Childhood anecdotes
will always be flawlessly polished.
A journey defined by growth,
actions, and ambitions.
Mentorship marked by love,
wisdom, and faithfulness.
Fleeting reflections on a time
we can never reclaim.
Well what can i put.? I saw piers morgan
Interview him.? And well he.? Made morgan look good.! I saw a great empathy
For the pepple around, even morgan.'
He now.. Jhonny broke new ground.' He put Piers at ease, there was noticable wisdom
And anecdotes, he had me smiling, from a
Subtle joke.' All respect to man who called
Saville a word.' Ammounts to pred-o-vile
Search the net, for this intervew, it will be worth your while.)
REMNANTS OF NATURE-:-
robust
energetic
anecdotes
oddly
ambivalent
in PASSIVE POSTURE
precludes
underlined
titles
deliberately
subverted
in COUNTER IMAGE
emphatically
unstable
impressions
theoretically
subjective
Strangely, I have nothing to confess,
Oh, perhaps when I was younger,
When the temper of an alcoholic father
Left me cowering in the shadows;
Safe when he did not see me,
Safe when Mom intercepted the anger ~
But that was long ago
And childhood has faded
Into anecdotes of bizarre incidents,
Which oddly are simply amusing
Now that fear is far away.
In cavernous Swiss bank vaults
Slavery, is a word filed under anecdotes as valued as gold caught
By some inbred morons I’m told
To be resuscitated, wasn’t evil then
Elated? There was power to be
Used, unabated they put leaders; into
State shoes, ‘no matter if they chafed em’ paid for like goods
To lead, astray whole nations
Unto tangled brambles of fanciful
Climate alarmist notions, sickness was their remedy
In fact; they even introduced the maladies!
With them it’s all just theatre and hype; they have a
Consistency like tripe. Just a body of
Flatulence…..Craving much
Opulence, descendants of nazis
With all that old nonsense if you
Just tease, the narrative of disasters, you’ll find they
Are fully plastered; zonked out on toxins
Remote of awareness, default locked
Of cognition' lacking, no empathy;
Just histrionics; is all I see is big
Plans they sure thunk-em, yet
‘Twas. ‘All the bunkum that sunk em.’
©Joe Maverick 4-12-2025
My friend of the exuberant
Far ranging converse gone,
The over the front hedge
Meaningful long chats gone,
The stop and talk when we met
So very cruelly suddenly gone.
I feel so very deeply for
His beloved family and wife
And for the great big hole
He’s left in my own life.
No more anecdotes to be shared
No more speaking face to face
My world now somewhat shrunken
A much less satisfying place.
Stood by the hedge to remember
With closed eyes to easily recall
Those pleasant easy hours
When we never quite said it all.
I’ll remember with joy
Those memories I have
Of every single chat, regret
All those we’d yet to have.
Never quite changing the world
But not for want of trying
Yes, we never changed the world
But it was not for want of trying.
Could we not at least exchange some crummy
anecdotes about our recent pasts
some poorly recalled bus stop or shop incidents
semi memories of there was this time when
I'll take any half digested subvocal passing thoughts
and an inappropriate and unvoiced yet sincerely held
opinion which you know is safe with me
Throw me a crumb here and I'll toss you
the whole hog utilising my award-winning
(and vigorous) masculine muscles
Instead of flinging it angry apelike
into the webvoid in the form of
incoherent cackhanded freeposts
begging for any minor engagement
A notebook is an object of art
Where the secret notes is hidden
Diaries is written, too personal
Journals is counting daily routine
Too special, full cover decors
After which is beautifully used
Hidden in secret place you only knew
When time of joy, inspire and sadness
This notebook reveal as litanies
Of emotions, fun and laughter release
And when all the life is truly dealt
This notebook becomes a memento of time
Once read again and again as part
Of biography and anecdotes of your life.
