thought bubbles,
the world your carpet?
I have promised the sky
I would read her the book about recklessness
in exchange for just one of her horizons
but I can’t seem to find the end of the book
about the man who un-believed
and then re-believed about god,
now knowing it to be a small praying mantis.
I love this, mike
Thank you very much, laurie.
Work or Play
Those who go to work each day
wish for more time to play.
With diligence they trudge along,
for their hard earned pay.
But those without a current job,
the searching unemployed,
wish they had some work to do.
They would be overjoyed.
To wish to work or wish to play,
is all about perspective.
Prosperity and happiness
should be the main objective.
By Michael Grove
Pingback: Inhale or Exhale #novpad day 9 « LOVELY: Life on the Inside
Pingback: Inhale or Exhale #novpad day 9 « LOVELY: Life on the Inside
this has a bit of yesterday’s paranormal in it
Astride Nykur*
Do I hold my knees tight
To the eight legged horse
Galloping into the glacier lagoon
Or
Let go my hold
Tumble into the surf
Never to learn where he rides ‘neath the ice
* the mythological Icelandic waterhorse
SUNRISE or SUNSET?
Sunrise.
daybreak
the suns warm rays
pierce the horizon
calling to me –
beckoning me from
the east
my body wakes
rested
filled with the hope
of a new day
dawning
Sunset.
dusk
the suns rays
lengthen
shadows blending with
cover of nightfall
a cool relief from
the day’s heat
its fullness
settles into the
depths
of the western horizon
hard
to choose
a favorite
2011-11-09
P. Wanken
I can feel this one. I like your use of the prompt.
Very nice reflection of the ends of days. Morning rises to great heights. Evening goes down tenderly.
Again, you blew me away with your words, Paula.
To Read or Sleep?
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Snort, snuffle, sorry.
I’ve read and enjoyed so many today as usual! Thank you to everyone!
heheheheh.
Struggling with time management issues and lack of inspiration today. And it shows.
Easy or Hard
If you make a list
So long that not even
Ten people could finish
It today, who is to blame?
And then again,
You could take each moment
As it comes, and breathe;
It really is your choice.
Kit . . . thanks for explaining how to post the picture here from the web site you mentioned. Your description was easy to follow and I appreciated the help! Glad you are here, Kit . . . thank you! <3
This link it to Mary K’s response to Day 9 of the Challenge:
http://inthecornerofmyeye.blogspot.com/2011/11/possible-or-impossible.html
Thanks
“To Swim Out to Touch the Skyline or Just Stay Here & Look.”
He stood, regarding the
Horizon as the ocean
Ate the sand from
Around his feet, sinking him
Deeper and deeper and
Deeper; the earth’s molten
Core warming his soles.
Should he shed his shirt and
Jeans like a snake wiggling
Between two rocks, leaving
Only the old shell of it’s
Former self, and dive in towards the
Sunset? Sharks might nibble at his
Elbows; Whales could sing him to sleep.
Swimming, floating, bobbing
Along, the salty water of sweat and
Tears would mix with the sea,
Maybe the level would rise and rise,
Munching away at the
Continents til the world was a peaceful
Plane of blue. He could throw his
Arm over the sun and pull himself up to lay
Down on the yellow flames to rest.
It might be peaceful, but then
Again he could just stay here and look.
Thia is amazing, Nikki!
I agree.
Aww….thanks ladies
Truth or Consequences
Barely into our teens, we played the game
Huddled in best friends’ bedrooms
At those parties where the first one to bed
Got gossiped about
Or worse,
And though we squealed
With pretended shame
When asked whether we had ever
Kissed the class clown
Or stolen from the spirit ribbon fund
We told lies until dawn because
Even if we were discovered,
The consequences could not be as terrible
As the truth.
RIGHT OR LEFT OAR
In a famous family photo,
My mother and I are,
In a small row boat,
Both determined,
To get somewhere!
