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Of the many pastimes, that I play at sometimes
My favourite thing is the writing of rhymes.
I’ve fiddled with riddles, since I was but little.
A bad one’s a sad one, a good ‘un fair chimes.
I grill and I thrill, as I bend to my will.
It’s fruity, it suits me, it’s lemon and limes.
Unbidden, the words spring to life in my head.
I grab one, I stab one, before they have fled.

They won’t go away, they’re determined to stay
And dance, in a trance, in a sashay display.
The rhyme in the stanza, for me is the answer.
Each Haiku that I do, a bonny bonanza.
A bee in my bonnet, as I sing my sonnet
To use it, is music, to lose it is chronic.
I’m impelled to, compelled to, I must do, I need ter
Search, nay research, for some rhyme in my meter.

I’ll play all the day, for some words that just may
E’en shift me, uplift me, a roll in the hay.
It’s easy, it’s peasy, it’s what poets do
It sneaks in and peaks in, while I’m on the loo.
Sometimes sensational, oft inspirational
Frantic, its antics, my Little Boy Blue.
I’m in it, to win it, I don’t often bin it
When my wit, is unfit though, I might have to thin it.

If I get marooned, in the mid-afternoon
By a girl in a whirl, or a dame in a swoon
Have a nail in my pail, catch a thorn in my prune
Anchor my Tanka, before it balloons.
Then I mean, to be seen, to make it a rule
To read to the readers, my audience who’ll
Say Hobbo’s a laddo, he’s nobody’s fool
He’s sunny, he’s funny, the drool in my pool.

So for humans with lumens, with light in your pen
And actors with factors poetical, then
Stop fighting, get writing, through dictionary roam
Desire to inspire us, and sire us a poem.

Submitted by Hobbo of http://www.hobbospoems.com

Ions we use to impress an electrical current that others will ride, making the current become an event, feeling alive.

First impressions sometimes give people drive but seeing things on the surface can at times be a disguise.

The pressed ions explode and become vaporized, hopefully leaving remnants that will not keep blinding your site.

Beware of the current events you choose to ride, the slope can be slippery, and you can slide.

Slide into what lies beneath and see the things they were trying to hide.

The truth will always come seeping through from the inside.

Remember, what you see on the surface sometimes is far away in distance from what resides, so use your frequency to check out the vibe.

http://www.inheritthebeautywithinblog.com

A year has passed
Times have changed
The world stopped…
Then kind of started again

A year has passed
Keeping our distance
Washing our hands
A new sort of normal

A year has passed
Did we learn?
Apparently not enough
The numbers still grow

A year has passed
No job, no money
Government funding is slow
Bills to pay still come fast

A year has passed
The struggle is real
Life goes on…
But only for some

A year has passed…
The pandemic has not
The future is unclear
But we still have hope

http://www.JoLinsdell.com

I search for you.
I look you up in this world,
Amongst the footsteps of time,
And I try to remember
How it feels not to be
Longing for love.

I search for you.
And the snowflakes fall
Like the petals of a flower
By the end of autumn.
Like the petals of a flower
From the summer of my heart.

I search for you.
I enclasp the petals of love
But I know those petals are
Snowflakes of the winter of my body.

I search for you.
I still hold in my palms
The melting snowflakes;
And my love is lost
In drops that keep on dripping
And hit with hollow sound
The earth of this world.
I search for you. But you are nowhere to be found.

© 2021 Carmen Silva

Why is it that the good times never last?

A home of aqua, as organic as it gets,
warm, wholesome, wonderful and wondrous.
An enclosure of bliss, a place of love – no, no, a place
made of love.

Suddenly, out of nowhere,
like a thief in the night,
like a menacing phantom,
it comes,
the end of hospitality,
the earthquake,
the catastrophe.
It’s like the fate of my own personal planet Krypton:
I’m sent off while all behind me falls to pieces.

I travel to the light, unwillingly,
It’s so very intense and much too bright.
The big squeeze into another world that seems way too large
and wide and weird and alien.

Well now, this cannot be right…

I try to mourn my loss in silence when some bastard slaps me for no good reason.
Ugly faces smile at me like idiots as the last link to my safe haven is forever cut.
Crying seems the only sober, sane and sensible course of action left at this point.
And boy do I cry. I let it reap, I don’t even give
a shit. I’m wailing and bellowing away for all it’s worth.

Abruptly, I’m lifted,
I am embraced
by hands that hold me tightly
and safely upon a soft bosom.
Unlimited love emanates from this person that looks upon me
with the sweetest of smiles and I can’t help but melt into the embrace.
Hell, this is not such a scary place after all.

You never knew how beautiful you were because you were naive and young.
You never knew how beautiful you were because no one ever told you,
but I knew.

Hate you for how you look.
Hate you for just being you.
ALL YOU KNEW WAS…
hate.
Ostracized and crucified because you didn’t look like them.
Uncle…
sweet Uncle, loved you in a way that he shouldn’t have and that was…
hate disguised as love.
And that became a problem.

