A Poem Thread

Sunday Park

Brightly filters sunlight
through the foliage
of the scarred old tree
bearing knife marks
Joe loves Mary, 1963
broken hearts, carved so boldly
for anyone to see

Sunday morning park
basking in the sun
flowers blooming, beetles zooming
so inviting to have fun

Car pulls up the parking lot
slamming doors, engine hot
blankets, dishes, picnic baskets
on the grass that's still wet
bats and balls, strung out net
now we're ready, we're all set

Watch it Johnnie, don't do that
oh were is that catsup now
Steven see, you broke the bat
we need more coals, this meat is raw

Oh my, I'm just too old for this
I should have stayed at home
mother, look, you see this bump
he hit me with a stone

Sunday, Sunday park
blazing in the sun
people bustling, children tussling
all pretending to have fun

Time is up, time to go
it's getting onto six
let's break it up, pack it in
no, no, no, no more tricks
we'll be back next week for sure
you can count on that
hurry up now, let's get going
has anyone seen my hat

Sunday evening park
slowly sets the sun
litter scattered, flowers battered
all is quiet from the fun

Dimly filters sunlight
through the foliage
of the scarred old tree
bearings knife marks
I love Mary, Joe iscrazy, 1963
broken hearts, pierced with arrows
but no one to see.

W4U
 
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The Do-gooder Song (lyric)

I trash capitalism
Every chance that I get.
Adore the irrationalism
Of making money from its threat.

Took up Uncle Karl's profession,
Where saints fight against oppression.
When a slick racket's found,
Don't ever shut it down!

I'm a do-gooder,
Enhancing my career.
I'm a shrewd looter,
Opportunist signaling here!

Just raise the crimson fist,
If toil's at its darkest.
If fairness is dismissed,
Find that hero who's a Marxist.

Nah, you want a rich prog spender,
A resourceful left pretender.
Got plenty for a feast?
Invite my hungry priest!

I'm a do-gooder,
Refining my charade.
I'm a smooth looter,
Soapy crusader on parade!

Need a public spotlight?
Let's posture and inveigh.
Social justice can be brought right
To the Collectivist Café.

Despite my color privilege,
They can't tar this savior image.
We decide what's nice, bad,
Guilty as my white dad!

I'm a do-gooder,
Enhancing my career.
I'm a shrewd looter,
Opportunist signaling here!

Like philosopher kings
Tugging where your heart rings,
Give us what moral power brings,
So we can pull your puppet strings!

I'm the intellectual class,
That pretentious celebrity,
Or politician ass.
Better society!

[refrain change, closing]

Any land of cream and sugar
Attracts our pied recruiter.
If a crisis grows acuter
Better call the do-gooder!

Better call the do-gooder!

_
 
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Spoiler:
Prompt: "Write a short rhyming poem explaining Einstein's theory of general relativity in easy but accurate terms"

General Relativity

If you want to understand Einstein's thought
It's not that hard if you give it a shot
General Relativity is the name of the game
Where space and time cannot remain the same
Mass affects the curvature of space
Which affects the flow of time's race
An object's motion will be affected
By the distortion that is detected
The closer you are to a large mass
The slower time will seem to pass
The farther away you may be
Time will speed up for you to see

Guess who?

https://arstechnica.com/information...onquers-rhyming-poetry-with-new-gpt-3-update/
 
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In the Desert
by Stephen Crane, 1895

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter ― bitter," he answered;

"But I like it
"Because it is bitter,
"And because it is my heart."

 
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"How are you?" you ask.
My mind races
There's nothing worse than having a thousand things to say. Every word and thought scrambling for first place in my mind,
only
to catch
in a lump
at the back of my throat...
unsaid
"I'm fine" I reply.
"No really?" you press on.
"There's so much I want to say but I can't make sense of it. Not yet."
"That’s frustrating."
"It is," I say, "but I think if I scream... it might help."
So I do
And I'm not alone
You're screaming too
We're all screaming
At the top of our lungs
***Tara Shannon
 
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Desolation dwells

Left emptiness, vacant room
stark walls, lonely broom
tilting table, checkered cloth
coffee stains, lifeless moth

Human beings here once dwelt
perhaps hope here once was felt
but look around and see
could it have been but misery
desolation dwells

Uninspired ornaments of alabaster
molded scrolls of casting plaster
windows smudged with coated grime
wooden floors revealing time
desolation dwells

Left emptiness, vacant room
stark walls, lonely broom
tilting table, rusty knife
reminders of the time
this lonely place once was alive

Human beings here once dwelt
joy and sorrow once were felt
now shadows cast a silent spell
and desolation dwells
 
Contemplate this before leaving
Or abandon the heart still beating
Legos and toes, bare feet and old clothes
It's never not a good time for coffee.
 
