what mark will you leave on the world?
will it be love or beauty?
or will it be simplicity,
devotion to one’s duty?
will you give all in fighting or
give all to entertain?
will your life be about you or
some type of greater gain?
do you want to be heard by many?
or work on unseen?
advance us all in knowledge, or
perhaps you’ll intervene
to help the poor and suffering,
or light a child’s spark;
you have now the ability
so what will be
your mark?
(Never let it be said we don’t give time to opposing viewpoints here. – Owen)
Dear Mr. Servant:
This post I found offensive.
For it seemed to provide
A woman with no clothes on.
At least, that was implied.I do not read your poetry
For mere licentiousness;
“She pulled it off,” indeed.
Your whole dang blog’s become a mess.I will not be a party to
Some other WordPress whore:
So cancel my subscription,
I’m not reading anymore.
I read these words in wonder.
Could this person be real?
The woman in that piece had just
Pulled off a business deal.
Which her close friends had doubted.
I thought it only zen
To celebrate her talent and
Her business acumen.
But somehow, he saw something else
Not a pure celebration;
But poets always have been prone
To misinterpretation.
But wait a minute, one more thing,
I knew that sounded funny –
This guy had a subscription?
Who’s been getting
All the money?
She pulled it off
Yes, all of it
This guy she knows
He didn’t think
That she would she
Could pull if off
But she did she
Pulled
It
All
Off
abstract from this the meaning that you will
the bar i went to let me drink my fill
then told me i could go without a bill
i stepped into the light with blinded eyes
the city desolate to my surprise
with empty streets i did not recognize
then streaks of color fell about like rain
the sky an angry artist filled with pain
destroyed the empty city with disdain
the shelter i could find was incomplete
the little respite there was light but sweet
not solid though a thing not quite
concrete
I wear socks all the time because
I like to have them on
And I collect them, as some might
Collect Louis Vuitton
I’ve always been this way, its not
Just because I am old
I wear socks all the time because
I don’t like my feet cold
From the other room, he asked
Is that the ‘ABC Song’
or
‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’?
And she said
‘Yes’
she didn’t believe in
the genre she worked in
for after her break up
she swore
there was no longer
still life
in circles within circles,
in ancient epicycles,
there is a type of freedom
a journey archetypal
divisions that we focus on
are dotted lines we draw in space
for all the spinning that we do
we end in the same place
= = = = =
Photo credit : © Clivewa | Dreamstime.com – Concentric – An Abstract Painting Photo
I had an unfortunate visit today
Just as I had sat down to attempt to play
Some classical pieces I learned in my youth
A knock on the door came. And I said, “Forsooth!”
For it was a ghost of a peculiar stripe
The romantic germanic crotchety type
Who said that he’d heard (and I guess I will quote)
That I had just murdered a piece that he wrote
Just some Intermezzo. I thought it was fine.
When he looked at me with disgust, and said, “Nein!
Das ist nicht gut!” or some other such smack
To indicate I was a horrible hack
Which I guess is true. I can say without qualms
That I cannot blame the old ghost of J. Brahms
For coming down here and trying to save face
For playing his music sans notes and sans grace
