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
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
10 October 2013
29 September 2013
...Something Completely Different!
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| http://catrinwelzstein.blogspot.de/ |
seemed in a hurry,
the Olde Fish Shoppe was fresh out of sturgeon.
He needn't have worried
his angst being harried
was quite out of place for a surgeon
Dr. Wm. took control,
he baited his pole
and from his fish boat he did fish,
four fish was his goal,
perch, halibut and sole
would make the most tasty of dish.
It's the early bird,
so William had heard
that gets all the worms, you see,
He thought that absurd
and quite for the birds
so he woke up at quarter of three.
William of Surry
his eyes somewhat blurry,
mistook a fat worm for his finger,
He hooked it, yes siree
his blood thick as slurry
assuring his pain would linger.
© JPW -2013
dVerse Poets Pub: Poetics– we’re writing to the artwork of Catrin Welz-Stein
12 September 2013
Fate and Destiny Do Lunch
“Glad you could meet me,
it always works out just how I’ve planned!”
“Oh really? What makes you think
my wish is your command?”
“Why do you think they call me Fate?
I knew you’d be here… and you wouldn’t be late!”
“You don’t control me, no how, no way –
I’ve a mind of my own! I still have a say!”
“I’m not so sure, if I must sound defeatist!”
“Go to hell, you overbearing elitist!”
They sit and stew, as that’s my hunch,
the way it goes when these two meet for lunch!
The waiter arrives, with menus he stands,
but Fate waves him off with a sweep of his hand.
“I’ve already ordered and I know what she’ll have.
She’ll eat the veal (she loves baby calves)”
“You see”, he explains, “I’m planned by divinity,
don’t question my motives, they’re from my mythology!”
Destiny smiled. “Excuse me, nature calls”
and she headed off for one of the stalls.
Fate sat there sipping his drink and awaiting his friend,
a relationship that was a dead end!
They weren’t really connected as far as he knew,
as through the front window a transit bus flew.
There lays the late Fate, now in celestial unity,
since Destiny influenced a great opportunity.
Fate met his fate, his appointment with Destiny,
cards fall into place through a deal of humanity
Now a table for one, but what the heck,
she didn’t even mind kiting the check!
09 September 2013
In The Order of Bailey
Walking along the snow covered avenue,
George had a time remembering
things the way they were.
So much had come to change around Bedford Falls!
The whole episode seemed a
lifetime ago in another dimension.
The magic of that night had faded since the intrigue
of Old Man Potter’s deception
was put to rest.
It was a shame the town folk
chose to pummel
the infirm codger, sending
him to his own potter’s field.
Clarence used to answer the bell every time,
but since getting his wings,
things were different.
Now Bailey knew he was truly on
his own.
No longer the center of attention, George Bailey
had learned the hard way that
life was indeed wonderful,
and he was more than OK with it.
We all pay a price for the lives we lead,
and love stains deeply if we only
let it!
© JPW 2013
03 September 2013
Gutenberg's Dilemma
Some said Johannes had a hole in his head,
well hidden by his floppy hat.
It was a matter of time before sparks would fly
and the public would come to doubt his process
(which held little sway with the monks
who would shoot their mouths off while
slaving over their hot feathery quills). Still,
his press would revolutionize the way
information was spread, relegating
hand scribing to a lost art. Surely, printing
had its flaws early on! The pages stayed wet
and smudged by the inky residue on Gutenberg’s
hands. Experiments with scarlet pigments gave
his pages a splash of color. And soon, Johannes’
“press” was close to working like a well-oiled
machine.
Gutenberg’s quandary was this: should he call
his contraption a true printing press or a real screw job?
25 August 2013
THE MAN CAN’T HELP IT
He considered it a bitter pill, not to be swallowed or spit out; it was meant for Randall Williams to keep to himself never to be consumed. The man knew their fates were doomed from the start. Life’s puzzle was missing pieces, but it had enough to offer the promise of not allowing it to go South. He knew hope springs eternal, but the fierce competitive nature of this man possessed didn’t allow for promises or hope. From the moment Williams had stepped off of the train, he had heard the cries and seen the tears from the dust encrusted eyes of the children left to wander in this desert. The winds were gusting violently; they knew nothing of filters for protection. All the town folk of Waverly knew was that death was slowly filling their lungs, leaving them nothing but an excuse to die. This was worse than any prison sentence. Dr. Randall William was some angel of mercy! He couldn’t help them. He felt as if he was in hell!
© JPW 2013
First attempt at The Sunday Whirl Wordle (#123)
Submitted to dVerse/Poets Pub OLN Week #111
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