In the final moments of the cosmic rapture,
when the armada of flames subsided,
there stood the last defiance against Father Time.
A treacherous sea, beautiful and terrible as the dawn.
No solid surface, a ghost of the cosmos.
Internal pressure, yielding storms of diamonds.
A cold-hearted sentinel.
Restless, yet stubborn.
No sister planets,
no neighboring galaxies.
Only cruel immortality.
So, you have chosen to endure.
This eternal silence, this tomb of stardust and ash.
You shall suffer in silence.
What glorious purpose awaits you, O’ Neptune?
Insolent child, how dare you defy fate.
You should’ve let yourself fall quietly asleep.
Yet, in this forever blackness,
what poor, pitiful orbit do you take—
to justify this act of providence?
Feeling low best way to alter is kneeling at the altar of the Taco my romeo
Halter stealing TexMex slaughter dealing burrito or nacho cos ends with “O”
Clever clogs in boho vlogs falter say hey “Cilantro” but it is a herb so no
Yanks know tanks finest order for lothario or marauder's below the border
Crow say tally ho a true aficionado go gung-ho for mojo halo of Mexico
Mole is not a relic a culinary medic as holy as a cleric just like Pozole
Wholly done slowly not being hasty most things tasty ends in an “E”
Alright in the larder not from the Armada friends Guacamole or Tamale
“A” senorita might say forgot Enchilada and Quesadilla or Conchinita
Sages simmer sauces for ages so many stages as the flavour rages
The most pure for many I’m sure would quip the tip “al Pastor” Taco
Their cocoa gusto & avocado bravado so come on everyone go loco
Forget the crime.. sublime..prime chime once upon a time in Mexico
You hate my country but I can’t hate you
they’ll call me racist cus that’s what they do
you fly your flag what a horrible sight
and when you protest probably fight
I post a status caged in overnight
us Brits are welcoming far too polite
as you’re an illegal you have your rights
5 star hotels and a taxi if you’d like
but who are you kidding
you think England’s done
are you Napoleon conquering all
antisemitic starting world wars
cause they wrote us off once
Britannia roared
send an Armada you’ll sink to the floor
fly your Luftwaffe until you’re no more
cause they say we’ve fallen
they’ve said it before!
We haven’t started
are you feeling sure?
DNA of a Viking, a Roman, a Celt,
Britannia’s stirring…… The Finest yet dealt!
FLOTILLA
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
her heart, once a crammed attic,
overflowing with yesterday’s dusty relics,
became a barren room.
each secret—a silent, fragile confession,
she scrawled on paper thin as skin,
slipped into the throat of antique glass.
a cardboard ark, ferrying her bottled truths,
down to the shore she walked,
where the sea sighs secrets of its own.
a flotilla of confessions and longing,
a bobbing armada of regret,
pushed by the tide—away, away, away.
she raised her hands in farewell
releasing all her burdens,
their echoes fading on salty winds
Set sail in feathered ships.
Guided by shattered stars and bent sextants.
A little white tempest becomes a black water witch.
Hatched from a devil's chrysalis.
Sails are whipped and torn in half.
Fashion a crucifix from a broken mast.
Souls churn upon Poseidon's spitz.
Slothful morning arrives.
Amidst the frothy angel tide.
An armada of prayers ignites.
Unable to buoy any sign of life.
The last candle flickers in the reeds.
Search and rescue throttles down to recovery.
The sun’s long since set on the British Empire
Spain’s armada no more rules the waves
The European Union projects only weakness
France still treats women as sex-slaves
Mr. Z got the message
He has nowhere to turn
But Trump’s USA
If Ukraine’s not to burn
Amidst a burning skyline where
every tick of a gesture a happenstance
charges my essence and absorbs
this space where discoveries
allow me a chance to revel at
what is miraculous...the dance
of kaleidoscopic stars, toddlers
wiggling like cherubs , fireflies dressed
like the Orion... and I go with the flow,
radiant as wings of revelry
guide me through an armada
of delirious fireflies I need not comprehend...
because my heart awaits the next
swing of child-like enthrallment
delirious as the zigzaging zings
in a twirl, in ribbons laced by thrills
of free imagination...there, in that
jeweled wing, I seek nothing
but the translucent lucent spins
in total wanderlust of the unknown,
ready to celebrate this flight of eternal fireflies
away from the ordinary glitter
within what could ever be
any woodland that's ever near !
Hey buddy, let me tell you what's goin' down.
Listen closely, you'll hear the sound
of my kitchen, underground.
What I'm cookin' is so hot, as it were,
you might call it nuclear.
I'll make some for him, some for her.
I churn out the grub, hot and fast.
My cooking's like a firehose blast.
As much as I make, it won't last.
I put some dough on a sheets-a
where a jalapeno and mushroom meets-a
you've got yourself a red-hot pizza.
Hey man, I'm cookin' - don't you worry.
No time to waste. I'm in a hurry,
I'll need peppers for this veggie curry.
Time for burritos and enchiladas -
pull up and eat, this ain't the Ramada.
I've invited the Spanish armada.
