there's a bloke in this cafe wearing
heart-shaped spectacles
they're a mauve slash purple colour
but they're not your franklin bi-focals
john hegley said you could trust
a man in glasses (big time)
harry angstrom felt naked
wearing glasses
his posture is overblown
he's sampling his tea genially
with an extensive face
he's immersed in his smartphone
like that horse that needed lenses
rothschild with his zebra carriage
there were no heart-shaped glasses
on the hill in calvary
my four-year-old-son told me
he wanted to eat my glasses
Seems like I could be on top of the world.
I think about poetry like my tongue is pearled.
Just the other day I wrote a poem to honor another poet.
I spun around in a spin to unfurl to the Soupers whorled.
I know they think they’re the bombshell.
They are big headed and believe their words cast the spell.
They vortex puts us in a whirlpool.
They billow swells.
Soupers let’s keep it real.
The universe zeal.
We entertain each other with our thoughts.
Poetry is our appeal.
We write to regale.
Anything else considered is to no avail.
I laugh aloud.
Soupers the advantage is a tall tale.
I am here to share-out.
That there is such a thing as an amateur in the house.
I know many fill the title of a poet professional.
This is where real skills are grandeur and profound.
Soupers, the truth expose.
A writer’s right shows.
Angstrom to a wavelength, the brain thinks and the mind depicts.
As a Poetess, here I throw it to the wind; that it is you with the *******.
To the Souper who asked for a rebuttal to his slam.
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Penned February 18, 2015!
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