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I Think Of You - Ground Zero (Part 1)
Leaving under a blood moon
in a jet plane rising
los angeles falls behind me
and I...
You.
Two.
Clouds dance
to the song of the spiders.
Latent sun rays fall on me like rain...I
...They say third time's the charm.
On planes again.
A sky...endless... and then finally
from the other end of the world to here.
A continent, an island,
an australian flower drunk on wine.
Her...uniqueness lends to her beauty.
...and I
A fourth night.
A church spire at sunset.
At a distance bats fill the sky,
resemble a smoke plume.
...I
I plead the fifth.
It's all these moons.
Tonight a hunter's moon.
She's unable to hide
even with her bowl of clouds.
It's no help.
She has no spoon.
Her luminous rays give her up.
Moonshine in the moonlight over the sea.
...I
I count...five,
six...on the beach.
A purple nightshade,
a sand flower,
Irish eyes speak uniquely to me.
....I
I, you...
you can't roll a seven with one die.
Back on a plane.
A snow fog blinding.
From my window seat a one of a kind view.
Alone,
...I
I eight...ate...need to eat.
Africa...a Safari.
A plant chloroform green
has holes like cheese.
A large swiss leaf.
I laugh and I...I distract myself.
A stitch in time beats nine.
Back in North America.
A dilapidated fortress stares down
an overwhelming thunderhead.
...I
I camp out.
It requires a tenth...tent.
An Eagle never blinks.
No eye lids.
An unimpeded view.
...but I...I surrender.
There is no place in the world
I can escape.
...I
i think of you.
You are living art.
Here.
Now.
What I perceive
is what I live.
I perceive us.
I can picture you.
I am photography,
the camera, the lens.
I absorb your image,
process it.
A form of plagiarism
I didn't borrow.
I stole.
Inhaled you but
...I
I dream
and I...
...i think of you.
Armand
March 11 2015
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
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Just as days long ago, when decorum resolved,
before composure, and poise,.. were corsages, unknown
Where propriety mattered, and was favored as gold,
high society, has gathered to flavor their tea
There's a trellis, embraced by a rose climbing vine
Places are set, for dining in jade
beneath shadows that stretch under arthritic old trees
While slivers of sunshine, squeeze through the branches
of silver leafed limbs, in magnolia bloomed shade
Tea will be served, by large knuckled hands
at several round tables dressed with Swiss lace designs
Wearing lavender silk is our proper Grand Dame'
who fits her surroundings, as vintage as wine
Voices are lilting like the birds in the trees
Laughter and chatter, mingle with soft, summer breezes
A bouquet of old friends, around a few scattered tables.
Silver coifed hairdos, to make celebration
Crepe myrtle and wrinkles, beneath ashes and maples
Water cress munchies, and triangle creations
Sweet honey-suckle, tucked over the porches.…
Rose petal blossoms, are painted on china
Bridge cards, tumble by Blue Willow dishes
Biscuits from England, crumble sublimely
Large bosoms bouncing, and big floppy hats
Gossip dished up with lemon-sliced frowns
Up in the tree is the neighbor's calico cat
who catches a glance, and a chance to crawl down
Are they ladies of leisure, from a time that is lost?
Or a painting I've seen on the wall from the past?
______________________________
Inspired By the Garden Party Contest
Sponsored By Cyndi McMillan 6/6/14
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
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I am the Grinch
I am I am, you know that I am
The Grinch of Grinch's and so
Don’t call me Sam
For Sam I not am
I am the grouch of this festive season
I take what yours; I need not but one single reason
I will steal all the presents
Every one under the tree
Why chocolates
And toys
And Barbie’s
And shoes
Mummies make up
The golf clubs
And the tickets to the zoo
Why when I leave up that chimney
You can be assured of one fact
I am leaving with full red bag, upon my huge back
I am leaving with gifts that were given with care
I am stealing your presents, and no I won’t ever share
Mine mine mine
All the presents are mine!
All these toys and gifts are all just for me
While I look down at you with nothing under the tree
Oh yes I stole Christmas and turkey and even the lights
You all slept so innocent while I robbed you at night
So I chuckle and laugh, for its a given I have won
I have all the loot and you have but none!
Now the dawn is rising and why I will take a wee peek
To gloat over all the sadness that for sure I have reeked!
Seeing you all sad, and crying with despair
Surely that will make me so happy as to declare
I have won, I have won! I have all that you could ever desire
Why you have not even a log to start up the fire!
