Best Harlequins Poems
Two Martians went on a blind date
They agreed to meet at half eight
Dressed as harlequins
They looked like two twins
Them meeting was just down to fate
They sat down and ordered some beer
Drank it up and were soon full of cheer
They went to a star
Which wasn’t too far
And agreed Mars had no atmosphere
They decided to visit our earth
Most earthlings gave them a wide berth
A photo was taken
The image is makin’
A fortune - just think of its worth!
Both settled in the US of A
Martians friends came on a holiday
Wearing such clever disguise
They look like regular guys
Area 51 is where they stay
Subject Mars – Joe Maverick
07~05~15
"Buddy Breathing"
Ten leagues below
the bed of the ocean in my heart,
strange creatures exist,
they guard the gate
of all things that
have past
the sound of their existence
is strange music for strange creatures,
words are not written, nor are they spoken,
mute hearts bleeding and eyes wide open
masks are worn down here, like soft harlequins
glistening sharp diamonds
they carry forgotten meanings in ever resilient silence,
the trick in the eyes is not to open;
we somehow breathe down here
it’s called buddy breathing.
we try to think of the poetry
in life, remembering the bliss
in our purposeful being,
the oxygen bubbles God bless,
sometimes rise to the surface;
we like to think we are all friends;
some immortalise us
while we die from the bends.
we prayer for miracles
like the 2nd coming
sweet kisses
sharks teeth
colophons
and unblessed
un-nun-like
sisters
Candide Diderot. ‘25
"Swiftly walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear, —
Swift be thy flight!"
(Percy Bysshe Shelley)
****
"I’m blowing further away
This storm is gaining force
Now it’s tripping the waves
How can I test this water
The stars have their say
I shouldn’t admit this but
My heart starts to stray
I’ve tasted white light
Willows weeping
I’ve tasted love songs
Angels sleeping
Fever's breaking
Wild waves
Leaves are raking
I pray to the Saint of all that’s lost
And in the finding curse uncrossed
Wait for the sun to come undone
Signalling me
Out to sea
I’ve tasted Saturn
Seagulls screaming
I’ve tasted shotguns
Apostles dreaming
Fever's breaking
Wild waves
Legs are shaking
I pray to the Saint of all that’s lost
And in the finding curse uncrossed
Wait for the sun to come undone
Signalling me
Out to sea
Out to sea"
(Elysian Fields, "Out to Sea")
"Her Mind is a Carnival of Picasso Harlequins"
Walking through the poetic frames of featureless ghosts
her fingers play like harps their ectoplasmic cages
strange symbols that clang the frivolity of vacuumed cleaned emptiness
dissolving in the invisible time wasted in the chronicles of their newfound empires
the meaning of their spectral presence swings
like canaries singing home all their honeys sweetly
it’s all bluebirds entertaining the wisdom of lovelorn owls watching on
like they are azure feathered blind mice adorned with halos,
while the carnal vultures smile winging it above them all in prayer circles predatory
“her tongue is an arena of silent conflicts”
her mind is a carnival of Picasso harlequins
balancing the trapeze, the affairs of a wild heart
scorched and stinging with fragments of cubist love collages
arriving like ashes within the flames of her phoenix stages;
some newly burnt Aphrodite.
elements closer to reality than the abstractions of geometry
CandideDiderot. ‘25
A LETTER TO MY FIRST CRUSH
My Dearest Kevin
My hands shake nervously as I write this letter
The fountain pen drips the ink in heart-shapes
Pieces of my heart as it reach out to you
I just want you to know that loving you isn’t easy
My dozen of Harlequins and my entire Mill @ Boon
collection
Have'nt prepared me
To deal with a player like you
I heard it through the grapevine,
That you are heartbreaker and womanizer
With only one thing on your adolescence mind
My grandmother always told me, that
Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free
My grandma is a wise woman
More like a heroine in my eyes
I am the heroine of my life
More like a Nancy Drew
without a clue on how to love you
I am never satisfy, I am curious
And mysterious
However I am very chary
Kind of gal
^
I do believe that
I am in love with you today
However,
I might hate you tomorrow
Because you never know with a secret admirer
To the man I love today
They are nothing more than I can say.
I will wait for your reply my love
. “The Artistic Style-lings of a Synthetic Cubist”
Friends help scratch
Harlequins
itch
SECOND PLACE WINNER 6-25-09
Pablo Picasso’s “Three Musicians”
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Musicians
Entered in Brian Strands “Septimal Fun Contest"
(itch) refers to his musical aptitude
Where diamonds shape a lantern
harlequins are taunted in jest,
which inaugurates the conviction
attracting an upheld stance.
