Ships sink to bottom in billowing sea;
"It's in that number," apparent to some;
Walking the coast, "I'm no widow," said she;
Either await or admit it won't come.
How many years did she wait for that ship?
Youthful and vibrant to aged and gray;
How many courses of life she let slip,
Married to breakers that crash on the quay.
Surely, we think that her mind must have known
Never again would she look on his face;
Ah! But her heart made a choice what to own,
Better a dream than a grief in its place.
Countering calamity, comfort to cope,
In with the plagues did Pandora give hope.
It took me years of training
to move my legs like this,
gliding over the granular
on long feet with curved width,
to make my legs flail left and right,
my upper half stock-still,
balancing and countering
so I won’t take a spill,
I’m going about forty-five,
but I’ve got no steel cage,
just long blades cutting through the white,
so long as it behaves.
Gravity is now my plaything,
as much as I am hers,
cross a mile in two minutes,
a small grace I have earned,
the blur of speed makes its own wind,
downs out the weaker noise,
just a fast bubble around me,
that calmness I enjoy.
Gray mercury says twenty-three,
but I don’t feel a thing,
you really only note the chill
when you have stopped moving,
my weight becomes a shifting ball,
it flows, then it slams home,
at other times it’s zero-G,
a feeling few have known.
Winter-brown trees are flashing past,
guiding the broad, white trail,
they remain still, branches don’t wave,
this time I am the gale,
it’s rare to find a day like this,
where crowds don’t slow you down,
when you can streak across the snow,
flying just off the ground.
Power you can’t bottle and sell,
magick is not something to quell;
Her heels click just like a bombshell,
able to fuel and cast a spell;
Toxic rumors grow and dispel;
Throwing judgement without intel,
they scream furious ‘Burn the witch!’
She flipped a switch so very well;
Wildfire licks at backwards language
ingrained from a very young age;
The four corners consume their rage,
energy goes on a rampage;
Countering with the truth’s message,
it cleans the air with soothing sage;
Seeing through all their false idols,
young disciples control the cage.
The staticky-stars climax under intense blanket of Winter glow.
Your spouse can’t see your spirited green eyes that burn slow.
The friction of campfire sticks, the satiny slipperiness of moon.
Flames of blue, orange and red won’t be overcome too soon.
Pert rose petals, that once were goosebumpy and ice cold,
scintillate like fireworks until the grand finale’s loosed, uncontrolled.
Warm breath in a cold Winter’s steamy and a restless beast.
Lips lavish over late night feast, matches singe, sate increased.
Squirming under the leisurely complement of coals, coalescing,
Coolness of a blue lake vaingloriously countering, distressing.
A long midnight’s thrashing, sans pillory; the high beams foray.
Pillow talk, a sensuous squeeze, a high-diving elixir bouquet.
Ah those stars brilliantly glowing on a long Winter’s night!
Those limbs blush, rose petals crush, with unfettered light.
You say your room is a confinement
where you’re forced to have tea parties with your greatest enemy; your thoughts
But looking through your window from the overgrown path,
You room looks like a palace to me
And as far as I can see, there’s no crusade out to take your land back
The only force driving the dichotomy of nirvana vs. under siege, is you
So do yourself a favor and lay your swords to rest until the final cue
Fall back into bed and thank your posters hanging over head
That your innocence has worked for and not against you
Conferring with coffins to abstain at any cost
Only for me to realize
That I didn't find you
‘cause you were never lost
Countering-protesting the coroner
Tracking my lucky stars like an astronomer
Only for me to suffer through stuttering speech
Of how I never really found you
cause you were never really lost
Look into the center of my black circles growing wider
And see the portal to hell I’ve absorbed inside
I’ve never had so much hate in my heart
I’m grappling with the absence of you more than ever
But I never really found you
cause you were never really lost
Some had bank accounts taken t'was on the news this
Situation'
Though some reasons were given.! That these people were un-ruly
Un-shriven?
Yet that turned out a misnomer? Or a lie.? Maybe
Just a stumer?
Let us trust in the passage; of some time, all can't
Manage, thats.Just fine.
Will there be a retribution? On these operatives of
Institutions?
Social steerers; cheerers of default changing, who appear
Mostly as changelings'
Should the cohorts of a feather? Get some tar as per
To the letter?
Will the emails be 'flying?' Will many pundits be vying??
Is there any reality?
Can there; be? some countering of such insanity?
With a roof over your head,
A key to your door
Fire in the grate
Clippie rugs on the floor
The countryside to roam
A dog by his side
A boy may be poor but
He’s still got h!is pride.
Another spring approaches
Weather more and more mild
Memories rush back from
When I was a child
More than fifty years ago
My dad used to say
Nights were drawing out by
A cock stride a day.
