I sing Shahana Bahar, a malody of delight.
It echoed aloud, Marwa, music of sadness-filled plight
I laugh aloud and I hear it back as a scary scream
My gleam of glee turns into hallucinatory dream
Each false virtue that I hate haunts me like a hounds unbound.
Trust and mistrust amalgamate and make meaningless sound.
The impressions I form to attract all, impress no one
Amidst my endless fights, no inner battles I have won.
Efforts that give the illusion of success often fail.
Why does fate prompt me to upset the boat when I still sail?
Convictions are converted into crude catastrophes.
Punctuations of quotations close as apostrophes
With silences of bridge, ledge, and edge, badge, bodge, and budge clash
Amidst pitch dark clouds torches of light as thunderbolts flash
Sounds of church bells peal from graves where tolling knells are hidden.
Though echoes sound true, is disclosure of truth forbidden?
Categories:
bodge, confusion, life, truth,
Form: Rhyme
If I ran a hairdresser’s I’d call it ‘curl up and dye’
I think it’s a very clever name, you can see the reason why
If I was a carpenter I’d be called Mr Wood
My sign would read ‘Mr Wood would fix it if he could’
If I was a glazier I’d be called ‘ I know your pane’
So if you broke a window, you’d soon shout out my name
If I was a DIY man I’d call myself ‘Bodge it and Scarper’
I guess that’s not such a good idea!
Categories:
bodge, humorous, jobs,
Form: Rhyme
I feel like an expired crouton when not penning
On a soup bowl where spoons are all reeling
They would scribble like steam and taste what is read
Through minutes and hours, still they are not enough fed
As overnight alphabets brew from dandy stewing
Soup bowl has spices, purees and great presentation
And finest herbs with glories extract dollars and a donation,
The best sauce boils till TPS chef rams into a bodge glitch
There’s a fly on soup, error shuts down from techno ditch
Curdling word-ingredients; spoons like me burn in frustration!
©
. . .. .
David William’s Life Without Soup
By nette onclaud
Categories:
bodge, imagination, on writing and
Form: Rhyme
Pills from the doc
His opinion one cannot mock
Need to take the meds
Designed to fix bad heads
Invented by boffins
To save many coffins
The meds we take
Enough to decorate a cake
Do we feel well
Do we hell
Meds are a bodge
Nickname is now podge
Big and round
Gained more than a pound
If only we knew
Fat and no one to screw
Motivation all askew
Can’t drink the brew
Aimless and un-driven
Fed up with livin
Find a purpose for it all
Life has become very small.
Categories:
bodge, angst, happiness, health, life,
Form: I do not know?