She is rowing hard,
Looking at me,
With her tongue out,
Apparently trying to beat me,
Win or be first.
I am looking to the floor,
Of the boat,
Attempting to focus,
And to navigate our direction,
Based on a feeling,
Of where we are going!
What I remember is,
We really struggled to actually get anywhere at all,
More meaningful or useful than daily pleasantries,
Answering the many check lists of what has,
And hasn’t been done correctly or well,
Or what ultimately must be repeated,
Until it is absolutely perfect!
On that day, we went in many circles,
Around and around,
Not finding that workable compromise,
To move us both forward!
Like any row boat of life,
Point is to get clear on what direction,
One is going in,
And how best to get there!
In her way of thinking,
And on that day too,
With Mom it was always . . .
A clear either . . . or!
Fish or Cut-Bait
Daddy was fond of telling me
When I was dithering about
Indecisive, not knowing what to do
Which way to go, to turn
Whether to do anything or nothing
Well, honey – you know you got
Two choices always, so let’s go
You can fish or cut-bait – so,
What’s it going to be?
Pingback: November PAD – Day 9 « Whitbred 2.0
Should I write a poem today …
or not
Dead or Alive
I sympathize with the
fugitive. The nervous
battle of suppressing
sweat, calming thuds
inside one’s chest,
making a nest of faces
and aching to blend
into their thatch must
be worth the reward
of knowing one is so
desperately
wanted.
Dead or alive.
In Crowd or Out Crowd
The crowd that was in
In our high school
The best looking girls
And the sports stars ruled.
We were the out crowd
And proud of our status
We dressed all in black so
People would look at us.
We were artists, poets,
Musicians and beats.
School was a drag
We preferred the streets.
To the teachers
We brought despair
We had the smarts
We just didn’t care.
As time goes by
Some things don’t change
There’s in and there’s out
But with different names.
Lies or Truth
It’s up to you to decide,
Take an easy road or the hard ride.
Easy won’t last, it’s an illusion, my friend.
The hard way of truth has a happier end.
Enable the current inclination,
or set the navigator to a new destination.
Contempt or respect is the choice you are making
Do you want loyalty or some fool faking?
One hides the other reveals
One cripples the other heals
Lies delay growth, lose hope,
you need more lies to cope with lies
and still you continue to deny
who you are and what you feel.
You lose sight of what is real.
You become imprisoned by lies and cannot see.
Sooner or later you will know the truth
And the truth will set you free.
Pingback: poem-a-day, november 9 « carolee sherwood
Pingback: November PAD Challenge 9 « Yay Words!
Five Truths About Russian Roulette
You can do all the math you want, but the chance of anything happening
is always fifty/fifty at the moment it doesn’t or it does.
There is a one hundred percent chance that what has happened,
has already occurred.
There is a zero percent chance that what is about to happen,
ever does.
There is no percentage in chance. That is why we’re so often surprised.
It only seems that odds are greater with fewer bullets
but once you pull the trigger it’s one empty chamber – or the other.
Edits:
Russian Roulette: Five Thoughts
You can do all the math you want, but the chance of anything happening
is always fifty/fifty at the moment it doesn’t or it does.
.
There is a one hundred percent chance that what has happened,
has already occurred.
.
There is a zero percent chance that what is about to happen,
ever does.
.
There is no percentage in chance. That is why we’re so often surprised.
.
It only seems that odds are greater with fewer bullets;
when you pull the trigger, it’s one empty chamber – or the next.
SHE who gave me life or He who stole my heart
though i’m showered with affection
and I’m loved unlike any other
husband pulls me in one direction
and mother in another
nice take on the prompt.
I don’t get political here very often, so please allow me this little indulgence, or rant, if you will. I kept thinking fo the phrase that became the title, and this is where it led me:
My Way or the Highway
When did “compromise”
become a four-letter word?
When the art of the hammered-out deal die?
When did holding budgets hostage
become good government?
