Flirt with my demons, hold them to your heart
In spite of my clustered mind, I'll hold up my part
Hold my hand close to the beats in your chest
A promise of foreverness, though we'll never be "the best"
What the songs get correct, but the media thinks is dead
Two intertwined lovers, our image is stuck in my head
Mockery and pungent words won't end our rumba
They'll be laughing when the skies are painted red, ha!
Pathetic lies try to separate us, but they sound like sharp notes
In a music book, where the songs are pleasing and don't sound faux
They ask me, "Dear Bonnie, where has your Clyde gone?"
O darling lover, but we both have heard this song
Shallow and crumbly, their arguments go for too long
Their voices belt across galaxies, yet they know their wrongs
But one thing that I know is your rhetoric is divine
When I glance up on the horizon, Nature says it's a sign
So, we starve their remarks, like fires with no oxygen
Because little do they know, we'll never bow down to them
CUPCAKE LOVE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cupcakes for breakfast, a sweet delight
A morning treat that makes my day alright.
The first bite melts, so velvety smooth
My sweet tooth it doth quickly soothe.
The cake's moist, a tender crumbly treat
A symphony of flavors, a delicious culinary feat.
The frosting’s creamy, a gentle kiss
The sprinkles twinkle, ahhh--heavenly bliss.
The world slowly awakens, thanks to this sweet surprise
As cupcake love opens my sleepy eyes.
She picked his poetic flowers
Her tender hope a crumbly seed
Each morn, in wait to taste his feed
She craved him till eve’s florid hours
In need to sate her stark bowers
My verse under Yeats’ carved door
he merrily chuckled at white
envelope, sketched butterfly
said he preferred to receive
verses this way rather
than reading them across
post-modern websites
a languid phantom
He invited me to an idyllic tea
we savoured small
cheese squares, crumbly
scones watching a squirrel
chomp a cheerful chestnut
LOST AND FOUND
What word can describe
fleeting images, dreams of poets graduated, yet living on ?
V A C A N T
….a vacancy that awaits a letter
wandering ethereal
a word manifesting ____on old desk
a Lover expecting his
Beloved with cherries and hat
a shadow across
poetic spaces
Yeats, gone
ye t, HERE
~~~
The Queen has a navy
That floats in her gravy,
It’s sharp and its clear,
But it’s sure tough to steer,
For the rudders get stuck
In that thick, grayish muck,
And the lads in the stern
Have a penchant to yearn
For the bright shining waters
All popping with otters,
Yet they smile as they sail past
Her Majesty’s repast,
And wink as they think
That they’d better not sink,
For if sailors go down
In the gravy, they’ll drown,
And you can’t hear them yelp
Through the lard for some help,
And therefore it’s wise
On the ship to keep eyes,
And they sail towards a biscuit
And think that they’ll risk it,
‘Midst butters and jams,
And kippers and clams,
On a crumbly crag
Raise Her Majesty’s flag,
And with hearts beating proud
Face the smiling crowd,
For a deed large or small,
It is better than all,
If it’s done with conviction,
Not merely good diction,
And protecting the table,
Or more, if you’re able,
Brings honor unseen
To country and Queen.
That neighbour has just banged his door.
Again yet again and yet again.
I, a one of superior quality, wish to beat
his barking bonce against the wall of his rathole.
But there’d be no grey matter
to dribble down the concrete.
An ugly slimy mush would not be excreted
from that crumbly, crinkly, brainless brainpan.
No brainbox there to squirt the grey stuff!
Oh, what do I experience?
A swirly-whirly precognition of a pleasurable
banging of that brain that isn’t there?
Do I not wish to tear it into shreds?
Funny how feral thoughts burst into one’s mind.
Again yet again and yet again, this superior
wants to beat and bounce that barking bonce.
