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Tag: daily poems

How Bold and Beautiful: cancione

If you would sing of beauty,
and would celebrate its worth,
do not forget the lost and wretched
living on the earth.

For if you take away the dirt,
the dregs, the mud, and slime,
you’ll find not much of what is left
is really that sublime.

For beauty comes from harmony
with each part of the whole.
There is no non-essential piece;
each atom plays a role.

And what is beautiful to some
looks pitiful to those
who merely glance at the outside:
at houses, jewels, and clothes.

But what is truly beautiful
is plainly on display,
and lives but for a moment.
It dies and fades away,

But that is beauty, sure enough,
a temporary thing
that suffers winter ’til it finds
rebirth in the next spring.

You cannot cage the beautiful,
nor keep it hid away;
there is no dungeon strong enough.
It will not, does not stay.

If you would sing of beauty,
know your song is just a dream,
and like its object will not last
nor ever more than seem.

25 APR 2025

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Let Us Be Unbound: canzone

Canto I: Happenstance

It happens once, and you can act surprised;
the second time, maybe you didn’t see.
But by the third occurrence, if your eyes
don’t register it, you are either blind
or willfully avoiding it. Disguise
that as you wish, but it’s on you:
if you don’t know, you’re telling yourself lies.

You may seek out forgiveness, but the facts
are plain enough; you just don’t want to see.
Maybe you’re just too comfortable, or set
up to somehow make a profit. Honestly,
when you avoid your share or part of blame
you’re not absolved. You don’t keep dignity
or get to play the victim for your friends.

What is the point of playing at this game?
When everyone else loses, do you win?
Who cares what team ends with the highest score,
or which side live with might-have been?
We are all still connected, just the same,
and end together, just as we begin.
There’s no escape from it, my friends.

Canto II: Coincidence

It seems so obvious, and yet our eyes
deceive us if we see no malice where
the crowds around us suddenly are thinned
until we stand alone, and must do battle there
against an enemy, no longer shy
or hesitant to strike or play unfair.
What can we do, except defend ourselves?

You may believe your wounds are just mistakes,
that no one sought to hurt you. But your blood
still spills, and for each move you try to make,
you can’t pretend there is no pain or fear.
Maybe it’s just bad luck, an unfair shake,
or your opponent doesn’t realize
their actions – as they cause your bones to break.

How do you still convince yourself you’re free,
and that your life is surely not at risk?
What further evidence could surely be
enough to show you of the game afoot?
When recognition comes at last, you’ll see
the error of your ways, but far too late,
when all along, you’ve fed your enemy.

Canto III: Enemy Action

It comes at night, and never in the day,
for sunlight melts dark shadows all away;
we all must sleep, sometimes, and in our dreams,
we are equally vulnerable and brave.
There is no hiding now, we must arise,
and stand against the beast before it grows.
We cannot hesitate now, goodness knows.

You may not understand, but make a choice:
a life in shackles, mute, without a voice,
or reaching out to something else quite new
that you may fear but need to try to do.
The time is now, the hour is growing late,
and you must learn to fight. It is your fate
to stand, and not to kneel, against the beast.

What good is your compliance with a smile?
How long before the malice visits you?
While there is life, you must start to resist,
or you betray all others who exist
and understand there is a better way.
The enemy grows strong as you delay;
there is no time to simply think and pray.

25 APR 2025

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Inside the Henhouse: byr a thoddaid

The danger isn’t always so clear;
sometimes, it can amplify our fear
in ways we do not recognize, or see,
subtly in disguise.

We seem easily surprised by this,
wishing it were all lies.
While we were sleeping, it crept in;
destroying our sweet might-have-been.

24 APR 2025

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The Ride: blues stanza

Fasten your seat belts, we’re off for a ride.
All of us living, together we ride.
Like it or not, you don’t get to decide.

Maybe we’ll travel and learn to be friends.
Could be the mileage will make us all friends.
The long journey on which the future depends.

There’s just no telling what’s coming up next.
No map for showing us what could be next.
Won’t know for certain just what to expect.

Got no direction, we just need to drive.
Direction don’t matter, just head out the drive.
We’ve got to move if we want to survive.

Hit the ignition and lay on the gas.
Just turn the key and press down on the gas.
If we make it through Memphis, we’ll be free at last.

Fasten your seat belts and turn up the sound.
Travel is better when you float on sound.
We’d best get moving, or end underground.

Maybe we’ll travel and learn something new.
See something different and learn something new.
We stick together, we might make it through.

21 APR 2025

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Liquid Concentration: barzaletta

Pick up that sad and ancient game; 
select your poison: wealth or fame.
Thinking that we’re all the same
can make it hard to shift the blame.
No bird can fly with one wing lame;
old toothless tigers can be tamed,
but still may seek to wound or maim,
or anyway, that’s what they claim.
Look past the edges of the frame,
beyond your dying bonfire’s flame -
for in the end, the things you name
are powerless to share your shame.

19 APR 2025
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Musical Chairs: ballade supreme

The road is long and runs for miles
between two fields on either side:
one, sown with soybeans in long files,
the other, fallow, flat, and wide.
Each season, nature must decide
which one will yield the greater crop;
while neither seeks to be on top
it’s still a competition:
year after year, it never stops.
Such is this life’s condition.

In houses, breaking up the wild,
a battle likewise coincides:
between a parent and their child,
the old ways and the new collide.
Somewhere between desire and pride,
in discount stores and online shops
the world of criminals and cops
leads all to some perdition:
year after year, it never stops.
Such is this life’s condition.

In some gray building, facts are filed:
loans pre-approved, requests denied,
and reputations are defiled
to shore up this or that divide.
Morality’s a slippery slide,
religion just a mop.
You’re one chair short; the music stops
and weakens your position.
Year after year, it never stops;
such is this life’s condition.

You work for years until you drop,
as fodder for the ones on top
who just want your submission.
Year after year, it never stops.
Such is this life’s condition.

17 APR 2025

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Slow and Steady: ballade

If you would change the world, you must
believe it can be done, of course,
and with your entire being, trust
that it needs changing. Do not force
your will upon a stubborn horse;
instead, with gentle words and grace
seek out resistance at its source:
for each small thing, a time and place.

The stoutest iron succumbs to rust;
you need not hurry, lest remorse
turn all your courage into dust
as you expound until you’re hoarse.
If all your words are harsh and coarse
you will not find a friendly face,
and will have wasted vital force:
for each small thing, a time and place.

Press on, of course, but only just
enough to prove what you endorse
when mixed with reason, will combust
into a fire of such resource
that naught can stand against its force;
With such a flame, you can erase
some wrong, and good things reinforce:
for each small thing, a time and place.

And in the end, your small light’s source
will serve as a more solid base
if slowly, as you plot your course,
for each small thing, a time and place.

16 APR 2025

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