It's so hard, sometimes
To remove this cerement
To muster a veritable smile
To schlepp out of the sediment
It will end, I know
When authentic smiles will replace
The disingenuous air
I bedaub to my face
The crazy part is, it seems
That the solution to my abasement
Though well within my clout
Looms just far of my embracement
Motivation! To do the work
For which I have the skill
Seems lacking in my repertoire
As does the supportive shill
Like lavender and lovely, red roses,
they’re meant for your immaculate sweethearts
and their fine, little, delicate noses;
not to damage the most sensitive parts,
or overwhelm the olfactory senses,
bedaub with the finesse of the fine arts,
as love’s a game of great consequences.
Lovers choose on the mere whiff of a scent;
so smell good, or lead to major offenses.
Too much perfume is wholly unpleasant:
a little hint on the neck and the wrist
is enough to smell attractively fragrant;
then don’t offend like a face striking your fist,
if you heed these lines you'll get the main gist.
Night has cast her darkened net
over the sphere of the bold,
gently laying out the black
starred with orbs foretold
Sheets of mist bedaub the earth
glistening strands of green,
second shades stain the trees
daubed with a greying sheen
Golden flowers rise to greet the night
opening their petals of soul,
swaying slowly with no might
within this a story unfolds
Cicadas croon to the southern Imps
it echoes along a tight string,
the grasshoppers not to be outdone
begin to raucously sing
Eventide sweeps across the skyline
in moving shadows of light,
in it dip the sleeves of my soul
within is the body I write
Across the cusp a half moon of life
begins to spill into day,
retreating from the growing bright
down my being must lay
On the streets, mothers grilled guttersnipes,
Not to squeeze runny nose and runaway,
Perchance met by chance,
Sangfroid song is sang by heart,
Just an air breath of dare devil juvenile hector,
A furious broom, soaked inside grub of soil,
And chased until bedaub with blessed syrup,
On the contrary, likely dumped the grim green on the
street,
While keeping odourful astonishment long after,
Some swore that ground should open.
May not tell if lives in a hovel or cave,
A scary terror fleet flit streets stinking bum of the
underworld,
Possessor of all waste, his living chamber are painted
With umber dung with dumber grey and dummy dawn,
Shower rumble and wet sickening dapple flower,
Crawling vine holdsway and stranglehold,
Blood sucking vampire pods looking unhealthy,
And bobbing Piranhas in his muddy crystal ball
aquarium,
Fed soft wobbly creatures with no nose, nonsense and
eyesores,
While Dung Beetles are the beloved pets.