My wife's housekeeping skills are lackluster.
For getting things done, I just can't trust her.
And her oven runs too hot,
and the sole besom she's got
flies only between Salem and Custer.
I caught that crass, old man on the moon
sneak a peak at my naked wife, June.
In anger, I discussed the matter
with my good friend, the mad hatter,
who said, "Ignore. He's just a buffoon."
When it came to the art of rappin',
this kid knew how to make it happen.
The scenes of a dark apocalypse
that gushed forth from his wet, stormy lips
had all souls standing around clappin'.
I'm not that smart; I'm not a wizard.
I have the brain of one, small lizard.
I'm not astute.
I don't compute.
So, mamma always says,"Thank God you're cute."
He does not look up,
he is struggling with a vision of me
that has no roots.
The brush in his small hand
is as thick as a besom
plunged into bone-white paper.
Eyes appear,
burning with love or impatience,
hard to tell.
The outline of a too large a head,
nose, mouth, and eyes,
purple, green and red streaks
adrift in a bubble.
Today I see again
that spaced-out image,
a garish cross-eyed mask
looking this way and that,
as it searches blindly for fatherhood.
“That’s so you!” The besom lassie cries,
And ticks the Like to send a winged
Mercury with laughing smiles.
“Indeed” I reply, frowning brow
Troubled by an existential paradox:
Who else might I be?
Me. Myself. This fragment of life;
Who am I? And why am I not he?
Him, or Her? What ambitions might
I have to be transformed, and live
A doubled life? Begone perplexing
Thoughts, it enough that I am me.
But then the thought creeps in, which
Me am I? There is a me on the inside,
And a me on the outside that others see;
And would I had their eyes, to compare
The two. Maybe the stoater lassie’s right
“That’s so you!” is who I really am.
On a night such as this
A besom seated, flighted Witch
The Maple near an Oak is blowing;
An emboldened Toad on root is croaking.
Halfway down the hillside lawn
The dusk enlightened flowers sulking
As breezes toss the moths about them
Close a Ring that slipped to soil.
A couple sits within this distance
Immune to superstitious nonsense;
Without a costly Ring he'd given,
He'll work just as hard to earn some other!
She sobs unhappy and the day is faded.
(Accent on e in second line "flighted".)
Thou oh man, who caused the kingdoms of this world to tremble and shake!
With wrath continual stroke against the nations raged.
Beneath the rose now entombed, ‘neath starry skies you shall await thy doom.
Blade and flame shall guard thy gates.
Silently shalt thou await thy resurrected fate.
Thou oh man, who caused the kingdoms of this world to tremble and shake!
With thy rod wonderfully thou smote throughout the land treading underfoot thy fellow man.
Thy pomp now brought down and thy scepter broke.
Thou besom of destruction yet no rest shalt thou find!
The kings of this earth shall gloriously in state lie, but thou oh man shall not join thyself to them in eternal state.
Thou oh man, who caused the kingdoms of this world to tremble and shake!
Thy renown once amongst the nations proclaimed now shall to the dust of time remain.
Prepare oh man, the earth hath opened itself for thy fate awaits.
A West Saxon King of Wessex and grace
He dealt with the Danes a convincing deface
Father of Navy and military blow
A legalised system the people should Know
Nation divided the Danes bowed to truce
Example in history for Robert the Bruce
Before this great stand 870 anon
He fought with the Danes 9 battles not one
Three elder of brothers fought till they died
Their wounds from the battle for Alfred did cry
During the wars in the marshes and mist
Alfred did hide and men did enlist
Athelney Marsh the bravest remained
A muiscal lyre for Danes he refrained
Marching and planning the lady of lakes
Thought and great planning he burnt all her cakes
Beaten by besom for burning the grate
She fell to her knees in humble prostrate
Stumbling on but lost on the Heath
Broach of gold lace that Alfred had sheathed
The Danes flag of battle broken and torn
A truce with old Guthrum eventually born
All is at rest for subjects now prove
Schooling begins and the hunger removes
His wife Ethelwulf with Nation at peace
Religion and taxes Westminister keeps
The Navy rebuilt and challenge at sea
Alfred for saint now rumoured by me
Ian Foley
THE WINDS OF SASKATCHEWAN
They blow miniature drifts of summer sand through your car door crack
They sweep up the fall leaves faster than any broom or besom
Their hiss in October tells you, “Hey, winter’s coming, just listen!
They send hard snow drifts across the road to surprise you on a dark night black
But
The perfume of the wind hints that spring is here, and flowers
The smell of the breeze after two month’s drought says, “At last, some showers!”