When did the government become
the boogie-man, the workers its evil minions?
When did the “common good” become
“what’s best for me and my friends”?
When did CEO’s acquire more clout
than the President? When did our borders
become electrified? When did the Statue of Liberty
start to cross her arms and scowl? When did
the invitations go out for their little tea party?
When did the minority become the majority?
“Let’s build this road together” has become,
“My way or the highway”, but even that
isn’t much of a choice, as either route leads us
to a sharp right turn and a dead end.
Bruce, your last four lines spoke clearly of such a direct contrast and yes, what choice is it when there is a dead end involved? Political or not, your ending made a point worth stating . . . well done!
Excellent, Bruce.
Amen, you are preaching to the choir here, and I love what you are saying.
For Art or Money
Words for the service
of another’s need
line up challenges
like passages on
a high country trail,
a slippery creek bed
here, a narrow track
across scree where
every step sends
gravel skittering
down half a thousand
feet, and at the end,
a still green
meadow with triumph
exhaustion, and
and long view of
new territory conquered,
and yet, on the far horizon,
a snowy peak stands,
stubborn, that work
like merciless Everest,
pointedly perhaps pointless
but irresistible, nonetheless.
To Live or To Die
To Live or To Die
Never question
Never ask why
Both axiomatic
Choice but a lie
To Be Or Not To Be
To be or not to be is up to you.
It’s how you think; it’s what you DO.
But you can’t be anything
until you be you.
To be or not to be isn’t up to fate.
It’s what we choose; it’s what we make.
You can’t make anything
if you don’t think you’re great.
To be or not to be can be or not.
It’s what you give when you give all you’ve got.
But you can’t give anything…
Until you be you.
Your poem speaks a clear truth! Love your last two lines . . . simple in concept, can be a challenge in practice!! Well put . . . I enjoyed it!
Great reminder!
Day 9 11-9-2011
Write a “blank or blank” poem.
Wait or Ditch?
It’s happened before.
Our favorite breakfast spot,
small and family-run,
crowded with patrons,
some of them table-lingerers.
But this morning, more than usual.
Two men, tip obvious on the table,
chit chat, oblivious to us or the couple
ahead of us.
A man in the corner, taking up a table
where two could easily dine,
intent on his MacBook.
Several who appear to have eaten,
or perhaps they’ve just ordered–but my
husband’s feeling impatient with those
who, unlike him, aren’t quick to consider others.
We joke, as we exit, that the owner, who’s
apparently at her other job,
would not approve. She, in a brusque but
kindly way, often urges slow diners to
move things along.
We head for our second favorite place,
where this early,
there’s no wait, but due to the slow morning,
also little help in the kitchen,
and I barely make it to my dentist’s appointment.
But I make it.
And we wonder why people, especially regular customers,
would treat a busy family restaurant
like a deserted Starbucks, and be blind to people waiting and waiting.
Beautiful Challenge.
“avoid or adore”
>>http://rachanashakyawar.blogspot.com/2011/11/i-adore-you-romantic-poetry.html
* Thanks Leo, it was your page through which I came across to this poetic challenge.
Pingback: Poetry or Prose? | TrollPants 2.0
Poetry or prose?
Who knows?
In grade school where I learned to read
One simple rule was all we’d need
To nail the answer every time:
Poems always had to rhyme.
When the teacher read a book about a bear cub learning to dress himself and the story told how he got mad because his red shirt with the blue stripe got tangled up and stuck on his head so all you could see was his two brown ears, one furry paw and a little black bit of the end of his nose,
That was prose.
If Bear’s shirt was RED
And got stuck on his HEAD
And the sound of the TEXT
Warned you what would stick NEXT
And you knew by the RHYTHM
What Bear would do WITH ‘EM
And your head bobbed as you got to KNOW HIM,
That was, quite clearly, a POEM.
As grown-ups, though,
It’s hard to know
Where poetry ends
And prosy begins.
