An Alliterative Pursuit Of A Lover
I will firstly frankly forwardly forthrightly fastidiously befriend you.
Then I will completely correctly courteously candidly chastely court you.
Then whencesoever I have wonderfully wackily warmly wooingly won wed you,
I’ll be free to laughingly longingly lustily lecherously lasciviously licentiously lengthily ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly ~ly
Gladly gently graciously gratefully gallantly grandly greatly love you forever.
If you have never felt the lure of the desert,
you cannot understand why people like me
prefer to be surrounded by sandy dunes.
An inexplicable lure, that acts like a drug.....
Until I was kidnapped by four senile Bedouins.
There was nothing senile about their guns.
Courteously I was led into their tent
built near a small oasis. I was fed, sort of.
And then the entertainment began.
From behind the curtains, someone strummed
a melody of eastern music, eerie and mysterious,
but still unpleasant to my ears.
Two men performed a sword dance.
Then a lovely female dancer took the stage.
In the dim light, the air was smoky with hookahs,
she stood in the middle of the tent,
The music climbed slowly in a crescendo,
her dance matched the rhythm, slow to fast.
I wonder why she did not interest me.
I was more concerned about the weapons
Aimed idly at me. Someone handed me a drink,
like nectar. I drank and drank and drank.
The end came, abruptly.
I woke up groggily,
and was sent to the nearest town.
The senile Bedouin smiled:
"The desert has its beauty, my friend.
But be careful. You can get lost."
Still, the lure of the desert will always beckon.
I am that grass you love.
Green or yellow, I am.
Brown, sometimes, I am, and
On me, your animals feed.
Greener, your life I make.
To make shelters, you use me,
To prettify your parks, you shrub me, and
To produce compost and oxygen.
Your gardens’ beds, I create.
Myriads of creatures, I host.
With me, you surround yourself
Greenly attractive to look.
To make an extra buck, you need me.
As your low spot, you use me.
Today, courteously, plant and feed me.
Even if you will dispose of me,
Just like a mere green waste.
That grass you treasure, I remain.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
The sun had been courteously shining,
But disappeared progressively.
The clouds became dark and rushing;
I heard several thunderous thunders.
Small and scattered drops of rain started falling.
Then, it started raining and pouring;
With no umbrella, I compacted my paces.
I was critically soaked but paddled forward.
I became like a homeless dog in a desert,
Roaming around with no company;
I was devastated, completely desperate
On a foreign land, like in a mangrove.
No one to talk to, except my inner person
That called for death, but it never came.
I cried, I moaned and sniffled over and over.
My small heart was quickly pumping.
All my tears were wiped by the rain.
Choiceless, I seemed to like that shower,
Though it disturbed my journey.
In loneliness, my legs were wobbling.
I sat on a wanderer’s huge stone,
Bent my head on both my knees.
I recalled the days of good weather,
But I was optimistic to get dry someday.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile.
Shiiish
They plugged their ears
then taped eyes shut
such their lips were likewise sealed
they stayed at home
shopped online
for hats and shoes for deals
They closed their doors
then closed their minds
left all that trouble outside
skimmed the channels
perused the net
stayed awake till half past five
They heard nothing
or offered opinion
avoiding all current controversies
agreeing where necessary
smiling courteously
indulged in selfish photography
They died as it were
without warning or fuss
t'was announced on social media
Maggie and fred
were missing and dead
from googling and Hypoglycaemia
The poem with no name.
There is a black raven at my tail, as I walk down the street;
It foretells me my tale will no longer taste so sweet.
The end is nigh, I hear from upon high;
In darkness I hear, the shriek of the beast.
I am coming to meet you, my maker;
Are you sure you are ready to meet me?
I will courteously scream at you, what have you taken away?
My life, your judgment; what a price to pay!
Too short was this living; your retort had better be good!
No I don’t understand! Who on Earth could?
This darkness you befell upon me is bitter indeed;
Without you to blame and scream at, what have I left to bleed?
