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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in poetry's LiveJournal:

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Monday, September 29th, 2014
9:16 am
A Question of Time
Question of Time, Ecc3
The question that is asked the most: we hear it every day,
"What time is it?", they want to know, and then they go away.
It's time for bed or time for work or time to feed the fishes,
It's time to take your medicine, or wash and dry the dishes.

Time in seconds, time in hours, so many freckles past a hair,
Depending on the Zone, or whether Daylight Saving's there.
Time is measured many ways, from minutes to the months,
Time is what keeps everything from happening at once!

A time to live, a time to die, a time for having fun,
Clocks and calendars alike, all scheduled by the sun.
Intervals that can't be hurried, will not be denied,
A season that we know is coming, as surely as the tide.

If there ever comes a time when time will be no more,
I wonder how we'll know to quit, or when it was before.
Do we hurry? Do we loaf? It depends upon the time...
Had we started earlier, we'd be finished with this rhyme.
Thursday, August 14th, 2014
2:37 pm

I too, am subject to her fantasies
Flinging things around,
Leaving in their wake impediments of gloom.

I too, am subject to her frowns
And paralyzing tides
Clattering chaotic in their underwater shelves.

I too am subject to her whims -- those rancid
Thoughts that unify her dreams,
Those siren swells

And scenes of rabid light
The gray goddess weaves
And furiously imparts into her mind!
Sunday, August 10th, 2014
11:24 am
Tuesday, April 15th, 2014
2:01 pm
Letting Go
Living life to the full on the slippery bank,
Excitement and danger like a tiger in the tank!
The adrenalin full flowing, the wind in your face,
Try anything once, and don't let up the pace..
On a gut wrenching high, always out on the town,
But knowing for sure what goes up must come down.

When your candle of yearning is lit at both ends
and you earnestly struggle at making amends..
To regain control of your life and your fate
To vomit forever what looked good on the plate.
You find out the monkey for sure isn't frail,
And the part of the tiger you have is the tail!
Saturday, April 12th, 2014
9:15 pm
History/Herstory (Poem)


Passe-Partout(if history were written on rings of trees)

If the rings of trees could write or speak the past and history

     Of the proud and the meek

     Of the strong and the weak

            History would not be written by the victor

It would be written by a just passé-partout of earths earliest ancestors

     For the rings of trees

            Would hold skeleton keys

                   To the many locked tomes

                         Of history

     For the rings of trees would be like a picture frame

            Framing in

                   Like a carpenter

                         The building that houses

                                The gallery

                         Of veracious paintings and delineations of old antiquity

     For the rings of trees would become the paper for this very purpose

            The true account of herstory

                   Unfettered by consciousness

                         And chauvinism and bellicism

                         And preconception and illiberality

1:43 pm
Differences (Poem)


Difference Is Not Damning

The tree stands out among a background of evergreens

      Its branches barren

      Till the coming of spring

Some would look upon this tree as worthless

      For it does hold the beauty of leaves

             Tell that to the birds

             And the chipmunks

             And the squirrels

                    Who reside in is form

Too often

      In the human world

             Very much different than the natural world

      Difference and standing out against the backdrop of glib commonality

             Is seen as worthless

                    Or even dangerous

What if the roles were reversed?

What if it was a lone evergreen against a backdrop of barren trees?

It would be the outcast

      Like the lone Goth kid

             Against the backdrop of their

                    American Family

Or for that matter

      The lone business college graduate

             Suit and tie in all

                    Against the backdrop

                           Of his flower-power parents

Difference is not damning

Difference is beautiful

Because in a room of two

      Both are different

      If they are not the same

Friday, April 11th, 2014
7:30 am
Rite Writing
The fiery finger of GOD wrote The Law
in the tablets of stone,
And once a year the blood of a goat
did for their sin atone.

That Old Covenant they had was for
the purpose of teaching a lesson,
and now we have a better deal,
'cause the blood is real,
and we're no longer guessin'!

The gentle finger of Jesus wrote the
Law of Love in the dust on the ground.
His forgiveness of the woman adulteress
was an act of this truth so profound.

He was the one who became the goat for us,
and also the ram in the thicket..
He is the Lamb that covers our sin,
and gives righteousness to the wicked.

