Today’s poem is one of my verses made up of comments I posted on some of my fellow WordPress writers’ articles during the month … In stanza order, they are:
** The word “Sinuous” is the weekend challenge at Weekly Prompts. Please go and visit their fabulous siteby clicking on >> Here. I think my poem below could be classified as a “Sinuous Poem”
Who Owns Our “Promised Land”
We know it’s nature’s way Survival is not a showy ballet And birds don’t have holidays
The clever little penguins will display their true mettle When all the showy snowflakes finally settle They are going to resell their snowy wonderland Back to the ‘Promised Land’, for a million-grand
Shedding those old tacky masks Maybe a refractory task
Our perfection is impossible The dejection is horrible His resurrection is improbable
Rage is for the stage Fear is always near Release me, piece by piece
Today I completed making two book display easels for my upcoming market bookstalls There happened to be some discarded timber lying on the ground at the building site next door. The tradesmen had finished the job a month ago and these sturdy slats of wood had been left behind.
“Waste not want not” “One man’s rubbish is another man’s treasure” “Opportunity knocks” “Fortune favours the brave”
My handyman’s mind clicked into gear and I drafted a rough sketch of my project I knew the size of the books I wanted to exhibit and I had all the appropriate tools in my shed
Remembering my dad’s trusted catchphrase “Measure twice, cut once” (and with my music playing) My creation, (and a few trial and error mistakes) gradually began to take shape.
Of course, there is nothing like a good coat of paint to cover up the defects and give my masterpiece that final seal of opaque professionalism!
A Silhouette Quote: “The faceless silhouettes seemed to look at each other, as if wishing they could resolve the situation between themselves, without having to trouble their owners.” ― Hernan Diaz, Trust
Statuettes and Silhouettes
Without Indulging in the planet’s regrets Or wearing any showy epaulets Our golden sun peacefully sets
Meanwhile From the shady balconies of the ruler’s minarets
When will our world’s shadowy statuettes Leave the safety of their bassinets And unite our twilight’s Xenophobic silhouettes?
Hello, dear readers and followers. I write for Coffee House Writers magazine (USA) fortnightly, and my poem “Oh, My Waning Moon”is in this week’s edition. … To read my poem, please click on the link below to visit the article, at Coffee House Writers Magazine. >> https://coffeehousewriters.com/oh-my-waning-moon/
Hello, dear readers and followers. As you might know, I stopped producing my “Tullawalla Booklets” at # 31 because that was the house number of our family’s Tullawalla Homestead. But the booklet formats are a superb way for me to catalogue the vast number of poems I produce and as the saying goes “I Am Turning Another Page”. Here I have begun a new series of poem booklets, called “Shangri La” which is the name of my little Villa, and is my piece of “earthly paradise, a retreat from the pressures of modern civilization”. I now have “1950” Poems filed in these booklet formats!! (on my bookshelf I have “The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, which contains 1775 poems … when I first started writing poems, I never envisaged that I would produce so many poems)
Click on >> Here, for the link to your FREE: PDF Copy of“Shangri La, Volume 13, Below My Crown”
Deep into the Twilight Zone At that moment above the horizon When the sun is sliding down Underneath his eiderdown
Nature dons her noble crown And declares to everyone in town “There’s no need to be a sad clown or wear a worried frown. Take your time to have a look around, the world is not falling down”
Today’s poem was my inspired poetic response to David’s “Sijo”, ‘Of all things, or: Bridge to nowhere’. >> https://skepticskaddish.com/2025/03/28/of-all-things-or-bridge-to-nowhere/ Over at Weekly Prompts, since it’s the last weekend of the month, “One Day” is again the monthly Prompt! To visit their fabulous site, please click on >> Here
One Day, or:Bless My Soul
Beneath our feet, there lies a common mound Between our ears, the winds of time hear no sound Below our eyes, the promised land cannot be found Within our hearts, we share the lost and drowned
Beyond our souls, the world’s burial grounds Belong to the hounds, who run the battlegrounds
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 