Sammie’s Weekender #148: Somnambulist


Acrostic Sleepwalker

Secrets we’ve never been told
Oceans nature never fully filled
Memories of loving happiness in eyes of laughter
Nights kissing when we’re young together
Amour aplenty to fill our hearts with passion.
Mysteries make us wonder why
Bodies, then so young and strong, a
Universe without chaos, and a cosmos within us
Lasting love that never leaves us
Innocent children who needlessly die, while
Some just pray and wonder why.
Time to take the dance into the street.


In the street, look both ways and be aware, or woke, as they say.
Mind the gaps as hidden happiness and sadness.

Sammi’s Weekender – Perplex


I’ve always been able to do this.
To respond
with words; to write a poem,
a story in prose,
this word has perplexed me.

Maybe I’ve lost my touch,
my muse disabled, my ability to compose
lost in some monochrome
of muted confusion.

The weekend, gone in two hours
with creative potential left
to wallow
and embarrass my ass,
unable to complexify or sophisticate

Words with characteristic poetic aplomb,
to roll out enough dribble
to meet the challenge of lettering
up something good enough.

Confused by wordly entanglement,
it’s bewildering.


Looking both ways is not always the answer.
Mind the gaps and write away.

Poetry: Work through it

Work through it, he said,
more pain is good gain.
Can you go farther?
(implying the pain
I should endure)
To do more?
Through it, he said. I asked.

“I understand, Doc,
but do you?” Push
through — more pain—
limping, then numbness
and excruciating
pain, then physical collapse.
The pain.

Then I sense some gain.
Then more. Must I now confess
at the end of the battle?
Doc, you were right.
Muscles are tight
and sore as hell,
with pain and cramps,
but improvement costs,
some weight’s been tossed.

Should I go on, and on?

Pain goes both ways, some is beneficial, some is a warning to stop.
I Listen to, and learn, my body. I mind the gaps to learn the differences.

Poetry: Share the Morn

It’s early
but not dark
and it’s raining,
none too gently

clouds shed rain drops
and hide the sun
for a while. Hear –
feel – smell – taste,

and see the rain
on a mild morning,
to walk and get wet
feels good to be

alive, wishing you
here by me with rain
to share
what is so good.
I guess, in a way
you are here.

Look both ways, morning, noon, and night.
Mind the gaps, puddles, and slippery when wets.

Poetry: The Extinction of Humanity

I feel helpless and hopeless
watching a world full of people
essentially committing suicide.

To say it’s a crazy world is not good enough.
Nature will in some way survive,
planet Earth will go on without us.

We have most of the wisdom and insight
to tweak life and existence from Her,
but we will not, and I can’t fix it.

Self-annihilation through denial,
ironically seeking a better life
believing what is bad is in fact good.

Deceptions. Mortality sings only a dirge,
cries of lament over what might have been.
Humanity: another great failed experiment.

Consider all options and look both ways.
Find and mind the gaps for the science of truth.

Sammi’s Weekender #142: Looking-glass


i know. you know this privilege
denied many, this gift of age,
being long of life. pleasures
charging dues paid
with guilt, pain, and sorrow.

now i see that it’s
no longer me; old bones
with thin skin,
lost hair
or worthless white wisps.

does this looking-glass lie?
let me be what i was—

young. look, old man. look at me.
i’m your truth.


See truth and reality in the looking glass. Mind the gaps and ignore the bald spots.

 

Sammi’s Weekender #141: Imperious


The vertical pronoun was your god,
the long corncob pipe,
a crutch as you’d exude imperious
confidence of irresponsible
narcissistic self-assured vanity.

Brilliance without wisdom never
questions self or knows dark
duality like Hastie Lanyon’s soul.
Your crime, a distant impassioned
supercilious and cavalier concern
for the misery your pomposity
beset upon your courtiers, devout
mindless adventured foolish demons,

lost souls who rose to the peek
of principled Peters with blindfolded
ignorance of history in the future,
now a legacy of incompetence
foddered with pride. With hubris
envied by Xerxes, you forced
your own shameful dismissed
demise.

The wisdom of a fading old soldier
heroically without end is clouded
by the dark shadow of your way,
the way, and the way of stars.


Legacy looks both ways, but history finds truth in justice.
Mind the gaps of human success for the failure of the soul.