Word’s a mere generic symbology,
a blip in time of human technology.
Millennia unfolds, meaning’s to learn.
Linguistically labored is the futures concern.
Truth is felt, lies always lurking.
Voices still spirits working.
Sensation’s sensed and souls embrace.
Or silence awaits this human race.
~*~
SCK071918
I need a bigger clock,
my watch seems to lie.
The spaces are too small,
and the hands seem to fly.
~
I need to see where time goes.
I can’t believe it’s me.
I only scroll a little.
And only when time’s free.
~
But that little watch keeps lying.
It tells me hours have flown past.
The stupid phone agrees.
I think the problems vast.
~
It must be a conspiracy,
drawing people to their laps.
Our future’s passing by,
and we’re now hunched like saps.
~
I’m going to go cold turkey.
When I’m done, we’ll share a toast.
But that I’ll start tomorrow.
Today I need to post.
~*~
SCK081125
Mornings give light.
Emotion fills night.
Eyes force sight.
Legs flee plight.
.
Opinions oft slight.
Truth’s never quite.
Souls know right.
Minds will fight.
.
Hearts feel blight.
Tomorrows bring fright.
Yesterday lends insight.
Fortitude means might.
.
Sparks do ignite.
Love shines bright.
Hands do write.
Life’s to delight.
~*~
SCK093018
I’m sorry I have no poem today.
I’ve actually started two.
But I have no endings.
So I’ve nothing to share with you.
~
Fortunately there are tomorrows.
Perhaps I’ll end them then.
Or maybe this is a metaphor;
for the fickleness of the pen.
~
Many things get started.
Only some will see an end.
But until there’s a conclusion,
a finish, we can pretend.
~
So I’ll pretend my poems are great.
They start off really well.
And I’ll imagine it’s a perfect day.
For the unknown we shouldn’t dwell.
~*~
SCK021621
With these strings, I thee bled,
fingers raw and eyes red.
Sounds of the day fill my head.
Emotion speaks with words unsaid.
~
With six strings I am fed.
Good vibration is my med.
Tension’s tuned and compression shed.
Harmony pledged. To honor bred.
~
With my strings I have wed.
Our ties bound by common thread.
Sweet melodies or what’s instead?
I’ll have and hold till I’m dead.
~*~
SCK120218
Welcome back to Hannahbelle’s folly
where dreams broken yet most stayed jolly.
The factory was shut, tourist didn’t stay,
the impatient grew impatient for a better day.
Most old town folk not wanting to go
agreed to a change in the Hannahbelle show.
Their now was the present, past’s time of old,
the gooey center betwixt is this tale told.
It starts with Charlie, who lacked business sense.
All money made was but half his expense.
Having won the factory therefore the town,
he became a fair leader, albeit a clown.
Yet a kinder soul there could never be.
All hungers fed, anytime, always free.
The workers prospered with newfound wealth,
not only from raises but dental and health.
The village glistened, all gloom washed away.
Their Renaissance grew brighter each passing day.
Charlie married soon after, a remarkable bride,
their love for each other they couldn’t hide.
Hannahbelle followed within that same year.
She’s properly pampered and handled with care.
By noble decree the eldest of elders proclaimed;
In honor of Charlie the towns to be renamed.
A contest was held to find the best name.
Most of the entries were all the same.
The town’s new name was Hannahbelleville,
from miles around people came for the thrill.
With towers of brick placed one at a time
all topped with a bell for the hourly chime.
The windows sparkled, doors welcomed all.
Just step right in and we’ll all have a ball.
Neat lines form long to be part of the show.
There are twists and turns wherever you go.
A bib and bags are given free at the door
to save what’s left for when you want more.
Ponchos welcome but most haven’t a care,
sweet diversions are why they’re all here.
Where chocolate waterfalls splash at their base,
what a tasty surprise to the passerby’s face.
There are also cakes, cookies and candies galore.
There’s shirts and hats at the little gift store.
The shelves always stocked, but not for long,
their prices are good so sales are strong.
On paper everything seemed OK.,
until a new town sprouted across the bay.
This new town was grander, factory too.
They stole Charlie’s recipes, yet he hadn’t a clue.
They built a new park with rides big and small.
It’s better than Hannahbelles that had none at all.