The literal truth comes first,
and leads to the abstract truth of the poet,
And the things recorded in His Book
have a deeper meaning: Don't you know it?

It may not be just what you think,
because the language was once confounded,
But it will surely enlighten your eyes,
if your brain hasn't been impounded.
Thursday, April 10th, 2014
11:35 pm
Happy for Individuality (Poem)


Day #34-Individuality

Pink and white

     Western sakura blossoms of spring

Branches and blossoms hanging down

     Pointing to the earth

            Through gravity

                   Like wedded rain falling from invisible clouds

The vastitude of all the metal framed forests

     In all the misnomered commonwealth's of capitalism

            Pale in comparison to the beauty of this single tree

                   Whose white blossoms

                          Like snowflakes

                   Are a multitude of color in comparison to the pale of the cities

This single tree and its unique artistry is easily over looked

     In the hustle of factory lives

            Like the individual beauty of a person is lost to the urbanization of                  


                   Conventional vacuity

12:46 pm
Brain Train
Brain Train by Bob Smith of Foreman AR

It doesn't have to use big words or veiled innuendo,
Nor does it have to meter up enlightening crescendo.
But poetry should teach, or pose premeditated thought,
Making clear with words so dear, what everybody ought.

The lines don't have to be so long, but when it's just a dabble,
My train comes to a Crossword and turns into a Scrabble.
It doesn't have to use clichès, like "Beauty is as Beauty does",
But the eye of the beholder shouldn't always fill with fuzz.

It doesn't really have to have a punch-line or a grabber,
but poetry that doesn't rhyme has a tendency to blabber.
Even so, Poetic License is like the exception to the rule,
The fun of saying it diversely is our most portentous tool!

The subject of the rhyme is like a trip from here to there,
Hopefully the journey doesn't leave you in the air.
Of course when it leaves you laughing, you'll probably be back..
To say the poem o'er again, and get the train back on the track.
Monday, April 7th, 2014
10:43 pm
Alone with Depression (Poem)

Widow Willow

A lone
             Tree exists in the dark ground
Surrounded by
             Luscious grass

It is sullen
      For it appears as a willow
             Two L’s
             Replace a D
                    And the sullen nature is seen with a human face
                           In deep sadness at the loss of her life partner
                           Estranged now from the wholeness of her mate

So often the lonely and destitute are left alone
      Even in a luscious life of green
             Many colors of happy beauty we perceive from the outside
             The lone widow willow is left in their loneliness
All the beauty around them is achromic
      This is the power of depression
      This is what to fight

For depression is not cured by desert oasis
      Beautiful and plentiful
             It is still isolated by the sands of ignorance

For the lone trees
      Plant yourself around them
             Not intertwined in interaction
      Just plant yourself so that you are there
             And they are no longer alone
10:40 pm
Introspection about Nature (Poem)

Stand a Mile In Their Roots

The dense forest stands before
      I stand amidst and in front at the same time
No trodden path of previous wanderers
      The trees are the only natural residents of this land

The trees stand together
      Far apart or close
They are together in this colorful growth

They stand there together
      Performing their photosynthesis
             Expelling the achromic oxygen
             And ingesting carbon dioxide that we eminate

We stand with them as symbiotic neighbors
      Surviving on each other’s gifts of air
Yet with the urbanization of cities
      These forests with trees will be mere history in the future

If the roles were reversed
      Would the trees lose us to the annals of their history?
             Written on our skins
5:53 pm
Tree of Degrees
Tree of Degrees by Bob Smith of Foreman

Little by little we take the land,
Wondering how to understand.
Babes and youth and adults too,
Forks of life are sorting through.
Chewing the cud of what it means,
Swallowing knowledge like turnip greens.

Little by little we grow and store
How two and two add up to four.
Digesting all the relevant fact,
Trying to keep the train on track.
Washing down the bread with wine,
Brings elation every time!

Step by step the tree is bent,
Shaped by learning's pure cement.
Inclined up to the higher ground,
Washed ashore by Thinking's Sound.
Adding branches; some with fruit,
Settling down and taking root.

