Ballad
Everyone Admired the Mirror
Everyone admired the mirror. It hung where every caller came, Above the hall in pride; Each pilgrim praised its polished face Before he stepped inside. A merchant stroked his prosperous beard, Then smiled with deep delight; A poet found immortal fame Before a page could write. A preacher bowed with solemn grace, Then lingered for another view; Each swore the glass possessed rare truth, As every noble spirit knew.
By Tim Carmichael3 months ago in Poets
Blue Fire in the Dark
The Winter night had settled in; the hearth was sinking low. I pulled my old wool sweater up before the dying glow. It served me through a score of years, through many a bitter mile; a faithful friend that held the cold at bay a little while.
By Tim Carmichael3 months ago in Poets
Well Conditioned
Some analogies hold every time They are usually taken from sports. They have meaning transcending reality And apply to deals of all sorts! Take our bodies; they need exercising To allow them to exercise more. And the more we exert them, the better: They can train without being sore! When you see such a marvellous body, "Oh, it's so well conditioned!" — You'll cry. Something similar went for your hair: When your scalp would smear it with oil You'd go around — a halo of greasiness: So disgusting you'd want to recoil! Now, with products, you can dry it out Wash away that yucky oily flare Then you rinse and repeat, and repeat, and repeat... So much care for your hair, shiny hair! When you see such resplendent cool mane, "Oh, it's so well conditioned!" — You'll cry. What'd you say about all of the heatwaves? "Get AC!" We all suddenly freak. Otherwise we'd just waste electricity, And from nowhere the gases would leak! It could slow global warming right down, Then ACs would become something rare. And while everyone else had enjoyed them, You'd be stuck with your dumb earthy air! When you breathe such immaculate ether, "Oh, it's so well conditioned!" — You'll cry. Then there is an astounding good reason For which things are the way they are It explains why I am how I am And you are just the way that you are. Some things happen for such a good reason And that reason is making us say, "Do not question our soundest traditions Things are meant to be just this way" When you encounter such powerful logic, "Oh, it's so well conditioned!" — You'll cry. Have you ever "just hoped" for the best? It's annoying and rightfully mean! 'Cause there's no one to give you perfection: Disappointment already foreseen! It's much smarter to think of the worst And avoid receiving insults. To make sure that your prospects are met, You only need to skew the results! When you meet such a realist heart, "Oh, it's so well conditioned!" — You'll cry. For our kids we have one demand, that nobody exploits them in life. So we need to give them tough love And impart our lessons with strife! When deserved, only give your affection: Make them work for the better results. Disregard that they're learning a pattern And become people-pleasing adults! When you take part in such thoughtful love, "Oh, it's so well conditioned!" — You'll cry. And, of course, our own need protecting, With a world that is scary place! There are so many people unworthy. Why call "people" such a disgrace? We should better make sure to isolate them: They don't look like you and me. I mean, they are called others with reason They just really don't look like me. When you cross paths with such deep thinking, "Oh, it's so well conditioned!" — You'll cry. Here's to the paradox of our nature The solutions becoming a blight Causing all of the wonderful problems That we thought them out to fight. It's ingrained in our very own beings. Dare I say, "Oh, it's so well conditioned you'll cry".
By Sasha Desideri3 months ago in Poets
Where Be Our Cincinnatus?
Where be our Cincinnatus? That golden hero of yore Where be our Cincinnatus? To whom even Washington swore Above reproach Pridefully evoked A common admiration Wielding power with veneration With the Aquei’s threat abated Upon the Field of Mars, abdicated Laying down stewardship's yoke Knowing it be no golden cloak Where be our Cincinnatus? Someone upon whom we can depend Where be our Cincinnatus Amongst these common men?
By Matthew J. Fromm3 months ago in Poets
