SERPENTS SCORPIONS AND OWLS
We are led to believe that serpents lie
But that is the theme of a famous story
And by eating forbidden fruit, we die
Living a life no longer blessed in glory
Scorpions look evil, but that’s the point
A stinging tail used only when required
But depends however on a flexible joint
And with its protective scales, is attired
Owls are supposed to be wise, it is said
I guess it’s helped by wide angle of view
And sees so much when turning its head
Well perhaps after all, it may just be true
A butterfly lights from flower to flower
with golden wings, he whiles away each sunny hour.
A moth comes out at night, while the world dreams,
guided by the light of silvery moonbeams.
An ant toils away, working hard for the pack,
dressing modestly, he's attired only in black.
I try not to judge, as I consider each bug.
They all have different ways of feeding their mug.
The mesmerizing view of northern lights,
Finally forms into a cosmic image,
I see my love descending from the heavens,
attired in vivid colors of the cosmic waves of rays.
Is it the soul or a cosmic image of my wandering love?
I can’t differentiate, till I find myself lying in a flowering grass pad,
With our bodies united and souls intertwined,
She points to the moon, where her beauty lies.
In the starry skies, the moon shining bright,
She asks who is prettier, moon or me.
The only answer I have from my heart,
When I see you, I forget about the moon.
In the dawn early rays from the sun,
She does not want to go, she is draped in red,
Soon the sun will get brighter, her aura will disappear,
She will be gone for a while, but I will be waiting forever.
Deepest indigo, the ocean chills for the evening tide.
Gleaming lights captured by the still waters, produce a fluorescent glow.
Magically shimmering to create the glisten for her gown.
Attired in royal perfection, her bespoke ensemble more stunning than the sea.
Moonbeams, abundant with radiant sapphires illuminate her picturesque form.
Nothing remains as it is, yet for tonight she will be Queen of the ocean’s glory.
"Flowers, the emblems of beauty and fragrance proudly assert that loveliness can catch every eye and brighten even the gloomiest heart" ~ By Poet
look at these white blossoms,
attired in snow white velvety frocks,
unassuming and elegant
under the canopy of the starlit sky.
though tiny in size,
en masse they exude a hypnotic charm.
birthed in the stillness of night,
they proclaim their presence,
in dazzling white.
decked by dewy beads,
they dance freely unnoticed.
some perfume the air
with exotic scent,
permeating the nightly breeze.
during day, they wait to be garlanded,
by the amber beams of the sun,
longing to be hugged and kissed
by the amorous butterflies.
these simple beauties are the silent partakers,
of life’s most beautiful romance!
Nocturnal dreams of midnight fantasies
neon flowers alongside scented lily pads
Rippling clouds, crossings on the moon
magnetic fields of bluing yes I see
Angels flying, flitting, round the globe
calling over stars to light the path
Magistrates of heaven glorious chants
soft and mellow pastel like the sea
Beatific vocals soft as voices of the earth
enigmatic secrets of a society un-known
Cooing doves fragrances of evening musk,
Divine Beings attired in Elysian clothes like Deity.
WHEN SUMMER IS GONE
There’s a pause, when Summer is gone
With autumn trying its very best to please
Winter is always there, hiding in the wings
To formalise the end of the four seasons
As if uniformed and attired for that duty
Scrapping the old, preparing for the new
Yet summer will by many, ever be missed
As a time when Nature’s growth can rest
So that one can relax in the sun’s warmth
After Spring’s loud emergence in the world
Having earned its place, ready for Summer
That many hope, will last a few extra days
But who will be sad, when Summer is gone
Strolling through the Clubhouse 3 gallery,
Plenty of pretty pictures for me to see,
But one that especially caught my eye
Was a curiously attired bulldog guy.
I gazed closely into each brown soulful eye.
Is there some story that they might bely?
Was he a jester in a Pikachu hat?
Were his yellow shoes untied as he sat?
Was his costume designer a small boy?
Where’d he get his little Pokeball toy?
Why’d his artist give him a cute pink face?
If not for those two, might he self-efface?
As he sits in a foggy purple mist,
He’s as cool as anything that might exist.
