T-kun Unusual Wordsmith III

Belittle the thoughts of thoughts,
For if too much so of it,
It may fall to where change,
Will never change,
But only repeat,
Tis leaving change hasn’t happen,
More for that we only echo,
Thus only becoming one and the same,
With little of pity future to come,
Or to not at all,
Over knowing elements we don’t understand,
Block out the true reason of change,
But duplications as thy only friend,
Or in the thicker walls,
A fiend!
Do think if one wishes to,
But do action for lacks of mirror events,
Even if the events feel that as,
Déjà vu,
Thus again,
Both belittle change and recurrences,
As thinking is a like a drug,
On how you use it,
To live or die,
In matters on the user,
Not the giver.

Odd Turn of Giggles

They rest at ease,
Sleeping near and content,
With little fears near them to haunt them,
Through they giggle like little devils,
When I say they haunt me!
Oh giggle now,
Little trouble makers,
Come by morrow,
I might use you as bait!
Yes,
They mean well,
They are children,
They are my distance kin,
For I must watch over,
For I picked the short straw,
Again might I add…?
This vacation as very much so,
Taken an odd turn!
But,
What can be done about them?
Soon they’ll be like every other adult,
Forgetting the yesteryears,
Along with tiny memoires,
Grow slowly if you can,
Young ones,
The world is not all what’s crack up to be.
Listen carefully to the wiser one,
As know why I am here,
To watch you,
Is more than what is spoken between elders?
Despites our tiffs,
I love you,
Again they giggle,
Because I’m being nice,
Making faces at them don’t make them stop,
Nor in memory of awhile,
Being a troll monster trying to eat their,
Toes not too long ago with the land was brighter,
And will clearer to play in.
Babysitting sounds like a job,
But for some reason,
I can’t come close to call it,
For those babies,
Even at ten,
Don’t make it feel like a job.
I must go now,
Another is awake,
And wants another story,
Again,
And maybe even later into the night,
Will bother me again,
I don’t mind,
As to once,
I was once like that too,
I can only guess where they get that from.
They giggle when I groan.
I wonder though,
What does the rest of the relaxing days;
Have in for us?
Because the thought of using them,
As bait,
Though they left the laughs leave,
They know,
I only slightly tease.
Oops,
They run off,
I have to run and get them back to bed,
Before the night owls get back.
Bye!

Out doing what has already been done,
Is a challenged for many?
Ask few on how they started out,
It wasn’t riding down a child’s play-set slide,
It was being pushed down a ledge,
Rolling down the rocky cliffs,
Wacky against trees and wildlife,
And maybe,
Just maybe finding that soft patch of grass,
And you’re hoping it’s not glass.
Being better or getting better,
Relies on how the doer does it.
Be it a fail or not,
It’s on their shoulders,
On remembering how they got there,
What made them get noticed,
What makes others keeping coming back for more?
It’s on them,
Getting better and working for what they love,
Yes money is nice to have,
But the passion is just as strong,
Best not be blinded by that,
And keep going,
What else is there to say?
Surpass yourself,
And take in full strides.

Be quick on this note,
For this is far too late as a fool’s joke.
For on this day,
May be brings,
Laughs and confusion,
To some!
As this day long when this site,
Was just growing from a little bud,
I was to join.
But things came up and stole me away,
Having things be done with,
Handled with and toss aside of what wasn’t needed,
Anymore,
But the wandering thoughts of coming back,
Never left,
Even now of lack of thinking of leaving,
Is far from happening!
Though now,
Proudly joined and feeling whole,
Is just as grand!
Still not sure as to what this will amount,
In saying,
As how close I was in being part of this domestic.
But it is said and done,
Over and brought anew,
Even to bring up a simple notice of this,
As to even not joining,
These people who have each other’s back,
Thrived to be something,
That no fat cat could ever claim!
Just thought to bring up,
That this day helped me find you,
And made me come back from life,
That was only seen half empty,
To now seeing it full,
With little issues to worry about,
To that,
I end with thanks,
As now really,
What else can I say but,
Thank you!

I wish only to be humble,
But somehow,
Has only left me in trouble,
In what has to be an all-time low.

If not one thing,
It’s another,
It must really be the timing,
That has left me brother.

Oh dear oh my,
This is just horrible!

