Roses grew while
Little Lillies likely query quite
Quietly quizzical
Destined to unfold
Lakeside listless ever leary
Bayside wishing wayside
Worrying
Resting by gardens of unknown
Origin to behold. Roses
Rhymes will flood the untold
And believing the best of
Believability have began
Outstanding oscillating oceans
Obviously out of time have
Been omitted from the lines
Of sacred poetry. Is it A sign?
Roses.
Brassy Barry’s boastful bumbling Brana Bull
Badgered Billy’s bashful buffoonish Baboon
Into baking a boisterous Blackberry Bisque
Beyond bunking, Barry’s brave babysitter
boldly bellowed brashly.
Bonafide bamboozlement boasted Brana Bull’s bed buddies.
Beyond bothersome boneheads, Billy Baboon’s buzzards bawled
Baboon’s beautiful baked bonne bouch betwixed buddies and beasts
beautifully, bumping boastful Brassy Barry’s beliefs, which bumbled
on beyond the brink of believability boulder.
Believability and Truthfulness
By Franklin Price
10/6/2018
Believability and Truthfulness
Are often not the same
Politicians, very often,
Think they're only just a name
What happened to those good old days,
When a man's word was his bond?
What could it hurt to stretch the truth
From coast to coast and then beyond?
So far, in this century,
Washington has shown the way
When truth does not produce for them
They try believable to say
Lately that's not working
They've stretched them both until they've popped
It's time to tell the truth again
And this playing games is stopped
If you,ve followed their example,
Lied for your party's hope
You have cursed your reputation
Should have your mouth washed out with soap
I believe the politicians
And the truthful words they say
This stanza writ with fingers crossed
And tongue in cheek today
Magic feels possible in the moonlight,
as shifting shadows morph
into grotesque caricatures,
slip-sliding in and out of reality;
at the fringes of believability.
Enchanted by the allure of moonbeams
children unleash their imaginations,
to pursue fanciful flights of exaggeration.
For monsters and fairies
tethered to the shadows of night
seem ubiquitous in the moonlight!
Luna is an incorrigible sprite:
muse to artists and minstrels alike,
She traverses the fabric of time and space.
And yet, unlike Sol's intense light,
Luna's aura softly glows.
Endowing Man with nocturnal sight
Her light beams from the heavens,
and dances upon sparkling streams.
He struggles with the words, and she can tell
fake emotions are attached to each one.
For tears immediately start to swell
as he confesses to the damage done.
Crocodile tears declare his heart is broke,
crushed by a mix of guilt and second thoughts.
But the dream’s over; it’s time she awoke
and started connecting the trail of dots.
The feel of remorse, like an aching hurt
lends believability to his words.
And yet, this wasn’t an innocent flirt,
and so she frees him, to fly like the birds.
Lost love doesn’t have to morph into hate
when disillusioned hearts share the same fate.
(Sonnet)
July 22, 2018
My actions not taught, learnt
Choices of bliss blind to regret
Inhalation an act of betrayal
Exhalation succumbing a conscience
Unsupervised time; irresponsible beings.
Fear overcome, discipline disappeared
The second eased by the first
My body a temple, tarnished by a whiff
Remarks held true, fall to a lack of structure
Pride spoken, unknowingly.
Morals condemn my sight
Preach do I, with no bearing upon my own
A resonating voice that ably lies
A norm increasing believability
Forgiveness can not be asked until guilt is sequestered.
Precedent welcoming hazards
The clearance of smoke; a lapse to wet my throat
A child who promised to never, seeing forever
Rebellious thrills, consuming potential
Age prepping an inescapable chamber.
Coordination of motions inhibited
Obscenities uttered, consideration discarded
Attention found, with reflectivity
Substances relieved of responsibility by a will
Upbringing questioned, a disappointment mentioned.
Mercury passed in front of the sun today...
The obstinate clouds blocked my view...
Ghosts have lost their believability...
Sadness knocks right on cue...
The lyrics have lost their meaning...
The food has lost it's taste...
The cemetery is empty...
And time is but a waste...
I leave my cigarette burning as I close the lonely door...
The music is still softy playing; but another sad song I can't endure...
The Season Now is Christmas
By Franklin Price
12/17/2015
The Season now is Christmas
There's something in the air
Love and peace I'm feeling
For everyone who's there
I'm saying Merry Christmas
Not Happy Holiday
Such political correctness
Kind of stupid I must say
If not for the birth of Christ
There would not be this Holiday
Whether you believe in him or not
Here's what I have to say
From the humblest of beginnings
To the cross upon the hill
God sent him here to save us
And If we believe he will
But whether you believe or not
Live what he taught to do
Do unto everyone you meet
As you would have them do to you
So Merry Christmas to you
To your friends and family
May your presents be health and happiness
And believability
Love is beautiful as a noun, but it is only believable as a verb.
Isn’t it terrible how some people drive?
Thank God I can walk away from this and stay alive.
This awful episode has left me more than annoyed.
The car is considered totaled now that the air bag is deployed.
As usual, the police and paramedics arrive.
They extract a body from my car that is no longer alive.
I tell them I’m relieved that they are here.
However, my voice is something they don’t hear.
The deceased has an appearance I recognize.
That dead man is me! I don’t believe my eyes!
Wait a minute, what is this I see?
What I am seeing now defies believability:
Angels descending, bring from above,
echoes of mercy, whispers of love.
They flock all around me, and take me by the hand.
These are strange surroundings I don’t understand.
One of the angels tells me it is time to go.
I reply, “Where are we going, I would really like to know?”
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