GOD'S ONE FINE DAY
Where be God's grace
On this fine day
As you passed by
I heard you say
Hid, mourning lace
Your face within
Bustles black
A raven's wing
Satin soft
Your whispered talk
So not to wake
The dead, you walk
Through your glove
You spin your ring
Another day
Remembering
Horses white
Ribbons tied
Braided manes
You rode beside
Dames and doves
Filled glade and sky
An altar made
Time brushed aside
One wish bade
One wish would I
Lift your veil
Once more my bride
Come, lets walk
This prison's gate
I bid you leave
Here, I must wait
Wonder, walk
By stone and grave
They who share
My ghostly fate
When Sunday chimes
Your sweet bouquet
A rose, you'll lie
Now where I lay
You'll lie beside
And so I'll wake
Until, I'll bide
God's one fine day
DEGAS DELIGHTFUL DAMES
Edgar Degas did not mingle
so shy he remained single
His art self contained & absorbed
perfect though expensive 'daubs'
Dancers everywhere
to pose on toes
& as art lover knows
PAINTING After wise words of Degas
so,so easy to do..
when we don't know how,
so,so true..but
so,so dificile..
when we do!
'Sales Pitch' Contest
By Margarita Lillico
Story is fiction.061026
It's not always a sin,
But every now and then,
Some things happen
That makes no sense.
He was a buyer;
I was a seller.
His summers were hot
Like an oven.
His winters felt a lot
Like a freezer.
The land was flat
And looked like pain.
No hills, no mountains,
And it seldom rained.
Encircled by trees,
There were neither
Dames, lakes, or rivers.
Best scenery was Autumn leaves.
He didn't fish
But shot fowls
And hunted dear,
Year after year.
There was no politicing there.
He had nothing for
Or against to vote.
Even though he had nothing
In those parts on which to float,
I found a way to selll him a boat.
Emerging sex scandal on the "Gaza flotilla": the organizer slept with all the activists. The "key organizer" of the world's most humane flotilla engaged in intimate relations with numerous mission participants right on board. On previous flotillas, Israeli military reported finding an anomalously large number of used and new condoms on the vessels. Was Greta Thunberg among them—we have no clue.
They went to break though sea blockade
Bring light to needy Palestine
A worthy cause when one is jade
A trip of orgy, by design
The amazons of our times
Or rather "dames on the loose"
Accuse Zion of awful crimes
For "noble cause" enjoyed abuse
To screw like there's no tomorrow
Abandon hubbies and proceed
Support Hamas, by moans and sorrow
No doubt, a courageous deed
When yacht becomes a battleground
Heroic act was their protest
Thereafter, all went homeward bound
Tight-lipped about "two bar" test
April 15, 2026
Current life is; oh so phony..' its all apple and samsung, and pure balony.'
Hold on..Balony's not pure!!!
Yes we exist in the time
Of just plastic dimes.'
And dames even.?
Wow..'
Ah Epstein Files, who’s who of naughty names
Making life come good at resorts with dames.
But I’m disappointed
For not making the grade
Among some biggest guns that play such games
And make some rare headlines
Hard for poetic lines,
Whatso open fame’s gate is free from shames,
No evidence of guilt
Is no proof of no guilt,
A top gun legal authority claims.
___________________________________
Happenings | 15.02.2026 | fame, name, shame, humour, society, world
Note: More and more Big Names get linked to Epstein. Trump and Musk, two famous Bills, actors, linguists, and even motivational maestros. Poets? Not sure, but here‘s my chance as the only unknown name. As the needle of suspicion comes closer home, this is what this pen-pusher hopes.
I sing the ballad of Jeffrey Epstein
With his island of underage dames
He had connections, a kind of go-between
If hell exists, he's in the flames.
Lots of folks knew of his appetites
But he had connections, he had clout
Now all sorts of bigwigs are in the gun sights
If elected, we should kick them out.
Of course we have to be careful in the naming
Some people just overlooked sins, to get a connection
He was a low life liar too, not above framing
But its sickening to look at the contacts collection.
There's a lesson here, to stay away
From any man whose got demons to hide
Black and white, avoid shades of gray
Or he'll take you for that devil ride.
