An emptiness, now do they
Sky-hearted convey.
Or blow cold, with high-pitched moans
When that for our ran-through tones
As rapt shimmered. Fey!
Dawn-breathed, hearts first warmed up in
A shook house, within
To hear: "refresh, in the free.
Where to spin as tops, friendly
I'll, too, be laughing!"
he sits
stares
blanks
into
space
of lost
airs
and heirs
llama arrives in the tea room all polished and puffed up
putting on airs, as if she is almost too chic to dine or sup
persnickety, pampered, and proud of her new sophisticated look.
She looks like she has just written an uppity etiquette book.
We try to ignore her, maybe she can find another table in which to dine.
Scoot over, says my empathetic cousin. I roll my eyes and say “fine.”
Llama is batting her fake eyelashes and flashing her high heel shoes.
I pointedly do not speak to her until I remember she owes us dues
The air can be relatively silent
or noiseful wind – sort of like,
flatulence – both blessing and
curse~ depending on where and
when. The who, more often, not
forthright.
Do we wrongly blame
God, for our own airs – what we
take in and give off, lusts of the
appetite, making foul smelling of
an otherwise sacred dwelling?
To my mind, better we
advocate for greener mountains, and less
polluted seas – myself, not so fond of skin ulcers,
burning, blistering pees.
No Second Coming, till our own transformation
Christ is not late
We are….
If lower court grants bail one day,
High court stays, saying oh, no way,
Ah with judicial airs
Courts play musical chairs,
And the top court then stays the stay.
Too bad, justice delayed
When weighed, weighed and reweighed,
Perfection still remains at bay.
_______________________________
Happenings |05.07.2024| justice
Poet’s note: And this ditty wonders if the country (and the world as well) is aware that our modern judicial process has become extremely slow, and that millions of cases get pending (as in India). We should know, courts are manned by humans who in no way are perfect. That, seeking too much perfection is waste of time.
Airs above ground fly
White, gray beauty, piaffe, dance
Equine Poetry
Darling diva cow puts on airs, said Ruth Could.
Weird for her usual smell is nicotine putrid.
No one can stand the stench of her pores or her coat.
Barnyards smelled better with cows, pigs and one goat.
Is that her? I asked pointing to a cow with legs.
She was kicking one up, practically showing us eggs.
Yes, and she thinks she’s all that, but her smell is horrid.
I could not get any closer, nicotine came out of her forehead.
To qualify as an educated gent
to certain boarding-schools one must be sent
To learn how to position one's fork and knife
and raise one's pinkie, unlike lowlifes
A gent speaks with an air of charm and grace
his nose gradually rising on his face
Savaging the ways of 'today's barbaric youth'
while knocking down shots of gin and vermouth
Such gents betimes depart fine society
exposing themselves ~ targets of impropriety
No pretence
No airs and graces
Just be real
No “two faces”
Be authentic
Just be You
Let your true spirit shine through
Your fairness, honesty
Integrity will show
Kindness to all
Compassion, goodness will flow
Don’t fear vulnerability
Or to admit you were wrong
It does not create weakness
It enlightens, renders you strong
Let your humour be present
Smile and laugh each day
Don’t take life to seriously
Don’t waste it away
Feel inner peace ….without turmoil
Like and love You
Appreciate and value all life offers
But mostly “to yourself be true”
The woman wore her faux fox hat with an air of elegance and pride
I am used to real furs, my daddy is a dealer, and he shows me each hide
She acts with a touch of snobbery, which I think is totally amusing
If she could see animals turned into pelts, her vanity would be confusing.
I am the wind
the textured curl of clouds
those specks of glitter
silver and gold are my
illustrative gleams
the foiling wings
that flutter and flap
feathers ripe with color
complementing all rosy hills
a rolling kiss a splash of
blush a dash of spicy dish
the pepper and the salt
of a morning's stirring serving
see me in the meadows
there where wildflowers overflowing
bees and butterflies how they gaily
bob take lick like little children
at the serving tops of apples candied
making funny faces where those more
tart chasing rainbow tails the
fond remnants of showers
I made this day for you
now do me honor
save some acres from your cities
and roads
one or two at the least
as I keep sacred
your plot through the heavens
The cool evening airs
Sweeps across her moonlit hair
Gently laying, bare her extraordinary beauty.
By a pleasant breeze of fragrant air
That blows gently across her wavey hair.
Hypnotically twisting and flittering
Curling and swirling her flowing hair
with each gentle breeze
That I could not stop but to stare
Oh Blair, My Blair
how much more can I bare,
I sit here in profound despair.
Naturally wondering
if you genuinely care.
Another word for exaggeration is hyperbole
One word is fine, so why did we need two?
I don’t know, seems utterly redundant to me
Not being an etymologist, I haven’t a clue.
One for common folks, the other for the elite?
Seems someone couldn’t agree, and that’s fine,
I’ll settle for exaggeration, a word that’s neat
Hyperbole ... if I’m trying to show my behind.
Written August 27, 2022
Yes I speak French the brazen imposter bragged.
A lie said the countess, for his speech surely lagged.
The black ones I got from my mother,
The glamourpuss Welsh princess;
The red ones came from my dad,
The freckled Irish redbeard;
The blonde ones were mine as a baby,
Ringlets that bounced when I ran;
As a child I turned to a light brunette,
Thick and fine, flecked with my ancestry.
But the grey ones are all my own doing:
I made them, I earned them, I deserve them,
I worried them into my life,
I worked and partied, I pushed myself for them,
Those late nights are there to be seen,
And all the hair dye in the world
Can't cover up who I've been.
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