No simple rule
Like back in school
Exists in which it’s safe to place your trust
Enough to confidently segregate poetic airs from more prosaic dust
And yet, if we hope to avoid a glance or two askance the next time we attend a soireé or a salon at which literature is discussed
Find such a rule we must.
With the understanding that what follows is merely my own poor attempt at a reliable algorithm which may well go amiss,
Try this:
If you’re reading about a particular class of plants and the author describes them as generally woody perennials with a number of secondary branches growing from a single main stem with clear apical dominance, and it’s equally clear that the author is describing trees, and furthermore, you are absolutely convinced that of all the myriad subjects on which the author might have chosen to write he chose wisely in this instance because, by God, trees are what he knows,
That’s prose.
But, if, with a few deft images, a well-turned phrase or perhaps a single word that falls upon your mind’s eye like a thin ray of sunlight that pierces the distant canopy to illuminate a tiny patch of mossy, leaf-strewn understory, the author leaves you with the sense that all at once and for the first time in your life you by God know a tree,
That’s poetry.
http://trollpants.wordpress.com
“…that all at once for the first time in your life, you, by God, know a tree.
That’s poetry.”
Love it—especially the last line, obviously
Absolutely love this, and agree with a.paige. Get this “out there.” I believe that last line will be quoted through the ages.
Pingback: My Garden - Uma Gowrishankar :: Peeling Or Layering :: November :: 2011
Peeling Or Layering
The gentle wind on his grey beard
parted like grass on a windy evening:
follicles fall and grow – trope of death-life.
There are relationships that he peeled away:
new and shining like a snake smoothly
weaving its path in dust, dusty in no time.
His hair is wet with water he spilled the previous day,
he feels for the scar on his daughter’s scalp:
fingers comb the tresses she shed to remove the tumour.
SHOPPING
I choose broccoli skilfully-
firmly crisp–not too much stem,
compare the unit pricing tags,
apply my poet’s mind to get
the mathematically best deal
on cans of corn and Campbell’s soup.
I check the date on jugs of milk,
ponder large or extra large eggs,
pick over the clearance rack gems,
sort my coupons and go check out.
I’ve done it so well, but as the the
seeing eye door spots me coming
I shiver with sudden fright.
The big heavy cart full falters.
Where did I park, left or right?
Truth or Dare
When the skies meditate
before it rains, truth speaks its silence -
Thunder dares to wait,
when the clouds bash like diamonds;
against each other after flashes of light
occupies the skies before they strike:
eyes of the world eagerly watch
if it is dare, listen when it is truth.
You want to play truth or dare?
LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME
Love me, or leave me.
Love me and walk away.
You better believe me
I’m not begging you to stay.
After the time we’ve had
you just want to treat me bad,
Love me or leave me,
or hate me and go.
Love me or leave me,
love me and walk away.
You live to deceive me,
and someday I’ll make you pay.
With all that we’ve been through,
I’m sure I’ll get over you,
Love me ore leave me,
or hate me and go.
For all the times I told you I loved you,
and for the many times I told you I cared,
if, after all this time you don’t have me on your mind,
I’ll never be there.
Love me, or leave me.
Love me and walk away.
The day that you leave me
will be like a holiday.
I wished you believed in me
but now, just be leaving me,
Love me or leave me,
or hate me and go.
For all the times I told you I loved you,
and for the many times I told you I cared,
I don’t know what’s left to say, so why don’t you walk away,
and just leave me alone?
Love me, or leave me.
Love me and walk away.
You better believe me
I’m not begging you to stay.
I wished you believed in me
but now, just be leaving me,
Love me or leave me,
or hate me and go.
** A song lyric I had written a few years back that fits the prompt.
Love or Money
An artist, she
sees beauty
everywhere
all around her
makes magic
in any media
every day,
then, gifts it away
because
art, she knows,
is what she is
not what she does
for love or money
Which is why she has to teach somebody else’s kids, clean up somebody else’s messes, listen to somebody else’s problems, or sell somebody else’s junk to have a roof over her head and food on the table. Sighs. Wish it were that easy.