No one protected you from darkness.
All you wanted was love and to be LOVED.
Self-hate was ingrained in every fiber of your being.
You were sent away and disregarded like an old dilapidated dog ready to be euthanized.
Forgotten about and swept under the rug like crumbs on a dirty kitchen floor.
Out of sight.
Out of mind.
Your problem became me and I was the secret with no one to blame.
HUSH CHILD!
No one was willing to accept or acknowledge me and I hated you for that.
Wailing non stop because I knew I couldn’t stay with you.
And you didn’t want me too.
You didn’t want me.
I know you.
I am you.
I arrived and I wasn’t invited.
Swept out of your arms without hesitation or regret.
Self-hate resonating within me and I can’t even talk.
Where can I place the blame?
You? Him? Them?
I blame myself.
Me?
Me.
Ostracized and crucified because I don’t belong.
I don’t belong to you, or them.
Who am I? I don’t know.
I reject love.
How can I love when rejection is all I know?
Darkness.
I carry my hurt, my pain, my shame with me everywhere I go.
Like an imaginary friend ready to be introduced to the world.
You left this world too soon and with a lot of things left unsaid.
My heart aches for you,
because you were the one person who I thought could have saved me.
How could you save me when you couldn’t save yourself?

is a mighty big leap
too careful for the carefree
too cautious for the risky

From blindness to mindful
is more than hide and seek
or so it seems
resting here in fugitive shadows
where knowledge
is naughty
and shameful is lost

where beauty is measured in
shouts and frets
and to go against masters is
the game
while equipped only
with a simple child’s aim

The ancients know the mystery
laughing now in holy death
a tremendous roar in near silence
that barely the wise may hear

where knowledge is naughty
and shameful is lost
where wild becomes tame
where the adage is never aged
saying always what will be best
is simply to keep that
child’s aim

Oh so you say it’s a poor poet’s plea
hidden in common rhyme, lost in
daily meter
where reason taunts with rawness
scaring and scarring some seasoned tales
of make believe comfort
where acceptance reigns regal, where there’s
no need to blame
where a simple child
has simply lost his aim

Always coming in the night,
To steal away before first light.
Never to allow me a glimpse,
Of My Little Lion Man.

We talk through the darkness,
Never needing light.
Until the morning comes,
And he leaves before the light.

We’ve become best of friends,
despite the lack of knowing
What type of emotion,
The other’s face is showing.

But we know each-other well,
My Little Lion Man and Me.
We’re like puzzle pieces,
We just click together,
As you soon shall see.

He dares me to take chances,
I take them from time to time.
He asked me to write something,
So I wrote this little rhyme.

In case you didn’t know,
I wrote this on a whim.
For tonight was the perfect night to write an ode to him.

My Little Lion Man is the friend who visits throughout my day.
I will tell you what he is,
If you listen to what I say.

The Little Lion Man is representative,
Of all my hopes and dreams.
We write stories in my head,
For hours into the night it seems.

The Little Lion Man is my drive,
My will to keep on going.
In a house as busy as a hive,
Determination is what you’ve got to be showing.

Although he leaves in the morning,
We talk throughout the day.
He’s in my head you see,
Giving me encouragement,
As I go about my way.

We talk through the darkness,
Never needing sight.
Until the morning comes,
And he leaves before the light.

It’s usually just us,
My Little Lion Man and Me.
And we go about our day,
as happy as can be.

Written by,
Abigail Hannah Williams

I am an oak tree
Rooted in the earth
Generation after generation
I have withstand the seasons of time!
I have seen joy
I have seen triumph
By all races and creeds
Animosity for neither
I felt the sunshine even the rain
Yet the most trying times
Yielded in the midst of so much suffering
A race, a people set apart from others, all because of the color of their skin
You see the branches of this oak exterior witnessed the lynching and death to mankind
A mankind set apart!
Enslaved I was too! Nothing I could say or do!
Tears of a mother as she embraced my exterior!
Whose children were sold out of her control
Her dignity taken against her will!
The sacrifices of one race that reared children who were not their own
Loving and caring people
Whose lives marks significance of our freedom today!
I seen your ancestors suffer, scream, grieve, laugh, and cry!
All while praying in the midst of it all!
Their faith unwavering!
So you can use my peak as shade, my branches to swing and play!
I am a oak tree
Heartbroken as I reflect upon the past
I’ve seen it all
Yet I am still standing so I can share with you’
Your life now… is not your doing
You are blessed because of what your ancestors endured!
Know your past and continue the legacy of change
I want to see the difference you will make…
So generations after you will flourish
Rooted in their history as a reflection of what it truly means to be free!
Grab hold of my branches
Lay in green fields, smell the flowers,
Playing until you’re tired is a privilege given to you by the patriarchs and matriarchs of your past!
If I could speak, the stories will never cease!
Their struggles alone blessed you and me!
I’m an oak tree rooted then and now
Waiting and watching through the seasons of life … making sure the legacy of being ‘free’ continues!!!!
Sent from my iPhone

Author Tricia Billington