They stare like a drastic mistake;
thinking it was a corn snake.
Warily, from side to side, surprise!
one way or the other fully fixed;
around those surrounding sceneries
hypnotic is the way its eyes transfix.
It nullifies a moment to the ground
container-like as bulbous ends disturb
like a death's-head rattling sound,
by this inconspicuous perrenial herb.
It is limp to the elusive sun approach
dictating to the forty five degree-
holds head as moments waiting there,
gardeners probe this mauve naivety.
It deceives so contrarily it contrives
I guess that's how fritillary survives.
Pivotal not to pivot a pickled pig. Playing in a plait. No no plastic garments. Ha said a garden ornament. Release of structure. Sky dance. Planes move like a huge whale. Motionless static of a hairy bee. Leaning on a gate. Harlequins have hairy horses humping hyenas hastily happily.vandals van hop. And a ship waves at a passing tray full of blooms. Go in the oven then. One two three. Pod of podiums. Hahahaha said a field mouse. Oh to the wandering tree bark who makes it's bed in a vestibule of yogurt. But it is best to be a wire basket than a sealed basement cat as caps can be launched from very tall beams and dogs say hello to a tiny worm in a miniskirt. Hahahaha. Cornish crabs craving crayons. Nefarious nun neighing. Investigations into an ants nest is akin to jumping into baths full of baked beans and tomatoes. But with timely cue a fashionable basketball wears a hat and speaks a sentence of one hour. A centipede of iron is never happy with a sandwich of onions. Yet one must extinguish a large burning combustible fire with an ice lolly. Indescribable atomic orbs gathering grapes. Slinging a bowling bow then. Wisdoms of wheels. Rolling a duck egg. Very very heavy toil. And brush a yard with a toothbrush. Hahahaha epidermisation xxxx z. At a 0 % * gone. Xxxx. Domestic dome. Xx
TOM THE TATTERS MAN
The sidewalk creaked the old-ship-creak, cracking away a gorge at last;
asphalt split like wood, split-fast and bastions and toilets ------
overflowing fast; flooding through the deep dark cracks:
the Drunken Dance
Tom the Tatters Man, Tom and Ned ------- drowned whiskey white
wreaking around where harlequins astound; with wine and clowns
and nothing but buzzards around ------ they shot them all down,
they drank while death danced in their hands, heaving and hawing
til their heads swam
Alleys here and there strewn with vagabond boxes, boxed like shoes
too tight to make the fit ------ they'd all given up on the fix of life
every last one; the eldest and the young,
beggars all
Skyscraper shadows make a house of steely-steel thatched roofs
steely rust upon the alleyway proofs, the back is cold and stiff upon
morning whiffs....
of molten garbage
Defeat
Tom the Tatters Man did not despair, while here and there
molten garbage everywhere ------ in his socks and shoes,
molten in his mouth despite a tune, as he rose up and flinched
his morning love; a shot of whiskey at nine o'clock
Never make deals with devils or run from them fight tooth and nail strike the root kill the stem who rides Dark wooden trails poet’s wild hunt crossing paths light shatter the cold front riding a goat, great red beard with goat's hooves evil’s king many cloven slippers behooves storm of lies hold truth as bosom’s bride showing as angel of light but death hides Beneath the willows of time in alder realms dark past under the flowering wicker’s elm night rituals try to reclaim what is not theirs hounds run devil-may-care Harlequins dare krampus jolly olé nick Binding birch whip eight legged lies bloody tongue does drip * - based upon Erlking, Der Erlkönig and his supernatural death
The color wheel spins
in the month of May
with every shade of green on display.
The moss mixes in dark spring emerald spreads
avocado ferns feathering asparagus sea breeze heads,
Erin kelly limes flash neon harlequins in the air
Grass lawn malachites sway a chartreuse pear glint
olive jaded myrtles mix in mantis mints
flow with sea-green pine shamrock tints.
All spinning
on the scene
with the color wheels of green.
sheets of light from times that’ve passed &
(patterns of events
that try to circumvent)
clichés dancing ‘pon the looking glass
(original overcast clouds
placing bets upon the rent)
where places drift along the sea
(introverted romantic something somethings
being labeled criminal)
as Dali’s clocks did drip & tease &
(whilst the hoity-toity high society harlequins
are dubbed seminal)
from the egg his wife did come
(merely chatter, merely filler,
merely wasted time is found)
along the beach a silent song
(when original tunes are ignored
for those tramping round the town)
a place to run when problems come
(be them neon, be them glitter,
be them televised in the day)
insanity claims the sanest ones
(nothing molds so well so to exploit,
better than the softest clay)
still as the snow covers all the tracks &
(full of figureheads & liars getting up to the pulpit
to say their piece)
all one’s life’s packed in a sack
(like genitals on the slab
seething sores & bearing yeast)
the quicker all the lot is done
(telling torrent tales of tortured lands &
faces they’ll never know)
the sooner death for everyone
(using everyone as bargaining chips
just to gain a few more pounds)
but is the dream one’s having now
(smoking cigarettes to bear the look
of some hollywood glammy putz)
any different from a walkabout?