Hmmm… easy? Well… it is, and it isn’t. It sounds to me like you’re trying to mix “art” and “making a living” together. No one ever said that making a living was easy. (Or… if they did… well, they lied!)
Don’t give up on art (or music or writing or whatever it is that defines you & brings you pleasure). It makes all the rest bearable. Hang in there. 
Love it!
Thank you! It’s always nice to hear those words. You made my day. Thanks!
to her to me to yourself
I caught you talking of love on Facebook
it was not to me
I caught you talking of mistakes and
innocence retrieved
it was not clear: to her, to me, to yourself?
I caught you dining in town near tire shop
it was not with me
I caught you stealing apples from feral orchards
you didn’t take me with
It was not clear – is she in, am I out – is it just you?
I caught you bearing gifts in my kitchen
they were, perhaps, for me
I caught you loving the world, but creating
ambiguity for me. just who
goes there? her or me, or truly you yourself?
Sean Connery or Daniel Craig
Who’s your favourite Bond?
The one with the hairy chest
or the one with the smooth?
The one with the sexy Scottish accent
or the one with the English?
The one with the great body
or the one with the oh-my-god body?
Actually, to be honest,
I preferred Roger Moore.
But then I’m weird like that.
(Not true by the way – for me it’s still too close a call between Connery and Craig)
A day late, but better late than never. I had no internet connection yesterday.
http://wp.me/p1bqY3-gq
Column A or Column B
At Ruby Foo’s I learned
To choose from Column A and B
Or even C and D
The flaming PuPu platter and the wonton soup
Appeared before the sticky ribs
And a kind of noodled goop called Lo Mein something
In 1950s Jersey, Chinks meant stretching beyond
The boundaries of tree-lined streets called Main
Hair-sprayed women in pre-PETA sable and minks
Who played Canasta and Mah Jongg
With melds and cracks and bam
Cigar-smoking men who mixed rye and bourbon
With golf scores and a memory of the shtetl
In those pre-Friedan days, I could not choose
To be the rabbi, lawyer, doctor,
Just the mate of power or at least the date
Of doctor’s sons
Families sat shiva for those who dared to wed
The shiksa princess or the football stud
The pill opened new choices about when
To open razor-nicked legs in hopes
Of finding the One to define myself by
Today, when I can have
Chinese or Thai or Indian, Buddhist, Baptist, or Jew,
I wonder why
Choosing things I never knew I wanted
Is never as satisfying
As when I chose
One from Column A and two from Column B
REALLY enjoyed this! Great imagery!
Out of order once again, but I am trying to hang in there…
Pamela
The Princess or The Lady
Red or White
what shall it be?
Honour, Life and Liberty?
Or shall we cheer for
the Black and Tans,
rebels that shot at any man.
Guerrillas, young blood,
all in the name of money,
and all for fame.
Black or White
Tell me my husband is OK.
I don’t understand all this doc talk.
Say yes, he has cancer, or no.
The vagaries of the disease I’ll
learn when I can comprehend this first,
Does he or doesn’t he?
Laugh or Cry
You walked out, no longer in love with me
I begged you to stay, because I couldn’t see
How love could end so effortlessly
My heart is torn in two
You found a love with someone new
Someone you say excited you
Much more than I could ever do
I cry myself to sleep
You flaunt your love with cruel intent
You say this love is heaven sent
The love for me you never meant
I hang my head in shame
Your new love left you at the altar
As down the aisle she began to falter
She left you for your cousin Walter
You cry yourself to sleep
You are remorseful and want me back
Good judgement is what you say you lacked
But this time you will stay on track
I laugh and close the door.
Pingback: 9 or 4, on the Enneagram (NovPAD #9 and #11) | Never Say Never to Your Traveling Self
To be continued or not
She doesn’t remember me.