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Allegory for any effort to keep two forces, agencies, or idiots (especially young ones) apart. To prevent them from bringing ruin to themselves and collateral hardship to those around them. Usually futile in terms of working, but catering to sentimental optimism here. --Cece
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Full Moon Valentine

Down a highway barren of traffic.
Lonely stretch with no demographic.
Its crumbling pavement sprouting grass,
Billboards wincing at their vintage past.

Troubled spaces, where dogs run in packs.
Broke trees kneeling atop railroad tracks.
Trains have not rumbled here for ages;
Gone as convicts escaped from cages.

Enter a town pocked by street art scars,
Sunken-eyed facades, and rusted cars.
Where only death greets our monthly rite
Of passing through to a better fright.

Relic diner outside the limits.
Abandoned farmsteads reached in minutes.
Afternoon still dominates this land,
Yet already the witch seeks his hand.

So there's the lab near where it started.
The parasitized girl still guarded.
Heartbroken thing pining on a shelf.
Immortal and cursed as he himself.

Armed keepers circle the outdoor scene.
Techs check and tweak the sentry machines.
His buried hues leak into dry air.
The beast's passion moans deep from its lair.

How was a god interred years ago?
The last tight-lipped survivor might know.
Their alien love wills and wills
As day rests its head behind far hills.

Later, night's trauma slips its levee.
Above, our wheeling orb sags heavy.
The sullen scarecrows thrum in their field.
Forsaken, yes, but shall never yield.
_
 
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Trichome Estates

Walking uphill was no battle then. The night air cool but not crisp. There were three of us. Teenagers, with nothing to prove and everything to lose. The sandwich bag was full from bottom to first fold rim. The dense nuggets within carrying with them the scent of what would otherwise seem foul to the nasal pallet, still somehow the most pleasant of aromas I had ever encountered. "Do you know how to roll"?
10 minutes later I found myself in a bubble and smiling from ear to ear. I think she swallowed me. I was in the far regions of a trichome mansion somewhere in trichome Estates. I'm sure of it. Stepping out was no easy task. She loved me and I loved her. My love for her is no less now than it was then. It's not that absence made my heart more fond, it's that she holds me close yet outside of herself. It has been nearly 25 years since we last danced. Even so, Trichome Estates is no less part of me than it was when the music was still playing.
 
The breaking

Every break gets filled with something.
Every time a little different than before.
A little stronger for the breaking.
I guess maybe so we ache no more.


The first one clean the entire length through
The second about the same.
The third one the size of a dime
And the fourth one came with shame.

The tenth break came and went.
Just like the 6 that came before.
After that I quit counting.
Instead, I counted on receiving more.
 
Corrosion of conformity (metal band)

I'll call it a poem



"Clean my wounds"

I see the world through bloodshot eyes
Streets filled with blood from distant lies.
The dogs of war never compromise,
No real time for rearranging.
"Help me Jesus, help me clean my wounds"
He said he cannot heal that kind.
Bleeding soul becomes a bitter mind.
He said it happens every time (Knock it down)
And that's how the story goes (Knock it down)
In the land of a thousand no's (Knock it down)
I'm all over you in time my mind is changing.
Knock it down
Black on black gives me a heart attack
And the silence makes it deadly.
Some choose to kill with simple will.
I've seen them fall fast and steady.
"Help me Jesus, help me clean my wounds"
He said he cannot heal that kind.
Bleeding soul becomes a bitter mind.
He said it happens every time (Knock it down)
And that's how the story goes (Knock it down)
In the land of a thousand no's (Knock it down)
I'm all over you in time my mind is changing.
Twist of fate won't give me a break
And myself, I'm slow and tired.
I've got to rise with these bloodshot eyes
But I keep falling when I'm higher.
"Help me Jesus, help me clean my wounds"
He said he cannot heal that kind.
Bleeding soul becomes a bitter mind.
He said it happens every time (Knock it down)
And that's how the story goes (Knock it down)
In the land of a thousand no's (Knock it down)
We are bleeding sins and our sins are always fadin'
Oh fadin', oh fadin', oh fadin'
Oh, knock it down, knock it down
Oh, knock it down, knock it down
Oh, knock it down, knock it down
Oh, knock it down

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Pepper Keenan
Clean My Wounds lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
 
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