Rhonda’s rigid routines sit hard in concrete
flexibility to her is nothing sweet
everything in her mind is a must at a certain o’clock
leave the house at seven-fifty after a hard door lock
Eight o’clock, arrive at work on time
eleven fifty-two, it is time to dine
after work have a green martini or two
frozen lasagna for supper, sliver of bread too
go to bed each night at nine on the dot
on Saturday report to the used car lot
Church every Sunday, no matter what
Rhonda was stuck in a self-imposed must-do, routine rut.
It was not very stately standing all alone,
A small tree full of pinnate foliage,
Had no appearance of being strong,
Looked rigid, this songbird and squirrel village.
Thought how vulnerable and helpless it looked,
All by itself out there on the lawn,
The trunk of the tree had a severe crook,
Yet, it had stood and survived numerous storms.
Once again heavy and stormy clouds rolled in,
Wind speeds soared at a massive rate,
Unbridled fury twisted each limb,
Without doubt, it would snap and death would be its fate.
The howling wind swelled with extreme deadly force,
Power only Mother Nature brings,
But defeat it refused to endorse,
For this submissive tree was strong enough to bend.
When the storm passed and the sun was shining bright,
The tree was straight though some broke in the wind,
Thought about our humanness in this light,
In hardships, the rigid snap; just the strong can bend.
My life should be like that tree,
Able to endure life’s harsh winds,
How much better it would be,
If I was strong enough to bend.
Wickedness can be use for rapists
But what will one attach to plagiarists?
Flowers bloom
Storms consume
The sun does rise
Clouds fill the sky
Icy waves lick the shore
Spoiled child slams their door
Smiles cause wrinkles but so do frowns......
Map your face with grace because everything has
its place...
not only rigid
about picture being vivid
also am livid
After looking at pictures of Afghanistan
this is the poem that I came up with.
and it dawns on me
while straightness
aims for conformity
it seems to clutter
people's brains
with madeup rules of
shoulds and musts
that snowball
spitefully into
rampant
venomous
chaos
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Posted on July 13, 2020
To Be Rigid and Firm
Stonewall should be ridged and firm;
Not allow things to wiggle or squirm;
Did predict,
Will restrict,
Advance of whale which is a sperm.
Jim Horn
Rigid Mountain
There is a place where all minds go
To the Rigid Mountain range
Of blackened streams
And hopeless dreams
To stop and rearrange
There is a place where thinkers sit
On rigid rocks and broken clocks
Of cedar trees
And willing pleas
As empty boats undock
There is a place where skies are bright
And hopeful golden rays
Lift their thoughts and hopes to float
Above the Rigid Mountain choke
To skies of song and play
There is a place, above the range
Where hands all grasp in hope
For men with wings
To lift their dreams
Where lovers interlope
That is where dreams lie
The morbid law of the rigid
It is a principle for the principal
A belief that holds the total
The standard not for the normal
Above reproach, beyond nominal
A law for the feeble and mortal
A rule of tyranny and inflexibility
Found in a principality
Observed as a quality
Anything besides is nullity
Transgress, face penalty
Regress, become nonentity
Redress, labeled mediocrity
Resolute, named superiority
Meek, called inferiority
Compromise, cast as frailty
Opinions equated to profanity
Fairness shunned as evil and vanity
Rationale is called disdain
Don’t drift, remain
Don’t shift, sustain
Don’t twist, maintain
Don’t lift, retain
That’s the law for the deprived
The morbid law of the rigid
nothing is rigid within the UNIVERSE except almighty GOD
When you called me stupid,
All I heard is sweet cupid;
When you called me foolish,
I simply heard you say polish;
Wonder not baby; so is love rigid.
She lives there,
across the stream
By the jungle-side.
She’s bathing in the broad shallow stream
Every day with cockcrow,
in the village outskirts.
Her tall chubby body is wrapped up
And she pulls off her tight tunic
With toil.
Unknots her long curly hair
And sets her busty bosom free
And uncoil.
She’s is in high hurry since she’s very chaste
And seems scared in the desolate place.
Sitting in water washes first face
Then oh! Rubs her bust and her base.
Puts on her outfits— seeing sideways
Sitting on toes by the sandy shore.
And rushes home, water
Dripping her disheveled hair,
And dampened attire
Sticking her fat.
She’s motherless, married to a helpless man,
A saintly farmer’s lone daughter, newly divorced.
Oh! Who’ll teach my rigid beloved benevolence!
For, I would wed h’r too—if endorsed!
When does a good soul turn bad?
When does a happy face turn sad?
The new day is here, and still not glad?
What happened to your peace?
Why has that also deceased?
No need to rest in the west
Because your joy is still dead in the east
North Star is not far
To steer clear or the South Pole
Where hell is frozen over
One million degrees below
Transcend the path of necessary obstacles
Navigate through tough terrain
To make an honest living
In rough and rigid plains
Don't worry if it's not your estimated route
That is not what your plan should be about
If you erase that rain drought
There will no longer be a burden of doubt
Casting over the treacherous clout
You are the smokey love for which I bleed
Between heart's stuttered flutter I begin
To measure fertile 'core survivor' need
When gone to spawn the spectral-dawn of sin.
Pretension eats a little dignity
Then leaves me like a leper on the road,
Left begging for charades called charity
To gain an extra hand to lift a load
Or just a tear from eyes that coldly stare
Where soul and body disappear from view
As I look up, a penitent in prayer,
One last and final time, I will see you
Turn round with twisted face on rigid heel;
Again, you never see the things I feel.
Case hard tool
held by a stupid fool,
doesn’t know what to do with it now.
Looked for a soft application on a brown cow,
tried hard to hook it up on a bristle legged sow,
got kicked in the head by a lazy mule.
The fit was not so cool.
Rigid tool
* for the Trois Par Huit contest, manual centered (maybe) (NOT ON FORM LIST)
Related Poems