Sweet Solitude

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“Crowded places,

I shunned them

as noises too rude

And fled to

the silence of

sweet solitude.”

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~ John Clare

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Elfje:         (Cinquain)

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solitude

thinking nothing

alone within myself

listening for God’s answers

meditation

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Lune:    5 / 3 / 5

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music everywhere

while asleep

sugar plums dancing

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Poem:

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he could identify most of his habits
to him they were mostly good
just a series of mental acrobatics
wouldn’t change them if he could

he finally discovered some glaring bad ones
he was sick and tired of being sick and tired
it was time to face the music, to bring out the big guns
he hesitated, ever daunted by the work required

procrastination, the habits just grew bigger
desperation, was this another family  curse
justification, he could live with them a little bit longer
exacerbation, he was just making things worse

too many times to count, he tried again
he tried being a friend to gain a friend
his superior ego said everyone is insane
they all have their motives and to what end

finally, one lonely soul didn’t hang up
they determined they had some things in common
neither had ever won a loving cup
bad experiences they wish they had forgotten

his friend said you can lie to me, I don’t care
it’s your bad habit , trying to please me
however, stop lying to yourself, it is not fair
besides, you are just not my cup of tea

but the old habit kept pushing the friend away
he learned the talk, but not the walk
he needed to learn how to correctly pray
expectations were keeping his soul in hock

his final story has yet to be written
his beginning is living one day at a time
the steps to change he has been given
sanity guaranteed if he will only make the climb

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ME and the Boss

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https://michaelerb.wordpress.com

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https://meandtheboss.wordpress.com

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Never Mind

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“The poet is a light

and winged and holy thing,

and there is no invention

in him until he has been

inspired and is out of his senses,

and the mind is no longer in him.”

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~ Plato, Ion

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Elfje:

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inspired

thinking begins

the spirit intercedes

poetry evolves of itself

ethereal

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Haiku:

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oppressive damp heat

summer begins to invade

nature adapts well

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Poem:

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words are both sounds and shapes
waiting to be both heard and seen
providing incredible unrealistic escapes
delivering lines we can read between

words are a source of inspiration
the minds eye seeks out a definition
finding the right word can lead to frustration
voices singing and dancing, a mad apparition

stories by inference or partially told
using the script to create an illusion
rich and meaningful or just fools gold
having the reader draw their own conclusion

too many words makes it hard to stop
will anyone really truly comprehend
best leave the moral lessons to Aesop
and conclude this brainchild with the standard

“The End”

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ME and the Boss

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