No Reality to Echo From
To live is to echo a reality
In which there is no reality to echo from
Because reality as we know it isn't here, nor anywhere
It's always moving
It's always echoing
It’s always shifting and filtering within itself
It's always relative to oneself
To itself
So what does the echo…echo?
The lives of one another? The memories?
It's the stories, the legends, the anecdotes
the laughter, cries, pain, pleasure, sadness, and happiness, shared among us
That is the echo, that our Reality
The reality with no reality
The echoes that are relative to us as people that also echo in the echo
Bouncing like waves from reality walls
Walls that keep us going
Echoes in our reality
Reality in our echoes in which there is
No reality to echo from.
I'm piling up the anecdotes..Remarks and more besides.' I'll
Show historical content also, maybe others can't abide?
I'll even trawl my memory finely, going decades back' up till the
Present tense, and waiting; maybe some have got my back?
Or maybe its God that heals my spirit? Just Keeps me going on?
Till we get a ( peace-fire ) burning people' leaving dead ideals if they've gone.. Well quite wrong!
What do you write about? I am asked at least once a week
I try to give people tips, but I am not sure what they seek.
anecdotes are crawling out of my woodwork and my mind.
some of them are wild and funny, others dark and unkind
Nouns and vowels fly through the room and hit me in the head
Sometimes adjectives and adverbs shake me awake as I lie in bed.
So I give the best advice to everyone who asks me so.
Just write something fun and clever, about something you know.
Toss words down in a notebook and don’t try so very hard.
It is tremendously easy and fun being a witty young bard.
Or an old crone who likes to toss stories down on a page.
This is the most wizen advice you will get from this sage.
“Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.” —Maya Angelou
Lonesomeness dreads the twinkling afore sleep falls,
Soft and soundless, blessing with the hues of night,
Rustling peace through the soul after darkness calls.
Wonders shimmering, more lovely than starlight,
In dreams, where hope’s music plays its gentle notes,
Stirring warm feelings where love’s wishes excite.
Soundless moments, revealing wise anecdotes,
In life’s songs, blushing in hues of kindest grace,
Offerings of true devotion held by quotes.
Beyond life’s forlorn prayers, silence will chase,
Trembling faith, always aware and always there,
With belief in love’s gifts, no doubt can erase.
Despite that lonesome ache, life holds no despair,
Because we know that our God is everywhere!
Fingers intertwined in
wondrous oneness
together foreverness
breathtaking bliss
Eye to eye in
lyrical longing
melodic memories
soul symmetry
Backs turned to
bygone brokenness
solitary sanctums
heartbroken hibernation
Face to face in
aromatic anecdotes
possibility potpourri
enmeshed essences
Voices join in
rondos of rendezvous
chorales of compatibility
madrigals of mutuality
Heart to heart in
a fulcrum of fulfillment
a seesaw of serendipities
a trapeze of timelessness
Lips engaged in
passion's pendulum
voluptuous vocabularies
intoxicating innuendoes
She is lyrics and I am music
~ harmonizing a hypnotizing love song ~
a dizzying duet of delight
SENSES
exemplary
anecdotes
in
memorabilia
particularly
impressive
&
prominent
symbolized
by
the
immovable
in
selfless
love
explicit
with
ambivalence
&
devotion
a
recast
narrative
highlighted
in
flux
a
listening
dilemma
TENSIONS
so
destructive
can enthrall
&
fufill
become
lyrical
spaces
mysterious
&
magnificent
reflected
symbols
in a
scattered
awareness
oblique
&
unusual
optically
true
pictorially
simple
contours
isolated
&
an
emotional
gathering
in
a
spiritual
panorama
Johnny Boffo was a comic's comic.
Johnny, JB to his friends,
had the late night crowd in stitches
with a variety of one-liners
and amusing anecdotes.
After his last set he
left the Comedy Barn
and while crossing the street
to his motel room
was struck and killed
by a speeding cattle truck.
They say he died happy;
but I kinda of doubt it.
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