Well Timmy and Maya woke up to a surprise
For its true there was nothing under their tree
Why I stole even the tree from those children you see!
I laughed at the expressions I saw on their face
I did so while gloating and without any disgrace
Confused and distraught, I am sure of the state
Mummy and Daddy earlier had seen their robbed fate
They rushed to the village, on their big Swiss sled
With all the villagers shouting!!!!
We’ve been robbed of Christmas; we might as well be dead!
That was not the story to be so you see
For Timmy and Maya came along on that sled
When they saw all the snow and children playing so free
They laughed and danced and said to Papa with such glee
Christmas is here and we have all of our gifts
The laughter and love is what you have smothered us with
Why this is truly the most wonderful of gifts
So the children all danced and played in the snow
The parents so proud has huge smiles aglow
For Christmas was saved but by one small little factor
A child’s love for his parents and his most joyous laughter
The poor old Grinch in his mountain abode
Looking down, he realized he'd been oversold
Why he saw that all the gifts he had cached in his barn
Could not undo the telling of Christmas with all of it generosity and charm
Note: Timmy an Maya being of Swiss decent later scaled the south face of the mountain, with excellent climbing gear, and in co-ordination with Spider Man and James Bond, stormed the Grinch’s castle, tossed him into a Polar Bear pit, and then descended the mountain on Canadian built Bombardier skidoo with a Rolls Royce quit motor and returned all the gifts to the village. Including a huge huge huge bottle of Rum and Postage Stamps.
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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Beckon these eyes a whisper in trees
Scarlet passion in hot molten heat
With your fiery touch I will hit my knees
Fevered oscillation on warm amber sheets
This skin awaits your raw carmine kiss
Breath…indrawn from smoldering flames
Inside deep eyes of sweet chocolate Swiss
In searing red throes I call out your name
Trembling in the blazing torch of your touch
I whimper blue....a shattered disarray
A blistered journey…you are my crutch
A bursting heart pulsing crimson display
--------------------------------------------
Morning awaits a crushed coral flower
Entombed......inside an ebony tower
Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009
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I walk above all pain
risen and relentless
floating on borrowed air oblivious
This heart is impervious fortress, like stonewall embattlements
...that lie is twisted around every bitter past and hollow present
Meandering useless, wander and watch
Romances ebbing, flowing, flying, crashing...dead
Envy circles about my head
longer away, further removed...and lonely
This heart is porous Swiss, like wine-tasting afterthoughts
...that truth is a hulking shadow looming disproportionate
engulfing any new light on unseen horizons
Only wishing she might see and understand
My hot and cold passion platters served accordingly
apprehensive only in love's pursuits
timid like bullied school children cowering in corners
Brash and outspoken otherwise...shackled when it may matter
This heart is neglected farmland, like wartorn meadows
...that reality inhibits every bright angle of my soul
suffocating the man you would love...if you knew
Copyright © Steve Voorhees | Year Posted 2009
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This Valentine, my love, will be divine
I’ll whisk you off to every place and clime
In room enclosed, we’ll travel round the globe
Enchantment waits for us as we disrobe
You'll lay me down on sandy island shore
“Pretend” our game, adventure calls for more
With sweetness on your lips, mine own you'll kiss
A taste that rivals chocolate from the Swiss
I'll whisper tales of wild Arabian Nights
And plop into your mouth Turkish Delights
I'll play the part of harem girl, then maid
Then Warrior Princess come your heart to raid
I’ll shower you with kisses, sweet and wet
And make you lose your clothes on poker bet
Those Vegas lights will twinkle in my eyes
Then off to masquerade in a disguise
Our bodies fuse on our gondola dream
We skinny dip into Venetian stream
The scented candles dim and light peeks in
Your glow, my love, your scent is on my skin
The world is you; you are my every place
There is no beauty finer than your face
This very room where you've made love to me
Is paradise and where I long to be
January 22, 2015
For Mystic Rose's Valentine Contest
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015
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Ooey, gooey, give me choc-o-lot!
If I must, I'll take it liquid hot,
But "wicked" like they fix it in Madrid,
Thick as porridge, satin sunburnt sweet.
(Not like here: sugar,milk and cocoa, mix and heat).
Give me some hot chocolate I can eat!
Drip-drop-dripping from a spoon!
Give it - give it to me in a box.
Tantalize my lips with luscious bits,
Rum and amaretto morsels dipped.