Lie this has been,
If to cover it,
It would never fit,
For others must have seen.

That all make mistakes,
As quick and unknowing as earthquakes!

Oh dear oh my,
For an owe,
I have to make up for.

Even if it’s just a small tore,
I’ll fit it,
And then hope everything will let it go.

Thy little needle purple coated,
Slim and perilous,
Looping the cloth as one,
Though tough as vise mead,
Keeps the work unsmooth,
Leaving little choice for alone,
The chances of done,
Unpassable at best!
But not something to quick,
Just as fallen hat,
A tear will shed,
This will be done,
One cotton twine at a time.
And the finish work,
Will be one of the best!
Just as the ones before,
In the hall of the greats!
This just needs to have one final loop.

A tragic it was, as she was found, lacking any signs of life, faintness of cold blue, beaten purple, angry red, and phantom white grace her face. Water lingered and dripped out in the open airs of city’s winter.

As her waterlog body rested on the worn stone walkways, nearly only meters or so away from the bridge not far away.

With a night as quiet as this, it will be near morn until she’ll be found. Torn, wetly thicken; faded rubicund dress formed with a woman, no, a young lady, small child in another look in one’s eyes, barely just a year or so away from adulthood, now for every still.

As the city far from her resting place, rested now, but be lively soon. Seeing upon when the coming light of the morning sun, a small glim shined from her hand, grasped tightly, the golden chain bitten and ripped into her tender flesh, as strands of pink strained the chain.

As the locket, casted in the likely shade of the chain, molded in the form of a heart, gems of crystals outline the heart, with rope vines added texture as it scraped again the stone when the small waves washed over it.

The seal that held the lock tight from opening, cracked down one seam, within were words of sweet nothing from that could be said from a lover or soon-be forever love.

Looking closely to her face, frozen in time, slim streaks ran down her eyes, tears of a broken heart, for the love she wanted wasn’t returned, or most now as the times have changed drastically, stolen away for simple survival in common land.

But harp little words of blessing, as this was her choice, as it was the other’s choice to toss one love or another, that was must soothed to lover’s kin, as their backgrounds were far too different, for the long to grow than it already have.

Yet somehow, over heading in the hushed city, hanging above them, nor the moon or sun, but a lone star, brighten its way through the gloom and blinded ways of the common. A star northward, casting glimpse east and west, if when standing at the sight, does one go back, or go forward.

Maybe, just for this young woman, will forward her spirit, coming back stronger, and refining that everlasting love, that couldn’t be found in world were certain rules must be followed.

Maybe in her next life, she’ll find her happiness, as does anyone else would do, in a drastic or calm matter to move on.

Found Drowned by George Frederick Watts

Made in the years 1848-50

Location when painted; Waterloo Bridge, London, United Kingdom

I’m a sonnet of odd tuneless music,
Playing fast and slow to the ears many,
Puzzling and wonderfully tonic,
Minds that need to have others of any.

Cruel to others that knows little of me,
But here am I to around others too,
Wanting little in return to that degree,
In others way of calling me a loo . . .
Far from that my kinship of spoken word,
Listen clear and wild to what’s been thought,
In eyes of theater of the absurd,
For that is far more often than not brought!

I am a sonnet of creative care,
Far close to that of fine reads of Time Square!

B is for how Biased you are when something doesn’t go your way; a second option wouldn’t kill you!

A has to be that Assertiveness of yours, no one wants to be like you, knock it off!

S is going to be that Slap you have earned, speak to me as an equal, not a slave!

T forms that word of Trepidation that you are, you were once so kind, what has made you this way?

A is simple, as in stated, that you’re an Ass, one’s way life is going to be different, it’s known as a good thing.

R is how I want you to be Rational about this, before it’s your life on the line.

D is for that we are Done; I can’t live like this, if you can’t change for the better to be happy.

Today is very much,
As seen as a tough day for me,
But I am taking it in strong strides.

For today is known to speak happily to another,
Of this day of birth to them,
Making them feel like a shining star.

But I can’t,
I just can’t . . .

Not for him.

I’m even shock to even being talking about him,
In such a matter,
As this in shortness of bluntness,
To a fellow human,
As him!

But I have to,
If I want to let go,
And now I think it is time,
To do just that!

