I haven’t time
For worried mind,
Nor am the type
To fuss about,
With niggling tripe
Gives in to doubt,
As would the sort
Just lets tarry
To state of dread,
Instead abort
Before you’re led,
Where devil bids
To worry your head…
Hence concern not
On things a pity,
One exercised
To pass the buck
Of responsibility,
Who’d but surmise
You’d find no cause,
To scrutinize
Anxiety’s worry,
Despite ample tries
Save trying wise,
Shun a worried mind!
– ode to whom ideate –
Throwing caution
To the wind
I now stand,
On legs
Wants a hand,
Though one begs
Yet amply stable,
Mean to last
Thusly quite able,
As ever whole
And near as fast,
No less than bold
To ride the wind!
As I observe
The hand
That feeds,
Wants serve
The life I live
With verve,
Fashioned so
As fate did give,
To find contrive
Thru every curve
Meant stay alive,
Be worth invest
In destined strides,
Hence to survive
The waning signs
We visualize,
Protuberant veins
Neath thinning skin
Covers aging within,
Telling of life ephemeral
The while bemoaning
Mind means decline,
This hand will feed me still!
I want to laugh
In potions ample
That it should last,
To encourage
Thusly bold,
Fellow beings
Who’ve to learn
Be laughter
Feeds the soul,
And lessens thus
The morose pique
Of anxious matters,
Inciting as a must
The constant lifeline,
Of enduring laughter!
Will I be there
As I intend,
With ample time
For a lost friend,
He of a mind
Did one day pen
Might find amends…
I seek to find,
Not in a state
To care too late ,
But wits aware
To so repair,
Purpose aligned
Those years ago,
Since undermined…
Tho life bids want,
Care but suggests
To not long dwell
The depths of hell,
Save there be more
Of lived before,
A friendship set adrift
Yet not quite vanished!
Poetry on a canapé 