Steve Poetry

…and inevitable. 😶

#poetry #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetsonbluesky #poetryonbluesky #writingcommunity #booksky #poetrysky #PoetryOfBluesky ##PoetryCommunity #PoetsOfBluesky #Poems #life #data #LifeData #DataPoint #GoogleGuage #DataFormula

#poetry #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry #poetryonbluesky #writingcommunity #poetrysky #PoetryOfBluesky #PoetryCommunity #PoetsOfBluesky #Poems #OldAge #moms #mums I love children: we had three and we have grandchildren. What a shame grey hair and a grey beard makes me so automatically scary.

Sisko, my dog, chilling with me. #dog #BlueSkyDogs #Dogs #chilling #chillaxing

Merry Christmas from me, and from my dog, Sisko. #xmas #dog #dogs #MerryChristmas🎅🏻🎉🍗🍺

At Christmas the weight of poverty hangs heavier around the poor. Poem about poverty and homelessness at this special time.

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I don't need nor want the polished ones
With their swanky one-way ways

Poem about inequality

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Like a soiled and sullied uncrowned king
The God of profit taints everything.

Look at this fucking shit The world is on a string On it's knees, doing gear and puking up it's ring Collective fucking madness Shouting at the clocks Unpacking days, marking time And shitting in it's box

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Look at this fucking shit
The world is on a string
On it's knees, doing gear
and puking up it's ring

Perhaps the next “The Diary of Anne Frank” will come from America: a family being hidden in the basements of America until the USA divests itself of fascism.

Let us all hope for a better outcome.

Awaiting the Sun Remember, the fallen leaves in the frail end of the day, must settling on the senses like slowly falling snow, as autumn makes it's play. Remember the darkened eve stalking the faltering sun, lifted then vanquished rays as the new night prances upon the embers of a day. Dream of the new born spring taking back it's recast crown, filling morn with nascent dew, strength growing by the clock, chasing old and frigid cold away. Come, my king, the leafy bough and larking bird in bright song, regain the day full brought high. Fill me with your brand new joy bringing forth your spring bouquet.

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Remember, the fallen leaves
in the frail end of the day,
must settling on the senses
like slowly falling snow,
as autumn makes it's play.

Poem about shyness. this is the story of a life part one. the birds flew south marked by the clock while the man below governed by chance jokers wild met her glance and upon a vaulting beat of the heart coyly turns to spurn the worldly ways of love while up above the birds flew south so he berates himself even a little hates himself and when a second chance to say, in a rain-refuge cliche, fails him again words of innocent love from inner voice remain a stranger to his mouth while up above the birds flew south

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this is the story of a life
part one.

Poem on the subject of seasons

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As darkness encroaches upon the day
And sun struggles to keep cold at bay

Poem called Finale about bereavement. the ship awaits us all invitation to another shore upon the final boarding call before the dark forevermore soon the sails will surrender to the course beneath the veil we will wave as we remember the light before the pale taken by the gentle breeze we will watch them sail away till soon the last of life leaves in the dusk of their final day

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the ship awaits us all
invitation to another shore
upon the final boarding call
before the dark forevermore

Absolutely crazy. There has always been a “knowledge gap” where these people live, but it seems to me that the “gap” has become a chasm.

Poetry about dementia. still gold Once he loved her like the day loves the sun, their story shone with lustful and zested life. They revelled in their vital lives: duality served, in singular love and caress, upon a word or look. Yet now, his stare denies her pallid heart and remaindered smile. Love lives now only in long laments for the golden flower, here in its final hour, as the weld dissolves, and the constant becomes dissonant once more. He can't recall her face. Nor touch, nor kiss, no moments in joy, no days of holding, nor needing her. No name comes to his lost lips, no smile for her, save fleeting greet, and again retreat to an unfilled mind. She knows that once, the man was hers to hold, their flower was gold when love filled their hearts and minds. With hopes forlorn that, perhaps somewhere in the painful voids of her lover's old and crumpled mind, a petal lies, still gold.

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She knows that once,
the man was hers to hold,
their flower was gold

Poem about poverty being the root to prostitution.

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So she fakes wild,
thinks of the child
she's left at home.

Poem on the subject of cancer

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please don't ask me
to be the strong one
I can't fight the falling rain

Mental Health Awareness poetry Suicide Prevention poetry

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A poem about how time speeds up with age.

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now years
like a ticking clock
temporal shock
here and gone,

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words,
even in their
finest clothes
full of grace
will fail to find
the beauty of your face,

Poem apologies can I recall my ill chosen words please they chose me not I them a moment of extraordinary juice shook them loose like an open sluice spitting long I was wrong too late now you're gone

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can I recall my
ill chosen words
please
they chose me
not I them

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Tick, tock, tick, tock, it's coming again.
Who's child is next to die?

It's all about the pink. Think. Is it me or they who drives the things I say? Do? Is it you? Or is it them, the people who shout the loudest, sound the proudest of their message?

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It's all about
the pink.
Think.

Thank you.

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