Demon, bitter are thy days.
Pore o'er, anima.
Raking leaves for bonfires? Blaze.
Ice within me, thaw.
Weathervane, point to the stars?
Sky is full of these.
Half the year, like lids on jars.
Hide, O mysteries.
Blossom, honeysuckle.
Grow wild as ivy vines.
Knees of challenger, buckle.
Ocean, boil thy brines.
Tempest, grow tall. Hurl, O cloud.
Gun, thy machine nest.
Famous faces, lost in crowds?
Blessed bid bile best.
Ray of sun, burn evil out?
Sure, if sure you can.
Shade, what is thy life about?
Love, span what's began.
Frenzied fate, sing. Loud, my Muse.
Hound dog, quiet bay?
Proserpina, disabuse?
Well, sir, I just may.
Gauntleted fist, hard thy strike?
Don't fall off thy bike.
Spend time with a girl you like.
Barracuda? Pike.
Spike atop the city walls?
He who mills then mauls.
Chaos, how thy dancing calls!
Entropy, thy awls.
Perception, thrum! Warp, thy woof.
Steady heartbeat, ply.
Gambrel are the peaked roof?
Dreamer, thought must fly...
Silence morphs the call of falling dusk
Gathering under fiery skies,
Stilled leaves in somber silence hang
Moping at the darkness that plies.
Dusty paths the home-bound cattle plod
Syrupy chirping of birds in flight,
Smoke from the earthen ovens pause
Wistfully staring at twilight.
Frenzied bats eke out their weary awls
Urging the evening star to wait,
To let moon lord overnight,
And muse over their morbid fate.
Wind over the placid river brings
Low tidings for cicadas to cry,
Fathom the fragrant moonflower will
Need endeavour to pacify.
When vigil of stark skeletal boughs
Stand mournful over the hooting owl,
And the mist like a wimple veils
The nocturnal creatures that prowl.
Those who lie in cemeteries stark
Berate the mausoleums old,
Affording them scant room to move
Adding to their ordeals untold.
Crimson dawn will pale the darkened sky
For light to lug another day,
Darkness would need wait again
For dusk to come upon its way.
***********
In an Inn, Pierre pared a pear which came in a pair
But his butt is wack’s coz he whacks the wax one first
That he won, son of a gun, under the fare sun at the fair.
Yet he needed Ann the witch, who kneaded and was well versed,
With sects of belles and beaus who have sex, wearing bells
And bows. Back in the Inn, the merry witch Mary,
Planned to marry off two halves of an ogre, using spells;
She chanted hoo and oohs, too, until the ooze from a fairy
Brewed a brood of eight, plus the maid, that Ann the witch ate.
Who could have guessed that her twice four guests
Who lived on a ferry and made wax fruits and fake cakes;
Yet for odd reasons, buried berries with awls, fore all evil quests.
For Homo's Only Contest
Who ever saw the fires of hell would be able to attest
It’s burning from the centre to the peak;
All the mountains are covered with the heavens blanket
Where will i ever see a mountain this high?
Our buildings look so small;
How did this splendid art form
The olds call it the work of god
The pagan say it the power of nature
The face is wrinkle not of age but,
The burning tears of sorrow
I see swallows flying motionless
I look at the flowers that give its beauty
It’s beyond those plains where they walk tirelessly
Even the scorching sun has no effect
Evenings covered by strife in families
Nothing looks to be affecting the lilies
Neither the awls cannot complain
But to I it’s burning like scorching furnace
The tears that have made the face a playing ground
This is favour they are giving to the grief
These are tears of salts mix with despair.
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