(streaming show suits & ill-gotten gains,
twisting, turning in the lutz)
another clue, another quiz,
another care for an idiot.
See the bright lights of the Carnaval.
I wander with the marvels
In of my sights of beautiful balloons,
stuffed animals capers
popcorn reeks
cotton candy melts
I see the rides, twirl
I feel the fortunetellers, tell
I see lights blaze, bright
apples dripped in forbidden spice, nice
The fire eaters drink the flame
The clowns dance the dance of fools
The carousel creatures grin sinisterly
Ferris wheels spins
Feeling the screams of the thrill seekers
Ice cream melts, runs, in the warm evening
Gerrish banners flying, high flapping absently
Freaks babble nonsense
Laughter fills the twilight
Treading thinly on hysteria
In the distance stands a tall tent starkly
A place of the damned,
Twisted are the freaks
Crowds milling like drones
In the masses a figure stands, darkly
Wondering among the sights
Playing games of chance
Thrill seekers scream echoing delights
A carnival in spin my world in turn
I wonder with apathy
I see what the road has for tragedy
The ferris wheels spin
Carousels twirl
The monsters whirl
Something grins
On harlequins grease stains run
I tread on the edge of sanity
I feel something come
Seeing the bright lights,
Dark of the night,
Feeling crowds of the Carnival...
The face behind the harlequins gaze
hides the scars of yesterdays man.
Born in an Attercliffe slum
in the rags of fathers graft,
with a pencil for a voice
stolen from milk mans note.
A boy in possession of an imagination
and no future
Who can still see a glimmer in the rust
buried in the abandoned steel works,
lost in council’s regeneration
of a green field sites that now offers
the quest for a four leaf clover.
This gift can be a lonely thing
in a world of regimented minds.
Inspiration needs a partner
for every word is a journey.
Writing belongs to my addiction
and my love
for the glorious water of Scotland.
For a single malt can make a man hear
the ghosts from the past.
The fear of being the scruffiest lad at school
leaves a generals memory of war
bullies and a pregnant girls shame.
A school is a flag that I shall not pass
for its contents means nothing to me.
The wood that that lost its view
to the Stalag of tomorrow’s drones
Can only cry in silence.
But I who was born in its shadow
found solitude and my fortress
Inside a tent of twigs
in a cold uncaring world.
My soul could never connect with
the wage packet teachers
who are as forgetful as me.
The boy who found his dreams
In the cover of the oak.
Whose presence still remembers
the torn book of Sassoon
thrown into the brambles discarded,
as the generation within it was.
I am the voice whose audience was the wood
and applause came from imagination,
though the spirits of the past looked on.
The immortality of silence
is only a pretender.
For it shouts within my soul of past memories,
Of a ghost I do not know
existing in the denial of god.
A being that time cannot touch.
And long after I am dead ,
the wind will carry this immortal feather
and in its dance a ghost will be seen.
Looking for a stolen pencil
and a torn book that nobody reads.
Asian invasion,
what's the occasion?
Why you getting in my house?
Harlequin romance?
You've had your last chance;
turning the page on that louse.
Ladybug cousin;
similar, doesn't
know how to act, sometimes bites!
Strange little beetle,
read my decretal:
get ready, here comes a fight!
----------
Harmonia axyridis are known by many names, including Asian beetles and Harlequins.
This is an Alouette:
Meter: 5, 5, 7, 5, 5, 7
Rhyme Scheme: a, a, b, c, c, b
LET GO (Song )
Let go of multi-coloured cloaks
of rage, of gloat
frothy waves let go
wild, naked...
just so, just so
Mountains watch fields of
wheat let go
of chaff in wind
Sun lets go of light to
present lovely luminous night
( CHORUS x2
Let go, let go, make spaces
for bounties of aces
show your limbs, toes
slender or slow, oh oh oh )
Skulls encapped with sequins
let go of maddening minds
looking for harlequins
they embrace silly places
Be friend, not foe
Glow, nigh or high, no sigh
see afresh what Life offers
everything that climaxes must proffer
( CHORUS x2
Let go, let go, make spaces
for bounties of aces
show your limbs, toes
slender or slow, oh oh oh )
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song2021