A man of the land once of
The shire drawn plough
Earning his weekly pittance
By the sweat of his brow.
A man of his time when
Most of the working nation
Were condemned to poverty
And blatant exploitation
My mam and dad never
Ever had a lot
But seemed so happy
With what little they’d got
And I had a childhood rich
In everything but wealth
Loved and wanted and
Blessed with good health.
Times have changed and today,
Poor materially have much more,
But the bailiff does at times seem
Never far from a worker’s door,
And I never thought I’d see the day
When a worker gave thanks
For the charity donations
From now essential food banks.
Mithering - North England dialect - worrying , complaining, countering
fight
violent, bloody
kickboxing, brewing, countering
warfare, confrontation, retreat, trajectory
curtailing, startling, accelerating
controlled, sudden
flight
Date created: 07/03/2022
They called themselves
the "Moody Glues"
like jets in flight
higher than kites
huffing to no note deadbeat drummers
forever marching covertly across handless
fields of teenage want.
Tubing--a way countering neigh-boring hoods
of muddle class clones, quickly learning the
brown bag cost
Fuming to convey their High brain frost.
Dig it daddyo, cool beans, the 50's "Glues Clues"
60's
sharing in an ever raging generational divide of
pandemic Paradies Lost.
Hero
Helpful, Strong
Striving, Battling, Winning
Warrior, Idol, Fighter, Rescuer
Opposing, Countering, Contending
Junky, Worthless
Villain
Distant piano music,
or is it the speech of a banjo
unearthed from some attic prison?
Wait, do I hear a flügelhorn moaning,
or is that a different conversation?
Brahms plucks at his peppery beard,
glissando and arpeggio flutter
into mountains of buttery mutter.
We the players and listeners
twist our ears into ad hoc rock bands,
countering the contradictions
through inaudible librettos.
Bless you, you fish-faced plods,
can't you hear the bubbles in your heads
how they practice and refrain -
echo-on as your own wagging
tone-deaf tongues?
Some people leave us without any reason,
We are left in treason.
The memories remain as if in prison,
Because they don't tend to erase with season.
We slowly in our thoughts resign
All those fake smiles we do design.
Remembering those moments so pristine,
we ourselves to our past assign.
Slowly succumbing to depression,
Habituating ourselves to aggression
We lead our life with confusion,
Wondering the reason for this intrusion.
Losing eventually the smallest of perfections,
We tend to malfunction.
Our heart slowly slipping away to detention,
We cry ourselves to sleep in desperation.
Waiting if there would be any hope,
But our conscience countering with a nope
We do ourselves dope,
With the drug called depression we cope.
Shades of Awakening
Cool of the moon dampened the heat of the sun.
Corals of sleep invigorate the restful one.
Falling awake on this crystal clear morn,
Into cerulean, my soul is born.
Naked and relaxed, aquamarine inspired,
Freedom of expression aligns, with what is desired.
Torso eases heavenward, raising the headless mind higher,
The soul whispers chartreuse, countering any mire.
The nose is the first to welcome, summer’s warm breath,
Lilac reminiscence, of youthful ambition’s clash with death.
Eyes ease open with a newborn's stare,
Taking lavender and wonder, of what may be there.
The sun’s rays creep evermore slowly into morning’s night.
Providing focus and saffron, toward the One true Light.
Silent beauty abounds, and finally words begin to take shape,
Lemon thoughts of what may lie beyond the drape.
With a backward bounce rolling into an upward leap,
A tangerine mind set robs gravity of its attempt to keep.
As if steadied with a rare watermelon tourmaline,
The first step of the day brims with summertime hues unforeseen.
A Year Ago
the moats of your castles
were those big round eyes
brownies shot projectiles
piercing my blue skies
you dug trenches with blinks
thwarting my yearns and choices
countering lashes that sink
your eyes hugging other voices
try recall those starry nights
I was in left field
with my demons at fight
up against your shield
throw me no bat and ball
given no chance to come to the plate
it was easy to see me take a fall
pocket dreams of you is all I fate
and those brownies only read the cover
it hurts. not the pages of me to discover
connie pachecho
8/1/17
Where Tongues Cursed We Did Bind
We fought the devils in steady spells,
and rest between the hammering blows,
and with heart's sigh our spirits tells;
that black shadows fear now knows.
Where tongues cursed we did bind,
with sharp thorns driven in deep,
they countering back in kind;
in short moments we dared to sleep.
No dawn came that entire week,
just night darkness giving its aid,
our doubts we refused to speak;
else needed courage would fade.
Thus we ourselves did then deceive
our souls that doubted what to believe.
R.J. Lindley,
Oct. 15th 1979
Syllables Per Line: 9 9 8 7 0 7 7 7 8 0 7 8 7 7 0 8 9
Total # Syllables: 108
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 86
Related Poems