To My Love Part 1 Tbc
Listen to poem:
Far from having a nascent thought that envelops my rabid self,
Like inside of an accurate Swiss watch that had been given -
A present to presidents and diplomats from the 70’s era,
Memories in the kaleidoscope of life, one by one,
Like crazy soldiers we used to see on TV
Who marched on red symmetric communist squares, come
And begin a very fine process of fermentation with a kick of stum
Giving it a thought, I say! Aha!
A viaduct to conciliate between a rosette and an aigrette
Of troubling cause, you little missus who are not ready to pause
You will say many wise things; Oh iconicity! One, for instance,
Awfully surprising, hardly anyone; I am selling the house!
Ha-ha! You are a cynic!
Am I a cynic? – As a bell, I loudly repeat.
Running down this cold night out of mind, not out of sight,
Throwing a tam o'shanter in the air while celebrating the moment
I am about to sky dive as a guardian of free-fall with no safety net
Daredevil of provincial extraction, not!
So, where did it begin?
*
It must have been ... Goodness Gracious!
Inside where the temperature is naturally optimal and commonly shared!
The place that is of testicular density? – a voiceover whispered.
Very well then! – a confirmation stated the origin of the establishment.
And since that moment on the wheel of life begins to pedal,
Is it to an asylum that I am going to be sent to?
Well, why not, I am not due for a medal!
I remember a gauntlet of Silver Birches, Hazels and Poplars
Like the three Musketeers crossing their little epees
To be there it felt monumental like the citadel of Persepolis in Pars
Or better, as an outcome of the Native architectonics known as Teepees.
How great is the world when one is belittled or youngling little
Or when you feel as Goethe did before he turned forty!
The desire to fecundate myself with the exquisite knowledge wasn’t brittle
Rather volatile in a perverted sense! Sit, let me pour some tea!
I’d laugh uproariously now and then,
In a satirising almost decadent style,
Reaching the moment of zenith, my personal Zen
Secreting out of itself a ‘split-load’ of bile.
In the fourth year, like Sade did, she’s been claiming promiscuity of Dionysus
But Juliette screams out of her, at least in the way of male perception
One would want to pause or at least say – Hey, you little missus,
Will you stop right there and in a single breath make an exception?
Do not throw at him a handful of grand 6-inch clitorises!
(to be continued...)
Copyright © Hound Of Poetry | Year Posted 2019
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