The competition soon became bold and brutal.
The rivals charged half for twice the strudel!
Though Charlie’s reluctant to change his way,
he worked all the harder without any pay.
Then Hannahbelle’s tuition became overdue,
not just one term but quite a few.
She’d have to go home without a degree.
The long spring stretched, she worked as three.
Side by side the little family all toiled.
Cooking and cleaning and keeping things oiled.
Summer arrived and thoughts were blooming.
She had to think fast, payday was looming.
Then a plan was hatched to save the day.
She called her classmates to all have a say.
Her idea was shared to change their fates.
The chefs and chemists mixed heated debates.
Mathematicians integrated their permutations.
The statisticians juggled interpolations.
The engineers tinkered to make all precise.
Artist’s flourished to make all look nice.
A manager’s needed to book weekend bands.
Then there’s the overhead and two hired hands.
There are taxes, tariffs and hidden fees.
We’ve a lawyer’s retained to shoot the breeze.
Bankers were safe with their calculations.
The accountants left to balance frustrations.
Our writers wrote slogans, jingles and ads.
Their pieces placed in papers for new I.T. grads.
A final test given for last minute tweaks.
Then code was input by computer geeks.
The output emerged and everyone’s thrilled.
Soon teeth and tummies both less filled.
It’ll be safe to consume whenever you please.
They’ll never melt and cannot freeze.
There’s no a messy wrappers or sticky streets.
When enjoying the new Hannahbelle binary treats.
Though you will need a dongle for a spare port,
to call up our server of cheese mocha torte.
You can try any flavor you think to choose,
try them all, there’s nothing to loose
We’ve green apple slush and warm fuzzy peach.
There’s seven billion in all, that’s one for each.
Just fill in the form and enter your pin.
Sit back, relax and let the digiconfection begin.
Pay what you can, take what you need.
The business is sweet without any greed.
And after all the bills are paid,
what’s left is ours; it’s what we’ve made.
What was made is what we make.
What Hannahbelle makes icing on her cake.
Hannahbelles treats now second to none,
without competition you’ve already won.
And as the creator of all that’s digiconfectionary,
she’s thought now to be a true visionary.
A university was founded, tuition’s free.
Hannahbelle was first to earn a degree.
Soon she was mayor of Hannahbelleville.
She could serve for life and probably will.
The company grew large, built in its niche.
Everyone did well, though no one got rich.
Hannahbelle shares all her profits and good will.
So all ends happily in Hannahbelleville.
sck011816dft
His name was Gurmumble,
or so it was said.
Gurmumble’s the sound,
comes out of his head.
~
Ask him a question,
anything you choose.
Gurmumble, he’d answer,
looking down at his shoes.
~
Gurmumble was teased,
folks called him a freak.
But he’s actually, quite normal,
he just couldn’t speak.
~
High School was soon starting,
Gurmumble was rightly scared.
The building was enormous,
much bigger than he feared.
~
His first week was horrible,
he’s a target to be teased.
Gurmumble was unfazed,
the bullies left displeased.
~
Come fall his novelty waned,
Gurmumble was now free.
Excelling at his studies,
he had a learning spree.
~
By Spring Gurmumble’s smitten,
but he couldn’t say a word.
So, he wrote his crush a poem,
the prettiest she’d ever heard.
~
He wrote her a poem each day,
awaiting her response.
And when she finally smiled,
it was Gurmumble’s Renaissance.
~
All the girls were swooning;
the boys were just confused.
Gurmumble’s now a star,
no longer feeling abused.
~
His poems now sung as songs,
Gurmumble plays guitar.
His loving girlfriend sings,
I’m sure they’re going far.
~*~
SCK072525
~
I built a playhouse, just for me.
I worked all morning, come and see.
It’s now just finished, just today.
So come on over and we’ll play.
*
My house has windows and a door.
It’ll fit bunches of kids and more.
We’ll plant a garden on the side.
Bush in the back for us to hide.
*
There’s a place for table and chairs.
To color books, build things with gears.
There’s little stairs to go up high.
Peek out the window touch the sky.
*
Cook in the kitchen, clean when done.
The rest of the day we’ll have fun.
Can’t leave crumbs for a pesky mouse.
