Canada needed a hero but a fowl mouth so this Merc is a jerk that can not be hurt Ey like a cancerous sewer flowing south Spidey sense breaking the fourth stall with a blurt A constipated death stroke the creative drouth The comedic squirts, let us put him in a skirt The Plagiarizer ain’t a marvelous hero Regenerate degenerate a Zero
The Dry Monsoon
David J Walker
All through the town
On abandoned streets
They shed the prairie gown
And danced naked at sundown
Assured that rain defeats
The drouth that choaks and heats
The day beyond belief
Both the Moon and the
Monsoon are made of dust
In God We Trust we pray as
We must
each day then
kneel and greet
The Westward winds
Our hackles raised
in the sleepy eyes
Of another summer sunrise
There is no surprise in
The country we call West Texas
And her beloved son grew alongside her like clinging vines.
During the capitulation of the Old South.
The era of a bitter drouth.
They lived hopefully from her skills as a midwife.
And though some days were gruesome for her they were perfect days.
When they were together in their strife.
She found joy and paradise in his existence.
In their blissful co-existence.
He grew strong and his mind was filled with invincible thoughts of mastering his own destiny.
With blazing certainty.
However treacherous winds of evil depleted his willful force.
And destroyed her soul to a living death.
A twisted sorrowful wealth.
Through the grueling time in multitude.
With a heart cold to any sane rectitude.
Many times she revisited the thinning forest.
She listens to the song of the Old South.
A tune of her son's demise spilled out.
From the elm tree in a thinning forest.
Near the Ebb Water Creek.
A sounding song of mystique.
And the mystery of his murder lay.
Cradled in the secretive nest in the deciduous forest.
Leaving her to walk in the darkness of despair and soul arrest.
From it flows waves of sweet charm
Sometimes it causes more harm
Keep that tongue in check
'Cause those words on deck
May set fire and be cause for alarm
Search east to west, north to south
Ere rainy season or drouth
One thing is for sure
There is a great cure,
For a fly does not enter a closed mouth
Unbridled bout of self-assertion blatant
turns you to a repelling babbling exuberant.
Shutting of orifice floodgates you eschew,
forgetting everybody isn’t fool around you.
Torn to shards if you blurt bullsheet absurd,
do a volte-face eating your crappy words.
Try to not gulp them dry in stigmatic drouth*,
for a fly does not enter a closed mouth.
August 14, 2019
*Drouth is Scottish dialect for drought
A serpent saved Eve from a drouth
Medusa just opened her mouth
But snakes in her hair
How did they get their?
The Devil don't know North from South?
Come into the empty house
An unlocked door invites
See everything is in order
But there's grayness despite
No meal bubbling on the range
No aroma of baking bread
Absent sounds, blue loneliness
Hollow, empty, silent dread
Then mother lost her good job
She's at home every day
Yellow sunshine greets us
Orange and red fire invites to stay
We would sit down to eat
Big bites of homemade bread
Smooth brown gravy in abundance
Love and warmth lingers instead
Happy laughter fills our ears
Warm, soft, salty bread our mouth
The sight of both parents there
Fills the spirit's long drouth
drouth__Old Scottish dialect for drouth
I am not sure if this is what you wanted but I felt it might be ...
Stanza 1---sight, temperature, pain
Stanza 2---sound, scent(smell), and feelings
Stanza 3---feelings, vision, and touch
Stanza 4---taste
Stanza 5---sound, touch, sight, taste
Written: August 10, 2018
Haughty
naughty
dirty
Murty,
small nose,
fat toes.
Girl lip
did whip
put down
cause frown.
Thought smart
dart dirt
insert
to hurt
bigfoot
hard put.
Frogmouth
big drouth
cake soap
for dope.