Did I imagine that web of sparks
and glances that danced
between our eyes
like invisible light
on the night we met?
Am I a fool, trying to dredge
up a memory from the pool
of lost time like a man
down a well, hosting conversation
with the echoes, pulling up
that dripping stone from the depths
and asking her to write
my name in the moss?
There’s no answer,
just a gleam of white reflections
cast from the corner of her
windowed inner self,
a smile, that beckons for more
reasons to share seconds,
and a hint of fate’s hands
twisting the dials
on the radio.
Sane or Not
Before the advent of in-the-ear telephones,
if I’d seen a person talking aloud, his hands
gesticulating as he walked along the street,
I might have crossed to the opposite side.
Once I was safely out of his sight, I might
have announced my non-verbal diagnosis,
winding one finger in the air near my ear
to show I believed him undoubtedly loco.
But that wouldn’t be my reaction anymore.
Now, I am tempted to tell a person I know
(who has an actual psychiatric illness), he
ought to stick a turned off earphone in one
ear whenever he hallucinates a tête-à-tête
so strangers wouldn’t know he’s not sane.
contemp or tradit
by juanita lewison-snyder
contemporary poet or traditionista?
do i favor more, metered or free verse?
does my work lean more towards
epic, lyrical, or the dramatic?
if i were to describe myself in
one word provocateur, would it be
stanza or prose, concrete or haiku?
narrative or speculative, classical or slipstream?
or do i curdle too chicano for you?
even i am not entirely sure myself,
disliking labels et all, knowing
whatever slave plan they come up
with to explain away my death
i will most vehemently
and unequivocally deny
from behind the blush rhododendron
pulpit of my final resting place.
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Charge It!
To shop or not to shop:
on my list, at the top?
Let’s go!
I’ll do it ‘til I drop.
Even then, I won’t stop.
And so…
I’m off to boutique hop
like a crazed turbo-prop.
Owe… No!
###
(Note: The form is Lai.)
Bliss
Toast and jam
Buttered and spread
Getting up or going to bed
Tea and coffee
Sugar and cream
Add a book and it’s a dream
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With or Without
At sunrise, my heart breaks
without the stillness of night.
Light swings into place –
the fairest silent cinema.
Early risers in the hedgerow
bestow electric arias
with the myth of shadow
cast into my room
***
work or home
***
the box maker
leaves early
to visit
my child.
I am like them both
inside.
I don’t know that I understand this — and yet, it made me smile, and I enjoyed the experience. I’ll sit with this for a bit.
OUT OR IN?
Rainy Sunday -
The old yellow dog
can’t decide
if she wants
to go out
or stay in.
Day 9 poem
Here Or There, Up or Down
In or out I say to Hannah (four)
Come in or out but please close the door
Do you want your coat? Put on your boots
Cheerios or oatmeal?.
Up or down I say to Ben (two)
Make up your mind you can’t go through
Why do I have to choose? He asks quite seriously,
whether or not to put on shoes,
If I want to go outside
or just want to take a ride?
Who says that it must be?
Pick a dress, decide on lunch
Life’s full of decisions and I’ve hunch
that none of them are easy
all this either or makes me very queasy
When I was ten I thought I knew
What it was that I would do
Be a cowgirl, be a vet
Today I’m old as old can get
I’m not a doctor or a star
I’m not even sure I’m a poet!
Dead or Alive?
Dead in sin or alive in Him
I praise God for His choice
I am not what I once had been
My reason to rejoice
Walk alone or by His side
How will I take this path?
Now in Christ I do abide
No longer under wrath
Is there a cost or is it free?
I see now both it is
It cost His life for me he gave
And now I know I’m His
Men or Women
Men play games
Women invent them
Men are children
Women give birth to them
Men are pains
Women cure them
Men are insane
Women prevent them
Dead or alive
Like Schoerdinger’s cat
Life clings to the electron
Both alive and dead
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