Tongue Tied in Clichés: A Blessing in Disguise
A blessing in disguise,
a double-edged sword—
a far cry from peace,
yet all in all,
at the drop of a hat
we reach for a ballpark figure,
beat around the bush,
break new ground,
burn the midnight oil.
By the book we cut to the chase,
play devil’s advocate,
fill the void with food for thought,
start from scratch,
then get cold feet.
Give the green light,
go down in flames,
hit the nail on the head,
find ourselves in over our head,
jump on the bandwagon,
keep something at bay,
leave no stone unturned.
Out of our depth,
past the point of no return,
we read between the lines,
take it with a grain of salt,
see only the tip of the iceberg—
until at last we throw in the towel.
OF LIFE AND DEATH TODAY: A 5-7-5-7-7-7-5-7-5-7 FLOW
(Apropos Of An Ironic Juxtaposed Reality)
Ironically,
it’s cheaper to live than die:
Save, self-cremation:-
Even then, you must pay for
The ashes to be cleaned up:-
And don’t forget, the family
Is charged to pay off all debts
That you may have left behind:-
Ironically,
We are born to live and die,
Life, being cheaper:
Funerals are expensive!
Waiting for your other half, as she visits the loo
It’s usually the shopping mall, where she joins in the queue,
You stand with the guys, in equal appreciation
Of the predicament we find ourselves, in this situation.
Nobody makes eye contact but if we do it’s just a nod,
How long do we need to wait? We each pray to god.
Please let our partner be the first to fully reappear
Then we can get out of this place and silently disappear.
The waiting is tense, the brow begins to sweat
How long can this be, as we’ve lots of stuff to get?
Then a woman appears but alas it’s none of ours,
At this rate we could be here, for many, many hours.
A look at your watch, then a look at your shoes
Another woman appears but the question is, whose?
With a sigh and a smile, one of us is relieved,
A gesture to the other guys, confirms his reprieve.
Another look at the watch and a look up to the sky
A blow of the cheeks, then a very heavy sigh.
She finally appears, it’s a face we recognise
A nod to the other guys, a relief we can’t disguise.
I have lost my spectacles
I can't read or write without them
I search my table, drawers, bed and selves
I am totally helpless and at a loss without them.
Oh! I might forget what I need to write
If I don't find them quickly enough
Suddenly I notice myself in the mirror
There they're perched on my head!
A MUSE – OR AMUSING?
You say that you love my poetry;
You tell me all the time.
My syllable count is perfection,
You’ve been seduced by my rhyme.
When you introduce me to your friends,
You refer to me as your ‘bard’.
But although that’s rather flattering,
There’s one thing I’m finding hard.
It’s one thing waxing lyrical
About my poetry.
But I’m longing for that day I hear
You say that you love ME!
Suppose I lost my rhythm
And my rhyming pattern was wrong?
What if my number of syllables clashed
With “Howmanysyllables dot com”?
Would you still love me for what I am
Or would you be averse
To live with a mere mortal
Who couldn’t compose a verse?
intrigued by thesaurus
given by Joe Morris
look up the word porous
who? asks my friend Doris
amusing my friend Boris
a gift from friend Morris
I love a thesaurus
this takes care of Doris
I relook up porous
amusing my friend Boris
Seen in the movies, swishing swords about,
Those Ninja fighters make you want to run,
Hiding in shadows, jumping in and out,
Would challenge me: my Ninja skills are none.
However do they manage all they do?
So swathed in dark disguise and masked,
And carrying a bow and arrow too,
Leaping on rooftops, entering unasked.
I couldn’t hit a target with a dart,
Even in daylight, even standing still,
Just opening a pocket-knife’s an art,
I break my fingernails and always will.
It’s somehow not for me, that Ninja-ing,
Given that my knees are past my best,
I have to watch my back when gardening,
And carry reading glasses in my vest.
So Ninja life is not the thing for me,
No warrior, I’m English, mild and free,
That night air fogs my glasses constantly,
I’d rather watch the cricket on TV!
The children
Draw a world of gay colours
But a wrong proportion
A strange perspective
Comical, amusing and odd
Cartoon-bound
A world they see with simplicity of heart
The adult's world is too
Confusing, sophisticated, and twisted
Too difficult for them to present and interprete
I logged on the world wide web today
I tried ocado, it said go away!
I went to Waitrose and Tesco too
I had to wait so long
that I went to the loo
I came back
and had a snack
and watched the queue go down
eventually I got on to Asda
I booked a delivery slot
and loaded my trolley
by the time I checked out
I felt rather jolly!
(I wrote this one a good year ago!)
Hills and valleys and curvy roads
Peeking houses behind tall oaks
Morning sun’s tender rays
Whistling gust’s soft touches
Musical dialogues of chirpy birds
Air-dances and rapid flutters
Fragrant stars of Jasmin flowers
Flourishing marvels of vivid colors
Wind chime’s calming tune
Amusing walk energizing the mood
"Your last wish?", asked one cop,
The man in prison got some hope.
The old man's life was like hell,
With the hat on his head, he came out of jail.
Before he dies, wanted to do something good,
"Teach my son how to smile", he said in an amusing mood.
Dangled on the rope, the old man died,
With tears in his eyes, the cop finally smiled.
I am in awe of Mrs C K
Who writes ten poems every day
That is too big an ask for any poet
Quite a task
A Task indeed, when all I need
At this time, is any rhyme
Amusing or sublime
My mind is blank no think tank
Could be as thoughtless as mine
Ten poems every day
Hip Hip Hooray!
I should like to write one line
Mrs C K writes about her muses
She has more than one
I wish that she could loan me Trixie
So my pen could have some fun
If I ever had a muse
I think he/she must have died
He/she got old and wrinkled
All shrivelled up inside
He/she dried up all my pens
And threw my ideas away
I don't think she died
He/she dwells in Mrs C K
Sixty-three adjectives insist upon having their way with me
Trixie laughs, as she was the one who dumped them into the air
Amusing to have an amused muse? You tell me.
I try to throw some meat and potatoes down but there is too much dancing.
The ideas swirl off the page like a tiny tornado
Hitting me in the chin, nearly knocking me off my chair.
I get the message.
Begin again. This time throwing down adjective after adjective.
Waiting for a noun; there is none forthcoming.
Trixie is stubbornly keeping the faeries and unicorns to herself today.
Come on! I shriek, throwing my sixth page of adjectives onto the floor.
I hear giggling.
She knows I am malleable, and is taking advantage.
I admire her power.
The neighbors sipped on some red wine
Slepted , then lost track of the time
Woke up to a brawl
And then tried to crawl
Seem like, those drunkers had lost their mind
The drunk man had too much to drink
Even down to the kitchen sink
Fell out on the floor
But he still wanted more
Woke-up an his body was stink
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