I was not always this clever, this funny, this incredibly smart
But it is two a.m. somewhere, and I am hilarious; it is my art.
Weirdly, I was not in any way exciting before I got to this bar.
But now I am unbelievably witty, ask my buddy, his name is Gar.
Aren’t I witty, Gar? Aren’t I pretty? Aren’t I fabulously humorous tonight?
He thinks so, believe me, though he cannot sit upright.
I am getting younger every second, my face is clearing up too.
Hilarity is my middle name; now where is my stupid shoe?
But wait, honey, aren’t I funny? The bartender is closing down the bar.
Whiskey is improving my looks. Now where’s my stupid car?
A simple sonnet
The tramp, who sits on a low ledge, near the entrance of the
modest supermarket that sells basic food fruit and vegetable
and to my surprise, has a good selection of wine, is ageless
The tramp- perhaps a wrong word- has a dark brown outdoor face, his hands a dark brown too, and the rest of him is covered in an old jacket and denim trousers.
He is reading a newspaper, eating from an open packet of biscuits and drinking from a bottle of water, our tramp doesn't do begging, but shoppers often give him foodstuff, apples and
bananas; which he acknowledged with a thank you but without servility; exudes a warm friendliness that soothed the many struggling with everyday life.
There is talk of closing down the relic from the eighties, after Christmas when the nice tramp disappears for a few weeks
platypus features
greasepaint pallor weirdo clown
red nose big honker
outlandish shoes flail around
crazy hairdo balding crown
eyes evoke pathos
whitewashed face a haunting frown
empty seats again
last show in his frilly gown
tattered circus closing down
TATTERS Poetry Contest
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1947 Ford and Chevys passing striding horses
identical street cars at the corner
shops with piling in people
purses swinging in the rain
street clocks announcing four thirty
minions off work walking toward home
bicyclist meeting motorcyclist
Peel and St Catherine are alive
I watch from my window
two tandem horses
wearing blinders
having no idea what is happening
plain colored umbrellas at attention
drizzling rain out there
mostly adults yet one teen
Montreal is closing down for the day
come down in the afternoon
we can walk to places where joy and laughter used to be
we can make new memories as we enjoy the charm of new beautification
come down in the afternoon
i can show you a waterfall that will take your cinnamon scented breath away
after that experience, perhaps we can take an excursion or three to see more
come down in the afternoon
i have the perfect flower for your perfectly natural baby fro
it will expound further on the effervescent radiance of your overall natural beauty
come down in the afternoon
that lemonade/apple cider spot is closing down permanently at the end of this summer
we can enjoy the ice cold cherry apple cider one last time
come down in the afternoon
it is always a pleasure and an honor to be in the presence of your esteemed company
though a couple we will never be, our friendship is a Rare Diamond Buried In Our Time....
Bistro blowhards jump around in Johnny time
Bota bing bota bang Bota bang bota bing.
Dendrites are clicking, where did they get teeth?
Who invited them anyway? Gray matter coughs.
Fishnet stockings fairly frolic along my brain highway.
My soul shuts herself off, not wanting involvement.
I am on pizazz power; polka dotted persimmon pot pie.
No one better ask me anything or even give me a look.
What’s happening? My eyes wonder. They are on fire.
My throat is tight, wearing a girdle of ridiculousness.
I keep my mouth in a straight line, figuring out nothing.
Sharing no secrets or ideas, closing down for self-protection.
Luscinian voices in the thicket of a midnight waltz
single male birds singing from a point of solitude
closing down on city sounds inside a forest vault
the sound of their vocals, nightingale's prelude
calling in mates with whistles, trills and sounds
sending messages of longing from across the throng
listening from cup-shaped nests, eager to be found
they wind up feeling drawn by their melodious song
she, awake as the dawn and free as a bird in the sky
he, as cuffed to her beauty as the wings on her back
they mate on a branch as soft as a nightingale's sigh
away from the songsters, who are trying but lack
luscinian voices singing softly of dawn's pure glory
two nightingales sharing life and love's true story .
