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  • #16
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    • #17
      My $2 attempt to escape from Alcatraz

      Foretelling the future is a messy affair
      In a state of Coronavirus gloom
      You bet, I already sent my prayer
      I bet against misfortune and doom

      You know not when my time is coming
      But the snow will melt and flowers - bloom
      I will keep my promise, I am unbecoming
      On his way is already your groom

      So watch the bird flu brewing in Beijing
      The witches already cooked the brew
      Hello my dear, prepare for wedding
      By Your Faith Be It Unto You


      • #18
        Loved it sadcom. I'm always jealous of you poets. Thanks for sharing.


        • #19
          Thank you, lowkey
          When you say "jealous", am I hearing the desire to write some of your own? Or, they touched you (aka resonate) in a certain way?
          I think, writing poetry is not a gift or even a choice. I didn't like (rather didn't appreciate poetry), although I read a lot of prose in my young years.
          IMHO, 2 things contributed to this poetic spell of mine:
          - I reached 44 y.o. (with the accumulated, memories, experiences, desires, etcetera. bottled inside);
          - I created a software that streams texts and played with it. In a hindsight, I realized that it was a perfect brain training tool. After 4 years of using it, I breached the dam and the darn poems started flowing out, without much conscious effort on my part. From 2008 to 2010 I wrote between 100-200 of them and then the well has gone dry. I think this is what's called a writer's block. Suddenly, when I joined Fenn's treasure quest in spring 2018, the muse came back and I added another 100 poems!

          This software is available as free iOS app now:
          Why don't you give it a try?


          • #20
            Here is one of the earlier poems (11/2010) called "Inside job". I wrote it while driving to an Amish market in Hagerstown, MD.

            The thieves broke into my head
            All while I was asleep
            They picked my brain and stole the thoughts
            I thought were mine to keep

            There were the experts, I’m afraid
            They took the best I had
            Ideas, secrets, whole nine yards
            The stuff I’ve never said

            My memories, like autumn’s leaves
            Lay strewn across the floor
            I hardly know who I am
            And who I was before

            Albeit, they fell into a trap
            They didn’t bargain for
            Some toxic assets they picked up...
            Headaches, I have no more!


            • #21
              My God, It’s Full of Stars
              Tracy K. Smith


              • #22
                So you solved the poem, you know the exact spot
                It was not too complicated, but not as easy as you first thought
                Forrest was about 80 when he hid the treasure
                It's hidden in a place which gave him much pleasure
                He did not sky dive, cliff hang, or fight a troll
                All he did was park his car and go for a stroll
                The plan is to get out there as fast as you can
                You plan to be first, you want to be the man
                Too bad you can't go yet, there’s a nasty disease
                The end of you could start with someone else's cough or sneeze
                Forrest said to wait until after June 1st
                I know, I know, that's just the absolute worst
                Don't worry though, the time will fly just wait and see
                Chill out at home for now, watch lots of TV
                I mean... read lots of books... drink tea...plant a fig tree?
                Whatever you do, stop buying so much TP!
                I know some of you won't listen to reason
                It's hard to stay indoors for almost another whole season
                Just remember, if you do go out before the recommended time
                You won't need special adventure equipment or to do a dangerous climb
                It's not hidden in a place that will put you in harm's way
                And if there is snow on the ground please don't go searching that day


                • #23
                  Chaos vs. Embroidery
                  The finish is near
                  The time's running out
                  Lead Searcher approaches
                  On direct route

                  Right around the corner
                  In a tight pursuit
                  Another lone searcher
                  Dead set to get loot

                  If just for an instant
                  Her sun stands at noon
                  She could hasten her progress
                  That would be a boon

                  Her pace quickens
                  The pulse is racing
                  The jaws stiffen
                  The thrill of the chasing!

                  So, get out your popcorn
                  And take a front seat
                  Lead Dawg could be trading
                  His tat for her tit

                  I came back from the future
                  I'll come squeaky clean
                  Chaos licked Embroidery...
                  If you know what I mean...


                  • #24
                    Didn't know whether to post this one in "Stay at Home Orders" "Chase Song's" or here, but I thought it needed sharing, so for better or worse here it is ...


                    • #25
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                      • #26


                        • #27
                          I couldn't find Chase songs with both of my hands, a flashlight and a map. Lol
                          Last edited by lowkey; 04-01-2020, 11:43 PM.


                          • #28
                            Originally posted by willynilly View Post
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                            I heard he was a member of the Caterpillar club..
                            Miles up in the air he flew, He just murmured, Toodle-oo!


                            • #29

                              A Psalm of Life

                              BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

                              What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

                              Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
                              Life is but an empty dream!
                              For the soul is dead that slumbers,
                              And things are not what they seem.

                              Life is real! Life is earnest!
                              And the grave is not its goal;
                              Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
                              Was not spoken of the soul.

                              Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
                              Is our destined end or way;
                              But to act, that each to-morrow
                              Find us farther than to-day.

                              Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
                              And our hearts, though stout and brave,
                              Still, like muffled drums, are beating
                              Funeral marches to the grave.

                              In the world’s broad field of battle,
                              In the bivouac of Life,
                              Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
                              Be a hero in the strife!

                              Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
                              Let the dead Past bury its dead!
                              Act,— act in the living Present!
                              Heart within, and God o’erhead!

                              Lives of great men all remind us
                              We can make our lives sublime,
                              And, departing, leave behind us
                              Footprints on the sands of time;

                              Footprints, that perhaps another,
                              Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
                              A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
                              Seeing, shall take heart again.

                              Let us, then, be up and doing,
                              With a heart for any fate;
                              Still achieving, still pursuing,
                              Learn to labor and to wait.


                              • #30
                                Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
                                But there is no water