Give me it in chips or chunks or blocks.
And please not those from K-mart or the grocer.
We connoisseurs much prefer it kosher!
Give it to me Swiss or straight from France.
Hurry while I loosen up my pants!
I'll make do with anything you have.
Drizzled over ice-cream nice and smoothy.
chocolate is the universal salve.
chilled or warm, but slathered on it soothes me.
Make my ice-cream chocolate flavored too-
peanut butter swirls with fudge will do.
Be my ever sweet-tooth choco-fairy.
Finger-feed me bonbons. I'm your baby.
Feed me plump and succulent black berry.
Give me, give me, give me what I crave,
and I shall be your love-starved-choco-slave.
10/5/13, Now for Skat's Premiere Contest number 8
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013
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On a spotty, sprinkled day, at the Plott's house on the block,
A squatty Uncle Scotty had sent a polka dotted, cuckoo clock!
The family said "That's handy!", and found a spot upon a shelf
For the dandy, new Swiss timepiece,...next to toddy mix and tea pots!
While Mommy Plott washed all her pots, Daddy Plott worked in the yard
The children, too, were caught worn out, after swatting flies so hard
By the twilight of the evening, they were worn, like pennies spent
Supping lentils, corn and pintos, ...then, up stairs they gladly went
Daddy Plott turned out the lights, falling, plop, right into bed
But bolted up with such a jolt!!...loud "CUCKOOS!!" hurt his head!!
The brand-new clock, made such a noise, his nerves hung by a thread !
That yoddling bird, that could be heard, might wake the neighborhood!
It popped out every hour, and the sour house would shake
With a hollering "CUCKOO' voice....with an awful racket made!
They covered it with pillows...and took it from the room
But the "CUCKOO-CUCKOO-CUCKOO" could be heard...from even the moon!!
They would just doze off, fall fast asleep, and think that it was done....
But when the hands said Next O'Clock......it would cluck out lots more fun!!
One o'clock, two o'clock, three o'clock...four....!!
The poor little bird, with his voice getting sore....
Saying 'cuckoo', ....'Cuckoo'......"CUCKOO!!!" again !!!
So Daddy took out the tick...........then he took out the tock
Then he defrocked little birdy.....so that he couldn't talk
Now it sits on a shelf.....in the house at the Plott's
Even the clock's little birdy.....can sleep like a rock!
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
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The moon slid far across the skies
It sparkled in her sleepy eyes
The moonbeams laughing as they danced
To keep her in their light entranced
With a brilliant rush they lift her right
Into the dotted swiss of night
And toss her high from star to star
While moonlight watches from afar
In perfect stride and harmony
Across the neon sky goes she
She waltzes on a comet's tail
Until the tides of night grow pale
And as the beckoning dawn draws nigh
Her eyes grow weary and with a sigh
She catapults from the moon's embrace
Back into bed she takes her place
Copyright © Deb Wilson | Year Posted 2010
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Dear Cecile, when you upped and left, did you
happen to notice that someone had poured a can
of paint over the Bentley’s bonnet?
and the other curious thing…my golf clubs have been
found in various places around the town.
I’m also getting a lot of emails from the Swiss bank
asking why so much cash has been withdrawn from my
investment account, and assuring me of their future loyalty.
Mother has been on the phone in tears, saying that a
woman with a foreign voice, has been calling her a lot
of rather unpleasant names.
It’s all very strange;
anyway, I thought I’d send you this email, in the hope that
you might be able to cast some light on this mess:
Incidentally, did you iron a shirt before you went, can’t find
any clean clothes,
yours, Toby.
Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015
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;p
I
Love
Reuben
Sandwiches
Grill toast with corn beef
Thousand island dressing to please
Grill delicious on rye or pumpernickle tastes right.
Hot melted cheese of Swiss makes you say delicious.
Sauerkraut in the mouth makes you wish
for coleslaw and this
handy spork.
With love,
Your
Dork
d;
0 1123581313853211 0
~dedicated to my friend, can you guess who? would dare me to turn a 'fibo' up a knotchie?
lol!! That was fun. Thanks Ruben ;)
Copyright © Izzy Gumbo | Year Posted 2009
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A true story.
Here I was,
23 or 24...
Classed an "Executive"
NYC Dept Store Chain,
"Executive" label meant
I could work overtime
For one half of my normal salary...
