Daze and days of penmanship
Potent perhaps a touch of sun
Shipshape warming of outlet ink
Ishmael invites a tale; I say: “stowaway”
Stop all blubbering; just get yammering
Yo ho soupmates, we must steer the ship
Stir golden pot of disbelief and brass tacks
Torrential corkscrew pasta, perhaps?
Pish posh of the alphabet riding the waves
Wending its way, each letter to the crew
Conspirators of sonnets, limericks and dust
Dangerous alliteration, elevation and descent
Decidedly dizain, free verse or blank; thats it?!
What's a man to do,
in a world of brass tacks...
and only one shoe?!
date: 2/16/23
Actor
factor
Actress
finesse
Icon
beckon
Stage fright
one’s plight
Playwright
in sight
Big star
goes far
Bit part
false start
Lead role
lifts soul
Star cast
so vast
Screen play
per say
Box smash
makes stash
Huge flop
might drop
Sitcom
Aplomb
Reruns
big guns
series
wearies
Fluffed lines
crowd whines
Encore
for more
Contract
intact
Wide screen
makes scene
Cartoon
at noon
Ghost flicks
use tricks
Broad script
equipped
Big break
I’ll take
Sad film
on whim
Long plot
such rot
Freeze frame
fair game
Lip sync
with kink
Flashback
gets flack
Montage
homage
Ad lib
so glib
Drama
trauma
Vignette
typeset
Time lapse
handclaps
Broadway
heyday
Climax
brass tacks
''
If pink’s no colour, but attitude,
If pink side of the life’s always stood,
If things look so sunny, painted pink,
And if all life’s as precious as mink,
Beauteous as is pink rose,
Everything rosy goes,
If life be the toast but of Champagne,
And all this life’s vital brass-tacks, vain,
From my long slumber I need to wake,
And repaint my life’s rickety rake!
If that sounds well and sane,
Let me live once again.
_________________________________
Couplets |15.06.2021|
Poet’s note: On pink side of life, the poem is set in anapaest meter.
time travel’n peace —
ought we find rather death,
war — tread on me.
funny the face, the companionship
of outer space, the innocence
of the sun and sky.
she still provides
the radiance of warmth;
him the blue or gray stormy eyes.
down ‘low discovery of weeds,
white and yellow petals, bitter tea.
commoners in chicory-chattering.
synchronous chattels, green and tarnished.
wile away withering hours, wemberlies
wheedle into every corner.
down to brass tacks, blowup buses
when school’s back in session
bananas in lunch pail...we’re all going
4/2/2020
wemberlies - worried
brass tacks - essentials
Oh Hillary, dear Hillary what did I hear
Your emails were given without any care
The powers that be have relented this truth
To empower your foes with the absence of couth
Oh Hillary, dear Hillary what did you say
More "glittering generalities" one could absorb in a day
Just listening and knowing that the general facts
Have no fidelity or sincerity when down to brass tacks
Oh Hillary, dear Hillary your words should take heed
Perverting their meaning by twisting their deed
To make claims of human kindness with your heart fully filled
With the ice of deceit and a soul that is nil
Oh Hillary, dear Hillary you seem larger than life
But the facts of the matter are way more than rife
Your little mind, soul and heart is piteous at best
To think you can fool all of us is one naive, shortsighted and ill-advised test!
Oh Hillary, dear Hillary you're like a chick out of its nest
Your posture cannot cure, nor your clothes deceive the best
Of the denizens of state that require you to be strong
When deep down inside you indistinctly don't belong.
(stock up on photons while they last)!
Reduction asper daylight hours to worship
will immediately arise after
2018 North American orbital trip,
viz zits summer solstice (human primal
solar deification) riding astride spaceship
Earth, albeit 6:07 Ante Meridiem
Thursday June 21st noticeably slip
ping thru space beginning to harvest
incremental darkness as Gaia rip
pulls across wrinkle in time
daylight will undermine a loss,
and over the next month approximately jip
ping United States kinsfolk, who revere El Sol
quotidian solar rays, by one hour
and eight minutes (i.e. 4080 seconds),
thence trumpeting seriously
moonlighting re:
getting down to brass tacks business - grip
ping a markedly steadfast advancement,
whence August arrives (watch out),
cuz cutthroat prime rate (zero APR) doth clip,
and clock about two minutes per diem,
quite a substantial blip.
Can I have just one? we'll take this in baby steps
Nevermind the bravado and holding up your rep
You're hogging them all, won't share, that isn't fair
It's so easy to say, now do it stare upon stare
You say you don't care, let's take it to brass tacks
I'm giving you flack, for acting like that
If you give a damn, it proves you're a man
Not taking a stand against something we can't understand
A soul tarnished can still be polished to a bright shine
Anyone can do it if you're in the right mind
Saying you don't, and saying you won't
In a meme or a quote, it just doesn't float
You've sunk your own boat, how long can you swim?
Before the sharks or reality finally sink in?
There are days like these when life patently doesn't come easy
like peas and carrots, tea and biscuits, moonshine & sun's resign,
more so resembling ill-assorted poked chocolates' wrongdoing of
dissemblance discombobulating conceivability mid hokey designed
disorderliness, inasmuch mute poetry impatiently awaiting lavishly
gifted muse's breathlessness to transform convoluted unreasonable
fractals pon escaped tauntingly mundane madness, twixt brass-tacks
wracks daunting tribulations throughout intervals of immoderately
spun matter-of-taxing challenges and perplexing puzzle pieces,
sans instructions far-side nonexistent proportions affixed with sticky
hot glue gun drivel or coffee pathetically absent jolting caffeine...
By the blank firing squad we waited as the soldiers
loaded brass tacks and high angled themselves in
line. Filling the glass lungs stood before that
apathetic gaze, full by the noon day's glare.
Bitter Orange cast across the
metaphors imagery climbing ever higher ;
shadows play on the ground
beneath our feet finding a dance partner
among the gun barrels.
All acrawl beneath the skin , cockroaches bury deep
of the American flag passed from this British Eagle
after liberty w-/ out much royalty to country. English stereotypes
spitting on the union jack discuss Page Three monologues
& the latest Styrofoam protests. Just say a word and Mean it.
Only impressive once the Media took hold in a slow zoom on
the Flash Mob mentality breaking out in frustration.
At a country riddled w-/ apathy and unrequited
eyeball kicks locked in judging show cycles , especially
in ink, grasping for the straw to break the camel's back.
If only to go over the edge , finally going Mad ,
always, teetering on the brink . One foot in the gutter
& in the other in Flintstone-esque traffic. Now
I'm sure no one's written that before . Left right
on my mark, Aim &
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