O thou pure of heart

No sin was committed

In the garden of Eden

What was pure

And natural

Was forever cursed

Banished from the garden

Carrying the blame of lust

O thou pure of heart

How thee lusted

In thy heart

For the forbidden fruit

And blamed the serpent

Letting God go scott free

One who created all

Must have created

Love and passion

And lust

The day

Darkness of our hearts

Clouded the sunshine

Of our minds

World became a

Dreary place to live

In our fear blemished life

We all have pains

that we carry unseen

Passing time

Fading memories

Lessen heartaches not

Blessed are those

With life a clean slate

Unburdened by the curse

They carry their secrets to

Their graves

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We are here now

We are here now

Does not matter

How we got here

We dug the hole

Where we find us

We must find a way

To crawl up the wall

Sunlight waits yonder

Blame destiny if we

Want to lament fate

If we feel powerless

Then make peace

With the frog

In the hole we dug

And find your music

As it croaks

Dance to the cacophony

Or else if needed

Stand on each other’s shoulder

And crawl up

Pull up the others

Beneath you

There is great strength in number

Don’t let it go to waste

We are here now

Darkness

We will have to

Find our way out and

Light the candle

Let truth shine

Sage Advice:RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge # 235 Sage & Vine

This post is in response to Ronovan’s Weekly Haiku Challenge .

 

The sage meditates
Up in the Himalayas
Well covered in vines

A good sage advice
As heard through the grapevines
Lost in translation

So now sage and wise
We trim parasitic vines
Resplendent sage bush

 

Comparison

Carrying curse of comparison

At the peril of our own happiness

Treading paths

Paved by unfulfilment

On a bed of broken dreams

It’s Friday and What to Fry

It’s Friday

And I am thinking

What’s to fry

Fried eggs

Enough of that

Also my supply of eggs

Running dry

It’s time for something

New to try

French fries

That’s old

A trip to Micky D

In this freezing cold

Not going to fly

Decisions, decisions

Need some conclusion soon

Before my rumbling tummy

Starts to cry

Think for now

Will stick to tested

Old recipe

Of toast and eggs

And give all thoughts

Of what to fry

A bye bye

Before my brain

Is completely fried

PS. I will not slam the table as I walk out of the bed room, I promise😂

---

Final product: egg white omelet with onion, kale, mushroom,tomato and avocado

Forty-Five~by rldubour

” ” a poetic description of the current POTUS” by a writer with a penchant for story telling of American history through his gifted poems.

OUR POETRY CORNER

Forty-Five

Who is this guy they call forty-five?

He can’t be trusted just always lies!

He suspected of treason he can’t deny

Brainless idiot he runs and hide.

He attacks Americans and the media

Ignorant in mind about an encyclopedia

Racism and Sexism he thinks he’s great

Divides Americans and the human race.

His Grandpa was a pimp and tax evader

Claims at our border is all invaders.

His father was a member of the KKK

He screwed his brother as he went his way.

Surrounded by his rich friends

His greed and ignorance does not end

Everyday there is something new

The United States he is out to screw.

The world leaders think he is just a clown

It’s money he wants but he’s going to drown.

The American people are smartening up

Will take years for his mess to cleanup

Look at him people there is no mystery

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Ghazal to Bob, in the Night

Excellent tribute to Robert Okaji’s Ghazal to the night with another ghazal from the talented writer.

Prairiepomes

It’s a new year, but I haven’t changed. I cannot resist responding to awesome poetry. I do hope Mr. Okaji will forgive me taking his name in this vein…

Anchors aweigh, we settle lower in the water
every year we are blessed to yet bob in the night.

Pockets emptied, we cast vestments to slaughter
turn off laundry room light, let them bob in the night.

Emails disappearing, this century’s unvouched for alibi
electronic dog runs away, to chew, bark, bob in the night.

Neither owl nor island, fresh thoughts loom in memory’s murk
half-drowned in self-reflection, they bob in the night.

Your bones, oh smoky altar, are consumed like breath
like breath, their essence left to float, and bob in the night.

This river, carried by the sun, carries a boat carved with runes
these are Anna’s words, waterline eyes that bob in the night.

Ghazal to the Night by

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