Then it’ll be the mouse’s playhouse.
*
My house can be a boat with sail.
Or castle in a fairy tale.
A haunted house that is a scare.
Or just a place for friends to share.
*
If you don’t have your own “me space”.
You can make one, just pick a place.
Surround with imagination.
Then fill it up with friends and fun.
*
The End
~
sck091814
Waking to your eyes, your lips I can’t ignore.
We hold each other tightly, our love we can be sure.
Inspired with excitement of making love with you,
our passionate embraces are all I wish to do.
~
Our climax is explosive, a rest then we’ll take.
We’ll whisper, laugh and caress till again love we’ll make.
Bodies now exhausted, our minds still on high,
we’ll float downstairs together to greet the morning sky.
~
Coffee then is shared and we’ll plan our busy day.
Our thoughts are always sunny even when it’s gray.
Hands we’ll hold on our walk, the future now in view.
Bliss we’ll share every day, together; me and you.
~*~
SCK090420
I sat to write a love poem,
but fiction got in the way.
My heart now is still,
alone another day.
~
Maybe eyes will meet,
there’s smiles shining bright.
Perhaps our hands will touch,
and lead us into the night.
~
Our spirits ever closer,
warming our moonlit stroll.
Our lips free to explore,
the pleasures of our soul.
~
Whispers echo softly,
our bodies intertwine.
I am hers completely,
she’s completely mine.
~
The morning sun will rise,
again eyes will meet.
Our hands again will touch,
a new day we will greet.
~
Our love will last a lifetime,
together we’ll always be.
I’ll write a million love poems,
but for now just fictionality.
~*~
SCK022019
Electrons float in endless flight.
Space’s gray, no day or night.
Infinity lurks out of sight.
.
Elements blend or violently clash.
Random moment’s atoms smash.
Fusion bonds fission’s ash.
.
Core pulls, heat spurred.
Nucleus form, orbits dared.
Love holds a time shared.
~*~
SCK092218
Through willow filtered sunshine,
I feel your reflections and you mine.
With introversion my biggest fear,
with hidden face my love I declare.
~
In glistening pools of gentle light,
my heart waves to the mind’s fright.
If lives written our columns divide,
moments unmirrored to cast aside.
~
Hands ever closer the time does drift,
the moon creates our daily shift.
In the dark our eyes meet,
together enlightened tomorrows we’ll greet.
~*~
SCK030219
I started the day the usual way.
My feet hit the floor then out the door.
The sun’s yet high in the new sky.
But on the street I feel the heat.
The sweat begins to drip.
~
I get to work and feel like a jerk.
I forgot to do my do.
So I combed my hair in despair.
Then I booted up and spilled my cup.
The coffee made a big mess.
~
My notes now are gone and I left forlorn.
My haste has caused this waste.
I must slow down or I will drown.
This fast lane is causing me pain.
The phone then starts to ring.
~
It’s another complainer for I the explainer.
I was chilled to the bone by their ruthless tone.
I slammed down the phone but wasn’t alone.
The boss could hear standing so near.
This job, for me, was now done.
~
Hurt was I, I wanted to cry.
I went home to bed and wished I were dead.
I started to dream then woke to a scream.
A poke from my wife saved my life.
My eyes open to start again.
~
A nightmare was had, one very bad.
Its cause being stress is my best guess.
A lesson thought comes before taught.
My sweetie made tea for her and me.
A new dream’s begun and I called out sick.
~*~
SCK071722
Hello friend, can you please spare a buck?
Sorry for asking but I’m down on my luck.
The wife kicked me out and kept my old truck.
She smashed my guitar, now I’ve nothin’ to pluck.
~
She said I’m lazy and got no ambition.
I said her happiness is my only mission.
I do what I can, but ain’t no magician.
Tell ya the truth I’d rather be fishin’.
~
But she kept my rods too, locked in the shed.
And she found all the money hid under the bed.
She threw the good pan right at my head.
She mighta been pretty but she ain’t well bred.
~
She’s as strong as an ox, same size too.
She wears a men’s size twelve shoe.
And when she smiles my brain turns to goo.
But she’s gone now, I’ll have to make do.
~
Just a buck, friend, that’s all I need.
I’d ask for more but that be greed.
