her ethereal gaze tucked me into nirvanic waves
tore me asunder amid quixotic abyss and seraphic throe
I harvest pearls from mollusks in swimming oysters
strip it in kaleidoscopic iris fiercely fleeced mote sand
pearls evolved into a sumptuous elixir necklace
a seashell conceals a jewel-like hair as dark as obsidian
pristine girl with a pearl necklet and mellifluous voice
with her smile flings delicate pearls
her eyebrows cling to me beckoning me near
abrim with tears cleansed her azure iris
I tidied her sylphlike trail some sobs stuffed a cup
It soaked roses threw daffodil pearls bit jujubes with hail
hence my previously sealed heart thawed
a phoenix in its zenith sweeps me to skies
In a cosmic splay studded with stars I dwell
her wispy eyelashes distract me from her gaze
she eviscerates dumbfounds me with dark detritus
may my love ram-raid and induce her to ponder again
there upon my bedroom pane
is weaved a weary course of rain
so indescript are they
that chase and pause then run again
from clouds they come
to drip upon parched tongues
and the thirsty fingers of
brittle wanting roots
~ponds fill
now... abrim with tears
pensive and sad - lonely and glad
should I wake in this gray mood
at the tempting edge of yawn
or linger in each languid refrain?
as its melody plays the music
of a lazy dawn ~ before I wake
before it's gone...
A beautiful little princess wishes she were someone else
Perhaps a blue bird that sings or a black crow with a shrill
Or something soft with white whiskers, a long-tailed mouse!
From the balcony she watches the village children on the hill
As they run up, up, up, and then roll down, down, down
They laugh and scream and sing merry songs and play
The little princess sits alone, she wears butterfly wings and crown
In an enormous castle with a tower, there she lives, far away
Who shall I be today is her most favorite made up game
In her own enchanted world, and with a grand imagination
Ever so joyful day after day, where all remains the same
To be just as she is, pleased and abrim with gleeful elation
I know it's highly unconvincing, Mrs Blackwell;
an unimaginable storyline no doubt.
In all your years of teaching science at St Hilda's
you must have thought our wild excuses would run out.
I know you'll calculate with ease my fabrication
but hope my alibi will raise a passing smile
for even scientific minds abrim with logic
can set imagination free once in a while.
And so to tell it in a nutshell Mrs Blackwell
last night a swarm of flying reptiles hit the town
and gazing upwards with increasing consternation
I noticed one was breaking rank and swooping down.
Then with a thud it landed right outside my window
its sturdy beak began to smash through my defence
I had to pinch myself to check I wasn't dreaming
for such Jurassic visions counter common sense.
And then the flaming pterodactyl ate my homework
and Mrs Blackwell, I do hope you'll understand
that when a flying reptile lands inside your bedroom
events will rarely go as smoothly as you'd planned!
10.02.21
...And Then A Flaming Pterodactyl Ate My Homework Poetry Contest
Sponsor : John Lawless
One summer’s eve in Spain,
I fled through an open window,
Butterflies aflight
In the very pit of me,
And I tramped the streets,
My heart abrim
With such a love,
But a love now long gone.
With my final matches,
I forged a heart
At that maiden’s doorstep;
I was like a thief,
On that torrid night,
My heart abrim
With so much love,
But a love now long gone.
And what of the maiden in azure?
O! What an inferno raged
Within my soul for her,
But that love
Never bloomed beyond a dream,
My heart abrim
With such a love,
But a love now long gone.
The pay is good. The world's abrim
With men in need of dying.
Though being shunned confounds him
Some, he's past the point of trying.
Unwelcome in their church, he prays
Alone for his deliverance,
But can't recall the magic phrase
To jimmy open God's forgiveness.
He looks sidelong at all their locks,
the doors he may not enter.
And ponders hard the paradox
Of circles with no center.
The citizens avert their eyes
From him at obtuse angles.
Preserving thus in their surmise
Safe distance from the throats he strangles.
He feels no need to hide his face.
He does the work as bidden.
Yet yearns to feel the touch of grace,
Which seems perversely hidden.
The man sleeps heavy on his farm.
He's valiant in a world unkempt,
Where every breed of villain swarms.
The hangman dreams his hands are hemp.
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