They called her Melancholy Molly.
She was shy to a fault, a bit sad
and assured that her malaise
would last for days and days.
Happy was a state she never visited,
she never left her apartment. That's no lie!
She was truly melancholy!
(c) JPW - 2014
15 February 2014
13 February 2014
OF SABLE BRUSHES AND VISIONS
Fine strokes, evoking beauty upon life's canvas.
The Grand Master painting with steady hand
"scapes" of forest trees or sand on teeming seas.
Each dip into the palette He chooses
will not lose its vibrancy or vitality. Scenes
of greens and golds and untold wondrous
hues fills the skies and the beholder's eyes
with life's true majesty. With great Mastery he
fills his brush of fine Sable; in each careful stroke
He is able to capture all that His eye envisions.
© JPW - 2014
The Grand Master painting with steady hand
"scapes" of forest trees or sand on teeming seas.
Each dip into the palette He chooses
will not lose its vibrancy or vitality. Scenes
of greens and golds and untold wondrous
hues fills the skies and the beholder's eyes
with life's true majesty. With great Mastery he
fills his brush of fine Sable; in each careful stroke
He is able to capture all that His eye envisions.
© JPW - 2014
27 December 2013
Wither Goest Poet
My words fall silent,
hell bent on keeping my tongue.
Yet I belong to the world
of words and temperament,
never meant to be a face in the crowd.
I was meant to rhyme out loud,
proud of the fact that I can
extract emotion like a love potion.
Dripping with sincerity; with clarity
and vision - a mission of my own making.
And taking the time to read what others
ponder in the great rhymed yonder;
to lavish praise and honor to those
more deserving than I. At least I'll try.
Never perfected, a rhyme resurrected,
Lazarus walks amongst the living,
giving from his heart that which belongs
to his heart. It's a start.
(C) JPW - 2013
Written with apologies to all poets of all sites I had frequented. I will make a more concerted effort to visit as many of your sites as time allows. I know we all have our time constraints, hardships and misfortunes. I'm learning to reel in emotion and find balance.
hell bent on keeping my tongue.
Yet I belong to the world
of words and temperament,
never meant to be a face in the crowd.
I was meant to rhyme out loud,
proud of the fact that I can
extract emotion like a love potion.
Dripping with sincerity; with clarity
and vision - a mission of my own making.
And taking the time to read what others
ponder in the great rhymed yonder;
to lavish praise and honor to those
more deserving than I. At least I'll try.
Never perfected, a rhyme resurrected,
Lazarus walks amongst the living,
giving from his heart that which belongs
to his heart. It's a start.
(C) JPW - 2013
Written with apologies to all poets of all sites I had frequented. I will make a more concerted effort to visit as many of your sites as time allows. I know we all have our time constraints, hardships and misfortunes. I'm learning to reel in emotion and find balance.
14 October 2013
I Know It Was You, Fredo!
You broke my heart, as brothers sometimes do,
and look at you, you're pathetic. A simpering,
whimpering Don Juan-a-be. Bimbos and markers,
donkey shows and Johnny Ola have taken their toll.
I had control of the five families and there
our similarities took a decided turn. If you'd only learn,
"Never take sides with anyone against the family again!"
You're nothing to me now. You're not a brother, not a friend.
If anything in this life is certain, if history has taught us anything,
it is that you can kill anyone. Pray for the fishes,
you'll be sleeping with them now!
© JPW - 2013
dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics Italian-Style
Poets United - Poetry Pantry #171
and look at you, you're pathetic. A simpering,
whimpering Don Juan-a-be. Bimbos and markers,
donkey shows and Johnny Ola have taken their toll.
I had control of the five families and there
our similarities took a decided turn. If you'd only learn,
"Never take sides with anyone against the family again!"
You're nothing to me now. You're not a brother, not a friend.
If anything in this life is certain, if history has taught us anything,
it is that you can kill anyone. Pray for the fishes,
you'll be sleeping with them now!
© JPW - 2013
dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics Italian-Style
Poets United - Poetry Pantry #171
 |
| www.digplanet.com |
10 October 2013
Picture Albom
So, I love his sentimentality,
it's a reality with which I deal daily.
Many losses and defections,
derelictions and deflections
bring some regrets. But you can bet
the pitch that Mitch proffers,
offers some food for hungry thought.
I ought to grip bootstraps and pull,
but you'll never see me flee what to me
are precious memories; sentimentalities.
Who would be my Morrie?
Which five people would fill my afterlife dance card?
What would one day more portend?
How can I pretend to have a little faith
when people never stick around long enough
to show the possibilities; memories, sentimentalities?
I can envision my life through these tender vignettes,
it gets me misty to look through this picture book,
this photo Albom of my arrival. In all,
it aids in my survival, these sentimentalities.
These are memories of my realities.
© JPW - 2013
POETS UNITED - Verse First: Writers Are Lovers
it's a reality with which I deal daily.
Many losses and defections,
derelictions and deflections
bring some regrets. But you can bet
the pitch that Mitch proffers,
offers some food for hungry thought.
I ought to grip bootstraps and pull,
but you'll never see me flee what to me
are precious memories; sentimentalities.
Who would be my Morrie?
Which five people would fill my afterlife dance card?
What would one day more portend?
