Poem of 2024

ajay said:
Voting At The Bullet Box 💣🇺🇲💥

Upon American Election night,
as sitting here I slurp down cups of tea,
it would, I think, perhaps, be good to write
about what's taking place across the sea.
Will Donald win, become the President?
Will Harris make a dash and snatch the Crown?
Will Democrats be making sad lament
or will Republicans be feeling down?
Who cares! Whichever of the bastards wins,
the outcome's always just the bleeding same,
and soon another war somewhere begins –
the US f*cking A kicks off the game!
Whoever wins, please listen to my plea:
Don't war! Sit down and have a cup of tea. ☕

☕🙃☕


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=48Va4CyqjRk&pp=ygUMZnVjayBhbWVyaWNh

🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲

Are you a political animal, at all?

🚩



Nopes. Not interested in politics especially when it's not at/of/about my own country.
Maybe vaguely and mildly curious.

Voting at the Bullet Box (part 2) 💥🇺🇲💣

Republican or Democrat 🟥🟦
whichever one of them should win 🏆
their promises will soon fall flat,
and then, of course, new wars begin, 💣💥

and next will come that World War Three 💣🌍💣
and then in one almighty boom 💥
the house in which we have to be 🌍🌏🌎
will not have any living room. ⚰️⚰️⚰️


💣🇺🇲💥


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=hZJRJpbGkG4&pp=ygUPd2FyIGVkd2luIHN0YXJy


🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲🩸🇺🇲

Flowers on My hair
...I can't identify with that but then again, being passionate about something is being alive. I lost that somewhere along the way. My passion lives on in other ways

the golden haze of my youthful dream  
life was such a gentle stream  
loved flowers on hair nothing to hide  
love and acceptance my guide

In my paddy fields so free  
nothing stood in my zest for life
no tears or poverty
I was young eager and alive

our dreams should be for peace
let the age of love return
not for carnal desires to reach
let love be our stay in life's impending end

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PwY-Mt719_c

A True Story. (I even took that photograph 🙃)

An apple lay forgotten in the road.
No Eden there, just hard and stony grey.
No Eve or Adam's hand would come today
to pluck it from its cold and last abode.

Instead, decay would be that apple's fate,
a rotting, slow and sure, and sad to see.
No teeth would bite it, set its flavour free,
a wrinkled doom its end, a sorry state.

I walked on by, then stopped and turned around.
It looked so pretty, bright and fresh and green
against that cold and stony grey so mean
I couldn't leave it lying on the ground.

I picked that apple up, intent to munch,
and, hungrily, I ate it for my lunch. 🙃


🍏

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=QFDp2b5TsNg&pp=ygUZdGhlIGdhcmRlbiBvZiBlZGVuIGx5cmljcw%3D%3D


🍏

Did you ever get your story about the minister written? I hope so. And did your muesli end up in the bin? Perish the thought. 🙃

🍎🍏

Stories
...many have been written...funny, sad, bad...

when its quiet at night
when shadows start to play  
imaginations take flight
into strange landscape foray

another world spark bright
and my ink flows like a river
each stroke showing a sight
each sentence a creator  

heroes and their tales yet untold  
adventures of people in the days of old
shamans and gamblers and knaves
like fireflies weave into reality the fantasies

read closer and wonder
are you there among the crowd
the villain or the hero..?
both fragile and bold

come closer, hold up your lamp...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kv8zyBi4ZXk

ajay said:
A True Story. (I even took that photograph 🙃)



looks tempting... you have a good eye