In time a haven for views to nest,
Little by Little comes the Rest..
Storms have altered our physique,
and by degrees we grow antique.
So we who once were just a seed,
Have now become a different breed!
Thursday, April 3rd, 2014
6:36 pm
Daily Stress (Poem)

Trees and Daily Life

A lone tree on the horizon
      At the forefront of ta grey cloud saturated sky
             A lamppost at the forefront of that
                    Taller than the tree only because perception dictates

Both stand as monuments of stalwart perseverance through daily standard weather and wear
Overtime the lamppost will die a lifeless death

The tree will remain a symbol to take what the world gives
      And remain standing
      Even when rain and wind bedash its trunk
             It remains
                    Only to be toppled by man-made influence
                           Or calamitous nature patterns

Take the daily ordeals of life as a tree
Wednesday, April 2nd, 2014
9:34 pm
Happyness and Trees (Poem)
Day #26-Learning From Trees

A tree
            Leaning like the Tower of Pisa
All visual data suggests instability
            But the roots are deep and strong
            There is still much life in its trunk
                        And limbs
                        And leaves
I like trees
Forever ambiverted
            Stoic and isolated
            Or in the fray of a forest
                        Intertwined with its brothers and sisters
They can be stoic and still at times
            Statues created by Mother Nature’s sculpting hand
                        Existing longer than the statues of man
                        Eating through rock
                                    And steel
                        Sustained by only a little water
                                    And a little sun
                                    Self sufficient

We can learn from trees how to be more life sustaining

Or they can be wild and free at other times
Resurging after a destructive fire
Or a destructive axe                 
            Becoming fuel for natures fires
                        And man’s fires

Wild to our imaginations
            The branches becoming nightmare hands in the dark of a black forest
Wild in growth
            No controlling influence telling it where
                        And how to grow

We can learn from the trees how to be more independent
            And less controlling

We can learn from trees
Tuesday, April 1st, 2014
9:33 pm
2 Metaphors (Poem)

Hanging Empty

A broken bird feeder hangs crookedly from a barren tree
Red with clear plastic
             Picked clean or dumped out
                    Taken for what it’s worth
             Leaving it to hang in silence

The image is sullen and sad
      So similar to how many of us treat others
             Even occasionally
             Even without sociopathic intent

The red and clear bird feeder hangs
      Swaying in the light breeze
             That refreshes the lungs of you or I
             But leaving the emptiness of the vessel more apparent
                    For the weightlessness of the plastic container allows for greater manipulation by the wind
                    And for the pull of gravity to be weakened

The truth in metaphor reminds that the empty void of the soul in loneliness and affray
      Opens the vitality of a restful mind to greater
                    And manipulation by the winds
                           And gravity
                           And a capriccio of time
Saturday, November 2nd, 2013
3:42 pm
Ducks in a Row..

Ducks in a Row - 2Cor11:19 

To suffer fools gladly is a daunting endeavor,
 And I surely won't do it for long or forever..
 A mistake now and then, or occasional lapse,
 Is human, but keeping it up is for saps!

Everything in its place, and a place for all things..
 Not knowing the Word(s) is what laziness brings!
 Whether giving directions, or singing the song,
Not knowing the Truth is emphatically wrong!

The climb up the Mountain of Learning is tough,
 and the slide down the Valley of Error is rough..
But unless you perspire at least eighty per cent,
 Sound thinking is just what you gave up for Lent!

The computer goes tilt when the info is wrong
 and if you're off key it just ruins the song.
 The Mountain of Logic will certainly grow..
 But for sure you must have your ducks in a row!

Sunday, October 27th, 2013
10:54 pm
Little Bean

Something grows inside of me.

I've read all the books

They tell me how at 10 weeks it now looks.

The size of my thumb

It's not longer than a piece of gum.

30 more weeks a baby you'll be.

I shall become a mommy when this being comes out of me.

What will I do if something goes wrong?

What if my body won't alow me to carry you for so long?

I worry constantly over this little bean like thing.

I have hopes of holding it live and healthy to which I cling.

I'm unhealthy and sick and ill.

What if I can't ever carry you despite all my good will?

If this little bean dies inside of me, so shall I this I know.

If this tiny baby dies, from this world I shall also go.

If you sweet child die,

So must I.

For thumb sized or no,

Already I love you so.

Sunday, October 20th, 2013
3:52 pm
A Little Poison..

    Just a little poison in a pot that once was clean

Is like a broken piston in a modern day machine.

