Let go. Move on.
Please no, not gone.
*'Fourtle Poetry Contest
*Sponsored by: Charles Messina
*Entered on: 09/15/25
The Fray
I stay above the fray
Taking no side
You may disagree
Dont bring dispute to me
I stay above the fray
Involvement I avoid
Neutral I shall be
No disarray for me
I stay above the fray
Struggle is your own
No conflict can’t you I see
So leave and let me be
The tailor rests in her workshop alone.
Grabbing the thread for the day's work ahead,
she begins pushing needle through cloth.
In exercise, she customizes garments, stitch by stitch,
Though it's slow, her craftsmanship shows
uniquely perfect alterations to all her customers' clothes.
Free of charge she'll embroider!
Weaving colorful flosses in and out,
she's leaving shapes and symbols of brightness about.
Now, next door resides a factory--
Producing pants and gray garb by the pound,
sewing seams a million a minute,
machines militarily hum-- a deafening sound.
Though it's quick, embroidery: $2.50 a stitch!
Soon soulless, the town paces around;
robotic sporting same-sized sacks,
bland factory templates surround.
Yet the tailor still rests in her workshop alone:
knowing stitches sincere are those that are *****,
perfect to the individual, not the machine.
To go or stay
To start or delay...
But what might others say
A female flinging foolish frowns away, affably allaying a fray.
Here I sit, diving into some wits,
my mind over, at this time
Looking for some intellect to jot down
Then, I came across these words in my mind.
It is with the muse, that comes to take up,
With my pen to these words, I do write
With the memories of my past, I can seek
They were good times, and bad times, passed.
Though the journey hard
Those times have I flown
I have no more misery
That need to hold out in my storms.
Those times have defined I,
And these words, as I write
It's time to find an end to my fray,
As I, last write.
Guard your heart.
Don't give love away or the pain will smart and
your heart will fray..
Don't serve your heart on an open tray or some
may come and cart pieces away..
Keep open your heart to give and receive but
be smart and weed those there to deceive..
If you always wear your heart on your sleeve,
you may lose parts that you'll never retrieve..
This spectacular location.
Keep looking for grace.
Always and continually.
All of us noted the creative ideas.
That brings a sense of joy.
These are my main worries.
That halts your progress.
Making up for the emptiness.
Written: July 24, 2022
Beneath a willow, children play
Sun shining brightly, a fine day,
Observe our lovely neighborhood
So peaceful and calm, all is good
Problems? We live above the fray.
Written May 23, 2022
Submitted to "Bite Size Poem No. 45" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Soulfully pray
And you won’t go astray:
With your bent knees’ offer of luminous ray
You always shall see as to not end up Satan’s prey
Nor the sought dish on his demons’ tray
With soulful prayers you sniff a lurking fray
That could badly discolour a day
And make a man like an ass bray,
All the way
Us readying for an undreamt-of sick bay
Or a hospital’s bill we can’t pay...
So, with soulful prayers
You ‘ve started voicing your nay
To all barriers,
All of them ordering to get cut of your way!
Smunky was being followed by corn puffs that were chunky.
He threw some into banana trees which were guarded by monkey.
Irritated monkey threw back a two by four, camera and brick.
Smunky was angry now, He yelled “Cousin, that’s not slick!”
A funky odor permeated in the wonderful night air now.
Smunky the skunk was letting out his perfume and it was a wow!
Monkey threw down a dollar, a horse, a munkin and a dime.
Smunky was completely obliterated, completely felled this time.
Grandma got into the fray and said, “Boys you had better play nice!”
A formidable relative she did not have to tell these boys twice.
I have withstood this austere year
Waiting on skies which never clear
Shadows away
Fingers restless for an hour's peace
Scrapes gold flakes from a drying crease
of papier-mache
Random resistance too refined
Leisure, a luxury consigned
To yesterday
Now, tart impatience I require
Passive manners swiftly expire
Against delay
In rushing tempo, I rejoice
Straight-held shoulders, marching my voice
Into the fray
On stout cliffs, I refuse the same
Meek rain, in favor of bold flame
Where bright hopes lay.
7/31/20
For 'Tail Rhyme Stanza' contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
(a note on papier-mache: howmanysyllables has it as 3 syllables but in rhymezone.com it is listed under the four syllable words. I used the count from howmanysyllables.com, but to check it in rhymezone, it is under the four syllable count rhymes - just so there is no confusion.)
Allie was her own person, so the rest of the galaxy leapt back.
They knew she could take care of herself with her platinum swords.
She was quicker and stronger and mightier, that the rest of the pack.
Eventually she became their leader after much discussion and words.
The argument was that she was too exotic, too crazed, too wild.
She would jump into the fray and decimate every man but not child.
It was weird the way her blue topaz and light pink ruby lit her way.
They were always in her presence all through each and every fray.
The men were intimidated because of her ruthlessness and daring.
They jumped back and held off, not understanding her weird caring.
She carted the girls and boys home, to raise them as her own.
Letting them feast with her father, the king on the throne.
At first, the king also thought his daughter Allie had gone a little bit mad
But that was before he began to learn from the children about all of their sad.
He got them a governess, and he too suited up for battle to kill and to fight
Kingdoms who did not take care of their children, for it was simply not right.
"I am the master of my fate",
I just hope that I'm not too late.
The way I've lived like "Dorian Gray",
You wouldn't know me from the fray.
The position that I've taken,
is one I should have forsaken.
That for centuries past it was known,
even the King could be overthrown.
Although today it's just as well,
not having wizards casting a spell.
we do have the ability,
to live a life that's truly free.
Though we are of our own fate masters,
we mainly avoid disasters.
Success is somewhat suggestive,
you don't have to be a detective.
Some say it's the money you make,
others say it's the love that you take.
I say it's the heart that you stake,
for there is only hollow in the fake!
date:2/4/2020
The sparrows and cardinals
squabble -
hedgerow turf wars.
Sudden low evening rain.
Do the trees weep, or does the sky?
Anger seeps into drywalls
fills eyes with a restless acrimony.
Yesterday the sun was a brightness
on the wrists of small boys.
They played out a violent video game,
a shrill virtual savagery;
strife is merrily cast into the consonant air.
Garden blooms seem to badger each other
for a nook of sky.
Tonight I hope the owls keep blinking.
I hope tomorrow,
the Dalai Lama, or a politician
will actually say something wise.
Perhaps, a news anchor
will tire of his daily sneers?
Will owls stop questioning?
Wait! Is this a fresh morning breeze?
Are there hand-washing angels, do they rise
now within us to scatter and flay,
lather all into amity;
dissolve the moth bones, the spiked wings,
of that darkly spawning fray?
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