An idol of mine through the years,
you've seemingly helped me shed tears
as deep and resplendent
as how life's dependent
on all of its imminent fears.
You meant 'i-m-m-A-n-e-n-t'?? -- bh
AN EXPANSIVE WORLD
Winter has a rustic quality
that leads me to start believing
that what is will attain a greater
definition and a truer scope.
Icicles endow the many branches,
but the temporary chill assumes
no such narrowness or is a fact
whose fictive sides show real leanings
toward sensitivity that breathes.
Any wintry day contains concepts that
forbid my gaining toeholds
that would nip how glory leaps
or gives glad screams. I
often renote that every neighbor
probably is as distant
as the next county's seat.
The ultimate snows grab
children's caps and offer looks
that could form a huge slab.
Each bright day is a moment that cooks.
We notice that the stars were crabs
in search of the prominent little hook.
We also sense that how a sky blabs
composes another book.
In this year and in the very next
will be ample examples of a text
that composes itself tunes
comment might hurl swoons.
The motions hair makes are the
sources of sensing that dusk thrives.
The river that runs past my door
was floating a rafter whose roar
resembled the laughter
of how a mere crafter
might fashion some verse far from sore.
You veered. -- bh
I remember the fellow.
He sat, and he was mellow.
He never gave a bellow
that could be no pillow.
The tree was sallow.
The fields were fallow.
A moment grew a callow
reminder of the yellow
bowl of green Jello®
the fellow ingested.
I was born yesterday.
You looked at me and cackled.
He and she turned around and spat.
Eventually, today came.
We now are proud of me.
I am ready to be reborn.
The blessings of daylight are on us.
We shall thrive in the knowledge
of a full deliverance.
How do you spell that last, long
example of a "d" word?
ANGRY YOUNG MAN
A dapper young guy stood up and admitted
he long had been pitted
against adversities. "My pappy,"
said he, "was too damned happy!
Yes, my damned pappy smiled and chortled
and (for that) should have been throttled.
The world always has been hell,
and my damned father knew that: quite well.
He was an older type of being,
and he often went skiing
while I stayed home and pitched loam."
Ah: how that young guy's eyes formed foam!
The world forever twitters.
That the world's twittering would cease:
I offer these rank linelets.
Pull your beak back, world!
We have wearied of your wonderful warbles.
Your feathers need cleaning.
Get, then, to preening!
Shine your songs, silently
by aping a mute monkey.
Too avian has all become.
The wind craves a rest.
Be still, bleeding world (save for motions
that remain as noiseless as splendor).
In keeping with a lot,
your ways have hit a spot.
In keeping with all things,
the hours hold festerings.
In keeping with a pitch,
the moments are as rich
as any of the keepings
that often hold the leapings.
In keeping with a screw,
what are we to do?
In keeping with the plaster,
a dread has grown far faster
The facets are propinquous new events
that offer us a sense of having seen
a semblance of a majesty's immense
desire to be as chilly as a bean.
Three measured hues are giving us a glance
inspiring us to fabricate a day
in which to resurrect the very dance
that bids a sky assume a perfect gray.
SPRING IS HERE
Spring always may have ways of giving sweets
as tasty as the glorious attire
wherewith the autumn does the many feats
whose actions will permit a full desire.
Spring now has reached a doorstep that's a lark
whose gaiety implicitly allows
the many trees to send a stern old bark
as bity as the sternest of old prows.
Emotions soon give us a chance
to fashion a sort of romance
whose chivalrous prancings
contain half the dancings
inherent in any sad glance.
That deepens three plums. -- bh
This day is full of ordinariness.
I look out my window and see you.
"Why are you so ordinary?" I ask.
As you bob in the breeze, I blush.
You are beautiful, true, sweet.
From dawn to dawn, I love you --
you and the whole non-you world.
Your ordinariness is life's,
which is a shape
unforgettable and always honed
By Bruce Hamilton
©copyright Bruce Hamilton
We all want to thank you,
for all your dedication and poems
for our group.
Boomers International Friends
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