I don’t need much, I’m easy to feed.
I can’t be a beggar, but I will plead.
~
Thank you, friend, for sparing that buck.
I’m thinkin’ this is a change in my luck.
I can walk, damn it, I don’t need no truck.
Thank you, friend, for returning my pluck.
~*~
SCK072925
I have a best friend, name’s Bunny,
whose age is just the same as me.
Sits on my bed, friends all around,
snuggling close we’re all safe and sound
*
We all giggle, think it’s funny,
when I tickle Bunny’s tummy.
Though sometimes sad, trickling tears,
they’re easily dried with fuzzy ears.
*
I get big, Bunny stays the same,
destined for greatness and world fame.
Written about in poetry,
posed for art and photography.
*
With brush in hand with which to paint,
She’s very patient, no complaint.
Anytime, rainy or sunny,
always there my best friend Bunny.
*
By my side always, journeys far.
My companion; plane, train or car,
sharing adventures in daylight,
sharing our dreams every night.
*
The End
Sck0814
Pontifications’ the place to be.
Grand thinkin’s the life for me.
Imagination’s so far and wide.
Keep AI and just let me decide.
~
Old tech is where I’d rather stay.
I get allergies blindly trusting all day.
I just adore my dual screen view.
PC’s I love you but keep that dark avenue.
~*~
SCK072725
~
Full moon’s high in my window pane,
a sleepless night yet again.
I think of what that old moon’s seen,
and the billions of days in-between.
.
Billions of stories it could share.
But few like grandma’s can compare.
Her life began long, long ago.
Raised in places few ever know.
.
In forests, jungles and never-ending plains,
there were exotic cities and quiet country lanes.
Naturalist nurtured traversing the globe,
her parents explorers and professors in robes.
.
She too attended their university,
majoring, of course, in anthropology.
She graduated at the very top of her class.
Then returning to a high mountain pass.
.
A place where dear friends made, one nevermore,
new will be made though not as before.
For the sisterly love they both did share,
her dowry passed from generations with care.
.
Their rug was presented for the mutual esteem,
more cherished than a simple weaving would seem.
With sheep twists dyed and hands knotting all day,
life’s artful history’s made to give, barter or pray.
.
That winter spent mourning by choice and terrain.
Gram then ventured east with the new spring rain.
Her path soon ended on a long Pacific beach,
her life of the past now far out of reach.
.
She then called upon as never before.
She volunteered proudly as a nurse in the war.
Through years of blood, pain and tears she served,
refusing all the medals and honors deserved.
.
Though her true love was found slumped on a cot,
they soon returned home, where time was forgot.
Gramps got better and a new family sown.
their many shared scars were never to be shown.
.
Her old rug was placed by hearth and chest,
each full of stories though not all are best.
It’s a place we’d sit to hear grandma recall,
sometimes a place to do nothing at all.
.
So I tip-toed downstairs since sleep no option,
I’ll rest on that rug where dreams are begun.
It’s where secrets are shared and magic seen,
then a place for relaxing time in-between.
.
Once sewn as a bag keeping safe, precious things.
It’s been many a blanket with a picnic to bring.
It’s been a shawl in the cold and hood in the rain –
and a comfy pillow on the overnight train.
.
Adventures had in time that’s flown,
together worn from long years grown.
This rug’s grandma’s confidant and oldest friend,
soaring together their wove lives transcend.
.
Though colors now faded, ends torn and frayed,
beauty more timeless cannot be remade.
And when the winds do bellow just right,
we’re drawn up the flue and into the night.
.
Holding fast and climbing high,
we touched the stars in our moonlit sky.
We’d see twinkling lights in our town below,
then off to the hills where roads don’t go.
.
Over the wood, back to the place we all live,
where the door’s always open and love’s to give.
There blissful slumbers had snug as a bug,
whilst wrapped with a hug in grandmas old rug.
.
~*~
sck032116
A story’s brewing; it’s felt in my heart.
Yet I’ve to find the end, middle or start.
I think it’s close but it could be far.
The damage done and left a scar.
~
The image is blurry and makes no sense.
I’m hangin’ out with a guy named Pence.
We’re trapped in a cell with fancy drapes.
There are no cigarettes but everyone vapes.