Oh Richard,
You weren’t the best kind of man out there,
Thinking only just passes your nose.

Loving a woman,
Who wanted nothing to do with you?

Telling you over and over,
To go to another,
That needed you.

Mother is still bitter about it,
But she’s getting by,
Even without you.

And as I,
Going up without you,
I have learned that I hardly took notice,
That even when other kids who spoke highly of two . . .
Parents . . .

I only had the one.

When I was tiny and remember so little,
Adult matter flew over me,
Now they’re iron thorns,
Pinning me still as a china doll . . .

The things that made you un-father-like,
I can’t and won’t over look,
No matter who tries to justified them,
But for how I see it,
Nor will carry as you as I grow.

I speak now and then with my siblings,
Who I have shared through your lines,
And love them.

Through your ice blood turning crimes,
Animalistic behaviors,
Horrible outlook of things,
You were at least good for making,
Descent children that became who they are now . . .

With or without you,
Being there,
Giving that proud smile of a well done job . . .

Yet the last smile I saw from you,
Was that try to live,
Not just from those who needed you,
But from the world altogether,
With one finally pop and turn.

Yet,
Someone,
Whoever they are,
Want you to stay and fix things,
Or at least try.

I don’t want anything from you,
Not straight from you,
But the lives you’d changed out of selfishness.

I want my siblings to know,
That at least once they were love,
My mother’s heart to heal from your deeds,
Not to have seen so many broken faces,
That you have caused.

You’re so blinded,
Of your own reflections,
You can’t see who you have hurt!

I’ve come to terms with my demons,
Why can’t you,
As other say,
You and I couldn’t be any more alike,
Richard.

Yet,
Yet,
After all these years,
I have come to say one last thing from,
And my last final time,
Seeing as phone calls are hard for you to listen.

I have forgiven you,
I may not trust you,
Love you,
Hate you,
Nor lie to you.

I forgive you,
So,
Happy birthday,
Richard.

May if we ever cross paths,
It be from neutral outlook,
No judgment,
And hopeful have that hug of father and daughter.

Goodbye for now,
Hello for change.

M is for that sweet and soft Melody, playing in the ears to drown out all the bad.

U is how United the words, strums, and others can be when it starts to play.

S goes for how Simple is can be, to be lost in the abstract of land of it.

I just have to be the Incongruous of how many there is of it, for any listener to take in.

C may stand for Condition is has to the body, because soon you just to follow to the beat.

The winds were gentle, flaky and fluffy clouds covered the pale pastel blue skies. Thin weavers of forest floated through air, hinted the fully emptiness with pine, oak, and bamboo.

With the mixture of spring waters that flow through the rivers, as a faint shadows of white chested owls take flight. Guiding and following, a larger shadow that flew with them, and coming in only signs of peace.

As the odd shape of a wide long, stretched out square, cotton fibbers rippling with the winds; that was glimmering with lovely stones of the mother earth, but somehow touching the heavily skies. But if any on looker saw, it would be a lone figure of human, a man, skin coated lightly dark from the time spend in the sun.

Cloaked in wears that a warrior of a time, none land walker has ever seen before, for if saw right, a sword with a menacing beast could not be missed, as the tinted sun reflected off the golden handled.

With a oasis glow that could calm anyone from the first sight of it. As it glowed that as the wildest fire of the volcanos lava, but it seem to have the cool felt of silk, forever trapped in a jaded box, whispering a tune only the keeper could hear, having the luminosity woven gem rug, take forth wherever the two needed to be.

As rug only seemed to pick up speed, in such urgency, that somewhere, off to the unseen mountains, a love one was there, waiting for that lone fighter, as he kept a stony face ahead of him, for even knows for certain, that something, evil and cruel, was waiting for him.

Ready to break him, strip of his titles, his treasures and friends, and what made him leave his home, traveling through vast lands, hidden worlds unlike his own, going to the one thing, that made his heart do dances from the very sight of that love’s face.

No matter of magic, evil, or simple mind tricks will tell him to go back. Love will find ways to defeat logic, for sometimes, that’s all one has in the end, happiness.

A kinder word for love, but holds everything just as close.

Flying Carpet 1880 by Viktor Vasnetsov

Painted in the year 1880

Location of when painted; Moscow, Russia