But a fool sees stars
Where he should see crime
Promoted "Furniture Buyer"....
Big Ticket spot....
They seemed out to prove
Smart I was not.
Big Furniture Market,
High Point, N.C.,
Invited out to dinner,
By big shot vendor....
Oh...whoop, whoop, yea!
Of course, my stuffy boss
was there,
In the next chair
At this odd restaurant...
"The Factory" it's name,
After that night,
I was never looked at the same....
Big shot, Big City....
Big Fool....
It wasn't pretty....
The menu did start
Entrees priced more
Than my annual salary
And I'm confused
There's a boiler next to me!
So this Big City Buyer,
In his $99.00 suit
Ordered a shrimp cocktail,
Oh, what a hoot!
Lights flashing....
Like Studio 54
I had no idea
What I was in for!
Got my shrimp cocktail,
Oh, I do love my shrimp!
But the lemon wedge,
Was wrapped up
My mind now a' crimp
In this decorative yellow stuff,
All fit with a bow....
How do I open it, I wondered...
I wanted to know...
But I'm a Big Shot NYC Buyer,
Sure, I've seen it all....
How dare these dumb hicks...
Have such a gall!!
I took my fork,
I took my knike....
I started trying to open
This thing like....
It meant my very life!
I was struggling,
And sweating,
And frustrated and mad
Got some of the weirdest looks
I ever have had...
These Carolina Hicks...
Out to make a fool of me...
Slowly I realized
Everyone looking at me...
My boss's eyes swollen
In shame
How dumb his young buyer
Should be in a cornfield
And call himself "Town Crier"
Eventually I learned....
This stuff was called
"Cheese-cloth"
Ridiculous I thought...
No cheddar or swiss
Like this had I ever bought...
In silence I remained
Through the rest of my meal....
To me the biggest embarrassment
To me the biggest deal....
Big City Hot Shot Buyer...
Dumb as a farm hand.....
Put in a Manhattan restaurant...
Without but a strand....
Of what was, what wasn't
Of how, and of why...
All I wanted to do
Is to crawl under a rock
And die!
(This is true!!!)
Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008
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I am putting out a beacon on the A-M, I Am Legend morning double-dutch
Pepsi cola, paranoia, post-exilic high school drama. Stop.
Is there anybody out there, I’m hoping you can hear me
Break the door, cover down, but most of all believe me
I haven’t seen another human being in this God forsaked oasis
who wouldn’t place me in his iron-sights just to bury me with the faceless
tasteless, and all around degenerate in-animates
that beheld the new millennium and become some pickled-plastered shits.
50 milligrams of trapazene and a metric ton of ritalin
with any luck will keep me from burning down New York like a Marvel Movie villain
Like ninety percent destruction, like the news on nine-eleven
like the peter parker web net, catching mary jane to save the day
top story at eleven.
Back to you Jen! Thanks Bob.
We are on the precipice of New World Order, but not what we were promised
by the inside job, swiss bank, illuminate, and Rothschild alarmists
This is not the Black Pope signing off on Masonic acts of terror
But a voluntary waiver to exclude yourself from error
Like bubble gum “POP POP”, likes oops that wasn’t me
This is merely just an act of infallible insanity
Temporary numbing off the senses til it lingers
Let the beasts in his cage lick the cheesy powder off your fingers
In the year of 1980 there was a scientific discovery
indeed the researchers were baffled by this nihilist anomaly
They kept a scaly monster locked up, Isla Sorna penitentiary
But they didn’t tell the people what the spectacle was meant to be
The monster was a man, and the man an animal
I don’t believe I’m ever getting out of this dirt hole.
The monster was a man and the man an animal.
Copyright © Timothy Johnson | Year Posted 2014
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*The Perfect Proposal*
The perfect proposal
Just what would it be?
