After stepping out of the forest river,
the jaguar’s dripping.
So subtle, the drops, so clear, they nearly disappear.
The painting looks real, but the frame is too small
to depict the mass - don’t tempt your safety with touch.
Funny, the puddle that forms on the art place floor.
A slippery slope to instigate an investigation. Instead,
carefully slide your feet and plant them beside the vegetation.
The jaguar might look the other way. He sees his next victim
approaching, encroaching, crouching, couching his fear.
The curious fellow touches wet paint…
and just like that, he ain’t…
Backstitch
scratch mine
scratch thine
Straight Stitch
boring
snoring
French Knot
pie-eyed
tongue tied
Satin Stitch
glossy
bossy
Feather Stitch
ruffled
plumage
Slip Stitch
escape
artist
Fly Stitch
Help me!
Help me!
Couching Stitch
stick in
the mud
Blanket Stitch
under
cover
Soldiers never tire of “Yes Sir”!
Forgetful lips a long storm stir,
Disciplinary frog jumps for an hour
Or a free fall from a waiting tower.
Soldiers love Ear-Dividing “Yes Sir!”
You lower yours you’ve robbed them their fur;
No defaulter who won’t seem damned sour,
The Newest Bride might just lose her flower.
Solider could never stop feeding on force
At short notice quite ready for a course
They should want to ascertain its source
With a clearly disinterested horse!
Soldiers keep to the mischief of slouching
Towards a quarry by some fireside crouching.
So, why should one ever be heard vouching
For a shaky honor in innocent words couching?
Demons
Here, far away from East
Bowed down in comfort chair
Elbows anchored to the knees
Hands couching head and hair
There, far away from West,
Now in the clench of dark.
Heavy against horizon’s chest,
Mourning silhouettes, stark.
Lights extinguished by hate
Burning out one by one
Exhaustion smothering wait
Dreams will not see the sun
Homeward, on an hungry belly
En-route a quick long trek, perhaps
It’s the hard day-after-day norm
And the poor little boy is mind-full
He deserves some respite–
and even more
If only to furnish a compleat cycle
But, couching in an utopian suite,
was miles from the priority–
‘twas scarce and sparse;
like rainfall in the Sahara
Maybe it had to be invented-
a make-shift
Not a very likely pick really:
Plastered with harmattan dust
Everywhere strewed with literature
and scrap
and other features
of sanguine entropy
But no more of pleasurable comfort
Howbeit, with serenity and quietude,
it was his choice
Preferred above the Burj
Such was the incubator his mind reveled in -
Sandwiched like a worm in a book
in the tranquility of darkness
And when the dawn enters
It does with refreshing enthusiasm,
For there was enriching activity
in father’s room
I was
Pondering neigh in a distance
Got no one to hold on to
Grief is couching my heart
Devouring in perplex moments
Not in solitude
Nay intrusion
But in Orion’s distance
Once, even once
Perpetuates your caring image
That passionate smile
Trenches a loving hello
Oozing with life
A magic touch
I live
* Ey, gt d cr kys…m mtg ^ wd d crw ds f-dy nyt…
ur brgr pak s in d ref.
-----
I’m hitting the breeze, painting the town red
fine leather and stockings dressed
with rockin’ gal friends in tow
The car scoots on Friday night’s bar near west
dance steps, cocktails whirl jazz lights…
while you’re TV couching
-----
*Hey, got the car keys… I’m meeting up with the crew
this Friday night… your burger pack is in the ref.
Text Talk Contest of David Williams
'twas this sun, our noble hunter -
who gave the roar of his hoarse voice
couching before our queen, the moon
couching with many rays of songs!
& his sharp eyes did like some prodigals
beckon the benevolence of a rustic mistress -
o, late came the regency laughters like bells
ringing deeply into the ears of niger damsels;
nature suffocates as creation suffers disasters -
are the deeper palaces of my niger goddess
now a tumult of a myriad of our sun-burnt stars
lingering with some fears, tears & laughter-songs?