What a beat
Whip and defeat
Pound a hammer
Lick a jammer
Drub a word
Haunted woods with massive trees
Beckoned at once, naughty three
Eleven, twelve and thirteen
An awesome aged all-boys team
Boy of thirteen was on the lead
Asked the youngest to gain quick speed
'To Nail three shirts to biggest tree'
Was the game of Halloween glee
As three boys rushed past large shrub
Wind whistled with fearsome drub
Three boys ran like floating ghosts
Their shirts got stuck in thorn posts
All three were painted red here and there
By thorns, thistles, stumbles of nice share
Lost in haunted woods for quite a while
Three boys returned home in classic style
I heard the drub of rain pelting the roof
Unaware that a storm had been brewing
Roar of thunder, flash of lightning gave proof
that I had no idea, no inkling of what I was doing.
Spirit numbed and body drenched
I ventured into the maelstrom, unaware
or perhaps I didn't care. My eyes were clenched
preventing tears from falling. Loneliness is hard to bear
Sorrow bit at my heels where puddles formed
I swallowed a cry so no one would hear my sobbing
On I trudged while within me the maelstrom stormed
Confusion inside my head, heartbeat throbbing.
Charybdis' whirlpool swirled, trying to drag me in
Crested waves carried me toward its center
The tightrope I walked was a tenuous line
and lost forever I would be if I decided to enter.
On the edge of giving in, I swam for what seemed hours
The surge of flood tide would not claim me tonight
On sanity's shore I sat once more, allowing the showers
to sting my upturned face and have their moment of respite.
March 20, 2023
Writing Challenge - 'M' Words
Sponsor: Constance La France
Hie thee, to warm utterances
that soothe reddened hearts.
Hie thee to where it knows no crackles from a cold spirit,
not even from seething sips of a blackened stout.
Hie thee, where no emerald flocks,
to blind thee into tempted wastes.
Hie thee into that which He bellows,
for trails into His Heavens or below.
Hie thee before they drub thee, a sub.
Before pain delivers regrets that deny forgiveness.
Hie thee, away from garbles of chatters,
from the morass of wrong deliverance.
Hie thee for thou art too late.
May be may be that I am faithful,
Faithful to all of my duties,
Ready to serve whenever my country need it,
But there's something that I'm facing,
All **** talks about my country,
My own mates are doing gross things now,
They only know pulling down legs,
It is difficult situations when we have enemies inside out territory,
It is a drub situation when the cost of the peace is your brother's blood,
But this is my duty to save my country and people living,
It is my duty to ensure the people are living peacefully,
And if that requires the rise of the demon inside me then I'm ever-ready,
You put down my country I'll be demon, for you,
If You will try to break the peace, I'll be the demon, for you.
Forbears,Edie,Kate and Ann furnished apiece with brush and pan.Each
Victorian 'Miss' tied in service's abyss.Far off days,now long gone,their toil each
day was lengthy and long.With fires to light,floors to scrub,and carpets to brush
and drub.Mops forbidden,as they smeared the dirt and begrimed their prim
alpaca aproned skirt.They cleaned 'his' tub,emptied 'her' commode,a regular
chore in a housemaid's daily load.Must rise at six but never to mix and no matter
what,keep a stiff upper lip.Never lose your cool,a formal curtsey the perpetual
rule.Half day off once per month,so free to roam and catch the omnibus home.No
other opportunities in store except a marriage at eighteen or before.Upstairs and
down stairs ,no in between,starting out at just thirteen and just there to please as Master and his Lady take their ease.
COPLA VEINTISIETE : This Bad Guy World
Are guys then just born to be bad
Just as others get to be good
Then where’s the rub
There’s the art of being less had
Renounce violence/sex you should
And bad birth drub
Easy women who take no heed
Let wanton sexual hunger
Make bad guy love
The best males at the right time breed
Even animals observe order
Make best guy love
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Forbears,Edie,Kate and Ann furnished apiece with brush and pan.Each
Victorian 'Miss' tied in service's abyss.Far off days,now long gone,their toil each
day was lengthy and long.With fires to light,floors to scrub,and carpets to brush
and drub.Mops forbidden,as they smeared the dirt and begrimed their prim
alpaca aproned skirt.They cleaned 'his' tub,emptied 'her' commode,a regular
chore in a housemaid's daily load.Must rise at six but never to mix and no matter
what,keep a stiff upper lip.Never lose your cool,a formal curtsey the perpetual
rule.Half day off once per month,so free to roam and catch the omnibus home.No
other opportunities in store except a marriage at eighteen or before.Upstairs and
down stairs ,no in between,starting out at just thirteen and just there to please as
Master and his Lady take their ease.
If there comes a day
when the preacher's politicians
control the state
Phinehas will rise from his grave
round up the gays
and send them down
to Guantanamo Bay
to entertain the Muslims.
The Kingdom's minions
will hammer in the heads
of our tender young
the creation in seven drub
social welfare is evil
and God's top ten rules.
Which I must say
rules are meant to be broken.
And if that day comes
when our children must pray
and Jesus is the only way
I and my liberal
secular humanist
co-conspirators
will be taken out back
beaten naked and shot
for refusing to accept
that Christ died for us.
Or worse yet
sent to a re-eduction camp
to sing Cumbaya.
Unless, of course
we move to Canada.
Dean Walker
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