(17 Sep 2024)
FROMAGE BADINAGE
Some cheeses improve with age
But, in danger of being verbose
Just serve me plain and mature
Yellow, without that thick rind
And tastier on the tongue, I find
Not fancy, with that false allure
As some blue veins are varicose
But wait, there is a war to wage
Never the plastic American kind
But calling it sharp, it’s still bland
Some made backwards, as Edam
There’s French ones, some smelly
I’ve seen them advertised on telly
As cheese, Philadelphia is a sham
And yet so few dairies understand
Please keep it natural, not refined
A few odd cheeses can squeeze by
As Greek Feta or Cyprus Halloumi
From Italy, there is Mozzarella too
For pasta, it is Parmesan, of course
With a true origin one can endorse
All should be entitled to their view
I report what I taste, so just sue me
And crumbly cheese makes me sigh
Whitestone Hoodoos
Near where I live,
just up the hill above the airport,
is a place of mystery and wonder,
a place wizards might once have dwelled,
or young warriors wandered in search of vision.
It’s a thicket of chalky hoodoos, sitting now
like a forest of plump petrified dwarfs made of meringue
sculpted by uncountable drops of rain
and whatever it is you might call a single unit of wind.
It’s enchanting for sure,
but largely ignored by the sensible folk.
It’s a place of unclimbable slippery slabs and
crumbly sliding slopes, of snakes with rattles
and succulents with thorns.
I’m sure to some eyes it’s just a barren hill,
and to others an inspiring view that’s always just out the window,
to some a marvelous result of random tectonic drifts
and to a few at least, a glimpse into the past
when wizards and warriors met
under the shadow of watchful dwarves
and ate the bitter root.
(from my third book, SUN MADE FLESH AND FIBER, 2019)
She saw it to be an
excessive thought
tasting the clams
in her crumpets
a tad bite sweet
and crumbly
a spent of lunch
or supper
More accurate than
the original
Savored with a rich
Citrus drink
One would think
It's accuracy is
excellent
to dancing or
a nightclub
a night of
extraordinary
flavor
Soothing suttle
bit excites
Ones behavior
She saw it to be an
excessive thought
tasting the clams
in her crumpets
a tad bite sweet
and crumbly
a spent of lunch
or supper
More accurate than
the original
Savored with a rich
Citrus drink
One would think
It's accuracy is
excellent
to dancing or
a nightclub
a night of
extraordinary
flavor
Soothing suttle
bit excites
Ones behavior
Plight your Troth
She saw it to be an
excessive thought
tasting the clams
in her crumpets
a tad bite sweet
and crumbly
a spent of lunch
or supper
More accurate than
the original
Savored with a rich
Citrus drink
One would think
It's accuracy is
excellent
to dancing or
a nightclub
a night of
extraordinary
flavor
Soothing suttle
bit excites
Ones behavior
She saw it to be an
excessive thought
tasting the clams
in her crumpets
a tad bite sweet
and crumbly
a spent of lunch
or supper
More accurate than
the original
Savored with a rich
Citrus drink
One would think
It's accuracy is
excellent
to dancing or
a nightclub
a night of
extraordinary
flavor
Soothing suttle
bit excites
Ones behavior
She saw it to be an
excessive thought
tasting the clams
in her crumpets
a tad bite sweet
and crumbly
a spent of lunch
or supper
More accurate than
the original
Savored with a rich
Citrus drink
One would think
It's accuracy is
excellent
to dancing or
a nightclub
a night of
extraordinary
flavor
Soothing suttle
bit excites
Ones behavior
She saw it to be an
excessive thought
tasting the clams
in her crumpets
a tad bite sweet
and crumbly
a spent of lunch
or supper
More accurate than
the original
Savored with a rich
Citrus drink
One would think
It's accuracy is
excellent
to dancing or
a nightclub
a night of
extraordinary
flavor
Soothing suttle
bit excites
Ones behavior
She saw it to be an
excessive thought
tasting the clams
in her crumpets
a tad bite sweet
and crumbly
a spent of lunch
or supper
More accurate than
the original
Savored with a rich
Citrus drink
One would think
It's accuracy is
excellent
to dancing or
a nightclub
a night of
extraordinary
flavor
Soothing suttle
bit excites
Ones behavior
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