Cheers to the artist and the costume boy
And to the mellow bulldog who gives me joy!
If lesser chimps bow, trail alpha male’s tail,
If a filly fawns on a horny stag,
Show her willing hind to dominant male,
If paupers please a podgy moneybag,
Man, an attired ape, bows to brawn and brain,
Pour pains on him to please power-wielding pelf,
A creepy spoon knows none of due restrain,
And flatters fat pockets for puny self.
A man no whit better than a proud toad
May pretend t’be an alpha lion king,
Yet if knows not enough that it's too odd,
He’s a cat that cringes in circus ring.
To bow to hefty weight as human is
As humouring lofty heights as to please.
__________________________________________
Sonnet |02.06.2009| humour
We drive breakneck over hot roads.
Churches, big as cathedrals, rocket
from pocket villages.
Castillo's cast their campanile on the baking earth.
The Great Mosque of Cordoba,
the green Alhambra shades us
through a preaching dust.
The Giralda; its Christianized minaret
stretched like a tourists neck,
and above the Papal parapets,
a banished Allah.
The holy places have hollow guts,
their tubes are wrapped
around a torso, like alien spaceships.
One edifice dwarfs another
until awe sinks to its knees
attired in the black mufti
of old peasant women.
We are traveling fast now.
Nave and transept are our crossroads.
Basilica and sacellum our roadside naps.
The car parallel parks itself
beside every altar and shrine,
it's engine running,
as we chase God's works down,
ticking off only ourselves.
Bright and glowing, attired in gold
Birds sing to me, while bees kiss me,
The butterflies love mien, golden
Chipmunks relish my seeds with glee;
I serenade you in your rainbow garden
Patiently nurturing overbearing bees
Sucking on my nectar even as the bold
Butterflies compete with a certain cool ease;
Bringing glorious sunshine into your tedious life
And soaking in all the irresistible Sun power
Making you smile like a proud florist you've never been
In your garden of love, I’m your alluring Sunflower
The all too common
American squirrel
can become quite whimsical
in the random coloration
of their normally grayish hides.
Some are attired in formal black,
some in a fetching Albinus white,
and every shade in-between.
Little red,
unlike those rare British squirrels
(which are naturally red and fluffy),
displayed an unusual coat
of a fetching russet hue,
which many noticed
complemented well
any autumnal season.
Sad to say,
yesterday a hawk got him.
His remembrance service will be
held next Wednesday
at eleven-thirty a.m.
at Jake's gastro-bar and grill,
A light Rosea will be served.
Mourners are suggested to wear
(as a gesture of respect),
a boutonniere or other small reminiscence -
something a little red.
Though the clock had no hands to tell the time
It was still able to number the hours
Over the trees the sun began to climb
As dandelions roared on the lawn, 'flagrant flowers!'
Off to work she went, ready to catch a train
He morning seemed to be on the right track
On the platform she saw her coworker, Jack Crane
He handled cases that required 'heavy lifting', good ole Jack
They arrived at work as the bike messenger wheeled in
He was always suitably attired
His world was a constant spin
Becaus obviously, he was two tired
3-13-2023
Pun Fun Poetry Contest
Margarita Lillico
Although she's always attired in exquisite clothing,
Miranda Vasquez dances, but she's not a socialite.
She spends most of her days embroidering dresses
and decorating flowered fans long into the night.
Her finely sown garments would fetch a nice price,
but money is not what brings Miranda great joy.
No. For she gives them away to low-born ladies
who proudly wear her raiment of felt and corduroy.
Her garments are beautiful works of creative art,
similar to grand paintings from a master's brush.
Bright and bold colored fabrics she loves the most,
green, gold, and crimson hues of cheeks in blush.
Miranda is loved by young and old in her village.
A legendary figure she's bound to become in time.
With her dark lashed eyes and dainty red lips,
she's adored for her heart and tailoring, sublime.
Attired in black and red tonight
The way you sang was out of sight
Head and shoulders above the rest
Hands down you'll always be the best
The reasons why are clear to me
And to anyone with ears to see
But if they're not here's one that suits
Just s-p-e-c-t-a-c-u-l-a-r in snakeskin boots
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