SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 35 “Regret”

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“Regret”

 

Regret?

A tough one to ponder.

Life choice debt?

Opportunity squandered?

 

A lifelong ledger,

Of all left to chance.

Some decisions ill-tempered,

Hung, in the balance.

 

But, tried, tried, tried.

Tried, indeed.

No quarter for doubt,

Or, sweet self-deceits.

 

What life is worth living,

Without chances taken?

Be more forgiving,

Keep regrets forsaken.

 

You’ll regret it if you don’t seek out other Summertime Rhymes

 

 

SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 34 “It’s Not Where I Wanted To Be, It’s Where I Am”

 

“Where Am I!” 😊©️C.P. Hickey 2019

“It’s Not Where I Wanted To Be, It’s Where I Am”

Sometimes you end up overhearing things you weren’t meant to hear.

Sometimes you end up being provoked by things you weren’t meant to be provoked by.

Hearing an honest concession by a fellow traveler to the grave,

Can make the journey seem less lonely.

You mean it’s okay to be honest?

Surely.

Sometimes it’s not where you wanted to be,

But, it’s where you ended up ending up.

More Summertime Rhymes

SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 33 “Seems Seemingly”

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“Seems Seemingly”

 

Something doesn’t feel quite right.

A shift has occurred.

Looking through an empty Coca-Cola bottle,

Supposing it would have a green tint.

But, it looks dead on arrival.

The essence of the thing has changed,

Beyond recognition.

And, it happened without notice,

And without objection.

One day it was,

Then, it wasn’t.

 

 

 

 

SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 32 “Alacrity”

 

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“Alacrity”

 

A magnificent force of nature,

Treated all on board to a spectacle.

This newly found inbound stranger,

Performed a feat both fluid and technical.

 

Hands and arms flew in time,

Knuckles and fingertips rolling.

Spider-leg movement most sublime,

Fastening a braid worth showing.

 

Fascinated by the alacrity,

The specifics of kinetic.

Apt artistic faculty,

Achieving the precise aesthetic.

 

What whimsical railway witchery,

To witness in one’s travels.

Hope that magic stitchery,

Lasts before it unravels.

 

For more poetical alacrity, click here

 

SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 31 “Discarded Teabag”

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“Discarded Teabag”

 

Being middle-aged feels a lot like being a discarded teabag.

Once full of so much potential to enrich the liquid of life.

Then you find yourself drained, squeezed, and placed on a plate.

The utmost of your potential has been transferred to another form.

Although, all of your flavor is not gone,

You have steeped long enough.

You are no longer in the liquid of life.

You cool to room temperature,

And if lucky,

Will squeech a little residual fluid out of yourself to stain an unwitting tablecloth.

Just to leave your mark, before being thrown into the trash.

 

If you are looking for more in these Tea Leaves, look no further than here