Instead of running smoothly, it will not fly at all!

It violates the flagpole, or drives you up the wall.

    Just a little poison in a pot without a crack

is like misinformation in a sacred almanac..

Separating truth from fiction isn't all that easy..

Wheat & chaff dividing takes place where it is breezy.

    Just a little poison in a pot that doesn't leak,

is like without a paddle when you're up the muddy creek..

Like the fox that's in the coop, or the fly that's in the soup,

Is the lack of knowledge in degrees from Aesop's College.

   Just a little poison in a pot we've grown to trust

Is like a little leaven in a loaf without a crust..

Unless you change the leaven, You've surely sealed your fate,

But then you have to eat it all; Be sure to lick the plate!


12:26 am
Death, your method.

Hello inmates welcome to your cells.

Your heads' buried in the sand,

Incapacitated by your own actions and very own hands.

Welcome to your personally made hells.

I'm sure we'll get to know you all here very well.

Next cell to your right a crackhead sold her own daughter


Forced sex for her cocaine, it seemed a good barter.

She owes the dealer too much money and

her sex won't pay his bills, honey.

He'll shoot her in the head.

She'll make a point to his other slaves to pay up once she's found dead.

And to your left don't worry about him, the blue man they've already tried to resuscitate,

we suppose here that, that booze and handful of pills to take him down was his predestined fate.

Across the hall there's a girl who's pulled out her own feeding tube and I.V.

It's because at 81 pounds she's still so very fat don't you see?

Beside her another girl, don't worry about.

She shoved her finger down her throat too many times, finally her esophagus ruptured and heart gave out.

Don't scream, shout, cry, or pout.

You joined our club willingly didn't you know death is all we are about?

There's a teenaged boy down the hall other direction going nowhere better.

Blood stains the sleeves of his sweater.

We take turns betting how long it'll be 'til he finally gets it right

I lost.

I thought he would have gotten that bleed out artery before last night.

Do you smell the burning hair and skin?

A husband blew his cell up making crank in the bathroom.

Take a bet on the crackhead, girl or boy?

You might win.

It'll matter not your soul and life are already ours.

You've already been.

There's no negotiations, no bail.

This is life until death.

Not a short term jail.

We're already taking numbers gambling on your own last breath.

Just waiting to take you to your own death...

It might have been just the first time you stuck that dope filled needle in

your arm, thinking to cause no harm this very day.

Tonight you might have driven home safely drunk with no crashes on your journey's way.

You might have just had one hit of that crack with your friend, unknowingly starting your end.

You might have lost just a few pounds a little too fast.

It matters not. Your life will soon be past.

It might have been your first time this very day.

This matters not to us we'll first take your soul and then your life eventually anyway.

We've fooled brave men much more intelligent than you many times before.

Words spoken could never be more true.

Honey, there's only one thing you might can do.

Start digging your way out as fast as you can if you're not too deep already.

Never look back.

When you stop forgetting to fear us, that's when we will attack.

This is your last chance.

Get out now if you can.

Otherwise, it is until death we shall dance.

It's not a long duet, a very short dance indeed.

You've already planted seeds to a parasitic weed.

Run, Run, Run as fast as you can.

But if you're not fast and properly scared we shall catch you again.

You see, we are the method man.

The fallen angel.

The prince of the earth.

And with us if you can't escape you'll soon smolder in the bottom of our hearth.

Make your choices wisely and give them lots of thought.

You won't be very difficult.

We've got you already mostly caught.

Monday, September 16th, 2013
8:33 am

Sailing. 1Tim1:19, Jn6:21

If the storms of life have rocked your boat
 and turned you all but loose,
 And you're upset and mad at those
 who've helped to cook your goose..
 Remember you're a vessel too
 Don't get shipwrecked in your mind,
Listen to some sound advice,
 and to your ears be kind.

Your boat won't sink or even founder
 If the Lord is there with you..
 And you can choose!..He won't refuse
 to join your motley crew..
 The minute Peace gets in the boat,
 you'll be on the Other Side..
 Your sails of fortune soon will fill,
 So you'll enjoy the ride!

John 6:21 tells us "they willingly received [Jesus] into the ship; and immediately the ship was at the land whither they went."  Can't you just picture the rooster-tail on that ship! 

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