June 11, 2021
we sit more than we walk
we think less than we talk
abandoning our evolution
legs are something we're not using
office blocks use finger tips
we sit, we type use phones and lips
eyes are used as we blindly consume
unnatural light in every room
hunting's not something we do
creating is for just a few
bacteria that we can't see
has changed our whole reality
us human beings top the tree
the middle and the bottom we also be
with germs always our company
closing down each country
we've never been to the floor of the seas
and we don't know how to cure disease
when we're young we are dependent
growing old lose independence
with belief a narcissist holds
we choose to think we are evolved
Closing down sale
A big thank you to all our customers
From a store that sold only beds
Came an advert in my email,
50% off everything
This is a closing down sale.
So I bought a double bed
Taking the assistants advice,
But the delivery van brought a single
50% off the bed, not the price.
COVID-19
On our planet suddenly appears,
A pandemic so fierce
That literally seem untameable
Holding people hostage without weapon
Restricting our gatherings to fifty
Mouthlessly closing down borders
And microscopically sapping our economy
Fuels boredom to raise its ugly head
As we no longer watch Messi’s magic
Nor see Ronaldo shake the net
Hitherto, spreading its tentacles across the global circumference
Sending fear into the spine of the brave
Just at the sound of a sneeze
A villainous viral virus
Victorious the human race has been over and over
This cannot be an exception
A Moses will be here sooner
To make the world cross over this viral red sea
And deliver its inhabitants from COVID-19 plaguing time
In all these things, we are more than conquerors.
YEMI AFOLABI, IBADAN, NIGERIA. +2348037750808 yemiafolabi66@gmail.com
Why not make a real difference?
By mending broken down walls and fences.
Instead of defacing personal and business property.
Recognizing people and their business need the
freedom to operate them. A healthy and productive
economy, Complete with equal employment opportunities
Is beneficial to all of our countrymen and country women.
They feel they are being surrounded by walls
of hatred, and bigotry. Black people need to
have the responsibly of freedom. By respecting
the rights and privileges of all people, tribes
and tongues. Those of us who are white.
Realize the need for social justice and equality for
Black Americans.
Why not make a difference? Each in our own words,
and each in our own ways! Locking and closing down
our country. When your voices have been heard
is counter productive! The time has come to mend,
fences, walls and bridges not to tear them down!
We are all in this together. United we stand, but
divided we fall!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
July 02, 2020
The Gathering Time
Sweltering cloying wet heat.
Gladiolas in bunches displayed along the roadside by their handlers,
Covered only by sheets at night, restless, waiting for a breeze.
Beef steak fruit, sweet corn, black diamond melon sweetness.
Then without warning
The hint of it appears.
The dawn coolness laden with fallen dew.
The subtle changing fragrance of the air then dissipates towards noon,
Only to reappear more vivid in its message of fragrance upon the next awakening.
Flies now gathering on the kitchen window sills in the sun.
Still crystalline blue sky.
Greenness of shimmering leaves-but only for now.
Tassels now bend over the crisp, sun-burned leaves sheltering corn.
Red fringe to sumac covering the hillsides.
The closing down of summer soon at hand -
The gathering time for reflections and nuances of emotion and desires,
We come together to bask in the sun – waiting.
Adrift
Time and space closing down
Shuttering the light.
Where do people go
Whenever that is
when present becomes past?
The things they carry with them
May just wink out like the embers of a fire at end,
Without any lingering luminescent images.
Or maybe those mirage like images linger in space,
To be carried in the mind’s eye
Of those left behind, until finally fading into the mists of time gone by.
Covid 19
Covid 19
Pandemonium erupts
Toilet paper is king
Churches are cancelling
The choirs cannot sing
Covid 19
Covid 19
The last known hand sanitizer
Has been stolen out of the hands of a dead woman
A woman who was alive when she picked it up
But the man had an ax and was not afraid to use it
Covid 19
Covid 19
Schools are closing down fast and hard.
People are buying all the peanut butter they can carry
Family reunions are being cancelled
And brides and grooms are not allowed to marry
Covid 19
Covid 19
Such a pandemic of thoughtlessness
I had previously never seen
The level of angst and fear so high
The atmosphere quite mean
Covid 19
Covid 19
My heart is heavy today for the children so young
Who have no idea that celebrating no school is eventually going to be no fun
For one day they will have to make up what they miss today
Most likely their summer vacation they will have to pay
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