For blazing chow, you are itchin'?
Grab a knife and chop. Come on, pitch in.
It's the first underground nuclear kitchen.
I already understand that children
grow inside two blinks,
as quickly as the novel Mayfly
comes to the surface to die.
I'm pining for those first days again,
of edentate smiles, milestones
to fund future independence.
Pineapple-sized hearts I cradled;
lulled, exchanged dank nappies for dry;
ferried on uncrossed seas,
your armada.
Smoothed rough waters as if by divine speech
because mothers can. I was thinking that I could always be your oxygen.
I let you walk through me, under, right over.
The rocking horse
brought for my bromelain angels
winged you away -
this blasted Pegasus ...
I miss you now.
How you rode away,
ephemera of innocence!
So, what then?
Me, fumbling wild in the backspace you left.
Your flabbergasting key smash to freedom
broke our finespun home, you left
me to talk to your father, Child,
to renegotiate
the bonds;
reconstruct ancient code,
deleted excess text -
obfuscating precision and knowing -
the tribal tongue of lovers
unlearned, forgotten;
escaped alongside discarded baby bath suds,
strewn puddles of rubber duckies,
tired breasts suckled
by fresh management.
On a sandy beach a mile wide
Blood remains from a crimson tide
With our battle fought upon the sea
The only survivor was me
Since I alone can tell the tale
On that fateful day our ships set sail
To meet our foes both crew and master
Most every heart aboard beat faster
The wind was blowing waves were crashing
Teeth were grit with lightning flashing
Our banners waved and cannons roared
And with each strike our spirits soared
But as we neared our final breath
As we sailed headlong into death
There wasn't much that I recall
Just that one armada would fall
So in memory of that day
History will forever say
Ten thousand men are here no more
One sailor washed up on the shore
You’re the Moon that shone light onto the stable.
You’re the Moon that saw the meteor come.
You’re the Moon who puzzled the minds of pharaohs.
You’re the Moon who Columbus relied upon.
You’re the Moon who inspired Pink Floyd’s ‘dark’ album.
You’re the Moon who Marilyn Monroe looked upon.
You’re the Moon who Paddy Mayne watched roll over the desert.
You’re the Moon who Michael Jackson’s walk came from.
You’re the Moon who saw the burning of the monasteries.
You’re the Moon who disguised the Allies greatest armada.
You’re the Moon who controls the the tides of our oceans.
You’re the Moon who all life on this planet depends upon.
Navy armada
Scene like majestic sea clouds
of chill Sagada.
The wind, a conductor of memories past,
whispers of boostalgia, in each gust it casts,
every play by play, blow by blow,
moves us in the direction
of refinement, victory, goal.
It carries laughter, like a playful lambada,
stirring the plot, where we can embark the
crossroads of shallow depths of flood, rescue, boat, armada, with it's tugfloat-
, antics, dote.
Upon the breeze, momentum, ab solution,
scensctes emotions,
mingles with Petrichords of spring tugging ferry
of family amalgamation, observatory.
The wind, a conductor of memories past,
whispers of nostalgia, in each gust it casts,
every play by play, blow by blow.
Vesper-wilding crystal clear antecdotes.
Where the wind can carry pain,
wound salts in exclamate whirl of spin.
It also carries a soft hum and a touch
from person to beast to person,
playing in the yard, naked, raw,
carefree,
as we begin again.
Gluggy margarine marine grips keels
Apex sun spreads sickly circle of lard
Plugged lungs, gust momentum marred
Strait elongates co-ordinate, pace killed
Gliding knife grease fixed current kestrels
Impotent motor pendulums drowsy matelot
Vacating tranquillity served seas slow
Exoteric tampers spatula flat vapid vessel
Crusading armada cruise aquatic canyon
Rigid crucifix mast meanders evangelical
Illusive land sinks split quills, sodalite inkwell
Top-gallant swallowed, whale snack plankton
Inert surrender line honours, hundred strong
Quelled by existence Earth centric
Universe of solar centre offensive
Encourages complacent latent symposium
Rigging ties tradition to methods regaled
Order drifts on brittle fine line filament
Oceanic only planet confirms familiar
Moribund remains phobic, slick oil sailed
18th February
Fear of Anarchy
GAPS GIVE CRITIQUE ROOM
He does not treasure his link
With four Arab Terrorists:
Men who’d pretended they could think
But for their savage strikes, Humorists…
He shall his thoughts bare and not blink
“His haters now whisky glasses clink
And in The Blue Sky also pick out Pink”.
This is no picture of A Challenged Scenarist,
Rather A Good Nose’s for the smell of An Animist
Off and on, his rivals at one another wink
For The Armada about to profitably sink.
The four accursed terrorists
He’d taken for amiable tourists,
Until up the ugly heads of shotguns reared
And in the shooting the bullets veered,
Plus involvement of a wasting grenade
That looked like it had been Russia-Made…
And in his hotel the four didn’t shrink,
When the strongest beverage was the drink…
Mr. Mole guessed he must do something, meanwhile
And not away image-saving time while.
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