A soul snatched from this world and elevated beyond this life;
In God’s eyes I find meaning, to my premature demise.
What countless men before me, have suffered the same fate?
I see two angels at God’s shoulders; I guess he sent his Devil away.
I kneel before benevolence and beg for forgiveness.
The voice of angel’s raise my spirit;
Their songs of joy are relentless.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
I act courteously around him;
dress lightly to enjoy summer breeze;
he sees my tongue licking my lips in the sun;
I gaze at him lazily, and sigh gently as the ocean breeze
blows my dress;
"she wants to make love", is all I read deep in his eyes......
You are supposed to stop your car when the light is red.
Drive carefully; there is no exception for it today.
A vulnerable pedestrian can wind up dead.
Injured street crossers have to be taken away.
I cannot express the importance of what I say.
The importance of safe driving is not beyond your comprehension.
An accident is anything but a pleasant scene.
Pedestrians will pay the price if you don’t pay attention.
Courteously yield when a street crosser is seen.
Proceed only when the traffic light is green.
Several years ago, I came close to becoming a fatality crossing Pacific Avenue
in Atlantic City, NJ. Someone in a hurry to get to work tried to beat a red light.
Silent- head down low
Eyes flickering away
Emotions masked so they won't show
Biting your tongue day after day
Polite smiles and gestures
Careful thoughts only spoken
Honest conversations rarely a pleasure
To keep traditions from being broken
Guilt at judgments that spill
Anger at being restrained
Lying's a necessary skill
Inconvenient truths are detained
We're 'polite' and 'courteous'
By looking away; through deceit
I find that ironic and rather humorous
But 'manners' and tradition you can't beat
I hate driving
I hate what it does to me
I strive to be better
And behave courteously
But the second
The car door slams
I feel myself change
Into a different man
I lose my communication skills
Speaking in gestures
Or coded messages on the horn
That don’t relieve the pressure
Driving makes me intolerant
Impatient and aggressive
It makes me angry
Selfish and abusive
I hate driving
I hate what it does to me
It fills me with rage
For every thing I see
Note: To the tune of "Little Drummer Boy"
Come, they sold me, to Macy’s this year
The perfect gifts await for holiday cheer
I’ll push and shove my way through the crowd
Cuss if I don’t succeed, for crying out loud
Stomp on feet of shoppers with my heels
Clear a path to line's front as everyone reels
Bent o’er in pain they grouse, “Who is this cruel witch?”
And I scream back to them in a very high pitch
To reach fine gifts I create travesty
Then single-handedly grab the last Nativity
Baby Jesus is smiling at me
What have I done to find Thee
Done to find Thee
Sadly, I glimpse back at those I’ve attacked
And hand the manger scene to one farther back
The truest gift we find is not on the shelves
We’ll never find this gift within our lost selves
If we forget to share the holiday joys
With shopping schemes and ill-conceived ploys
Make way for kinder shoppers courteously
To find the greatest gift called humanity
Just leave the shops behind and visit your church
And bow before His grace from the pew as you perch
Baby Jesus is smiling at me
For now I’ve found Thee
Now I’ve found Thee
Season of our Savior soaring saintly
Passions of his purpose popping plainly
Christmas and his christenity, cruising courteously
The thunder had shoved from sleep
What would the soul’s anchor seem:
So deep and falling men’s fears are
When eyes no buoyancy provide.
The trees, conspiratorially hissing,
Exhorted, it seemed, the angry
Masses of air that I knew now the
Storm that was early rumored in wind.
The heavy slugs of rain tore
Open the flesh of the ground and
Mud ran everywhere, and me,
In some hotel room, by kisses
Gunned down.
Yes, I had seen all this early
In dark battalions westward
Mounting who had become so
Long impending, familiar, death
Grew beautiful.
These things come out of
The West, where late it becomes
So red, so full, that the onset
Of night is full-well assumed,
Received courteously.