In a fairy tale life or in an enchanted dream
Three different scenarios I could see
And let him choose the one that fits him to a T
Popping the question over a picnic lunch in the Swiss Alps
A checkered tablecloth, simple fruit, cheese and crackers, and a sparkling wine
To be read poetry from the greatest of greats—Robert Frost or Shel Silverstein
Another option would be at an abandoned zoo
We could cuddle up in the lion’s den and count the stars in the open sky
And then swim in the aquarium with the dolphins too at the first peak of sunrise
And the final option of the perfect proposal would be standing at the pearly gates of heaven
Heaven is where all our dreams come true anyways
And heaven is where I am going to meet you after the next blood moon
So I sit here below a star studded sky and I thank the Lord for delivering me
I thank the Lord for second and third chances
I thank the Lord for ETERNITY
Gwendolen Rix
9-27-14
Copyright © Gwendolen Rix | Year Posted 2014
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Offended is an expensive Vintage
blended
lacking precision
I recommend a less sulfuric fermentation
-----------Varietals-------------
grapes of wrath
so much to offer
each glass
examine
swirl
smell
breathe and savor
see legs of the vine
tannins to taste
or we can
over drink
over think
get wasted and offended
tick clocks fast
amidst boiling stew
issues skewed by our own jaded views
we can be peaceful
yet perceived to push hate
our temple may become damaged
via friendly fire
and as for poets...
we may be the single most egotistical, emotional, tremendously divine
individuals of all time and we know it!
we laugh when skies cry, seek solitude as joyful crowds arrive
we write and write 'till pens run dry of ink
we, the Swiss cheese...
we pretend to be bulletproof, whilst writhing inside
we juxtapose
we justify
we jigsaw puzzle brothers and muzzle others
we control situations then
recite white lies to
monopolize conversation
all the while remaining dedicated to being offended
with loose change and pretentious
and boy we've figured out the whole Multi-Verse because
"My Deity can beat up your Deity!
yet, let me not be the last fool to promise you,
we are so miniscule, the god's will be too busy swinging sticks on the golf links
to visit you before the toil of your sore drama is through
we must pave our way, keeping heads clear and high
stamping urgency upon trusting self
Mister Bob Marley sang it best with: "EVERYTHINGS GONNA BE ALRIGHT!"
shhh...LISTEN
upon this short enlightening journey
exists a plethora of big aspirations
we'll fail to grasp if our hopes swirl in the vortex of black clouds
sidetracked
offended at misunderstandings and minute words
burning midnight oil on the spoil.
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014
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the air is scented
with swiss hazelnut coffee
a rich aroma
stimulating my senses
to drink it ... or just to breathe
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2013
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You're a starship powered on Xanadu nectar;
I'm a pogo stick on coal.
You're a majestic arc of the milky way;
I'm a quark in an unsold cheese roll.
Your eyes launch songbirds and sonnets;
Come fly with me on my crackling comet.
Your hair evokes the erotic scents of perfumed night bazaars;
I exude burning tyres on torched, smashed deisel cars.
Beside you a pulsar is like a sorry matchstick spark;
As I stand in a room of moths,
I'm the dark.
You're the clearest proof if there is a God,
Their image is of your resplendent own;
I'm often asked to be the face promoting payday loans.
As you glide past men how their minds dissolve,
Their eyes kerbcrawl out their face;
I'm all Genghis Khan cologne liberally splashed over exploding beer crates.
Even when you sneeze,
You make this man go weak at the knees.
And if you had dandruff, as you brushed your hair,
Surely it would sparkle like snow through Swiss mountain air?
And that sliver of marmalade left on your cheek,
Reminds me of liquid gold encased in an amber hive of magic bees.
And when you carry rubbish to your bin,
I follow you just so I might fall right in.
Then, as you're unblocking the drain, really rocking those wellies,
I, like a smitten garden gnome,
Wobble,
And turn to jelly..
Verily, Grace Kelly, may I be your Shelley,
Though you gaze rapturously at a shopping channel on the telly?
Copyright © Suki Spangles | Year Posted 2014
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There once was a man,
Who carved him a boat.
It was out of the cheese,
That he milked from his goat.
The first one he failed,
So he made him a note.
Never use Swiss,
Because it won’t float!
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2011
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Machiavelli s'been stewing
teardrops in the Soup
Stooping to new lows
for SYMPATHY
stirring chickens in the coop
Seems some folks will do anything
for what they think is fame
Swiss cheese stories for glory
Lordy! Whaddah' shame!
Reminds me of two classic movies...
"Freddie Lives" and the other is
"The Crying Game"...
but this one's very unbelievable, it ain't scary,
and it's much
MUCH more lame!~
Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014
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Those who climb mountains
live forever
unless they fall.
They only drink icicle drip
and chew thorns.
Their soles are like thin mattresses
that are well used.
They breathe tinted air,
unfiltered.
Over and over again
the hill is calling.
No obstacle is too long.
They are blind
except by instinct.
A raptor circles, catching a thermal.
The climber would mount one
and ride higher
if he could.
