Blind little creatures stalk me from below
munching the roots of my plants as they burrow
sucking the life out of them to enrich their own.
It’s nature’s way but I don’t have to like it
We spent hundreds of hours creating our gardens
to be items of beauty for us
not lunch for the tunnel digging rats.
How do they know where they are?
Can they smell? They have no eyes
Or is it random. Random destruction reaped on my garden
Like a meteor shower from the heavens
but this is a vole shower from the inner earth.
I’ll get ‘em.
I have the internet and they don’t.
So far they are winning but I’m patient.
I live a lot longer than they do
So I’m told.
They appear professional.
They always send the little details when needed.
There is a high tech room to work in.
The stuff in that room would feed a Somali family for ten years
They charge lots of money to their public clients
and teach their clients how to be good,
how to solve problems,
how to be perfect.
They are true capitalists, chasing money without soul.
They are famous for their excellence themselves
but inside they are lacking,
They do not possess the management skills of a child,
hiding behind emails and others,
afraid to look confrontation in the eye,
not knowing how to analyze situations themselves,
not able to tell the difference between a mistake and a terrorist.
They are a sheep in wolves clothing wrapped in a school.
They don’t realize their own failings
even as they teach others
how to deal with their failings.
Oh well…Welcome to the world.
They will make good politicians
when they grow up,
if they grow up.
Out of the twilight
Of an old night
Languish on the land
And making it cold.
Dead and all alike
Drifting away from their activity
To the boring eventualities
Of this final nothingness.
This poem fragment is an opposite version of the following one, author unknown, found at http://www.wanttoknow.info/inspiration/10/short_poems_life
Into the dawn
Of a brand new day
Streak across the sky
Blanketing the land
With newfound warmth
Arise from their slumber
To the infinite possibilities
Of this grand awakening
Caminando sobre la presa de agua
It keeps the water in the lake
It’s the strong silent type.
No dice nada
No need for words
Hoy ella es cubierto de flores
The flowers were not there last week
I’ve never seen them before.
Hay millones de ellos
I’ve never seen so many
I wonder where they came from?
Algunos flores son amarillo, algunos son azul
The yellow and blue complement each other
Like they belong together.
Algunos son altos otros son cortas
You can’t see the tall or short ones from a distance
Only if you walk on the dam.
Todas las flores son pequeñas
It’s their small size that keeps them invisible
Unless you are among them.
Las pequeñas flores me invitan
And bring a smile to my day.
Los Mexicanos cortan la presa cada semana
Maybe they planted the flowers
To brighten their day.
Corto algunos flores para mi esposa
She likes flowers
She will know I thought about her
Ethics is doing what you say
or is it saying what you do?
It must be congruence between those
in some way.
Or is it doing what someone else says?
Wait! People say one thing
and do another so it’s doing
what others do.
But are all others ethical?
I think not, so it depends
who you choose to ape. Its confusing,
this ethics thing.
Maybe it’s doing what the smart people say
or the really insightful ones
or the the prominent ones. They
must have something.
Damn… Hitler had all those things
Is ethics following what he said?
or what he did?
I think not.
Tomorrow I shall pick a simpler topic.
For today I shall avoid ethics
and just try to be good, whatever
that might mean.
Day 27; my prompt is not there;
Nothing to say. My mind is just bare.
I need their prompt to jump start my mind;
Without it, I flounder. No ideas do I find.
Each day is different; a puzzle to solve
Follow a format or a theme with resolve.
It’s always different, a challenge to do
Like making craft beer, each day a new brew.
I’m not a writer, engineer’s what I am
solving problems, I start with a plan.
The prompts are the problem, they jump start my mind
Solutions are easy, quite easy to find.
But without them I’m lost, I wander around
like swimming when tired, afraid that I’ll drown.
Oh..the prompt is now there..but it is too late
Look, the poem is written – I got through the gate!
I started writing this before the prompt went up. I had no time later so it was now or never. I froze…then realized I could write about what I was thinking!
The Sailboat tied in a slip
sometimes silent, rocking gently
Sometimes straining to break free
The wind determines its mood.
When the wind blows
the boat wakes up
and strains to be free
to roam the sea
as free as the wind itself.
“Come fly with me”
says the wind
and the boat hears it
and wants it
and needs to fly.
The ties that bind it
to the shore
are weak and the wind will
eventually break them.
The boat insists on being free.
When the skipper unlocks it
from its earth bound prison
it runs, like a man from a tiger
about to be eaten
if it does not win.
But this is no run of fear
the boat runs with joy
It soars over the waves
built to cut through the water
like a knife.
You can see the smile on its bow
when it moves with the wind,
The grin formed by the two sails
You just have to understand it