From the dead, his hand reaches, naming names.
Dragging people down, dragging them below
Lives move on, but their honor stained
Some truths, I'd rather not know.
It was an immemorial hope.
O life, when ye began:
How indeed did people cope?
Catch me if you can.
Hell and Heaven, send a flood!
O'er the shores to drown!
Avenge angry giant's blood!
Water, ship, down! Frown!
O cur, lack thee thy ochre?
Ogre, gnash gnarly teeth!
Sleeping beauty? Who woke her?
Blood ivy, thy wreath!
Will Providence, spare a thought?
Life is but a dot.
Deepest chasm, spend thy plot!
Allies, don't get caught!
Riddle-book or chimney-nook?
Jonquil flower treats!
Oysters cook in drink of brook?
He who died thus eats!
Bring them to the temple!
There put them to the flames!
Either that or the brass bull!
Or just steal their dames!
O filament, thy light a-flash;
End game with one slash!
Vision grant thy gift! Dare? Dash.
Enslaver, thy lash!
Hateful is the world outside?
Is it better here?
Causality, how you hied!
Entropy ground gear?
By an ancient palace
knaves and jesters
peddle gilded notes
for dark favours
with docile dames
in the shadow light
of a silvan clearing
deep beyond mortal gazing
amid the frosted gaiety
of wintertide sparkle.
I will go down to Irish Town,
where the old grey tower still holds
a barren watch for the shrouded ships
in the sea wind's show'ry folds.
The florid men of the marbled heights
throw pennies at your pain:
in Irish town they'll give you wine
as sweet as summer rain.
The haughty dames of Parson's Hill
have learned their love at school;
they feed their gallants perfumed cakes
and break hearts by the rule,
but the women down in Irish town
were born with hearts that know
too desperately what wanting means
to think that love's a show.
So I will go down to Irish town
where the river meets the sea,
and look for a little lasting love
in the grim grey tower's lee.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Please note that I never have used and never will use AI to compose or revise any of my writings or music..
A random comment on poetry in general: A poem should be considered the script of a role in a play which the reader is auditioning for.
The middle eastern spell that shames the solemn
In shadowed midden dwells the stain now common
In darkness beaten fell in name of goodwill
Our princess peace repels their pain and blood spill
She struggles selfless held in chains by order
Poor passive tranquil, gelled by blames and borders
The stolen fertile meld of reigns now taken
Where powered egos tell of hope forsaken
Let gentle logic down the dames of warfare
Whose metal madness grounds the games to threadbare
Pray mistral mildness pound and maim their story
'Til peaceful light surrounds regaining glory
I lit a match and found your face—
The smoke curled slow, like fate’s embrace.
The world was hard, all steel and gin,
But softer where your eyes began.
You walked in—low light, high grace,
A whisper carved in time and space.
The silver screen could never show
The warmth beneath your winter glow.
I spoke in lines the world would keep,
But you were silence—true and deep.
A thousand dames had crossed my path,
Yet none like you—my final dream.
You taught the tough to love again,
To see the stars through city rain.
And when they fade, as all things do,
The night still smokes—
and smells of you.
Before the term was ever coined
I was a past master at ‘zero-sum games’
Which explains my success
with all those unliberated dames*
_________________________________________________
*Note to the Curious: And if you're on board
with this, I do have a special on ocean-front
properties in Florida this month. ~ Mud-Slide
Real Estate (Our motto: 'Here's mud in your
eye -- and your nose and your throat. and
your lungs, and really just about everywhere.')
after “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, by Robert Frost
This bridge meant something in some war,
some yarn of man and God and law:
but I think more of her and me:
what were those others fighting for?
There’s so much here to feel and see,
and yet it’s rubbernecker-free!
I love to watch the fishes jump:
they sense the serendipity!
Lads do the love, dames do the dump.
I can’t imagine now the crump
of primitive artillery,
but I remember Forrest Gump!
The theater, ideally,
was dark and deep: and, as for me,
I’ll linger in the reverie …
I’ll linger in the reverie.
Happy-go-lucky were his middle names
Three because his parents liked to play name games
Does he have a first name? aske two concerned old dames
Yes, said his sister, Poindexter but James is what he claims.
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