A rock falls from its place
and like a seesaw
lifts the hikers.
Always there is imagination.
Always there is a goal.
Sky is no limitation.
Her imagination is married
to her distant goal.
Rules are broken here:
no time for fooling.
They are reaching,
reaching,
Like shoppers wanting stacked goods
on a high shelf.
The eagle flies in the day;
the climbers never stop.
Mountaineers are like people,
colorful as the Swiss.
Their cheeks glow like tomatoes.
Their toenails are steep.
Finally the launch is ready
and all who climb
drift down again.
Copyright © Bill Yates | Year Posted 2015
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Einstein’s brain was more complicated than any Swiss army knife.
A pathologist took it from his cranium creating its’ ignominious afterlife.
He confined it in a formalin filled Tupperware tub that stunk
then tooled around America with it in his Buick Skylark trunk.
True story; check out the synopsis of the book (I’ve read it) called “Driving Mr. Albert” by Michael Paterniti on Amazon.com.
Copyright © John Trusty | Year Posted 2012
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Tumble, crumble cornmeal, salted flour
Stream olive oil
Feed water and toasty yeast with sugar
Crinkle, rumple, crease, and fold
Smooth a silky, doughy globe.
Cover, leave the orb to grow
Keep baby warm
Wrap with snug and swaddling towel
Linger, loiter, wait and proof
Sing a sunny, happy tune.
Overturn the ball on flour
Dust a wooden pin
Feed heart and conscience with honey
Rotate, flatten, compress, admire
Make a downy, level sphere.
Bridge the stretchy bread to pan
Curl edges like leaves
Swirl and ladle a coat of tomato
Thick, chunky, bright, and red
Sway to kitchen melody.
Peppers, onions, olives, chokes
Sausage for some
Rain down the mozzarella and Swiss
Turn and toss, precipitate
Drizzle a snowy blend.
Push the pie into a hot cathedral
Pray for happiness
Think about joy and contentment
Pause, watch, patience, serenity
This journey bakes the future.
Copyright © 2016 Tess Harvester
Copyright © Tess Harvester | Year Posted 2016
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Before the big meal begins
Sauté green onion
With fresh crab, salt and pepper
English muffin base
Top with Swiss cheese
Oven melt
Wow!
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2014
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Dead babies
All in circles
Dead babies
Screaming, screaming
I hear my name
Over here, over here
One second of birth
I die in flame
Of wombs passion
Don’t be crying
I was always dying
Don’t touch me now
Don’t feel the cold placenta
Tumble down lost one ways
Deep purple tunnels
Swiss alpine meadows
Light and night twisted like vine
I never cry, never try
I was a soft heart when I was born
Now you can touch a heart of stone
The rum and bourbon keep stones wet
Touching me is touching the devil
One day, in that moment in time
I imagine
Holding your hand
The one I don’t know
I take another drink of the devil and laugh
Imagine a cloudy day
That Alice comes to save me
Alice, meet the rabbit
Wonderland is over there
Returning to fantasy no more
Clones and drones and rolling stones
Lovers and strangers
They all seem far away
The darkness calls
I am Alice in wonderland
I have been elected
For death
My name is Stephen
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Swiss Poem |
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In the sacred river.
I was born into polytheism,
Where Yemoja was the deity;
The goddess of river was the anchor
That held the village to life.
Her shrine was the sacred river
Where fortune was sought and recieved;
There fishing was forbade
Goddess’ heiresses could not be food.
The heiresses were beautiful
Appealing to eye,appealing to mouth,
But the beauty and taste of goddess
Were certainly beyond man’s hunt.
In their beauty they were sluggish
Their reverance made them so,
When you were Yemoja’s heiress
Who again shall you fear?
Then came the day of armageddon
The conflict of the titans
When guts of three children
Vowed to taste the godess’ flesh.
Two cousins and I had this agenda,
At the shadow of sun,we stole us to shrine;
With a basket we arrested five goddesses,
In a clay pot they became food.
As we were savouring the taste of the godess
A bone hung in my gut,I coughed to eject;
Mother came to help,cat let out of the bag:
Abomination,fishing in the sacred river.
Yemoja must be begged:
Twelve lashes of cudgel per child,
One hen,one cock ,one snail,
Six yards of white swiss velvet.
User’s name : Kayod5.
Contest : Gone fishin’.
Sponsor : Caleb Smith.
Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode | Year Posted 2014
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