How can I pretend to have a little faith
when people never stick around long enough
to show the possibilities; memories, sentimentalities?
I can envision my life through these tender vignettes,
it gets me misty to look through this picture book,
this photo Albom of my arrival. In all,
it aids in my survival, these sentimentalities.
These are memories of my realities.
© JPW - 2013
POETS UNITED - Verse First: Writers Are Lovers
09 October 2013
Having Direction
The walk of life.
A rocky road full
of potholes and pitfalls
causing stumbles and pratfalls.
Your destination is clear.
You can't see it from here,
but at the end of that road
lies the end of the road.
Did you love?
Fully; unconditionally?
There is no price on love,
but its value is infinite.
Yet, we give love away.
That is to say the more we dispatch,
the more we receive, and do not believe
the blessings you bestow on others
do not flow back to you.
It is true. Love is the compass
of all journeys. If you foster love
and give love, you're well on your way.
Love gives you direction.
Follow it!
© JPW - 2013
POETRY JAM - Steps
dVerse - Poets Pub : Meeting the Bar: The Beat Poets and their Poetry
A rocky road full
of potholes and pitfalls
causing stumbles and pratfalls.
Your destination is clear.
You can't see it from here,
but at the end of that road
lies the end of the road.
Did you love?
Fully; unconditionally?
There is no price on love,
but its value is infinite.
Yet, we give love away.
That is to say the more we dispatch,
the more we receive, and do not believe
the blessings you bestow on others
do not flow back to you.
It is true. Love is the compass
of all journeys. If you foster love
and give love, you're well on your way.
Love gives you direction.
Follow it!
© JPW - 2013
POETRY JAM - Steps
dVerse - Poets Pub : Meeting the Bar: The Beat Poets and their Poetry
03 October 2013
There's Always an Ass on the Road
 |
| (Photo courtesy of Wikicommons) |
It never fails.
You’re riding on
rails
sailing down the road
in a trail of dust
that you must be
breaking the sound
barrier -
a miles harrier. Then
you see it.
Could it be what you’re
thinking?
Your eyes start
blinking and it sinks in.
There’s an ass on the
road. There’s ALWAYS
an ass on the road.
Idiots come up quickly behind you
to sickly remind you
that you’re in the way.
But an ass on the
road makes you frown,
they’re only there to
slow you down.
It never fails. It’ll
haw and bray and hold you up
all day. There’s
always an ass on the road.
© JPW – 2013
02 October 2013
Storm Front Warning
He never saw it.
Coming over the hill, the storm
Coming over the hill, the storm
was wreaking havoc.
Visibility diminished.
Before it was finished
it left destruction in its wake.
That was all he could make.
That was all.
He could make it leave
destruction in its wake
before it was finished.
Visibility was diminished
wreaking havoc over the hill.
The storm? He never saw it coming.
(C) JPW - 2013
He Said. She Said
He said, “Good
Morning! A lovely day isn’t it?”
She said nothing and smiled.
He said, “ I
hope you’re feeling better today!”
She said, “I’d be doing much better if
you’d stop talking to me!”
He said “Fine!”
and walked away
Days passed, sight unseen
and it had been
as long since they “talked”
as long as he’d walked.
The phone rang!
He said, “Hello.”
He knew who it could be when
She said, “I’ve been thinking!”
He said he felt
like he had been drinking
She said, “ I have this sinking feeling I’m
falling!”
He said he
knew there was a reason she was calling!
He said, “I
noticed your number. You’ve been calling…”
She said to herself, “He’s stalling”
He admitted
saying, “I’m stalling. I’m not sure…”
She said, “I’m sorry I bothered you!’
He said “Fine!”
put the phone away.
Weeks passed, sound unheard
And it had been
So absurd when they “talked”
As long as he’d balked.
The phone rang!
He said, “Hello?”
He wasn’t sure she would call back,
She said, “Look I admitted my feelings…”
her head was reeling,
He said,
stealing her thunder, “Don’t you wonder what I was going to say?”
She said, “When, the other day when I
went away? Yes” she said to her dismay!
He said by
the way, “I’m not sure… but I think I’m falling too!”
Minutes passed, he was gassed
And it had been two miles
He had run to see her smile.
It was the longest while.
The doorbell rang!
She said, “What
do YOU want?
He said “We were falling…”
She said “I
feel sick again. It appears I was calling…”
He said sadly, “…the wrong number?”
She said, “Yes. But I guess since you’re
already here, d’you have time for a beer?”
The bottle was passed, they were gassed
It seems they had a good time
And it cost not a dime.
Now they meet every Tuesday, same time!
Wedding Bells ring?
© JPW – 2013
01 October 2013
Misted Mindset
it was a quiet hillside; he considered it
a place of worship where ghosts gathered
to swarm the edges of the bog like a hasty fog
the exact consistency of a pea green slurry.
patches of clarity would spill unbidden
into sharp and defined visions. he saw what
he wanted to see. nothing more
© JPW – 2013
The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #128
a place of worship where ghosts gathered
to swarm the edges of the bog like a hasty fog
the exact consistency of a pea green slurry.
patches of clarity would spill unbidden
into sharp and defined visions. he saw what
he wanted to see. nothing more
© JPW – 2013
The SUNDAY WHIRL – Wordle #128
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