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 |    A log of the magnificent journey across the vast sea of my imagination. |
 A log of our magnificent journey. |
We plant spring seed where open space is found while snow is still on ground. With folks to feed, we get an early start with creaky wooden cart. The food we need-- like carrots, spinach, beets-- will soon be healthy treats. The farmer's creed will guide the way we work. This trust we will not shirk. In muddy mead, muck boots and winter coat provide the antidote. If you take heed, the spunk that labor brews defeats the winter blues. This simple deed will cultivate a sense of value to dispense. |
| Deep in the bowels of the ship, beneath the engine room deck plates, the bilge monster accumulates grease and oil from their drip, drip, drip, creating serious fire threat, which makes Machinist Mates upset. Lowly crewman must make a trip down below, crawling on his belly to wipe up that smelly jelly and strip bilge monster of his evil grip. Crewman going below: https://www.alamy.com/180409-n-hd110-0022-pacific-ocean-april-9-2018-engineman-f... . |
| The passion pulses in my breast, as I proclaim desire for you, embarking on my fervent quest. I promise to always be true in whatever we may pursue, whether it be building careers or exploring some new frontiers. My mission is to make you happy as we wend our way through the years. I hope that is not too sappy. Notes on the Dizain form of poetry ▼ |
| Is you is, or is you ain't gonna be my loving mate, or do I have to dispatch my trusty hit man Cupid in his soiled diaper to spark romantic antics with his medicated dart? 7 lines |
| All this clutter in my brain, swarming in on humongous scale, is about to drive me insane. Inundated by hordes of hated junk mail, touting products from used cars to insurance, my mind feels dazed and abused, making me wail. The TV plies subliminal transference of messages to convert fiscal restraint into rabid cravings without deterrence. Folks push their way through my phone lines to acquaint me with credit deals and vacation resort, devouring my energy until I feel faint. Computer spam now invites me to cavort with Oprah for free, at least that's what they say, while concealing their vile intent to extort. Besieged by drumming ploys, I can only pray for relief and escape to some cabaret. 17 lines |
winter blast transforms the way we think about haiku hook. |
| A barren sheet of paper waits for someone who appreciates and very often orchestrates artistic possibilities, such as linguistic symphonies or dynamic soliloquys, which come gushing out of flood gates, like children run to lollipop or teeny boppers at the hop. Coal-black ink flows and will not stop until scribe's bliss accumulates, and joyful song of meadowlarks emerges from the author's marks, escorting emotional sparks, while sated paper radiates. Notes ▼ |
| Honka! Honka! Honka! All hands to General Quarters! This is not a drill. And so another day begins aboard the USS Kennedy at 0300 hours on Sunday morning. Deep in the bowels of the ship, the steam is hissing, and the turbines are turning, as we proceed at flank speed to meet the enemy. Notes ▼ |
| A shadow hovers over room where final plans are being made for Grandpa's journey to his tomb in solemn funeral parade. Then, the party will commence to celebrate his lengthy life despite the austere influence of caustic economic strife. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NyzpMpbdzQ |
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