~
Our lofty guard is seven feet tall.
He brings us bread and that is all.
P’s is white and mine is wheat.
But we don’t mind, it’s something to eat.
~
P tells stories of his glorious time.
I write fast and make it all rhyme.
He worked for a king, second in charge.
His duties were light but his paycheck large.
~
The lights go out at ten o’clock.
The guards go home and we all rock.
Music starts jammin’ in a cell nearby.
The place gets smoky and we all get high.
~
Our eyes grow heavy then we all dream.
We awake at sunrise to coffee with cream.
The king too presides in a cell downstairs.
It’s dark and damp but no one cares.
~
The king has a wife he no longer sees.
She crawled off to Russia on her hands and knees.
Though his kids live here, their just down the hall.
They all got snatched while attending a ball.
~
Now tuxedo’s in tatters and gown’s a mess,
the truth was clear, no need to confess.
So maybe this story’s no story at all.
It may be a nightmare, I can’t recall.
~
Though being in jail I wasn’t keen.
But comfort is felt when the future’s seen.
I did get released, no word of the rest.
And all ends well, their silence being best.
~
SCK111019
Plans have been made
and the weekend’s here.
An adventure will be had
but apart from my dear.
~
I’ll think of her while driving
and call at every chance.
I’ll dream of her when sleeping,
cuddled in romance.
~
I’ll spend my time distracted,
longing to return.
I’ll share my day with loved ones
but not the one I yearn.
~
Whilst my head will follow
wherever I may roam,
my heart will always be
at our happy home.
~*~
SCK100519
Lifelong habits surely die hard;
new routines are an old canard.
But time for now is all my own,
a new sensation since I’ve grown.
~
I’m gonna ride my bike and stay up late.
I’ll play my guitar until I’m great.
Ice cream for lunch at four o’clock.
Then feed some gulls at the dock.
~
With walks to the hill for sublime sunsets,
life will be as good as it gets.
Plans for the future now fill my head.
But all that’s tomorrow, it’s time for bed.
~*~
SCK070625
In the shadow of a city a child was born.
Decades festered to bubbling scorn.
His body grew large, his head grew bigger,
the search then on for a prized gold digger.
~
On tabloid pages their faces were strewn,
with scandals, bankruptcies and words of a goon.
Followed by lawyers paid a great sum,
ensuring victims would always stay mum.
~
While spreading his hate he found his niche.
And being a narcissist he saw no glitch.
He bolstered and bragged about a huge brain.
Some saw a genius, others felt pain.
~
Despite all his faults a following was had.
His greatness he shared, the world was sad.
Money poured in from sources unknown.
Bull shit prospered and a candidate was grown.
~
A show was hatched, reality lacking,
the outcome was known, dependent on hacking.
Conspiracies hurled, truth unconsidered,
fears unleashed and thinking dithered.
~
A president forged by the art of the steal.
In a backseat he waved with a spy at the wheel.
An immigrant descended a hypocrite ascended.
The “We” now he or so he amended.
~
A king is made with prince and princess.
While the queen hung back at a different address.
A cabinet assembled to kiss his fat ass.
Powers promised to those who could pass.
~
Those dismissed soon wrote a book.
Others were jailed for being a crook.
Impeachment inevitable, a sigh of relief,
a shakeup at justice led to more grief.
~
Leadership needed toward the end of his term.
But the mask’s inconvenient because of his perm.
Independence day past (let that sink in…),
freedom being fragile when destroyed from within.
~
The summer is here though different than most.
As the deaths in this nation is nothing to boast.
But autumn will come and the chips will fall.
A choice we will make, winner takes all.
~*~
SCK070520
There once was a man from Rhode Island.
Who liked wiggling his toes in the sand.
Though it just a few times a year,
cos he held his toes quite dear.
And freezing them off he couldn’t stand.
~
With miles of beach,
they’re only seasonally in reach.
But walks when not freezing,
they’re still always pleasing.
And you don’t burn the peach.
~
Genes you see have crossed the sea,
his mom as Irish as she can be.
They being that pale as well.
Their summers a living hell.
I guess even good luck’s not free.
~*~
SCK031319
Happy St. Patrick’s Month!
rhymesalot 
You must be logged in to post a comment.