Orphan Of Silence

“Poetry is an
orphan of silence.
The words never
quite equal
the experience
behind them.”

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Elfje: …… Cinquain ….. Classic: each word only one syllable.
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spoon
kiss her
lips to lips
he wants to neck
smooch
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Haiku:
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cold winter won’t cease
staying bundled up in fleece
heart warm and at peace
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Poem:
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the voice it came from a frog
at best he was a demagogue
a cynical mercenary with a black heart
the devil was his counterpart

his anger fired by drinking booze
alcohol destroyed his right to choose
God kept putting angels in his path
kindness and love to cool his wrath

finally the littlest cherub did succeed
to be a better person she did plead
his transformation was not an overnight success
his past was just one big tangled mess

his ego balked at making amends
it did not help that he had no friends
his self esteem rose when helping others
he no longer acted like the evil stepmothers

he was no longer friends with the devil
proof that good can overcome evil
is your story one of a kind
one who is to niceness and love inclined

lucky to have never with the devil danced
only with the angels you have pranced
count your blessings and tell of your gratitude
say a prayer and maintain a good attitude

remember the bad guy, you or him
forgive them one and all for their sin
be the person God wants you to be
just nod your head yes when you want to agree

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ME and the Boss
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http://ME and the Boss Recovery

http://ME and the Boss
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What Is A Poet

“What is a poet?
An unhappy person who
conceals profound anguish
in his heart
but whose lips
are so formed that
as sighs and cries
pass over them they sound
like beautiful music.”

Soren Kierkegaard

Elfje: Cinquain
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din
loud roar
a big sound
made by the boys
noise
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Tanka: 5 x 7 x 5, 7 x 7
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stories set to rhyme
innuendoes about time
just words worth a dime

was it true or was it fake
tales of ducks on a blue lake

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Poem:
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nobody home, out to lunch
enjoying flowers that come in a bunch
letting the mind wander about
new ideas seem to be caught in a drought

voids appear when I forget about God
everything that I touch becomes flawed
time to meditate, ask a Higher Power to help
back to the lunch, ricotta wrapped in kelp

I feel too like I’m waiting for Godot
my time flies, but never slow
trusting that I’m where I’m supposed to be
I can do nothing but agree

people. places and things put in my life
ignoring the obvious creates my strife
learning to make a sweet lemonade
being more careful for what I prayed

accepting and grateful that there is a lunch
not letting my self open for the sucker punch
hopefully, doing the next right thing
careful not to slip into the left wing

today I’ll search for the positive
maybe go out on a limb to be provocative
most importantly to accept ‘it is what it is.’
nothing will change under my analyses

for sure there are no human instances
accept that there are only God coincidences



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ME and The Boss
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https://michaelerb.wordpress.com/

https://meandtheboss.com/