3/1/2018
Poetry Contest:PUT YOUR FOOTLE OUT YOUR MOUTH
Sponsored by: James Edward Lee Sr.
outside the city where the pomegranates grow,
is where we buried the years six feet below.
all of the magic clung to the tragic
and we knew it was not time yet to go.
but of all the love,
i would not erase a single thing.
all of the memories,
i want to remember everything.
we saw Aphrodite serenade a dove,
and Eve, dripping scarlet nectar from her mouth.
and everything seemed so succulent
even through the drouth.
when we looked into the heaven's eyes,
i saw my own rebirth.
understanding the purity,
fearing its responsibility,
we followed the footsteps
of the first woman on earth.
This summer, as ever, there's much to do.
But only one or two things I want to do.
I told Alan that, like him, I'm never bored.
But today, like a teenager, I'm both tired and bored.
The long expanse of summer stretches forward. Alan plans
the next 2 years in advance, always moving forward. I can't plan
the next 2 hours, sitting on my ****, undecided whether
to clean the house, make a list of prospective donors, or check the 5-day
weather
forecast. Fires out west, hurricanes south, drought here
in the east where the garden phlox withers and the corn's stunted. We
hear
prophecies of armageddon, doom, but humans may go on another
thousand, million or billion years
undaunted. What is that to you. A day alone in your room and a year
are inexplicable. Now and then a vacation, baseball game, night of love.
A divorce, a death, a drouth. To survive and prosper we must love
all of it, insect infestations and world wars, cloud curlicues and square
dances, work
and weekends off. Knowing the unknowable = never knowing how the
world works.
Calaveras' famous frog was astounding
In contests never beaten at bounding
But a gambler's ruse
In the frog did infuse
Lead shot that kept him a groundling
The con artist disappeared south
Froggy's owner poured shot from its mouth
His face fiery red
He examined the lead
That had made his wallet a drouth
World from me swiftly depart
Quiet all the bustle especially the tongue
Let me today hear only messages from the heart
Let me remember those years when young
When there was not reason for a drouth
All was well and happy that I could surmise
Anything that came from my mouth
Whatever I saw with my keen eyes
Would not bring to anyone's eyes tears
Those carefree years sometimes long to go back
But time has passed and so many years
When in reveries I feel an attack
I just listen to my bird friends sing
And so you I bring my mind to think
(Incorrect syllable count, I know..)
Leaving the War Behind
for Elihu Burritt, peacemaker
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
- H. W. Longfellow, “Christmas Bells”
1863, your old friend Longfellow almost
despairing. What a year! The Union
torn. Chancellorsville. War’s ravenous mouth.
And then came Vicksburg, Gettysburg.
The whole land lay in a bloody drouth,
the cannon thundered in the South,
and Elihu, you sailed away. For years
you let the ink flow like a sea
to float the cause of Peace. Yet you found
no peace at home. Was it a personal
surrender, to be England-bound?
And with the sound
of waves and seabirds, did you leave
behind the burden of a homeland
north to south a battleground?
Could a foreign landscape comfort
you? Or did war images confound –
the carols drowned
in military march-time in your head?
As summer waned, the loss of Chickamauga.
Brother killing brother in a marshy fen.
Elihu, did you never quite give up
the distant hope – oh where, and when? –
of peace on earth, good-will to men?
Here I go again
with the midnight rain
late night birds twittering in their nest
I hear the whistle - the night guard blows
rest of the world - I see repose.
Here I go again
with the darkness that prevails
along with the glittering rain drops
caused by the street lights luminances
I feel the ease - the whisper of the breeze
rest of the world - I see in their dreams.
Here I go again
with the aroma of the earth
when the lives beneath egresses to explore their new shelter
I see them fending - the unity they build
rest of the world - I see leisurely.
Here I go again
with the flow of water
that coursed through the pipes to the drain
the wastes in there - blocked the course
I boded the hydra - the flood it borne
rest of the world - I see drouth.
Here I go again
with extreme eagerness
the time of night made me to awaken
I see the hastiness - opposed to the world of boredness
rest of the hours - I felt myself crying with the rain.
Awake elements
Drouth wrapped in cyclical flow
Fire... Air... Water... Earth
(My third attempt at haiku)
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