As the leopard
can't change its spots
the zebra of which
there are species three
(Burchell's, Mountain and Grévy's)
its stripes also cannot
black-and-white
supposedly
but white on black
front-to-back
in reality
it's cryptic colouration
a synonym
for animal camouflage
for which an entourage
of biologists resound
with unproven hypotheses
(e.g., keeping flies off in summer)
and specious theories abound
It's prime time for the new Raj
Facts & acts must just sabotage
All baloney with no camouflage
Racist fascist pacts back in charge
De facto crypto crony arbitrage
With an aristo phony entourage
Ipso facto know who's the sarge
Nige does show pony dressage
Truth and proof will just massage
Aloof uncouth ranter going large
Just pub banter a bit of badinage
Trump leader of hit populist collage
All aboard greedier tech T-Rex barge
Seedier far right sh*t media montage
Vent at the establishment's espionage
Decent and democratic only a mirage
Bet just cover for yet another barrage
To other bigots & despots pay homage
An abhorrent torrent he does sparge
Hilarious no it is nefarious persiflage
Nutter's not butter but cheap marge
Spread thin in the gutter Nige Farage
We all lined up to kiss the ring of Godfather Vampire
He is like the king and president, except a bit higher
When you want a favor, he is the one to ask
He can get much done, he is an expert at a task
He was aloof a bit, but that is to be expected
We gave tributes to him, which his entourage inspected
One gave him a nod, so my wish might get granted, I think.
I left the hall, feeling optimistic, my attitude in the pink.
With green lipstick on pouting lips
and pendulum sway in her walking—
adoration at finger tips—
thankfully we can’t hear her talking.
But now, everyone is without poise.
HD glares and surround-sound noise—
Producer of his own life story
content in all its gory glory.
The six-finger selfie in church
claimed by the Director to be right—
his hue clashed wildly with the pyrite.
Minions’ common sense left in lurch.
The grainy figure lost his detail
as the entourage has now hightail’d.
Like a gyrating cobra
the leader's entourage
swayed back and forth
before him, behind him
on both sides ~
no one was charmed
Deep in the desert, on a desolate trek,
in the distance trudges a lonely speck.
Lost, not knowing where, in this life, he's bound,
he has never known the comforting sound
of a tender voice, or a loving word.
His unsure eyes see only visions, blurred.
What looks like water, is just a mirage,
while apparitions form his entourage.
So, how, on this rocky beach in Malibu
did this man, on that day, discover you,
where surf crashed and he gazed in your face,
and "the silence faded with a soft embrace?"
Next time around I will be six foot eight
I will play basketball, and I will be great
Next time around I will be born in a city
I will have confidence, not care if I’m pretty
Next time around I will not care what people think
My own opinions will keep my joy in the pink
Next time around I will be a star with an entourage.
People will lavish me with bouquets and a corsage.
The crush of reporters with mikes
the security entourage
Autograph-seekers, well-wishers
hand-shakers, selfie-fishers
On stage 24/7... with luck, for years
Careening 'career' ... jeers and cheers
~ ‘midst the booze veneer
‘Faced with a fight I don’t back down’,
He, blowing last trumpet his own,
PM and Party Head,
Somewhat misty eyed, said
With heavy head on losing crown.
______________________
Happenings|08.01.2025|
Poet’s Note: Prime Minister for ten long years Justin Trudeau had to finally ‘back down’ despite all his bravado. But he himself was responsible for the loss of popularity with his immature behaviour and policies. Trump called him governor of 51st State of USA and he took it with a smug smile. Xi of China once gave him a one-to-one dressing down and he could muster little defence. His troubles with India are well known. And to top it all, he is disowned by his own party and people of Canada. No wonder, Justin Trudeau is just out-- a handsome yet vapid man who failed to do justice to his famous last name. It was in India, his first trip that proved a turning point in perception of his personality (more than his inviting a convicted terrorist to his entourage, it was his general buffoonery).
Vampires relish the winter sky,
they feed on every mournful cry;
The holiday lonely;
Wanting to be caressed in bed,
or make love on an antique sled;
Snowflakes and peony;
You can’t go buy the gift they seek,
to bite and taste another freak;
Carnivorous copper;
Lips that pull all your insides out,
and feast on every fevered shout;
Such thieves are improper;
Beneath his gaze she will give in
lured by such toxic temptation;
Conundrum I admit;
Beware of a festive mirage
that baits you with it’s entourage;
A strong dopamine hit.
A cavalcade of savage singing lights
whip worshippers of ultraviolet;
Indulging the most hedonistic threat
they raise hooks to meritorious heights;
DJ’s entourage being read last rites
at the end of that set they won’t forget;
A cavalcade;
The swollen witching hour synthetic bites
direct reckless dancers to a sure bet;
Inarticulate’s the best you can get;
Obsessing over complicated fights,
a cavalcade.
I don't see anything on cable,
so I sit down at the table -
another night alone I think.
I guess I'll have another drink.
What? The doorbell rings, and there
some ghostly figures then declare,
"we're your regrets to haunt, alright?",
as more and more, they came all night.
"Make yourselves some highballs
and drink them to your eyeballs
(even ol' Ebenezer Scrooge
lacked an entourage this huge.)
It's crowded here. Move just a smidge.
You'll find the drinks are in the fridge.
I'd love to sit and talk, but instead.
you settle in. I'm going to bed."
Under a sky of celadon -
I watched bees huddle
In frenzied expectation
Of riding a flaxen petal.
Lupine and globe mallow
Danced about while sage
Waved at me from below -
Comprising my entourage.
I saw pale butterflies mingle
Within dewy creosotes
Then came an argent gale
Which tugged at their cloaks
And then - the drape shifted
But my vision proves true -
A celadon echo gifted
To me that sunny interlude.
We had heard of the Queen of Merryland for weeks and weeks.
Everyone wanted to see her, our imagination in high rising peaks.
She came in with an entourage, and we stopped being excited.
She looked persnickety, pinched, angry cheekbones highlighted.
How can she be the Queen of Merryland? My friend swiftly asked me.
Look at her standoffish-ness, which frankly, any dumbbell can see.
I have one idea, I said, it is the one I think which you will have to agree.
She was born into it, the daughter of a King who was not at all merry.
I am the unseen titan of all elements,
heard beyond the darkest clouds.
I rumble in rhythms of 'heavy metal' rage,
sending shock waves across the horizons.
I am no deity nor celestial being,
I am nature's untouchable primal force.
I'll summon the storm, manifesting raw fury,
as flashes of lightning join my entourage of fear.
Together we echo our wrath,
forcing all to seek shelter,
as we reign in our aura of climatic majesty.
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